#and then i get lonelier and more isolated and nothing really changes. but every time i try to crack open the shell a little it goes badly

[rasqberrypetalpostcards]

032.

when loving someone makes you feel more alone an essay about unreturned effort, quiet distance, and the heartbreaking isolation that can live inside affection

loving someone is supposed to make you feel closer. more whole. more held.

but sometimes it doesn’t.

sometimes it feels like standing in an empty room with your arms outstretched, waiting for someone to step into them — and no one ever does. sometimes it feels like giving and giving and giving until there’s nothing left of you except the echo of their name. sometimes, love doesn’t soothe the ache — it becomes it.

and that’s the kind of loneliness that no one talks about.

the kind that happens when you’re not alone, but you’re still lonely.

the kind that hurts more because you care.

you notice the space between what you give and what you get

maybe it’s the way you always reach out first. or how you remember their schedule, their favorite snack, the things they said in passing — but they never ask how your day went. maybe it’s how you show up, over and over, only to realize they never really opened the door for you to come in.

you tell yourself not to keep score. that love isn’t a transaction.

but even when you don’t mean to measure it, the imbalance makes itself known.

in every unanswered text. in every almost-plan that falls through. in every time you say “i miss you” and they say “aww.”

you start to wonder if you’re being needy. but really, you’re just being unmet.

the effort becomes a monologue

there’s a specific kind of exhaustion that comes from trying to keep a connection alive all by yourself.

you send thoughtful messages that get short replies. you ask questions they don’t return. you plan hangouts they cancel. you tell them how much they mean to you — and they say “you’re so sweet” like it’s a thank-you card they didn’t ask for.

you start to feel like a character in their story, not a person with a voice of your own.

and worst of all, they don’t even realize.

because to them, everything is fine.

you’re there. you’re kind. you’re consistent.

they don’t notice the loneliness growing in the spaces where your love goes unanswered.

you keep hoping it’s just a phase

you tell yourself maybe they’re just busy. maybe they’re going through something. maybe they just show love differently.

and all of that might be true.

but the truth doesn’t always change the feeling.

you’re still the one reaching out. you’re still the one waiting. you’re still the one who notices when they’re a little colder than usual, when their texts are a little shorter, when the silence between replies grows longer.

you still feel like you’re being slowly faded out of a story you thought you belonged to.

and it’s devastating.

because you chose them. but they never really chose you back.

you start to shrink without realizing

you stop bringing up things that matter to you. you stop asking for time or space or attention, because you’re scared they’ll pull away even more.

you become careful. hesitant. smaller.

and no one sees it.

they keep saying “you’re always so easy to be around.” and they don’t realize that’s because you stopped asking them to meet you halfway.

you convinced yourself that being lovable means being low-maintenance.

and that is the loneliest kind of performance.

it doesn’t mean they’re a bad person

they might be lovely. warm. kind.

but kind isn’t the same as present. nice isn’t the same as nurturing.

you can love someone gentle and still feel starved for affection. you can adore someone soft and still feel like you’re screaming into a void.

and that’s what makes it so hard to walk away.

because they didn’t hurt you on purpose. they just didn’t love you the way you needed.

love should not leave you aching

not all the time. not like this.

love should be soft and real and seen.

you should not have to earn it by being more palatable, more understanding, more low-maintenance.

you should not be made to feel like your longing is a flaw.

you are not asking for too much.

you are asking to be held.

to be heard.

to be loved back.

you deserve to feel less alone inside love, not more

love should feel like company. like warmth. like someone sitting beside you in your hardest moments, not someone who texts you two days later asking what’s wrong.

it should feel like together.

but if it doesn’t — if it starts to feel like you’re loving in a vacuum, screaming underwater, writing letters no one reads — then it’s okay to ask for more.

it’s okay to let go.

not because you didn’t care. but because you do.

you care about yourself enough to stop living in a love that made you lonely.

archived between sighs by, R.

[shineysposts]

Things I Love About Rafayel’s Intertidal Zone

Spoiler Warning: Detailed spoilers for Rafayel’s Intertidal Zone card below! Proceed at your own risk if you haven't played it yet!

I know some people have been disappointed with this card, whether it's the short animation or the spice not being as intense as we hoped for. I totally get that; those feelings are valid. But for me, this card is so much more than that. While I can understand the critiques, they don’t take away from the emotional depth and subtle beauty that made this card so meaningful to me.

The card starts with MC noticing that Rafayel’s been struggling and showing up at his studio, ready to support him. It's such a lovely change from the usual dynamic, where Rafayel’s the one leading things. This time, MC is the one taking the initiative—asking to join him instead of waiting for an invitation.

Rafayel’s Vulnerability. The conversation where Rafayel voices his fears absolutely hit me:

“If one day I become someone who only takes from you… If I were like that, will you leave me?”

And MC’s response—“You silly fishie, I won’t leave you. My life has long been consumed by you; it’s nothing but a delightful mess now.”—is everything Rafayel needs to hear. This is exactly the kind of moment I had been hoping for in his Omnipotent Perception card. It’s raw, honest, and shows Rafayel opening up without needing to be pushed. It’s so intimate, so beautiful.

The Abysswalker References & Poetic Imagery. The imagery in this card is stunning. Rafayel’s loneliness, the meeting of the dunes and the ocean, the fading sounds of the sea—it all paints a picture of his inner world. The reference to Lemuria only adds more depth to his longing and isolation. It's poetic, and it really made me feel the weight of his struggles.

The Off-Rider Ride Back. Little moments like this really made me appreciate their relationship. MC falling asleep on the off-rider, comforted by Rafayel’s presence, and not wanting him to leave on his own. small details, but they speak volumes about how close they’ve become.

The Kindled Animation. it might’ve been short, but his expression, the way his desire and restlessness are so clearly conveyed, it was intimate. Do i wish it was more visually daring? Sure! But I still love it.

The Morning After. This is the part that really gets to me. Rafayel reflects on his relationship with pain and inspiration, confessing:

“I once stubbornly believed that only pain could bring me inspiration. Like a sea that’s about to dry up. Love and art are so alike. Even if they don’t complete me but burn me instead… I still want them with every fiber of my being.”

This line broke my heart. It’s a painful truth about his past, where pain was his only muse, his only means of creation.

For me, this card represents everything I’ve loved about Rafayel as a character. Watching him open up, and talking about his obsession with pain is deeply moving. But it’s not just about him; it’s about their relationship, too. Seeing how far they’ve come, how MC has become his safe space, how they’re now talking about life beyond pain—it’s such a beautiful transformation. This card feels like a love letter to everything that makes Rafayel so special: his complexity. It’s messy, raw, and not perfect—but that’s what makes it beautiful.

[definitely-mothman]

Murphy’s Law

Rating: PG-15 (Suggestive Dialogue, Swearing)

Word Count: 9,430

Pomni sets up an after-work get together to give her and Caine something to do that afternoon besides mourn their loneliness. Some crappy movies, and a dinner; nothing particularly formal.

Unfortunately, the day seems determined to go wrong at every chance it gets.

*partially inspired by @pikavani ‘s office au and @pinkieriver ‘s pre-TADC human AU concepts.

Read On AO3 (Iink)

Full text fic under read more.

February 14th. Valentines’ Day. Get cozy and romantic with your beloved, or drink yourself into a stupor trying to forget you don’t have one.

But for Pomni, it was just another day at the office. Another 9-5 shift making sure that everyone’s paychecks (including hers) would go out on time, and that they weren’t accidentally committing massive financial fraud. Boring, but it allowed her to space out a bit while on the clock— a nice breather from the environment of her cubicle, sterile despite the various paper heart notes some coworkers had left her from other departments.

When it finally hit 1, she could take lunch. She always chose the same spot, at the far edge of the break room where there was a window overlooking the street. Even if it was gloomy outside, she could use seeing the sky every once in a while.

It was only maybe 5 or so minutes into her break that she found herself distracted from the YouTube video she was watching, a figure pacing aimlessly in her right peripheral. It was Caine, moving about with a sour gait not quite like him. Pomni took out an earphone, and paused the video.

“Are you spending your smoke break just loitering around?”

He seemed surprised that she had even addressed his being there.

“It’s not my smoke break—I just needed to stretch my legs a bit.” he sighed. “This day has made me want to scream.”

Pomni swallowed another forkful of the ramen in front of her.

“Really? I’m shocked, I thought you’d be stoked about it being Valentines'. You said you liked decorating your office for this sort of thing.”

“I’m trying to, but this day’s just been…” he waved his hands about like he was attempting to throttle the air.

“My car’s getting the tires adjusted, so Abel had to carpool me up this morning— aka I woke up earlier than I’d ever want to and then spent most of the drive in an atmosphere so stifling it could kill someone. The shitty weather outside is playing with my mood, and to top it off I’ve been stuck on the same error message all morning, and I can’t figure out what changed between now and yesterday night when the program worked fine.”

“Ugh, I feel that. —not the program error message part, but the weather is definitely putting a damper on things.”

He reclined a bit on the centermost break room table, still occasionally letting up to pace a bit.

“-Oh! Actually, I had to change clothing like 15 minutes before work this morning because I spilled my coffee on myself. It still burns a bit on my lap.”

“What, are you trying to imply today’s cursed?”

“No, just wanting to share sentiment on the crummy morning bit.”

Caine laughed a bit at that one.

“Fair enough. But, you know, it’s just all of that, and then most of my work day is spent either in isolation or listening to other people gush about their plans and the people they care about—it’s enough to make someone feel really lonely, hah–”

“You don’t need to tell me that, I’m already mourning a wasted afternoon.”

“Yeah…I have no idea, either. Going out for something fun would help my spirits, but it’s too cold to do anything outside, and everywhere else I’ll stick out as a sore single.”

He said it with a laugh, but it didn’t muffle the disappointment in the words.

You could say it gave Pomni a bit of audacity. Delusional wishing, even. To be frank, the sentence slipped out faster than her mind had time to think over its implications.

“Well, if neither of us have any plans, maybe we could do a little get-together or something.”

He paused, forcing her to continue rambling on.

“Like, get some dinner, hang out at my apartment for a bit, watch some crappy Hallmark movies or something.”

She hoped her words didn’t sound as awkward as she felt.

“…It’d at least beat being mopey by myself. Lots of people do stuff with their friends on Valentines’ Day, I could even see if it could be a group thing—nothing too formal.”

A thick silence sat between them for what felt like forever, with Caine finally breaking it with an answer.

“So…you’re asking me on a date after work.”

“It’s not a date, just a dinner-movie-shitshow thing so that I can have some fun on a crummy holiday.”

A smile threatened its way across his face, his head turning a bit to where he was side-eyeing her.

“Mm-hm. Sure thing”

“—If you don’t want to do it, then don’t come! You were the one complaining about it.”

“-Hey! I never said no! I’m fine with having a little play-date or whatever–it at least gives me something fun for the afternoon.”

It was an uplifting feeling in Pomni’s chest, although it also felt like her heart was currently being digested in her stomach.

“So, you’re okay if I come and get you after my shift? I know your shift ends like an hour earlier than mine.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just clock off and do some cleaning for a bit–oiter in here if I need to. Yours ends at 5..?”

“Yup, 9-5 today.”

“Neat. Okay, I… I suppose I’ll see you then.”

His posture had relaxed considerably by the time he left, his walk regaining the usual bounce on his left leg.

Only once he was fully out of the room did she fully allow her heart to race the way it had been, and silently curse herself for offering the idea in the first place.

God, she had just asked him on a date. The guy she’d been lowkey crushing on for like… 6 months or so now. Just flat up asked, blunt as a sledgehammer to the forehead.

Yeah, yeah, they were friends, had been friends since she’d been hired, and Caine more or less forced his way into her good graces. But, she just asked that straight up. She’d offered to use her apartment! Her house! What kind of a first-date baseline was that?!

But she’d already said it, wooed over by puppy eyes and the opportunity to hang out with a guy she liked. The chance to make someone happy that she didn’t like seeing upset. Especially when he’d normally be doing that for her. She’d already asked, and he’d already agreed.

At the least, her afternoon would be fun, if she could hold her embarrassment until then.

“Hey, Raggie…”

The bright-eyed ginger poked up over the edge of her desk.

“Oh, yeah Pomni?”

“Do you…have any plans for this afternoon? I was thinking of doing a sort of get-together-type thing with dinner after work today, and I was curious if you’d be interested- nothing too serious, just watching some movies together and stuff with the others.”

Ragatha diverted her gaze down a bit and laughed nervously.

“Uh, I’m afraid I can’t..I’m flattered though! I just—you know, I’m celebrating Valentines’ Day with my family this afternoon. We’re having a nice dinner outing, and it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to talk to either of them…I’m really sorry.”

“No! No, it’s fine! It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, I a hundred percent understand you would likely already have other plans! I hope you enjoy your evening with your family!”

“..you too, Pomni.”

Damnit! There went one piece to make the whole thing less awkward. Not that she could share that intention—she didn’t need something like that spreading around the office. She could only leave at a ‘no’ and hope someone else was available.

As the day clicked on, she asked more and more, finally exhausting all avenues. Gangle and Zooble had dates they were going on (with who, they didn’t specify, but there was plenty of speculation to fill that gap), Ragatha had her family stuff, and there was no point in asking the married couple in the office. Jax claimed to have some romantic outings as well to attend to. Pomni was pretty sure he was lying about that, but at that point his being there wouldn’t have helped any, so she just left it alone.

It seemed this was her fate, and that she would just have to try to be normal about it, somehow.

It was fine! It would just be a casual thing. Just getting dinner, watching movies at her place, and chatting. That kind of stuff happens every day—she was just caught up in the whole ‘Valentines’ Day’ thing.

Life wasn’t a rom-com. She’d survive.

5:00 pm hit Pomni like some mix between a firing squad and wedding bells. She’d finally resigned to the events of the afternoon, logging off the clock and heading up towards Caine’s office. She knocked on his door, but after a second or two of not answering, she simply just opened the door and entered.

He had actually been getting up when she walked in, which embarrassed her a little, having more-or-less plowed into the room. It seemed he’d spent the extra hour attempting to organize his office—although he’d more ‘moved the clutter to different places’ instead of getting rid of said clutter. There seemed to be some new clutter as well– a stuffie was thrown dejectedly against the wall. Pomni went to retrieve it and sat it upright on Caine’s desk. It was a green and yellow crocodile(?), with a little hat that had fallen off somewhere between its trip across the office. It was cute—she’d never seen it before.

“You good to head out? I was thinking about calling some Chinese in. Some stir-fry sounds good about now.”

He spent a moment packing a duffel with the few things he had been using: a phone charger and his cell. Leaning up against the wall to keep himself from dropping his cane, he slung the bag across one shoulder.

“Hm. I can grab some as well. Would at least save you some money on gas.”

“Cool. We can call it in once we get downstairs.”

They left the office, navigating the fire escape staircase towards the parking lot.

“Wait. Should I use your phone to call in my order? Do I call in separately with my phone? I wouldn’t have put it up if I’d known that.”

“Oh, it doesn’t—it doesn’t matter. I thought we were going to call in separately but it doesn’t really affect anything.”

“We can’t call at the same time though—the line will be busy with whoever gets through first.”

“Yeah, and?”

“It’s just not very…ergonomic to split up the calls when ultimately we’ll have to go one at a time.”

“That’s a weird way to say you don’t want to get your phone out of your bag.”

Caine huffed with a stifled giggle.

“-Shut it! You know what I’m talking about!”

They made it out to Pomni‘s car, passing the phone back and forth to make dinner plans. When they finally finished, Caine leaned forward, looking up at the sky through the front windshield.

“It looks like it’s gonna rain.”

She was fiddling with the car’s aux cord.

“Shush. You’ll jinx it.”

When they pulled up to the Chinese Restaurant, he unbuckled his seatbelt, got his cane, and left the car before Pomni even had a chance to park. She hadn’t even had the chance to yell out, and he’d already ducked into the building, leaving her sitting by herself in the car.

She had half a mind to get out and follow him, but…the cold air that had shot through the briefly open car door convinced her otherwise. She’d just…keep the car warm. Pomni sat back in the seat, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

“This fucking guy…”

It was so dumb. Caine worked in an entirely separate department from her, and they didn’t even get to talk that much. Whenever they did have a chance to talk, he’d incessantly yap for most of the conversation, almost speaking too fast for her to keep up with what he was saying, and randomly changing topics at a speed to break someone’s neck. With a crooked gait, an overtly eccentric personality, and a height that was even shorter than her own, there was nothing about him that should be enamoring in any traditional sense.

And yet, this guy…something was so hopelessly, heart-poundingly… cute about him. The endless chatter, the childish whimsy, the way that a grown man in the modern day referred to her as ‘miss’ for so many weeks until finally confessing that he’d forgotten her name…

It should be annoying. It was annoying. But the longer it went on, the more she realized that it wasn’t some joke that hadn’t let up. He was really that earnest—unapologetically who he was, for the best and the worst.

It was… endearingly sincere. It was…unbelievably charming.

It had started like that. A bit of banter here and there, him introducing her to a lot of the other coworkers she now considered friends. Little sticky notes that he’d left on the edge of her cubicle with drawings of bees on them. That little ‘crush’, that ‘interest’ had slipped beneath her skin without her noticing. Only a few months ago she’d finally concluded that that ‘interest’ was romantic.

Every moment since then, the seconds they were alone felt as though there was an unresolved tension to them; she’d had a lot of daydreams to which she’d sooner die than confess.

But– that wasn’t his problem. He was her coworker and friend—anything beyond that wasn’t her choice to make.

Pomni’s wandering thoughts were pulled by the pitter of raindrops on the windshield, gradually picking up speed.

The restaurant’s front door finally opened again, and Caine stumbled his way back to the car, barely managing to hold onto both of their meals at once alongside his cane and wallet.

…wait a minute.

“Don’t tell me you seriously paid for both of us.”

“Why not?”

“—how much was mine?”

“I’m not telling you!”

He had the dumbest smile on his face.

“Caine, I have money, you don’t have to pay for me.”

“You’re driving me, I pay for food. Consider it as covering the electricity bill.”

It quickly became apparent that it was pointless arguing it any further. He didn’t even have the receipt—he likely chucked it before exiting the building, specifically because he knew she’d have this reaction. So off they sped, the rain turning to a delicate drum roll.

“Sorry to leave you sitting in the car for so long. Considering we were under the same phone number, I figured I could just pick up both.”

“It’s alright… I figured you just wanted me to keep the car running since it’s so cold out right now. I should’ve given you money before you ran in–“

Caine waved his hand, shrugging.

“What, I’m just trying to treat you! It’s Valentines’ Day—I can bear the expense.”

“But that’s like..a date thing! It feels like I’m obligated now.”

“Pomni, you’re speeding up.”

“-Oh my god.”

The rain had picked up to a substantial downpour, and she had lost some focus on the road. Thankfully, they hadn’t hydroplaned, although the thought briefly came to her that maybe it’d be better to crash and not have to continue the conversation.

“Jesus, the rain’s so thick you can barely see through it. Your apartment isn’t too far from here, right?”

He was trying to be lighthearted, but the car swerving just before had clearly left him a little rattled.

“It could be safer just to eat this stuff in the car and finish the drive there when the rain lets up.”

“We’re just like a few roads over, it’ll be fine.”

“Oh-Okay. By the way, do you have an umbrella in the back seat?”

Pomni almost slammed her head into the steering wheel, if not for the fact that might threaten the car to swerve again.

She did not have an umbrella in her car.

She’d left it at the office, bringing it in because of how stormy it’d looked that morning. But since nothing happened, and she’d gotten preoccupied with all of…this, it was still abandoned next to her desk.

“Nope. No umbrella. I’m afraid we’ll have to book it in—I left the damn thing.”

She pulled into the parking lot, not in a spot as close to her apartment as she would have liked, but not miles away at least.

“That’s fine– I don’t know if it’d help much in these circumstances, to be honest.”

They both unbuckled, Caine taking off his outer coat and getting the wrist strap of his cane on. Pomni reached into the back seat, bringing both of their bags to the front.

“Why did you take your coat off?”

“Figured you could put it over your head or something.”

Her confusion was palpable, and he picked that up from her facial expression.

“-you can bring the food in. You have the apartment keys, and I’ll be slower on getting up anyway. I can take our bags if you can’t carry both.”

“-I can carry them, it’s fine-“

“-But then you’d be the one carrying everything!”

Pomni ducked towards the door, hoping that he couldn’t see how frazzled she was.

This was all so corny! Giving the girl your coat, paying for her dinner…ugh! She was here to watch shitty rom-coms, not live through one!

She pulled the coat somewhat over her head, carrying the food in one arm and her keyring in the other. Caine gathered up the bags, hyping himself up to hop out the side door of the car into the pouring rain.

The experience could be described as no less than a torrential monsoon. Caine had been very much right in his assessment: an umbrella would have more than likely been inverted the second it was opened in this weather.

The coat, sweet of a gesture as it was, felt as inconsequential as a water balloon chucked directly into the sun’s surface.

Pomni tried to go as fast as she could to make it under the apartment awning, but the heels that were a part of the professional dress code meant she could only go so fast—lest she risk rolling her ankle and ruining all the food that he had just spent his money on. By the time she made it to said awning, she and the coat were completely soaked. The food not being completely drenched was a miracle.

It was freezing, and she was dripping, fumbling with her keys trying to open the apartment door, shivering all the while. The white blouse that was her office attire felt horrifyingly see-through wet–she needed to change into something else once she got inside.

Would that be rude? Changing into pajamas when you’re hosting other guests? Did she have extra clothes lying around that she could give him? What were the chances she owned any clothing that actually could fit him?

After what felt like minutes of fiddling, the key finally did its job, giving way to the quaint apartment space as she heard Caine coming up behind her.

“Should I…take off my shoes before coming inside?”

“There’s a bit of tile by the door, just leave them there. I’ll go get some towels and see if I have any dry clothes to change into.”

Pomni practically took out every towel she owned, with a particularly large beach towel getting some functionality it hadn’t seen in years. Caine loitered awkwardly by the door for a while, kicking his shoes off.

He finally moved onto the accumulating floor towels, taking a separate smaller one to dry off his head and feet. They’d left their shoes by the door—they both had to have been water-logged from sock to sole.

She continued digging in her room for any sort of spare clothing that she could have lying around. Unfortunately, living alone tends to mean most of the clothing there is in your size…and your size only. She’d changed into pajamas and new underwear, far more cozy than the soaking-wet office wear she’d already dumped into a laundry basket. She had something, surely…he didn’t deserve to stay on the floor all sopping and cold while she got to be nice and warm.

All she ended up being able to dig up was some pajama pants and a t-shirt that she’d gotten for Christmas a few years back, stuffed into the back of her bedroom dresser— she’d never gotten around to exchanging them for a pair her size, thankfully. She also got a bathrobe from her shower room. Just a little bit of additional comfort, considering she didn’t have extra underwear he could change into.

She more or less chucked them to him as she carried her own wet clothes to the dryer.

“Dry clothes! I can at least put the stuff you have on in the dryer..? Is that weird to offer?”

“Uh- Should I use your bathroom?” He balled up the clothing in his hands.

“…These aren’t yours, right? I don’t want to accidentally stretch-“

“—Never worn! Feel free to.”

He awkwardly shuffled himself off to change, while Pomni began unpacking the contents of their food. Because of the TV's placement in her living room, she usually just used the coffee table to eat. She took off some of the couch pillows and got more from the guest room to gather on the floor. Surely that wasn’t too bad? Sitting on the floor while eating is custom in some places…not just a habit of broke recent college grads.

In hindsight, giving him extra clothing was probably the strangest decision she could’ve made. It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea, more just her thinking about being able to tumble their clothes for a while during dinner, but– that wasn’t a thing most friends just casually offered each other, was it?

Caine emerged, with the pajamas surprisingly fitting him quite well. If anything, the pants seemed a little long on him.

“...Is it alright if I use your dryer for my office clothes?”

“Yeah, I’m tumbling my own. That was kind of the thought with the extra clothes.”

He seemed comfortable enough with that, dropping the bundle of wet into the dryer alongside hers—even going back to grab his socks he’d left by the door and throw them in as well.

“I’m surprised that those clothes actually fit you.”

“I’m surprised as well—and they’re very soft.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I should buy pajamas from the women’s section from now on.”

Pomni took the unpacked Chinese food from the kitchen, spreading it out on the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, the sizing in the women's section is atrocious. The pants are weirdly tight sometimes, too. I’ve had to return so many pajama sets because of that.”

“-as in, tight on the upper leg, or the waist?”

“Suffocating on the ass. Like the thing’s trying to turn itself into a pair of underwear.”

He nearly keeled over with what sounded more like a violent coughing fit.

After a minute or so,Pomni found herself laughing as well—the atmosphere was infectious.

Warm clothes, good laughs, and (hopefully still) hot food…the evening was shaping up to be enjoyable.

They finally got around to eating, clicking through the romance section of every streaming service she had. Caine wrote down the most notable ones on a napkin so they could go back to them later.

“Why is a movie called ‘Bigfoot Comedy Cruise’ in the romance section?”

Another scribble down on the napkin.

After not finding the specific breed of awful they were looking for, they turned to Bollywood categories, and general B-movie selections, even googling on the side for the absolute worst of the worst to see if they could play it. They could barely focus on eating, with one or the other almost breaking into giggles every couple of minutes over a dumb movie title or recognizing the same actor from a bit of browsing ago. Finally, the napkin was covered practically front to back in jittery handwriting, with the only remaining duty being narrowing down the comprehensive list.

A loud crack of thunder made Pomni jump. The lights flickered briefly in turn.

“I think we should watch every Hallmark movie with a shared actor and gradually make the convoluted story of this man’s life.”

“I’m still gunning for ‘Bigfoot Comedy Cruise’. It’ll have to be a strong argument to convince me otherwise.”

Caine clicked the pen shut, pointing at a series of movies written on this list.

“Okay, so this one has the guy as a construction worker, it seems to be Autumn. But in this one, he’s a toy maker-Wintertime. But, next winter, he’s the bad guy–anti-Christmas CEO. Something happened between these two films.”

Another bright flash of lightning cracked outside her window, followed closely by the bang of thunder.

“So the story is that a guy gets a bunch of odd jobs while hooking up with dozens of newly single women?”

“The most romantic plot you could ask for.”

Suddenly the room was plunged into an absolute pitch-black state. You could hear the rain continuing to pour outside. The TV had also clicked off, and Pomni could hear the dryer come to a halt.

He struggled to hold in another fit of laughter.

“Did the fucking power go out?”

“Of course it did. Why wouldn’t it, Pomni. This the day we’re having.”

She stood up, blindly navigating around the living room and making her way back towards her master suite.

“There’s a big camping flashlight in my closet somewhere. I’m going to try to find it.”

“Do you want me to use my phone as a flashlight back there?” Or just open the curtains a little?”

She didn’t answer, already busy trying to figure out where exactly her closet was.

She’d lived in this apartment for how long now? Of course, this had to be the first time she’d ever had a power outage. She’d just have to keep rolling with the punches as they came—it wasn’t like the rain had let up any.

Seemed it was going to be an ‘awkward sleepover’ kind of Valentines’ Day.

After digging around a bit, she finally hit the handle working her hand around the bins. She went to flick it on and nearly blinded herself with the beam that practically reflected off the wall with how bright it was. She clicked it off again, not particularly enjoying her eyes hurting.

“Found it!”

She got up and went to make her way back to the living room.

“This thing is stupid bright, it should kee- fUCK!“

An ear-splitting pain shot through her left leg, sending her spiraling to the floor. In the moment, she couldn’t help but scream—at least from pure shock. She’d twisted her damn ankle on the doorframe to her bedroom.

“Pomni? Are you alright in there?” She could hear Caine get up in the other room, shuffling around in the dark. Meanwhile, all she could do was lay on the carpet, stretching her ankle.

“Did you trip on the bed frame or something?”

His silhouette was visible at the end of the hallway, making his way over.

He stumbled slightly, decking his shoulder on the entryway with a yelp of pain. He tried catching himself, but in trying to grab at the wall, had dropped the cane, leaving him crumbling under the weaker of his legs.

He barely managed to not land directly on top of her, instead falling a couple of feet away from where she was lying.

He cursed a bit through gritted teeth.

“Ow—it seems that my leg twisted a bit there.”

Now they were both on the floor in pain, and the realization of it all made Pomni break down into a fit of exasperated laughter.

“Well, we’re both on the floor now. Did I end up chucking the flashlight down there when I tripped?”

“I don’t know-“

He crawled around a bit, passing his hands over the floor and along the bottom of the walls.

“I can feel my cane, I’m practically sitting on it…oh!”

He lifted the flashlight, holding it above his head in celebration.

“Found it!”

He turned it on, blasting Pomni in the face with the military-grade beams. She didn’t even have time to shield her eyes.

“Jesus Christ, watch where you’re aiming that thing!”

“O-Oh my god, I’m so sorry—“

“That thing could kill a small child with how bright it is.”

They both were falling over themselves with giggles.

He pointed it up to the ceiling, using the ambient glow to find the cane he’d left discarded. Pomni finally clambered to her feet, with them both returning to the living room (and their meal).

The thick flashlight lit up the whole living room when pointed up towards the ceiling, the warm light contrasting the hum of the storm outside.

“Stuck in a coworker’s apartment due to the sudden onset of a torrential downpour, two singles find themselves in the middle of a power outage on Valentines’ Day—“

Caine’s theatrical ‘movie trailer’ voice couldn’t help but make Pomni snicker a bit.

“—It’s like its own shitty Valentines’ film. Call it ‘Murphy’s Law.’”

He ate a few more bites of lo mein.

“Hey, I haven’t gotten food poisoning, so that’s going well.”

“Why the hell would you say that? Now you’ve jinxed it.”

She could barely make out his doofy smile at her comment.

He bounced his right knuckle against the coffee table.

“Fine, fine, knock on wood.”

They sat in silence for a while, just focusing on eating the food that had now gotten slightly cold. The gentle roar of the rain outside was hypnotic—Pomni felt herself growing more sleepy by the minute.

Caine leaned back against the base of the couch, looking up at the flashlight casting on the ceiling. His expression was so gentle…it made her emotions flutter up inside her stomach. She supposed his comment earlier was right. The whole thing just continued to play out like a silly rom-com. But, that was just a joke; she wasn’t going to overstep a boundary like that just because of a series of coincidences.

But it all had started to feel less like coincidences, and some of the stuff that made her the most flustered wasn’t coincidental at all.

“I…I guess you’re right.”

“Hm?”

Pomni finally spoke, just to stop marinating in her thoughts.

“You’re right—It could be a lot worse. I mean, looking back, I could’ve crashed the car and we would’ve had to walk back here in the rain.”

“You almost did. Scared the bejesus out of me when you swerved like that.“

She picked at the little that was left of her food. Her hands were certainly shakier than they had been earlier.

“-Oh, but if we’d crashed, we could find ourselves lost in the rain, and stumble upon a dimly lit manor, with no choice but to wander inside for the night~”

“And then we get killed by an evil doctor with a chainsaw?”

Caine tilted his shoulders, snickering a bit to himself.

“Mmm…one of us would be seduced by an evil doctor, and the other Frankenstein’s monster. Then, after a night of scandalous rendezvousing, a pair of aliens kill the doctor and creature—leaving us abandoned in lingerie at the side of the road.”

Pomni blinked slowly.

“…did you make that up on the spot, or is it a movie reference I’m missing?”

“Oh, come on!” He slapped the table lightly. “You invited me over to watch crappy B-Movies and you’ve never seen Rocky Horror?”

“What kind of horror movies are you watching?!”

“it’s Musical theatre!!”

The argument quickly devolved into cachinnation from there.

“That has to be the stupidest movie plot I think I’ve ever heard in my entire life-“

“-The music is good! Who cares about the plot when a CD of the soundtrack is this good?”

“You have the soundtrack burned on a CD?”

“I did it when I was like 15-16, don’t knock me that hard! Don’t tell me you don’t have any weird songs or posters lying around from when you were a teenager.”

“No, no, it’s just that—I dunno, the plot just seemed really raunchy for something you’d have burned on a CD in your house somewhere.”

“It’s not that bad! —well. It is that bad. But! There’s a really good song sequence during that!”

“..I can’t believe that you of all people would be trying to convince me of the fidelity of a film with musical number sex scenes.”

Caine emitted a sound somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated sigh.

“Pomni, I swear to god; when the power comes back on I’m showing you Rocky Horror. I’m not leaving before you see this movie, you are going to know what I’m talking about-“

A loud crack of thunder cut him off. He looked around a bit and slowly came to his feet.

“What is it?”

He rubbed his hands together.

“Don’t you think it’s gotten kind of cold in here? I mean, the power went out how long ago?”

“Oh.” It had gotten pretty nippy. “Yeah, it’s definitely colder than before the lights shut off.”

That wasn’t much of a surprise—the heater must have gone out with the power.

“Do you have any blankets in a closet or something? If you’re done with eating, we can move the coffee table and get some pillows and stuff together and make a nest of sorts.”

“..a nest.”

“You know! Like a pillow fort you’d make as a kid.”

“I mean, I could grab the chairs in the kitchen and just try to make a fort.”

It was a silly proposition, but it had also been a very silly night. Caine’s face lit up at the sentence.

“-Really? Like, actually? I was just being comedically defensive, but..I haven’t done something like that since I was little-little.”

“Yeah- we could stack up the couch cushions and use the kitchen barstools. I have some old quilts and winter ‘just-in-case’ blankets lying around, and I could steal the remaining pillows off the guest bed. Might have a few extras in the closet, I dunno.”

Pomni looked over near the doorway, remembering her work bag.

“The power might be out, but my laptop’s not dead; I could try streaming movies with it since the TV doesn’t work.”

“Ah–oh, okay! That’s cool! What closet is everything in?”

“There’s only four doors in the hallway– the closet’s the door that isn’t the bathroom or the bedrooms.”

He shot a furrowed gaze back towards her.

“Well, okay—when you put it like that-“

She couldn’t hold in her laughter at the faux pouty expression.

Pomni gathered all the pillows for the most part, taking 4 from the couch, 2 from the guest room, and 3 more from her bedroom. The couch cushions made for a nice ‘corner’ setup, using the chairs to box in the two cushions on the sides of the third. A blanket draped over the chairs above, and a plethora more gathered up in the little nook—it was a pretty comfortable spot.

It was also…fairly cramped. She sat wrapped up with the computer in her lap, pulling up the streaming apps like she had on the TV. But now, Caine was more or less leaning into her, propping himself up with a hand on the ground behind her back.

It was enough to make a girl scream. Hell, they were sharing a blanket or two. If there was more company present, like Ragatha, or Gangle, it would have had a cozy ‘childhood sleepover’ sort of feeling. But just being alone like this, it felt rather…

“So you actually got internet on this thing still. Hm.” He tilted his head, amused.

“Yep. Oh…kay, I’ve got all the stuff from earlier back up on here.”

The arm that Caine had been propping up on curled about Pomni’s side, gesturing to the screen. She flinched a little, with his hand barely grazing her waist.

“So are we doing Rocky Horror first, or original plan first? I’ll probably need to find that napkin I wrote everything down on-“

He looked over, seeing that Pomni was still trembling somewhat. The little touch had sent a sharp shiver up her spine, and she tilted the screen down, hoping that that would mask the vermillion that shot across her face.

He lowered his hand back down and tried leaning around, just a little closer to her.

“…Pomni? Are you..okay?”

“Yeahh yeah yeah yeah yeah I’m fine, sorry! Just had a little ghost chill there-“

He pulled his arm back around to his lap, changing stance so that his shoulder leaned into the couch base. His expression had gotten a bit downtrodden.

“I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I? Forgive me, uh- I’m not too good at reading people’s emotions sometimes. I’ve upset more than a few people because I kept going after not picking up on their subtleties, and I’d rather not do that to you as well.”

If she could picture it, Pomni imagined that her blush had just shot up three times in intensity. Her fingers shook at the edge of the laptop, just barely holding it in place.

“No, no—not at all! It’s very sweet that you ask that, but I’m… fine-“

Words continued to just fall out of her mouth, like the most embarrassing leaky faucet.

“-I’m fine, it—it’s just that, uhm…well, it feels a little..funny. Y’know, it’s Valentines’ Day and all, and we’re kind of…kind of snuggled up like this, and you’re really close to me and I’m really close to you-“

Caine’s eyes widened slightly, and he scooted himself an inch from her—not that he had much of anywhere to go. His pupils darted from her to the floor, and back up at her. Pomni could feel her stomach plummet through the apartment floor.

“Oh! Oh- okay, I- I get it, I apologize, really— truly, sincerely. I wasn’t meaning to give you the implication that I was...I’m sorry, you must think I’ve been super creepy. You didn’t mean for this to be a romantic thing, and- I’ve probably been giving you that implication. I’m so, so sorry.”

His eyes just pointed down towards the ground, occasionally flicking over towards her, him wringing his hands in his lap.

His hands seemed shaky as well, and each breath had grown staggered and heavy.

She gently sat down the laptop, kneeling over to plant her face in her hands. It was frankly shocking that her cheeks didn’t burn a fever temp with how mortified she felt.

‘You never meant for this to be a romantic thing’ but she did! She wanted it to be and was trying so hard not to make it like that! It ‘wasn’t a romantic thing’, but god, she wished it was.

Maybe it was? Was that statement a confession, maybe? He’d covered her meal, gave her his jacket to run out in the rain, went to check on her when she’d fallen in the hallway—had proposed this stupid little fort thing that had put them in such close proximity. And now that she’s brought attention to it, he’d entirely shifted, a lighthearted and extroverted demeanor immediately turning inwards and nervous.

Was it? Was it just her being delusional? Wishful thinking? Or was all that intentional—even orchestrated to put her in this exact circumstance? He’d been the one who came in during her lunch break, moping about having no plans for the afternoon and generally having a downer of a day.

Was it presumptuous to think that maybe… he’d agreed to this with the same thought process that pushed her to initially propose it?

It felt like her palms might start to collect drool. The pang of each heartbeat made her head shake.

Caine leaned over slightly, pushing himself up in almost a crawl, trying to look over at her face.

“…hey…pompom? Are you— are you alright…are you upset at me? If you...if you need me to leave, I’ll leave. I don’t-“

She lifted her head slightly out of her hands, and the light of the laptop cast enough of a glint on her face to make out the pink crossing her cheek and brow. It was only visible for a second; she immediately shifted her face back away from him, covering it further with her hands.

She swallowed loudly.

“You’re such a moron, Caine.”

He could feel himself break out in a near-immediate fever, sitting fully up.

“…huh? W—huh? Wait, no, nonono..”

All he could manage was a collection of stuttered noises, each less resembling a word.

“Ah,, but..that’d—no, that’s..”

Pomni finally turned back to him, dropping her hands from her face.

He had moved more to sitting on his knees, almost covering his mouth with a hand.

His eyes darted off when she tried to make contact, the usually bright blue and green of his retinas subdued in the room’s darkness. In the dim glow of the laptop, it was clear he was also blushing—it was worse than how she looked.

She reached up, taking his wrist and pulling the hand away from his mouth. Raising forward to her knees, she pulled closer to him, gathering both of his hands in her own.

He was the quietest she’d ever seen him, barely whimpering out a few words.

“…you can’t be-”

She closed her eyes, turning her head just slightly. He was breathing heavily in staggered gasps—his breath slightly brushing against her face.

“-you can’t be serious.”

She let go, leaning forward and taking his jaw in both hands.

“..I’m serious.”

She fell into him. Or he fell into her. Either way—there was now an overlap in their bodies where there had been none before.

Caine’s balance fell back with how her weight had shifted into him, his back slamming into one of the propped-up couch cushions. It almost made the chair it was propped on topple over, with him grabbing the bottom rung to stabilize himself.

Pomni hung her arms sleepily over his shoulders, gripping a part of the T-shirt with a white-knuckled grip.

His mouth was warm, her tongue barely pressing through his parted teeth. His hand hovered just above her waist, fingers twitching.

He was leaning into her fully, trying to recenter his weight—she could feel his heartbeat pounding with each pulse against her chest.

She pulled out of the kiss, just barely, taking one hand out from behind him, setting it on his, and guiding it the rest of the way into her waist. Their eyes opened a little, but only half-way at most.

“..what is it? Are you scared to touch me?”

Her fingers lightly tapped on his hand, which was still shaking where it held.

Caine sat up a little and leaned forward. His eyes were almost black with how dilated they were; his head nodding lazily like he was too drugged to keep it upright.

The hand he’d been using to balance came up, snaking under her shirt, tightly holding just below her rib cage. He pressed forward into her, lifting on his knees slightly to put his head above hers. It was forcing Pomni to lean back, almost in a dip position with how her spine bent.

Full force, no hands barred. As if he could tear her open and make himself home. A bit of overexcitement, breaking the skin on her lower lip with bit-down teeth. Not letting up, even as blood entered his mouth. It was aggressive, almost unlike him—desperately pressing and pulling at any part of her he could reach.

She grasped tightly on his hair, elbows crooked about his neck and forearms leaned against the back of his head.

It must’ve only been a minute, but it felt like several hours. Just held there, in the gentlest of hands, which nervously curled over each inch of skin. She imagined that she must’ve stopped breathing, just falling deeper into his body—even her mind had gone completely quiet.

Possibly, for the first time in her whole life.

He suddenly pushed off, breaking away from her. He even scooted back, awkwardly scrambling to his feet. He cupped one hand in front of his mouth.

Pomni could feel her heart sink, the blood completely leaving her face.

“Caine? What’s-“

He staggered over, eventually propping himself up on the kitchen counter.

She could feel the start of tears welling up somewhere behind her eyes, slowly coming to her feet and walking over.

“…Are you alright? Was I- was I too forward, did I misinterpret-“

His eyes were atom-thin, gripping his chest.

“No, no I’m- it’s nothing with you. It- my heart feels like it’s beating so fast, it’s making my ears ring. It doesn’t...I don’t feel-“

He pushed forward, practically shoving her to the side.

He’d gotten up for a reason. Kneeling over, he threw up into the bin.

Pomni rushed back towards the bathroom. There were still some small hand towels she hadn’t used up earlier.

She ran one under the sink, wetting it and wringing it out.

He had sat down next to the trash can he’d thrown up in, clutching his knees.

“Here” she handed the washcloth over to him. “To wash your face off. If you need, I can get another to put on your neck-“

“..yeah, if you could.”

Go back, get another. There was some mouthwash left in the medicine cabinet, she brought that back as well. It took a couple of minutes for him to finally move from his spot, rinsing his mouth out in the kitchen sink.

He went back to where they’d been earlier, sipping water while resting his head on her shoulder. He was avoiding her eyes.

He sighed.

“I feel the need to apologize again.”

“You’re the one who threw up—I understand. So much for the no food poisoning bit, though.”

“No, that wasn’t—“ he took a deep breath.

“I was just…so nervous.”

Pomni looked over, seeing his eyes cast down to the floor.

“I don’t think I’ve actually kissed anyone before. Not seriously, not like..that. I really had…I’d come to grips with the fact that I wasn’t going to be attractive to other people. Not physically, anyway—probably not emotionally, either. And then, I’m proven wrong…maybe.”

“What..? Why maybe?”

“I don’t know. Just a sinking feeling; maybe Jax put you up to this, or something like that. I just know that I’m not anybody’s first choice, usually.”

She glanced down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap.

“I liked it. It felt good, even. Really good. I could’ve stayed like that forever. But that thought kind of hit me—it felt wrong that I should be here, doing that…with you.”

“-So you see me as out of your league?”

“I…guess that’s how you’d word it. That feeling made me start to think I was- that I was having an experience that wasn’t mine to have. That I was unsightly, even. Disgusting with how much I wanted to stay in that feeling. Like I was committing some unforgivable sin, and that any moment, the hammer would come down. Death row, gallows, the whole nine yards.”

“And that-“

“—I panicked. I didn’t want to, but it felt like every inch of me was firing off a million miles a second, and I could hear my heart pounding in my head faster and faster and faster. It was so nauseating, that…I guess it made me physically sick.”

They sat in silence for a minute or so. Pomni reached over, and took one of the hands in his lap, intertwining her fingers with his own–letting their arms droop to the small space between them.

After a few seconds, his grip tightened around her hand.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, and nobody put me up to this.”

He lifted her eyes slightly, matching hers.

“…this has…”

She took a deep breath, almost laughing out of sheer nervousness.

“…this has been going on for easily a couple of months now. Every time we were alone, every little gift and compliment that was thrown my way, made me feel like I was breaking out in hives.

I wasn’t going to be the one to ‘ruin’ a perfectly good friendship—one that you likely didn’t have interest in being anything more than that. So… I tried to keep every reaction subdued as I could, to pretend that I didn’t crave anything further whenever we were by ourselves.”

His fingers tapped lightly on the back of her hand.

“I was dreading this whole afternoon. Being stuck with the person that I couldn’t say anything to, couldn’t act on any impulses, for fear of ‘ruining’ it.

And then, you…you said that I probably wasn’t meant for this to be romantic. That, you were probably giving that kind of implication. And you apologized for it. For…making me feel cornered in a romantic situation when all I ever wanted was to be in that corner.”

After a brief silence, Caine snorted a bit, laughing through his nose.

“So you were dealing with that all evening? I’m surprised you didn’t crack sooner.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“…I know you usually split 50/50 on meals. I know that it isn’t unusual for friends to spend Valentines’ together. I know that it’s a silly movie trope to give a girl your jacket so that she doesn’t get rained on. To change in somebody’s bathroom. To hang out at someone’s apartment like this.”

He smiled, although a bit sadly.

“I just…wanted to tease you a little, I guess. Poke at the hypothetical apple of good and evil I knew I couldn’t have. Play along, pretend a bit—Like that you knew about my feelings already, or that this was always a romantic thing to begin with.”

“And then the power went out and you threw up in a trash can after making out with the girl of your dreams.”

“…yeah.”

Pomni laughed lightly, raising her arm to look at their clasped hands.

“Is all that why you reached around me when I was doing stuff on the laptop?”

“..no. That was accidental, actually.”

She spun her head to him, who looked like he was on the verge of cracking another smile.

“Seriously? So you ‘accidentally’ brushed my waist there? And didn’t realize how close you were getting to me? You were practically cheek-to-cheek with me.”

“My personal space understandings aren’t the greatest. Is there such a thing as a physical Freudian slip?”

She sighed.

“…Caine, you really are a moron. I just hope you know that.”

“I’m aware. The most aware I’ve ever been, actually.”

They had cuddled up together over the course of the conversation, with one of the blankets now wrapping both of them. The laptop had long since been shut and sat to the side—she couldn’t think of when that happened. Maybe when they were making out?

His gaze drifted gently across the floor.

“Well...what now?”

“..? What do you mean, what now?”

He lifted her hand in front of him, now clasping it in both of his.

“Like- is this..are we ‘a thing’ now? The kiss, confession, everything, was that a ‘last-ditch-confession-before-I-never-see-this-guy-again’ kind of deal or an ‘it’s-Valentines-day-so-sure-I’ll-humor-it’ kind of thing..or genuinely a serious ‘please-will-you-be-my-boyfriend-soulmate-whatever’ scenario? Just so I…don’t get the wrong idea, moving forward.”

“-Do I need to ask you formally? I thought the relationship thing was..kind of clear. Considering everything I just said, at least.”

“…Is that a yes?”

“I would literally make out with you again, right now, if you hadn't vomited less than an hour ago.

Does that answer your question?”

Wow–he really did blush easily. Add another item to the list of his best qualities.

Was it only with his guard down that he could get flustered like this? She was a bit disappointed she hadn’t gotten to see something like this sooner.

“Really? But- why? Why? I mean, I’ve kind of already gone over it, but…I have the charisma of a semi-truck, I have a hyper fixation on old cartoons that barely even exist anymore, I can’t shut up if someone had a gun to my head, I have the soundtrack for Rocky Horror Picture Show burned on a CD somewhere in my house!

I was too nervous to make the first move in any sense of the imagination, I have this stupid fucked-up leg that I have to carry a mobility aid everywhere with me because of it, it just…why? Why on all of God’s green Earth would you choose me? Me, of all people, to hopelessly pine after.

For Christ’s sake, I have a brother in the same building as me with a better build, more money, who actually knows how to talk to people without sounding like a total crackpot!”

“—It’s because you have the charisma of being hit with a bus, and the fact that you can’t shut up. You have this light-hearted gait—I’ve practically memorized what you sound like coming down the hall from your footsteps. You’re just—

…you’re warm. You’re funny, even when you’re not. You’re so sweet, just- bending over backward constantly for people who never asked you to, me included. You want to see people smile and do so much to try to make that happen. It’s so easy to be happy around you, to be comfortable, to feel…safe. Your blind optimism is infectious, and your laugh makes me want to laugh with you.

I genuinely feel happier when I’m around you. It feels- it feels good to be right next to you like this. It makes me feel warm— warm and fuzzy.”

Caine paused a bit, eyes wide. The smallest of smiles fleeted across his face, and he sunk into this charmed expression. ‘Stupidly infatuated’ was the only way Pomni could think to describe it.

The power suddenly kicked back on, the lights clicking to life–akin to staring directly at the sun. She stumbled over to the light switch, squinting, and went to turn off the lights again. They’d been in the dark so long that she was used to it now; plus, it gave a little cozy romantic atmosphere to everything.

She was happy to hear the heater hum to life again, though.

Caine had gone back to laughing like he usually did, having briefly screamed when the lights blinded him.

“Keeping the lights off?”

“Yeah, and turning the dryer back on. It’s more ambient.”

He stood up, putting her laptop back in the bag.

“Guess we can continue with the evening then? Crappy movies and all?”

“Crappy movies especially.”

Well past one in the morning, they had worn down for the night, collapsed on the couch cushions spread across the floor, and curled up into each other. It had shifted from a play date to more of a date date, but the atmosphere more or less remained the same. They were still the same people, she supposed—just people that had made out one time. And probably would again. Hopefully.

Caine ran a hand through her hair, brushing his thumb along the curve of her ear. He was on the verge of passing out himself.

Pomni was barely awake, head against his chest.

“…This has probably been the best Valentines’ Day I’ve had, you know. And it’s your fault…”

He barely opened his mouth to speak, the words coming out as mostly a whisper.

“It’s probably the worst Valentines’ I’ve had as well. Funny how that works.”

She tilted her head a little, planting a kiss against the bottom of his jaw.

“..Thanks for making this the best-awful Valentines’ Day of all time.”

She squeezed him a little bit in a hug.

“‘Mm-hm.”

“I love you, sweetheart.” He shuffled a bit, his hand pausing on its course. “...I feel like I could say that until my throat gives out. And then I’d probably still keep trying to say it. Good night, dear.”

She moved, tucking her head against his neck, and pushing a leg between his two.

“…Good Night, Caine. Happy Valentines’ Day.”

[corviiids]

If possible, could you talk about your favorite lines from either telltale or call me by? Or just about the little bits and pieces behind either in general? Because I'd love to hear about it! :D

[No pressure though! Feel free to ignore this ask if it bothers you ^^;]

you are VERY kind thank you so much. people taking the time to ask me about my words is never a bother i am very honoured!!!

from telltale - a few random ones:

The amount of agency he has during these dreams fluctuates, but the awareness is—more frustratingly—pretty stagnant: it's there, oh yes, but it's there in the way your keys are there when you've dropped them in the drain.

pretty straightforward line but i like finding fun ways to describe the unique weirdness of dreams. the idea of reality being very visible to you but frustratingly out of reach is just fun to me

“What normally happens when you're feeling guilty about something?” L finally swivels to eye him. “I already told you that you can have it,” he says. “If you're feeling guilty, just go buy me more right now.” “That's not what I meant,” says Light. Then: “Is that why you offered it to me? So I'd feel bad and buy you more?”

L and light's dream interactions were super fun to write, because of this need to balance light's ordinary sharpness and focus with the fact that he's in a dream and that your agency in dreams wavers. so he keeps buying into these misdirecting bits of dialogue from L even if he's not strictly falling for them. also, funawa propaganda (pastry shop in jp) it got mentioned in L change the world and rightly so because the youkan and sweet potato cheese puffs literally haunt me every day i miss them so fucking much

“I didn't think so,” says L, nodding with some solemnity. “Domestic life, it's more a matter of going through the motions, isn't it?”

me trying desperately to force my agenda that lawlight aren't really in love per se and that the domesticity is sort of a function of something else, no less intimate, but not traditionally romantic. i just think they're so interesting when they're not "dating" but they are, like, eternal soulmates obsessed with each other forever. in the same vein:

“Do I love you?” Light asks. “It doesn't really matter to me,” says L. “Do you love me?” “That doesn't really matter to me, either,” says L.

ok last one

Light knows the layout of the apartment he shares with L by heart. So well, in fact, that when he falls out of bed in the middle of the night to stumble gagging to the bathroom, he'll smack into the east wall feeling for a door that isn't there.

MAN i just really like playing with dreams that fuck you up so bad they bleed into reality. i have nothing deep to say about this i just like fucking with light yagami and ruining his life

ok heres some from call me by im putting them under the cut

i think my favourite recurring idea is light's thing about friendship and loneliness:

I don't mind talking to my classmates, but feeling lonely isn't just about having people around you. Well, how do I put it? I guess talking to them doesn't make me feel less lonely.

light is a very isolated character to me. this is a pretty simple line but it happens surprisingly early on for being a fairly vulnerable confession, given how guarded light is. i think the unique situation of the bodyswap makes L a more intimate confidant. anyway later in the fic L says he considers light a friend

at this point in time, i already consider asahi-kun a friend. . Really? Okay. Then I'm glad you're my friend. :)

after that, light repeats the point a couple more times

I can't let you die. You're my friend. [...] You’re my friend.

i know these aren't like poetic lines or anything lol but i am fond of them because i like the idea of light, like... getting permission to consider L a friend and then kinda labouring the point after that, worried about L but also just like "wow! i have a friend!"

[reluctantlyanimating]

BOOK ELEVEN BOOK ELEVEN AAA

BIG SPILLERS FOR BOOK ELEVEN

OK I WARNED YOU

AAAA

I had two things for book eleven but like cmon

Had to share this one, and i can use the other one tomorrow since i don't have anything epic for it otherwise sob

I drew this when i thought his hair was black for some reason bc despite my 800 rereads idk i just

Nothing clicked.

Then for a while after that i thought he was blonde bc blonde moustache and i kinda like that idea but then the wiki says he's also a redhead so like

Yeah, ANYWAY

How to Betray a Dragons Hero is my favourite one of the books i think 🫶🫶 from start to finish it's just such a masterpiece of an emotional rollercoaster. The moment it starts we see even more the devastation Furious and Alvin's war has wreaked, the dragons having caused forests and cities and islands to be reduced to ash in their rage and the Alvinsmen having driven these dragons further into their rage by killing them and stoking their anger every single day.

And then there's Hiccup and i just

The poor boy ok

I look back at how young he was through the series and find having started as younger than he ever was and now being older than we ever get to see him (excluding the epilogue) it feels like I've grown up with him.

And with Fishlegs.

I may resonate with this book most bc we all have an idea of what it is to be othered by society. The loneliness Hiccup and Fishlegs face, the isolation Camicazi faces for truly her first time now standing with these two boys, and the hope for better resonates deep in me.

I love how Cressida, in all her novels, seem to center around this quote of hers from wizards of once.

"We have to trust in the children and hope for the best."

She puts so much emphasis on the childlike hope, the lack of cynicism and the reality that change IS possible if you're willing to chase it. And even if you don't see it come to fruition, it's a matter of two steps forward and one step back.

Hiccup makes it to tomorrow (literally lives another day) because of Snotlout realizing that no matter what, you can start to fight for the better. The war ended because of Snotlout's act of selfless bravery even though he never saw the end of it.

I think another reason these themes resonate with me is it also aligns with some biblical aspects. How Jesus said that children would inherit the kingdom of God, and how childlike faith is necessary.

These are definitely thoughts i wanted to tack onto book/day twelve but oh well, here we are.

I really love these books and hopefully have some musings left for book 12 tomorrow. Happy Doomsday!!

[lambilegs]

thinking about how lee harker would spend christmas.

I think on most years, she'd go back to ruth's house on the day of. it just feels wrong to be away from her mom on christmas day, when for the first eighteen years of her life, it was always just the two of them. drying and hanging orange slices, lee helping ruth wrap presents for her coworkers, lee doing drawings of santa and his reindeer -- those moments rest and sleep in lee's chest, sometimes awoken when an unexpected surge of nostalgia hits her. as she got older, and ruth became more hazed and distant, christmas no longer was a day that lee awaited with wide eyes and eager crossings of the calendar. it just became a day she resigned herself to spending with her mom out of obligation. not that it was completely dreadful. her mom and her still shared some normal conversations, bouts of laughter and a dip into past traditions, like watching films together. but, even those often left her feeling a bit emptier than when they had started. for things were so different from before, and no walks down memory lane changed that.

she tends to feel the same way as an adult, too. dread upon reaching her mother's home, disgust and stress upon seeing how much worse the hoarding got, hugging her mom, letting herself fall into the false pretence that everything is okay for a split second, then being shattered as soon as her mom says something that reminds lee of just how not okay things are. but, lee stays. for her mom, and partially, truthfully, for her own sake too. both in fulfilling an obligation that'd gnaw at her otherwise, as well as be able to indulge in... better memories. even if just for a second.

there has been the occasional christmas where she couldn't go to her mom's due to a particularly hard case she had to work on. as carter chuckled and said every year, "the job never stops." while she feels guilty, delivering the news to her mom in a low tone, part of her also softens in relief at not needing to bear witness of what her mother, or their once shared home, has become.

these christmases are usually spent in solitude, at home, crouched over a case just like any other day, some christmas film playing in the background for some noise. lee doesn't get a tree, she doesn't decorate her home, encapsulating none of the spirit that's so fervently promoted this time of year. she's not a scrooge by any means, she just isn't really into celebrating much of anything. her birthday, christmas, halloween. she doesn't feel a thrill from any of it. maybe it's due to some unhealthy investment in work, or because she doesn't have anyone to really coax her into festive activities. she's more than content to spend any holiday by herself, comforted by the familiar walls of her cottage and the scent of pine. most people can't stand being alone on christmas, but to lee, christmas is nothing but a day that carries remnants of what feels like an entirely different lifetime. she doesn't mind treating it like any other day, and throwing herself into work so that she doesn't get too caught up in the useless wandering thoughts of how this day might be if things were different. if her mom was better, if it wasn't just the two of them, if lee wasn't so alone.

she doesn't mind the loneliness. in fact, she thrives on it. but, every now and then, especially on a day like christmas, where community is celebrated and honoured, she can't help but break from her usual flow of life with the lingering questions of: what would it be like to not be alone? how would it feel to spend this day with a person, or people, who she actually feels at ease with? do such people exist?

because the truth of the matter is, while her isolation has been freeing in adulthood, a paradise she can slink off to after the long hours of intensive cases and talkative coworkers, she sometimes wonders if she's become tangled so far into this web that she can't escape. if she's so far gone, so accustomed to her way of living, that she'll always be absent of company on the days where another person might... actually benefit her in some way. days like christmas, or days where she can't sleep because the details of a case are seeped too far into her mind, rotting away any semblance of peace. what if, sooner than she expects, she starts longing for some help, some relief? what if, by the time she reaches that moment, she's unable to fulfill the want?

as she watches the snow drift outside her home, creating a soft, thick layer of white along her windows, she can't help but wonder: is this solitude really better than company, or she has just managed to escape any fulfilling connection from her dependency on the former?

she sighs, then continues making notes on the documents. maybe that's a question for another night.

[thedragonagebigbang]

Bang Creator Interview: Tumblr: @bardandbear 

The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!

Interview with Kes

Kes and Dema talk DA homecoming, tragic plotlines, and inlfuencing you (yes you!) to buy a [redacted]

Dema: As an artist who creates a lot for the Dragon Age fandom, what inspired you to start?

Kes: Well, I've always loved stories and fantasy, but I wasn't really able to get into the visual (gaming) side of things until I built my first PC with my dad when I was 15. The first thing I did was dump an extraordinary amount of time into Skyrim, and then I was recommended Dragon Age Origins as a similar game on Steam. I'd always been sort of arty but never people - Dragon Age Origins really changed that and I desperately needed to draw a bunch of the stories I'd imagined (and written) for my Warden. The reader/writer to artist pipeline if you will. The DA storytelling was like getting to read a book, but instead I could interact with it and see it. Totally changed the game for me.

Dema: Were you playing them as they came out?

Kes: I think that was a little bit after DAO came out, but I played DA2 and DAI on release

Dema: Have there been any lulls in your Dragon Age devotion, or has it remained pretty steady?

Kes: My interest built up steadily but I went properly unhinged around DAI's release and the 3ish years following. Adulthood was a good distraction in the hibernation period between Trespasser and DA4, and I actually foolishly thought I'd been reformed, then the DA4 news really started dropping and I've completely fallen for it all over again. It feels like coming home.

Dema: I'd love to ask what specifically about it feels like a homecoming 💖

Kes: Nothing since DAI and Trespasser has quite scratched the Dragon Age itch - that very specific combination of its exploratory lore, very unique takes on magic and world-building and the character complexity. I've spent the whole time hungry for more of Thedas and wanting to know what happened/what will come next, nothing could actually fill that void. Enough time made me sort of forget about the intensity of said Dragon Age itch but after the gameplay reveal I was like, oh yeah, this is what I have been missing.

Dema: Right?? I think it's the depth of the character development for me, in particular. Do you have a favorite character or plotline? Something you get your teeth into and want to shake like a dog?

Kes: Oh so many. I adore the loneliness and isolation and despair of the warden Mahariel questline, Alistair actually asking your Mahariel what the Dalish do to mourn their loved ones in a game that had up until that point largely ostracised her continues to alter my brain chemistry to this day. Morrigan and Flemeth's deeply troubled mother daughter relationship is always so meaty to dig into, every time they resurface I think we get more tragic layers. I think the evolving plot over what spirits are is probably my favourite in the series though, the way they interact with the world, what they've become vs what they were? Makes me insane actually.

Dema: I am losing my mind over that glimpse of Morrigan in the DA4 trailer. Since this is also an artist interview: did any visuals in the game particularly strike you? A demon's design, a location, an object, or something else? And related to that, is there something from DA that you particularly enjoy as an art subject?

Kes: Like basically every artist in the DA fandom I'm fairly sure the DAI tarot card art style changed me as a person. In general the progression from DA2's stylisation to the DAI stylisation I think is really lovely and I've been trying to incorporate some of that texture and movement and composition into every artwork I've done ever since. Surprising absolutely no one, I've actually really loved drawing DA elves, so many of them fit what I call the 'elf lines theory' where they have this very 'geometric' shape / proportions. I feel like Solas does this in the most exaggerated way because there's no distraction of hair, but all elves are my favourite to draw for this reason.

Dema: Do you have any tools you can't live without? 

Kes: Unsure if this is allowed because it might sound like a bit of a shill, but I would like to shout out my trusty tablet that I've had for almost a decade and I still love using. For anyone who has been a Wacom user their whole lives, I really urge you to try Huion tablets.

Dema: Not a shill, I for one love to know what other artists like using! When you're working on a collaboration like this, what does that process look like for you?

Kes: Generally I will read/watch something and an idea will really 'catch' me while I'm doing that which I want to draw. What's really fun about this collaborative process is getting access to the artist that inspired me to really pick their brain and test my ideas against their vision.

Dema: Oh that's exciting! How's your progress on the Bang piece? Are you feeling excited about it?

Kes: I think the challenge has been the story I'm trying to capture has a lot of really rich progression of character over a long period, so I've had a lot of different ideas I wanted to represent, and I had a lot of original concept ideas that I've sketched and combined and discarded and taken elements from. It's been an evolutionary process but I think I did finally get to turn a lot of those ideas into a cohesive main piece I'm really excited to see finished.

Dema: I am very excited to see it, too! Thank you for taking this time to be interviewed, Kes, it's been delightful.

Kes: No problemo!

[musedriven]

@dnangelic said // ' towa! ' his mother and father are out, and his grandpa is resting in the mansion someplace. it's only the niwa and the guide to eternity that he hurries towards, then hesitates before, then decides to embrace anyways. here, in the house where he didn't have to keep any secrets, he could hug and hold someone for as long as he wanted or needed, or at least for as long as they would allow it, and he says nothing either as he squeezes, even as it makes him transform. ' i'm sorry, ' his flush only comes afterwards, soft and summery across dark's usually colorless cheeks. his whispers too lull in a soft, bashful fluster, black wings reaching out, stretching free behind him. ' i know it was a little sudden, but i just wanted ... i was starting to feel a little --- ' he tries, then gives up the endeavor of explanation. loneliness did not seem palatable at a moment like this, so he gathers himself up and tries again, this time smiling, soft and bright with comfort and sincerity. ' i'm happy you're here, towa-chan. i'm really happy. that's what i wanted to say. '

she looks up from her dusting when he approaches; a question upon her tongue as to why he called out for her but the answer is made clear before she can even form the sentence. a hug. something so simple and trivial yet so powerful. a hug needs no words to accompany it to convey so many different things. a promise, a declaration, a show of vulnerability, a question that could not be asked yet still begging for an answer. a cry of loneliness and a cheer of love. and if she is being honest to herself; she needed it just as much as he seemed to. it was isolating being atop her tower for so long always looking in on yet never truly being apart of every adventure and life that passed around her.

so when he grows in her returned embrace she simply smiles wider; holding just as tightly even as she adjusts her position to better accommodate the change. the apology promptly swept away with a flutter of her duster near his face. he does not need to explain. not to her. neither of them do, really. because in her own way; she knows. and she will never ask him to be anything more than what he is. a person who longs for belonging just as everyone else. " oooh! you're going to make me transform too if you keep being so sweet! " she teases, stepping up onto her tip toes to place a kiss upon his temple. she loves him too. " i'm glad too... I was so happy when you found me; and being here, getting to know you, getting to be known... it's the greatest gift I could have ever hoped for. I will always be here for you, whenever you need me. and for whatever you need me for, guide, maid, or friend... "

[kalevalakryze]

Inkblots

Pairings: Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Bo-Katan Kryze & Din Djarin, minor Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth/Boba Fett, Bo-Katan Kryze & Grogu, Din Djarin & Grogu Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, The Armorer, Din Djarin, Grogu, Cobb Vanth, Boba Fett Warnings: s/h scar mention, scars, past violence, past abusive relationships, Pre Vizsla mention, Moff Gideon mention Notes:idk it’s the way I absolutely live for these tattoo au’s where The Armorer fixes Bo’s Death Watch Tattoos and turns the designs into something beautiful, also, kind of based around my own tattoo situation? Very loosely Summary: “Have you ever thought about getting that tattoo covered?” Din questioned as they sat on the dock, her boots just brushing the surface of the lake. “I used to think about it,” Her eyes trailed down to the inky scar tissue across her forearm, the shriek hawk that had been shoved into her skin as a teenager, ink bleeding out to practically give the long white and purple scars a dark backdrop as they wrapped around her arm. “Too much work, I guess. And it’s part of who I am.” “If you’re ashamed of it, why carry around the guilt?” “I’ve done a lot of things, Din Djarin. Sometimes it’s the reminders of who I was, and who I am, that help me get up in the morning,” He seemed to ponder this a minute, as he tossed a crumb from his sandwich into the water, a fish breaching the surface to swallow it. “What if you have it turned into something new?” He suggested as he brought his boot to scrape the rotting edge of the dock. “I guess I haven’t met the right artist in a long time, it would be hard.” Pre was the only one she’d let touch her skin with the tattoo gun, she’d avoided all kinds of artists who’d talked about fixing the work or blown out ink for years. That kind of trust was hard to come by these days, especially for her. “If you ever change your mind, my mom’s good,” “Yeah? Maybe I’ll check her out,” AO3 Link: Here!

Loneliness was not a new concept for Bo-Katan Kryze, it was just another long line in the list of consequences for the actions of her youth. Except, through the darkness, there had been a light. Din Djarin, a younger man, a good dad, and a pillar of support that Bo had wanted nothing more than to leave her alone. Still, every day she spent in her isolation, he would visit, he would even bring his young son, Grogu, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she loved the kid, and he had been absolutely obsessed with her.

Each day, the clan of two would show up at her door and take her with them on some wild adventure. The amusement park had been genuinely fun, and she’d gotten a lot of pictures, and when they’d left that night, she couldn’t deny that going through them had brought a smile to her face.

When Din had introduced his partners, she’d been a little more on edge. She hadn’t exactly been the best to the Fett kid, but even with their rocky past, he still saw past it, had been polite, and had welcomed her into their game night. How Cobb managed to turn Dungeons and Dragons into a cowboy themed role-play game was lost on her, but it had been fun nonetheless.

It was just Din that day, when he’d showed up and asked her to go to the lake with him. He’d seemed contemplative, far in his own head, and she’d felt that herself, hadn’t wanted him to lean into the isolation like she had, so they’d went on their way.

The docks were old, the city abandoning the property it was on when they figured the wastewater drained into the body of water anyways. It hardly counted as a real lake anyways, and they hadn’t been able to stop the dumping, so it had been left alone and marked an overflow reservoir. No one really ventured out that way due to the decomposing conditions, which made it a perfect place for the two Mandalorians, who found a stable piece of the dock to settle on.

Din hung his backpack on a rusty nail sticking from one of the wooden posts, which seemed in much better condition than the rest dock. “How’s Grogu?” Bo questioned as she dropped herself onto a seemingly dry plank that didn’t try to cave in with her weight pressing in on it.

“He’s doing good!” The younger Mandalorian always brightened up when he got to talk about his family, it was a good look on him, seeing him happy, especially with what she’d told him about his recent troubles with his adoptive family. “Cobb and Boba took him to the farm for a few days while things got sorted out,” His brightness slipped, arms crossing his chest as he looked out across the small lake, still standing, he let his boot kick a small rock on the dock.

The dock creaked as the rock tumbled, though he didn’t seem to notice. “I love them, I do, My mom, and Paz… It just doesn’t feel fair, that I try to do something right for Grogu, and-“ He never got to continue, when his weight shifted next, the rotting boards under his feet splintered and broke, and he was being swallowed by the dark, murky abyss of nasty lake water.

Before she could even fully process what had happened, Bo-Katan was already shoving herself off the dock, headfirst into the water that Din was thrashing for purchase in. The water was too dark to see in, and when she tried to open her eyes, the chemical waste stung. She had to focus on the movement of his thrashing to find him, and when his fist met her arm, she was able to grab a hold and start shoving him to the surface.

He hadn’t made it easy for her however, thrashing the entire way, inexperience in the water evident as he kicked his feet with no direction. They breached the surface and he managed to just barely keep himself afloat long enough for her to give a hard shove to his back. “Grab the dock!” She sputtered, directing him to the intact wood she’d been perched on moments before.

Swimming around him, Bo grabbed a hold of the old wood, hauling herself up and swinging her leg over until she could set her knees into damp wood, grab a hold of his forearms, and yank him up and over as well.

The lake went still, both of their ragged breaths filling the late afternoon air as they sprawled across the dock, absolutely drenched and dripping excess through the slats in the planks, back into the water. “I’m gonna smell like sulfur for weeks,” The damp redhead complained after minutes passed, her nose crinkling at the scent that wafted to her nose.

Every gust of wind had her shivering, despite the heat, so the redhead yanked her sopping wet shirt over her head. She trusted Din enough, at this point anyways. He was doing the same with his own shirt, trying to drape it over any available dry spot so the beating sun could work at least some magic on the clothing.

She had never told Din too much about her past with The Death Watch, had mentioned her involvement in passing, but he’d never seen the tattoos, or really, any of the ink or scar tissue that adorned her body. Neat lines of old scars decorated the insides of her forearms, making stripes in the different art that wrapped around her skin, the ink had never held up for very long, always bleeding out of the textured skin after a few years. Pre had offered to touch up her first piece, once, but then he’d died, and all thought of letting anyone near her with a tattoo gun went out the window.

She had the black shriekhawk inside her left arm with a patchwork of Nite owls and her family’s crest scattered across pale skin all the way to her shoulder, with blacked out tribal bands and thick geometric designs along her right. The paleness of her skin showcased light freckles across her shoulders and back, blue, green, and purple veins just barely visible around her wrists and neck. Scars were smattered randomly across the canvas of her back and torso, fingernail imprints on the side of her throat, a scratch mark across her shoulder blade, a burn on her hip, and other smaller pieces that she only barely remembered the stories of. The Shirek hawk was torn by lines of neat scar tissue, when the goal had been to try and erase the visage. The ink bed out, but the design was still unmistakable where it remained.

She was a walking storybook of her tale, of why people like Din Djarin had been warned to stay far away. She’d only given him glimpses to who she truly was, had revealed parts of her story in slow increments, to try and scare him off, a warning to the true woman he was trying to befriend.

Like her, however, Din also wore his story on his sleeve. His shoulder was decorated with designs of a mud horn fossil, and while he also adorned the mark of the shriek hawk, it had seemed more evolved, reborn, like the Children of the Watch had been. They did not use the design often in their teachings, but with the beasts’ role in the tales, she had understood why they’d felt the need to reclaim it. A winding view of the Mythosaur of Old stretched across his back, tusks wrapping around his sides to tickle his ribs. There were designs that had floated on the backwater cities, back when Separatists marched the streets, spreading filth.

He never talked much about how he was brought into their culture, and she didn’t ask. Just like, as dark eyes followed the trail of ink and scar, the roadmap of her own story, he did not ask. The two settled in against the dock, while he dug through his thankfully dry backpack to toss her a wrapped up sandwich.

“Have you ever thought about getting that tattoo covered?” Din questioned as they sat on the dock, her feet just brushing the surface of the lake.

“I used to think about it,” her eyes trailed down to the inky scar tissue across her forearm, the shriek hawk that had been shoved into her skin as a teenager, ink bleeding out to practically give the long white and purple scars a dark backdrop as they wrapped around her arm. “Too much work, I guess. And it’s part of who I am.”

“If you’re ashamed of it, why carry around the guilt?”

“I’ve done a lot of things, Din Djarin. Sometimes it’s the reminders of who I was, and who I am, that help me get up in the morning,”

He seemed to ponder this a minute, as he tossed a crumb from his sandwich into the water, a fish breaching the surface to swallow it. “What if you have it turned into something new?” He suggested as he brought his boot to scrape the rotting edge of the dock.

“I guess I haven’t met the right artist yet, it would be hard.” Pre was the only one she’d let touch her skin with the tattoo gun, she’d avoided all kinds of artists who’d talked about fixing the work or blown out ink for years. That kind of trust was hard to come by these days, especially for her.

“If you ever change your mind, my mom’s good,”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll check her out,”

They spent hours at the dock, that night. Both of their phones were good and ruined from the water, so he’d never heard his partner calling him. Neither of them had a single thought about going on their way, drying off in the sun as they passed stories of what they’d been taught about their people, putting similar stories together to see the other side.

Headlights flashed as someone pulled into the empty parking lot nearby. Soon, the babbling of a child and two sets of adult footsteps filled the clearing, until Di’s partners, and his son were visible.

“Patu!” Grogu warbled, before his small legs had him running towards the two Mandalorians. It was not Din that he ran to, but Bo-Katan, who, with minor hesitance, picked him up at his insistence.

“Hey bud, did I keep your dad too busy?” She questioned as she balanced the small child on her hip, who seemed very interested in following the path of the scar that chased up her shoulder.

“Patu,” He nodded his head, as his face tried to form something akin to seriousness, though a crooked smile took over, before the boy was breaking out in laughter.

Bo handed Grogu over to Din, before she moved to grab her now, thankfully, dry clothes and tug them on.

“Went for a dip?” Cobb questioned as he moved to greet his partner.

“A little bit,” Din replied with a soft laugh and a shake of his head, shifting Grogu in his arms. “Bo, do you need a ride back?” He questioned, jabbing his thumb towards the lot.

“No, I’m good, let your mom know I might swing by soon, though? The Forge, right?”

“That’s the place,” They bid their farewells with the promise to see each other soon on the horizon, with Bo-Katan’s thoughts churning a hailstorm in her mind around the winding ink across her body.

[tigeradjacent]

OH MY GOD 😭😭😭 ARIIII 😭😭 WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN??? I’m so happy I took a day to read this because I actually cried I think you’ve changed my life ☹️ THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL TO READ THERE ARE TEARS IN MY EYES

THE WOLF/FOX COMPARISONS AND SUGUS UNWAVERING LOYALTY <//3 GOOD GOD MY HEART MIGHT ACTUALLY EXPLODE GODDD.. the mother wolf clutching her cub comparison too.. are you actually trying to kill me rn. He’s so mother!!!! And other canon jjk characters making an appearance I giggled every time <33

AND AND AND AND sugu making all of the breakfast himself ohhh I’m clutching my imaginary pearls you’re killing me here he’s such a caretaker 😞😞 he’s such a mother 😞😞 reader being a brat and sugu just. smiling and nodding because i think the similarity between all sugus is that they firmly believe reader could do no wrong. You can bite and hiss and bare your teeth all you want and he’s still all smiles and soft looks ohhhhh sugu the man that you are <33 not only that but the fact he’s so knowing, this was so perfect and you capture his character so so well because if there’s one thing that I think sugu does in every universe it’s understand. The way he sees through readers brattiness and the offstandish front they put up and understands they’re just so used to being seen as nothing more than royalty!!!! If I said reader was satoru coded…. How does chat feel about that…. satoru is used to being seen as nothing but the strongest and reader is used to being seen as nothing but a spoiled royal.. :3 I feel like both of those titles come with such an isolating loneliness and lack of genuine connection with people around them and suguru is so gentle and caring he’s just. He’s the perfect person to see someone as they truly are and let them know he sees (or wants to see) them as their honest self.

but genuinely the writing… the phrasing.. the language you used… everything :(( this is so so sooo beautiful I’m sniffling sniff sniff… <//33 firm believer that you are one of the best writers on this app I adore u and sugu so much 😞😞 huffing bawling sobbing screaming clutching at my skin I physically cannot explain how wonderful this was. I’m gonna be picking apart the entirety of this for the next few days in my head because honestly <//333 you write sugu soo welllll 😭 i think he’s one of the biggest victims of mischaracterisation in the fandom and the way you write him makes me sososo happy like. U get him u really do THE SUGU FANS LOVE YOU!!! AND WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICES!!! I enjoyed reading this so much I’m gonna come back to this to reread it 100%. I’m literally spinning you around and jumping up and down and giving you so many flowers screaming crying…. Sniffle snorfl

^^ these images directly represent all of the emotions I am currently feeling btw <//33

the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects ; suguru geto

synopsis; when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.

word count; 21.1k (this accidentally turned into a novella idk how it happened nobody look at me :’3 this is a love letter to sugu ok…)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, knight!sugu x royalty!reader, royalty au (not accurate to any time period ever), technically a bodyguard au, slowburn, reader is a brat and suguru likes it a little more than he should, reader also has thinly veiled daddy issues, protective sugu :3, he goes feral in one part (descriptions of violence and bloodshed), reader gets briefly kidnapped lol, very fluffy overall though!!, includes shifting povs & time-skips, also lots and lots of devotion, knight!sugu is real & beautiful & loves you specifically <33

a/n; HAPPY late BDAY SUGU MY BABY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE this fic has been in the works for a WHILE now and means a lot to me much like sugu himself :’3 dedicated to my beloved @kissxcore for infecting me w this concept & also my dear @mossmurdock for bringing knight!sugu into my life, both of u have made the brainrot infinitely worse and i will never be free (and ofc @softgirlgonehaywire & @dollsuguru & @jtkys for being the sweetest always) I LOVE U ALL!!!!!!!!

like most things, it begins and ends with a dream.

images form in the depths of your subconscious, wild and vivid, splattering on the canvas of your mind. a dream of cold metal, dark thickets, iron-scented skin — and a knight. 

(or… a wolf?)

before you is a small clearing. trees sprout from the rugged grounds, blooming proudly, clogging up the wool-coated sky. all around you lie empty, discarded suits of armor, dirty with rust and something that smells of death. wilted sunflowers stumble under their own weight, and dragonflies buzz in a frenzy, manic, driven to hysteria. in the distance you think you hear the shrieking of ravens.

and there’s a knight, just ahead, tall and imposing, covered in steel from head to toe. holding a blinding sword, facing the sky, doing nothing to stop the pitter patter of raindrops ricocheting off his burganet. you stand by the entrance of the woods, and watch him in silence. 

he looks a little lonely. 

and in comes the wolf. gracious, growling, big and bad, snarling and showing off the white of its fangs. dragging its claws against the ground, unruly fur ruffled by the harsh breeze; widening its maw, a silent fury on its tongue. from this angle, it looks a little like a grin.

the wolf begins to chase the knight. or maybe it’s the knight chasing the wolf — you can’t really tell. they run in circles around each other, like the sun and the moon, an orbit of violence, matching their steps. almost in harmony — almost, but not quite, because suddenly they’re closing in on you, great and ugly, beasts wearing different hides, and —

and that’s when you wake up.

”your highness!” 

a groan pushes past your lips, groggy with fatigue, and your eyelids flicker open like the drawing of a flimsy curtain. a series of mismatched little blinks, until your vision clears. 

above you waits a familiar face; impatient. one of the maids, your foggy brain tells you. and she isn’t pleased.

but all you do is drag your limbs up to cover your pillow-creased face, sluggishly, muttering beneath your breath. ”a wolf…”

silence. 

the maid tilts her head, with a furrow of her brows. 

”… excuse me?”

”there was a wolf,” you echo, a dreamy exhale muffled against the skin of your palm. stifling a yawn. ”and a guy… he was cool.” 

she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. settling back into her usual rhythm. mildy berating. ”did you have another one of your dreams?” she asks, a little irritated, and for a second you think you hear a tick-tock ticking down. ”at any rate — you need to get up. the king and queen demand your presence.”

ah. of course.

a huff, displeased, even as you force yourself into a sitting position. stretching your limbs like a grumpy feline. ”demands…” you murmur, a click of your tongue. ”they think they can just wake me up whenever they want? at the crack of dawn?”

”it’s 11 a.m, your highness.”

”early as hell,” you rasp, willfully tuning out her murmur of mind your language. letting your legs hang off the bed. ”what do they want, anyway?”

following your silent cue, she hums, walking towards the edge of the room. picking up your discarded blouse, and bringing it to you. ”i was told it was of utmost importance,” is all she says, lifting the fabric as if getting ready to dress you.

”i can do that myself,” you hiss, snatching the white silk from her outstretched hands. as always, she does nothing but sigh, sigh, sigh. it’s all they ever do. ”i’m not a toddler.”

from your position, still cozied up in bed, on messy sheets and fluffy pillows — you can see the view beyond your translucent window’s glass. a sky so gray it’s almost comforting, dark clouds forming in the distance, silently ruminating. when the maid pushes it open, and a cold breeze slips through the gap, you can smell the rain; heavy, earthy, daffodils and oak wood. in the distance, sunflower fields seek shelter from the downpour. 

but your eyes remain glued to the woods. far ahead, but still close enough to see — the woods you long for. the ones you’ll never get to see up close. 

a bitter taste blooms on your tongue. 

(spitefully, your teeth sink into the tender flesh of your bottom lip.)

”fine,” comes a heavy sigh, ruefully resigned. forcing yourself into compliancy. before you can change your mind, you hop off the mattress, running your fingers through tousled strands of hair. ”i’ll go see them.”

and she brightens, visibly, disapproving frown smoothed away with the breeze. for now. ”thank you. they are worried, i’ll have you know.”

a scoff, as you cross the threshold of your private quarters. humorous. ”i bet they are.” 

”your highness,” she calls, following close behind. her tone is reprimanding, now; you will yourself not to shrink. ”we almost lost you.”

”i almost got kidnapped,” you huff. ”not the same thing.”

again, that exasperated sigh. it’s a wonder her lungs haven’t run out of air. ”do you have any idea who that man was?” 

the question makes your mind still. shifting gears, a clockwork coming to life, repeating it inside your head — do you have any idea who that man was? 

”… he was hot.”

sigh. you hear it before it comes, and raise your lips on instinct. 

”no, i mean it!” you ensure her, throwing a fleeting glance behind you. ”he just had that rugged look about him, you know? the scar and everything…” a blissful little exhale, as you gush over your would-be killer. ”what a waste. if only he had gotten away.”

”with you in tow?” the maid quips, raising a brow. her words are steeped in irony.

”of course!” another disapproving glance. ”i mean, did you see those biceps —”

”behave.”

with a flutter of your puffy sleeves, you turn around to face her. and ah — there it is. the hardness of her jaw, those frosty pupils, the impending signs of her dwindling patience. you can see it, hear it, that eerie tick-tock signaling the breaching of her limit. all humans have one; a clockwork heart, of sorts, ticking down to the moment they run out of leftover kindness to give unruly heirs. 

over the years, you’ve gotten expertly good at making the clock tick quicken. a skill you’re very proud of.

”and what if i don’t?” you bite back, just barely restraining your growing grin. delighted at the attention. ”he had nice biceps! what, am i not allowed to tell the truth?”

and the tick-tock quickens. she stills, just behind you, hands on her hips. frustration bubbling beneath her sharp syllables. ”my god, you are impossible today!”

for a moment, you stop to look at her. weighing your options. should you reel it back in, try and appease her? or keep pushing? the answer, as always, is push. it’s all you’ll ever do.

so you turn on your heel, and take a step forward, a spiteful grin curved into your lips. ”deal with it, or leave.” a beat. ”i don’t remember asking you to accompany me.”

before you round the corner, your ears pick up on one final harsh sigh. she makes no move to follow you.

(hmph.)

”where is your maid?”

in front of you stands a throne, proud and luxurious, polished marble, two seats right next to each other. the quarters of the royal pair are the same as always, vivid paintings hanging from every wall in sight, wolf pelts thrown over tables and windowsills. the scent of dried lavender seeps through the air, suffocating you. 

and, of course, the king. speaking to you with the same judgemental voice as always; one you’ve grown painfully accustomed to. 

”i wanted her to get me breakfast,” is the lie you decide on, finely tailored in white. just to make sure she doesn’t get into any actual trouble. ”you didn’t exactly give me time to eat any.”

the king sighs, mild disappointment laced into the breath. nothing new. when he says your name, it comes out sounding like a bad joke. ” — you aren’t a child anymore. one day you’ll be ruling this kingdom; forcing the maids to do your bidding won’t win you any favours.” 

”mhm.” absently, you fidget with the sleeves of your blouse. not quite listening. ”so, what did you want? it’s not often i’m allowed here.”

an evil glint shines in your eyes, for a moment. you cast a meaningful glance at the maid by your father’s side — his personal favorite. 

”don’t you have, ah…” you taste the words on your tongue. ”more pressing matters to attend to?”

he doesn’t flinch. as always, he pretends not to know that you know — that everyone knows. 

yet he still gives you that cold, cold look, colder than the howls of wind beyond the castle walls, cold enough to send a shiver down your spine. it makes you want to push, push, push. break the clockwork in half.

but he’s wise enough to follow your lead. “let me get to the point, then,” he cranes his neck, showing off the fox pelt snug around his shoulders. ”the queen and i thought it best to hire a new knight for you.”

you blink. eyelashes fluttering. all you can hear is the pitter patter of rain against the windowpane. 

then you groan.

”another one?” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet on the floor. ���please, no. it’s such a pain getting rid of them. you know they won’t last long!”

”we aren’t talking about any ordinary knight,” he tuts, as monotone as ever. ignoring your little temper tantrum. ”after what happened with toji zenin, we aren’t taking any chances.”

you tilt your head. confused, for a moment. ”toji?” the gears of your mind turn, clicking into place; zenin. a family of assassins, a man with a scar on his bottom lip. ”ohhh — the hottie.”

your father pretends not to hear you. 

”it was a close call,” he hums, and you muster the strength not to crack another joke about his biceps. it takes restraint. ”we need someone who can protect you properly. indefinitely, from even the stealthiest of assassins. so…”

your eyes meet his. gazes overlapping, the same colour, one above and one below. he’s always, always towered over you. for as long as you remember. 

that is what royalty means — absolute dominion. 

(it makes you want to curl into a ball.)

”today, you’ll be meeting with the greatest knight.” he says the words with an odd sense of pride, an inner satisfaction. ”he’ll be here any moment. i thought it best for you to get acquainted as soon as possible.”

a moment passes. you’re broken out of your bout of compliance, like a rubber band snapping. a clock tick quickening. ”wait, what?” you gape. ”father —”

”your majesty.” 

…

the correction is stern. gritting your teeth, you force the words from out your throat. ”… your majesty,” there’s a slight grumble to your voice, ”what the hell? now? i haven’t even —”

”you have no choice in this matter,” he cuts you off. coldly, coldly, coldly. ”behave, and there won’t be any complications.”

behave.

behave, behave, behave. it’s all they ever want from you.

(you might as well be a pet.)

the queen is silent, as always. eerily so, not saying a word, like a puppet on a string. she hasn’t looked you in the eye even once so far, not even a passing glance. not like you’d expect her to. her clockwork heart stopped beating for you a long time ago. 

automatons, the both of them. making decisions for you, like there isn’t a sliver of rational thought in your brain. how irritating.

you’re just about to part your lips, when —

”… am i interrupting?”

you still.

a velvety voice. silky, smooth, tailored by the finest seamstress — tucked between the slightest raspy vowel, a hint of something deeper. it sounds like honey, wine, a molten mass of spring clouds. 

the king ahead of you brightens, suddenly, lips curling up into a smile. it looks almost warm; you didn’t know he was capable of making that kind of expression. ”ah, suguru!” he calls out to the source of the noise. ”no, certainly not. forgive me for the short notice.”

when you turn around, you see a knight.

he’s beautiful. gorgeous, even. fair skin, sharp facial features, no scars to be seen. a sword hangs in a scabbard by his hip, and he’s wearing a set of armor, still glistening with the aftermaths of the rain beating down outside. his hair cascades down the metal like a black river, loose and silky, a single strand obscuring his pretty face. and his eyes are a soothing shade of brown; you’re almost certain they’d look warm, if there was any sunlight to engulf them. as it is, in the shadow of a murky spring morning, they’re a dark cedar, almost obsidian. but they look kind. 

and they’re fixed on the king. he’s smiling, too, a dangerous little tilt. disgustingly charming. he hangs his head in a bow, hand on his heart — reverent.

(ah. he’s one of those knights.)

”my king,” the strange knight greets, tongue wrapping around the vowels like a dragon curling around a pile of gold. ”not at all. i’m always grateful for an opportunity to see you.”

(oh god. it’s even worse than you thought.)

”i should say the same of you,” the king echoes, with a warmth that you’re wholly unaccustomed to. your stomach churns, swirling with discomfort. ”our nation’s pride and joy.”

the knight chuckles; muffled by his closed fist. he’s feigning embarrassment, you can tell. ”you flatter me,” he purrs, words flowing smoothly from his lips. too smoothly. ”i’m simply doing my duty as one of your subjects. but, needless to say — i’m honoured to have earned your respect.”

finally, his gaze shifts to you. and you think he must notice how disgusted you are, the reproach you feel for him, that silent contempt. because you aren’t trying to hide it; it’s there, clear as day, in the crease of your brow, your frosty pupils. lips pursed, like they’re aching to bare and to bite.

but he continues to smile. warm, still, like a mellow summer breeze. a well of pizzicato drops.

you feel a little nauseous.

”ah, and you must be the royal heir?” a tilt of his head, knowing. a shimmer of recognition painted in those ashen eyes. ”or should i say…. my liege.” 

he walks towards you, in long strides, slow and steady, only to get down on one knee. ew. ”forgive me; my name is suguru geto. your knight, from this day forth.” his palm unfurls, cedar eyes crinkling with feigned endearment. holding it out towards the subject of his newfound devotion. ”i’m delighted to finally meet you.”

(suguru geto. you’ve heard of him, of course. who hasn’t?)

his hand stills in the air, waiting patiently for yours; to bring it to his glossy lips. but you don’t do anything. nothing, other than studying his smile, picture perfect, tailor-made, sweet enough to melt on your tongue. so sweet you know it must be at least a little bit fake — the smile of a liar. 

it’s a smile you know well.

so you mimic it, a bitter glint in your eyes, only for your hands to retreat to your pockets. and out comes a purr. ”you’re a bad actor.”

silence. the knight doesn’t flinch, not even close, but he blinks, a flutter of his dark eyelashes. like a raven taking flight. that everlasting smile never falters, but for just a second, a clock-tick or two, you swear you catch the slightest hint of something flickering through his keen iris.

interest?

”forgive them, suguru,” the king is quick to chip in, finally stepping down from his throne to join you on the floor. the queen doesn’t move, but she gives suguru a fond smile, and it makes your grimace deepen. ”they woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning. and they’re a bit of a problem child — i’m sure you’ve heard.”

that makes you snicker, silently. maybe just a little bit smug. you’re sure it must be a headache for him to deal with.

”i can’t say i haven’t,” suguru chuckles, raising himself up from the marble floor. your smile falls. ”but it’s not an issue. i understand.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and you give him an unimpressed stare. wholly disinterested. trying not to squirm under his scrutiny. 

”i’m sure it must feel suffocating — being under this kind of supervision.” he gives you a tilt of his head, strands of charcoal following the movement. smooth, like a waltz, one you didn’t agree to. ”isn’t it?”

ah. the sympathy card.

before you can answer, he bows; hand on his heart. knights and their rituals. ”i’m at your service, my liege. if i make you uncomfortable, at any point, just tell me.” once more, he meets your gaze, a sincerity in his own — reserved just for you. ”really.”

… ugh.

to your right comes a pleased voice, deep and satisfied, as self-affirming as ever. ”i knew i could entrust them to you,” the king speaks, placing a palm on your shoulder. you try not to flinch. ”aren’t you grateful? this handsome, kind man is all yours.”

a sharp scoff is all you can muster, nails digging into the skin of your palm. but suguru only chuckles, good-natured.

they continue to speak, about this and that. you tune out most of it, caught up in preparing for the long headache ahead. sure, you’re an expert at getting knights to quit, but it takes time. weeks, sometimes, just to make them finally crack, push and push until their patience reaches its limit. and suguru seems resilient. more than anything, he seems thoroughly loyal to the king; that really doesn’t bode well for you.

but before you can formulate a step-by-step guide to making his job a living hell, the sound of your name snaps you out of your trance.

it’s the king, of course, as always. you hate that you still instinctively respond to his call. like an obedient puppy. ”show suguru to your quarters. he’ll be accompanying you indefinitely, from now on. don't give him any trouble.” his voice finally sounds cold again; a warning. ”i’ll hear about it.”

(indefinitely.)

a moment passes. then you sigh, deep and heavy, haphazardly hiding a roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah,” you cross your arms. ”i got it.”

suguru meets your furrowed brows with something gentle, a soothing little smile. offering his arm, for you to hold on to. knights and their rituals. ”shall we?”

but you brush past him. stubborn in your independence, in your desire to make this as discomforting for him as it is for you. ”follow me,” is all you say, a dissatisfied huff. loud enough to pick up on.

to your great displeasure, he matches your hurried pace. side by side, as you walk down the halls, the clicking of his shoes echoing against the marble. a shadow you can’t shine away; one that’ll stay with you indefinitely. you feel his gaze burn into you.

”my lord.”

”don’t talk to me,” you sigh, sharp like the sword by his hip. a low click of your tongue. ”just so you know, i didn’t agree to this.”

”that was my question, actually,” he grins, ever so slightly. fingertips tapping against his scabbard. ”i am sorry, you know. i meant what i said — i’m sure it’s difficult for you.” he casts you another one of those meaningful glances, a meaning you have no intention of discerning. ”but i have my orders.”

you bite back a laugh. ”you guys love those, huh?” when you turn your head to face him, still walking forward, he’s met with a taunting smirk. ”your little orders.”

but his smile doesn’t falter. damn.

”not a fan of knights?” he asks, instead, a playful lilt to his syrupy voice. coaxing, accommodating. infuriating.

”nope.” your footsteps quicken — but he keeps up, effortlessly. curse those abnormally long legs. ”you’re all just bootlickers. especially you.”

”oh?”

”don’t oh? me,” you snap, practically growling, ”like you weren’t seconds away from making out with the king back there. it’s all so fake.” the comment makes the corners of his lip quirk up, but you don’t turn around to see it. ”now that you’re alone with me, you’re already acting way less uptight, see?”

he hums. ”i figured it’d make you feel more at ease.”

”god, will you just cut it out?” a hiss breaks out of your throat, sharp and exasperated. tired, drained. you just want to go back to sleep. ”quit acting like you care about what i think. you’ll do whatever the king asks of you — that’s all you really care about.”

suguru stays silent, this time. matching your steps, observing you silently, out of the corner of his eye. the frown on your lips, the crease between your brows. etching them into his memory. you’re pissed, that much he can tell. and you definitely, definitely don’t like him. 

(”you’re a bad actor.”)

the knight comes to a standstill. parting his lips, enough for his voice to flow through, silken sheets and molten honey. a raspy tilt he tries his best to hide.

but his words carry a sincerity he could never fake. 

”from now on, i serve you.”

when the clicking of his shoes against cold marble flooring fades away, you halt. turning around, hesitantly, quirking a questioning brow. rain beats on beyond the window to your left, flicking against the glass, droplets clinging to the translucent surface. marigold petals kiss the windows in a flurry of cream and orange, fluttering about with the harsh bites of the wind, carried from the castle’s orchard. the endless hallway you find yourselves in smells of rainwater and spring.

suguru looks steadfast, where he’s standing, immovable. a little like a pillar of salt. when he speaks it sounds like he’s reciting a scripture.

”i’m loyal to the king. i have to follow his orders.” 

there’s something about his words that you can’t quite pinpoint. is it guilt or pride? ”but i am at your service. certain things are set in stone, but not others. i’ll let you decide how this goes.”

the hallway goes silent. he smiles, again, smaller this time. somehow more genuine.

”from now on, i’m your knight.” the pitter patter of rain mashes with the steady beating of a clock; rhythmic, soothing, a lullaby of rust and time. ”that’s all. i won’t be anything else.”

you stare. lips pursed, awaiting a clarification, but it doesn’t come. he’s giving you time to respond.

(he’s your knight, now. indefinitely yours.)

an inhale. the clock hands of your heart begin to move. ”in that case,” you exhale, lips curling up into a taunting smile. pleased with yourself. ”i promise to be the most insufferable lord a knight has ever had. i won’t make your job easy for you.”

and suguru only chuckles. raspy, like the bark of a tree, claw marks on the ground. ”good,” he grins, eyes rich with mirth, golden pears hanging off the branches. ”i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

he looks sincere. sounds sincere. all you do is blink, a sense of frustration nibbling at your heart, but the knight before you doesn’t falter. he only offers his arm to you, once more; a silent step towards reconciliation.

you watch him, silently. 

then you’re turning on your heel, swiftly, a low grumble at the base of your throat. ignoring him and his offer, walking towards your room with irritated steps that fade as you turn the corner.

behind you, suguru’s smile only grows.

”good morning, your highness.”

blinking sleepily, still regaining your ability to form coherent thoughts, all you can do is stare. studying the figure above you, towering over your half-asleep form, the deadpan expression on your face.

black hair, and amber eyes. a disgustingly charming smile. 

the gears of your mind finally click into place.

a whine flows from your lips, meek and disapproving, and you roll over to your side. pulling the covers over your head, as if to protect you from the existence of your newly hired knight. so it wasn’t just a bad dream.

but he doesn’t fade away, like an apparition. he stays right by your bed, crouching down next to it. you feel the weight of the mattress shift when he rests his elbow on the cushion. ”still too early?” he asks, soft enough not to grate your sensitive ears. ”i was told you usually get up around this time…”

a muffled groan. ”leave.”

”i’m afraid i can’t,” he hums, but you don’t sense much remorse. ”i’m not supposed to let you out of my sight for more than brief intervals at a time… that’s one thing i can’t compromise on.”

”i don’t care,” you whine, petulant. tightening your grip on the blanket surrounding you, desperate to savour the leftovers of your fuzzy dreams. ”’m not getting up…”

a click of his tongue. quiet, contemplative. until he decides on a course of action.

”would you like me to bring you breakfast, then?”

…

slowly, your eyes flicker open, consciousness beginning to stir. the tasty temptation rouses you from your half-slumber, ever so slightly; because he sounds sincere. he sounds like he really will bring you breakfast, if you just give him the order. 

it’s tempting. dangerously so. 

(how long has it been since one of the maids actually bothered to serve you breakfast?)

”… whatever,” you croak, finally. weighing the value of your own response — putting effort into not sounding too excited. (but you are.) ”sure. do what you want, just let me sleep.”

a relieved little breath slips from suguru’s lips, as he watches the lump under the blanket stir. ”alright,” he breathes. ”what would you like, my lord?”

(suddenly, you get an idea.)

a smug grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief on your mind. ”figure it out yourself,” you chirp, awfully pleased with yourself. 

silence. 

then, you hear him hum — rising to his feet with a quiet groan. ”understood,” he quips. ”i’ll be back as soon as possible, your highness.”

when you hear the creaking of the door, as he steps over the threshold, you barely restrain the urge to kick your legs in victory. now he’s sure to get you the wrong breakfast; and then you can be as difficult as you please, demanding something else, over and over. an ungrateful, spoiled little brat. that’ll definitely make him quit. 

— sadly, it seems you were underestimating him. just a tiny, tiny bit.

before you, on a silver tray, lays a wide variety of breakfast foods. everything from syrupy pancakes and buttery croissants to neatly cut sandwiches and porridge, slices of fruit and fresh lemonade, coffee with cream and sugar, tiny jars of marmalade and jam. sparkling, glittering, begging to be devoured. handmade, you can tell, meticulously crafted by someone who knows what they’re doing. with a gulp, you attempt not to openly salivate — you had no clue the kitchen workers were this talented. 

for just a moment, you’re entirely speechless. he really went ahead and got you some of everything.

stumbling for the right words, any words, the only thing that escapes your throat is a meek huff. meant to sound displeased, but coming out just a little awestruck. ”this is… way, way too much. are you insane?”

he only shrugs. a sweet smile on his lips, sharp jaw resting on the heel of his palm. ”well, you wouldn’t give me any specifics,” he reminds you, a bit too smug for your liking. ”just eat what you like. i’ll keep your preferences in mind.”

you want to protest, want to put up a fight. want to resist his charms, his little peace offering.

but your stomach growls, suddenly. loud enough that you’re sure he hears it, but you don’t turn around to see any silent laughter — just picking up the fork, embarrassed, eager to just get rid of the ache in your gut. eager to get a taste of the delicacies in front of you. with hesitance, you cut into one of the fluffy pancakes, slathered with syrup, trying to ignore his expectant gaze. biting into it with your eyes closed.

when the sweet taste curls around your tongue, you physically feel yourself perk up. letting your eyes flutter open, your eyebrows raised, a sweetness that makes you sit up straighter. it practically melts in your mouth, honeyed and buttery, and it takes all your willpower to withhold a blissed out little sigh. 

it must be evident, on your features. because suguru sounds amused when he asks; ”good?”

”... better than usual, i guess.”

despite your half-assed attempt at hiding how pleased you are, his ever-present smile extends. ”oh, really?” he leans back in his chair, right next to the bed. exhaling in relief. ”i’m glad. i was worried my cooking wouldn’t be to your tastes.”

…

you pale.

silently, both awestruck and horrified, you look up to meet his teasing gaze. ”wait. you…” a pause. silent, palpable, dreading his answer. ”… made this?” 

”yes.”

another pause. 

”… like. all of it?”

”mhm.”

your gaze falls down to seek solace in your lap. avoiding his own, biting down on your lip, not quite enough to sting. fuck — you accidentally complimented his handmade breakfast. not off to a great start.

wallowing in your silent loss, you simply dig in; desperate to savour it, despite the lingering taste of failure on your tongue. once you’ve sipped the last of your coffee, foamy and rich, the knight to your right speaks up.

”so, your highness,” he begins. tactful, careful. clearing his throat. ”now that you’ve woken up a bit… and, forgive me if i’m overstepping, but —” he searches for your guarded gaze, playing with the beginnings of a smile. ”i was thinking it’d be good for us to get to know each other better.”

”ugh.”

a chuckle — seriously, does nothing offend this man? — flits past his lips. ”oh, don’t be like that, your highness. don’t you think it —”

”cut it out.” you shoot him a glare, voice set to a shivering tilt. ”stop acting like some perfect servant. it’s so obvious you’re playing it up.” a tiny huff, as you pop an apple slice into your mouth. ”makes me sick.”

”… right. you called my acting bad, before.”

”it is,” you nod, a mocking imitation on your tongue. eyes fluttering shut as you bring a hand to your chest. ”oooh, look at me, i’m so humble and loyal! why, of course i don’t mind being summoned with no prior notice! would you like me to lick your shoes, my sweet king?”

and, honestly, you expect him to get at least a little bit angry. the last guy certainly was.

but suguru laughs, suddenly, from the bottom of his gut — a genuine sound. sunshine spilling from his lips, amusement laced together with the octaves. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, like the leaves of a golden ginkgo tree. ”okay, okay,” he puts his hands up, as if readying for a smooth surrender. still amused. ”i’ll try to be more… unguarded, then. would that satisfy you?”

you give him a look. 

he returns it with a smile. ”i’ll take that as a yes,” is all he croons, reaching a hand out. it hangs still in the air, waiting patiently for a response. a familiar sight.

you blink. looking at it, silently, as if trying to solve a puzzle in the pattern of his fingertips. 

then you sigh. ”for the last time, i’m not letting you kiss my hand, you —”

”a handshake,” he cuts you off. soft, a tilt of his head; awfully charming. reassuring you. ”no kissing involved.”

a handshake.

(come to think of it, you don’t think anyone’s ever tried to shake your hand before. it’s something you see other people do; maids, knights, butlers. people on equal ground with each other.)

after a moment of silence, you avert your gaze. there’s a slight, slight flush to your cheeks, one you hope stays hidden from his keen eyes. you grumble, intent on not appeasing him. ”… i’m not shaking your hand, either.”

suguru quirks a brow, smile yet to fall, waiting a few moments more until he gives in. ”you are difficult,” he chuckles, and it sounds almost pleased. ”kento was right.”

kento? now, why does that sound familiar…? 

”— but that’s okay. i look forward to getting to know you better, either way.” his hand retreats to his lap, pliant. ”eventually.”

”that’s not happening.”

”oh?” you swear that smile of his grows, just a little. a man who enjoys a good challenge. humming, closing his eyes for a brief second, switching tactics as if shifting gears. ”then, tell me — is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

hell no, is what you want to say. and you almost, almost do. eager to move one step ahead of him, stubborn in your desire to scare him off.

but then you remember the tale.

so you still, ever so slightly, and suguru leans forward. by a hair, noticing your expression, maybe, the curiosity simmering in your veins. seeping out, little by little, and even though you know you shouldn’t — you just can’t resist the temptation to ask…

”… is it true?”

he tilts his head.

”the … you know.” you move your hands, a bit, as if hoping they’ll say the words for you. they don’t. ”your sword. did you really…” a pause, as your eager gaze trails down to his hip, the scabbard attached to his belt. and then a gulp. 

”… pull it out of a stone?”

a series of silent blinks. then suguru chuckles — dripping with fresh amusement, a glimmer of teeth behind his lips. ”oh, so you’ve heard?”

and, like a pair of shooting stars, your eyes flicker over to meet his. almost gleaming with newfound excitement, a little erratic. ”is — is it true?”

”it’s an old folktale,” he’s quick to intercept. ”gets said about basically every great knight… or, what the public deems as good, anyhow.”

(ah. the humble facade slipped away.)

in a matter of seconds, you seem to deflate, slumping back until your spine meets the headboard. sulking silently. ”so you didn't pull your sword out of a rock?” you huff, mood souring again, a lemony flavour in your veins. ”lame.”

”stone,” he corrects, unperturbed. ”and i'm afraid not.” he gives you another one of his placating smiles, barely concealed amusement swimming in his amber eyes. ”i pulled mine from an oak tree.”

…

”wait, really?”

the gleam in your eyes is back. suguru almost, almost feels bad.

”depends,” he quips, shooting you a lazy grin. ”how gullible are you, my lord?”

(... oh. he was teasing you.)

an embarrassed heat crawls up your neck, rooting itself into the column of your throat, and all you can do to distract him from it is to scoff. sharply, as if hoping just the sound will be enough to cut into his smooth skin. ”whatever.”

suguru continues to smile, crows’ feet by his eyes, something deliberate in his silent stare. so you stumble for something, anything to say.

”also, can you quit the my lord stuff?” you settle on, taking a shallow sip of the lemonade. sour and sweet, nice and chilled on your tongue. ”it’s creepy.”

he blinks. a flutter of his dark lashes, fingers tapping at his bended knee. he looks contemplative, for a moment. ”does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, tilting his head. ”i can stick to my liege, if that’s better. just say the word.” 

”god, you’re so annoying,” you groan, licking the lemony residue off your lips. ”just use my name.”

suddenly, suguru stills. fingertips frozen, for a moment, no longer tapping at his thigh. he traps his bottom lip between his teeth, a hesitant hum crawling up the confines of his throat. 

”that….” he trails off, thumb absentmindedly smoothing over the leather of his scabbard. ”seems a little much.”

when you turn to look at him, he seems a little put off. uncomfortable, maybe — or just caught off guard? it’s hard to get a read on him. for someone who smiles so often, his emotions don’t appear very bright.

a pang of something grasps onto your clockwork heart, and a frown pulls at your bottom lip. frustration gnawing at your veins. ”you’re here to service me, aren’t you?” you ask, with a shallow huff. ”just do as i say.”

”well, i still have my boundaries.” suguru leans back, crossing his legs, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. ”and, on paper — i’m only here to protect you. the servicing is my own choice.” 

a very, very judgemental look. he returns it with a tug of his lips. 

”… you really do like being ordered around, don’t you?”

suguru shrugs. playful. ”makes me feel needed,” he purrs, watching you wolf down the breakfast he made.

once you’ve had your fill, he’s quick to gather the silver tray in his steady arms, and you do your very best to hold back from thanking him for the meal. it aches a little, but you can’t give in — you don’t have a choice. you can’t allow yourself to be anything other than the most ungrateful, annoying royal in the kingdom.

anything to snap his clockwork heart in half.

— a week passes with no particular developments. you try your damndest to bother him, but suguru is stubborn. stubborn enough that you’re starting to doubt he’ll ever leave you alone, no matter how much you ignore him, or hiss at him, or whine at him to make you an annoyingly specific assortment of breakfast foods.

he never stops smiling, no matter how bothersome you’re being. the tick-tock of his patience remains unbroken. 

(so for now, you figure you’ll just have to adjust.)

a sense of contentment simmers in the open air, when suguru knocks at your door, waiting for a groan and a grouchy come in. it takes you a few moments longer to respond than what he’s used to, and he notes that you sound a little less irritated when you do.

as he steps over the threshold, bowing his head instinctevely, he’s met with the sight of you fully immersed. holding a paintbrush between your fingers, lifting it, movements delicate, self-assured. like it comes to you without thinking. you’re seated right by the window, enough for the would-be daylight to flicker in. as it stands, the weather is still sour. 

he walks up to you, as always, never more than a few steps away.

and, for a moment, all he does is watch you. silently, as you dip your brush in smeary cobalt paint, a splatter of colour on the white canvas. melting together with the indigo and obsidian. there’s a certain rhythm to it, a kind of dance between you and your mind and the painting in front of you — not even close to being finished. a dip of your brush blooms into a jaw, a flick of your wrist into a set of fangs. cobalt cream and silvery edges, an imitation of what you saw in your sleep. murky, blurry, a dream-like clearing in the woods. 

as you work, a sense of relaxation smooths along your sinuses. coaxing you into breathing out, into letting your clenched jaw rest for a while. turning all your irritation into brushstrokes. into a hungry, hungry wolf. 

finally, your knight opts to break the silence.

”you’re quite talented.” 

it’s an earnest comment. filled with respect, not the idle flattery you’re so used to. and despite yourself, you can’t help but grin — glowing a little beneath the praise. prideful, smug, almost giddy. he watches intently as your expression shifts, as those fleeting flickers of joy dance along the contours of your cheekbones. as you lap up his praise like the chamomile tea he served you this morning.

suguru smiles. you have a cute side, he thinks. for no more than a mere moment, he finally feels as if he’s getting somewhere; getting closer to breaking that thorny, thorny shell of yours. closer to meeting the little lamb beneath the wolf’s hide.

but your mind quickly catches up to your body, realizing that your lips are curled up into a pleased smile, and you clench your jaw again. mindful not to let him see it. painting makes you far too careless, too unguarded; you have to be mean.

stuck in a bout of frustration, you put a little too much force into the motion of your fingers, a small slip of the hand. but that’s all it takes. suddenly, the smooth, calm sea of fur on the canvas turns violent, a little more unruly, and you withhold a wince. doing your best to mend the damage. flick, flick, across the canvas, as if to appease the hungry wolf. 

from behind you, a tiny exhale. laced with a kind of stifled amusement, one that makes you snap your jaw in his direction. brows knitted in anger.

”what?”

suguru clears his throat. ”nothing, my liege,” he hides a smile behind his knuckle. eyes gliding across the murky smear of fangs and fur, interest piqued. ”i’m just curious… why a wolf?”

a huff. briefly, you consider ignoring him, but….

(something in his tone convinces you not to.)

”… i saw one,” you admit, absently, staring at the blue and gray of the canvas. flick, flick. violet, navy, a little more depth. ”in my dream.”

silence. your knight doesn’t respond. surely, he must think you childish; everyone else does. why would he be the exception? why did you tell him anything at all? 

a sense of regret mixes with the paint. the weight of a brush in your hand truly does make you careless, doesn’t it?

”… huh.”

a clenching of teeth. you muster the will to turn your head, just to give him a questioning look, a silent aggression. biting before he can. but he’s not looking at you; he’s looking at the painting, the wolf that isn’t quite a wolf yet, just blue and gray on paper. a blur of messy motions.

then he shakes his head. ”no, nothing.” 

you quirk a brow. 

but you don’t say anything. falling silent, falling back into the rhythm of it all, painting until you grow bored of it. the wolf looks at you both, still thoroughly unfinished, jaw half-painted, no trees or knights to keep it company. solitary, blurry; baring its fangs towards no one at all. a sorry spectacle of teeth.

— a couple days later, as you’re walking through the castle with suguru in tow, still adamantly refusing to curl your fingers around his bicep, a loud crash breaks you out of your hushed banter.

the two of you share a look. it came from farther away, just beyond the next turn, a certain hallway decorated with delicate vases. one the castle maids desperately tried to keep you from, when you were younger, worried about your habit of jumping around while pretending to be some sort of feral animal. worried, of course, about the safety of the porcelain rather than the safety of the child.

it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the sound. and, lo and behold, what waits beyond the turn ahead is a crying boy and a broken vase.

fat tears cascade down his reddened cheeks, silent fear knit into the way his face is scrunched up. he can’t be older than six or seven; one of the maid’s children, you assume, the kind that doesn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. he looks panicked, down on his knees, holding a large piece of porcelain, painted flowers etched into the front.

what a mess.

when the clicking of your shoes reaches his little ears, he looks up at you with wide, shameful eyes. still sitting amongst the littered shards, the spilt water and irises soon to wilt. it reminds you of something, a memory you don’t quite want to recall; a different child, tiny and alone. taught to feel shame at the moment of their birth. 

it makes your pace falter, a bit, but suguru moves without hesitation. long, careful strides, one foot after the other. 

he crouches down in front of the boy, gentle as he takes the shattered piece of porcelain from his tiny palm. so he doesn’t hurt himself. ”hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, speaking even softer than usual, his voice like a flurry of feathers and jasmine petals. ”are you hurt?”

he’s patient. smiling comfortingly, considerate, grounding, a blanket of wool like the one forming on the border of the horizon. but the child continues to sniffle and hiccup, curling into a ball as if readying for a strike. like an abandoned puppy.

you sigh.

after a moment’s hesitation, you’re stepping forward, figure slipping from the shadows and coming into view. joining the miserable pair, the jagged shards on the marble floor. 

there’s a cold, cold look in your eyes when the boy raises his head to meet them.

a flick of your wrist; you wave your hand once, then twice. ”shoo. hurry up.” 

he blinks. tears clumping his lashes together, cheeks flushed from the panic of it all. he stammers when he parts his lips. ”b… but —”

”didn’t you hear me?” comes a scoff, harsh, cutting through the air. right through the fear and panic. ”that was an order. just run back to your mommy already.” you cross your arms, shaking your head in disapproval. mimicking the king, though you think it’s lost on your spectators. ”all that crying is making my head hurt, geez.”

a series of hesitant blinks. crumbling beneath your commanding gaze, the child stumbles to his feet, sparing suguru one last unsure little glance before scurrying off. the sigh that slips from your lips is quiet, barely audible, tinged with relief. 

when you look down to the floor, you find that suguru is already looking at you; a furrow to his brows. angry, for once. just a tiny, tiny flicker of distaste. you reward him with a cold smile. 

(so this is how you get under this skin. cruelty, aimed not towards him, but towards the defenseless. 

what a picture-perfect, self-destructive little knight.)

just as the child turns the corner ahead, you hear the echo of a maid calling out from behind you. her voice is dripping with fatigue, exasperation, a flurry of sighs you’ve grown far too familiar with.

”your highness! what have you done now?”

there it is, you think; the curtain call you’ve been waiting for. with a swift turn of your heel, sheepish expression ready to go, your focus shifts onto one sole objective — act annoying.

”walked into a vase,” you chirp, proudly, just the slightest bit theatrical. gesturing dismissively towards the broken spectacle, as suguru raises himself from the floor. ”my bad. not my fault you make them so easy to break, though.”

she inches closer, with a disapproving stare, and you hear a tick-tock in your ear. sensing the limit of her patience. ”i’ll have you know these vases are expensive,” she clicks her tongue. ”do you truly think you can go around breaking whatever you please?”

”… well. i mean… i do kind of own this place, don’t i? or — i will.” you tilt your head, faux contemplation on your features, shifting into a spoiled smile. ”so — technically — i broke my own vase. no harm done!”

”… my lord —”

”quiet.” suguru stiffens, ever so slightly, following your sharp whisper. ”don’t fuck this up.”

he looks at you, silently. not saying another word.

(there’s a shame in his eyes that you don’t turn your head to see.)

it doesn’t take long for the maid to shoo you away, pinching her brow at your carefree laughter, bitter at the prospect of cleaning up your mess. she makes sure to give suguru a sweet smile, though, and doesn’t bother to hide the sympathy in it. sympathy for him, such a handsome, well-behaved knight, forced to service such a brat.

the smile he gives her in return is a stiff one. almost, almost cold. but he bows, and follows your retreating form, until you’re all alone together.

the walk is silent. maybe just a little heavy, as you try to ignore the stare burning into your skin, trying to swallow your own displeasure. it’s subtle, something you learned to internalize long ago, but it’s there; a slight sadness. you don’t enjoy getting yelled at.

a thick silence stretches on, before crumbling into dust. you aren’t sure how much time has passed when a certain velvety voice curls around your senses.

”your highness.”

he’s come to a standstill, again. you really should just ignore him and keep walking. but you still, anyway, following his cue, turning towards him with a look that says what now? — you aren’t sure what to expect. certainly not the sentence that ends up spilling from his lips, like a spring breeze through an opened window, tinged with something you fear may be close to fondness. 

(in your chest, your heartbeat tick-tocks.)

he smiles, gentle, with eyes that see right through you. and he speaks. 

”you’re actually kind, aren’t you?”

…

”… huh?”

he pays no mind to your stupefied expression. continuing, unperturbed, eyeing you with a look you distinctly dislike — as if he’s trying to glimpse into your mind. ”the vase,” he hums. ”you took the blame, even though you didn’t do it.”

a huff escapes you. face hardening, setting into firm lines. ”that wasn't intentional,” you grumble, defensive. ”i just wanted him to leave.” 

but suguru shakes his head. ”you could’ve left when the maid came. but you stayed, and lied, and got yelled at so he wouldn’t have to.” a second passes, silence thick with meaning. intentional on his part, you’re sure. ”is that not what you’d call kind?”

another moment gone, little tick-tocks of your heartbeat counting down. you part your lips, but no sound comes out, as you stumble for words to say. irritation stirring in your veins. or is it nervosity? you think your skin feels a little hot, suddenly. 

just what the hell is happening?

”i’m… i’m not — ” you bite down on your lip. harshly. stammering, voice cracking a bit, to your great dismay. ”… not kind. i hate all of them.”

”but you protect them,” he whispers, ”look after them.” his smile doesn’t waver, never ever, but you’ve never seen it look quite this knowing. and suddenly, he’s closing in on you, gazing at you with laughter in his eyes. 

you try to stand your ground, wanting nothing more than to flee, curl into yourself, scratch at him until he leaves. but your throat feels so dry, all of a sudden, a sensation that only deepens with the next words he breathes into life. 

”a little sweetheart who pretends to be all big and bad…” he eyes you up and down, a meaningful look, raven locks moving as he tilts his head. towering over you. ”is that what you are?”

nothing. no smart reply comes to you. all you can muster is a harsh glare, a low hiss crawling up your throat, like you’re preparing to lunge at him. it serves as a warning, but the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fluctuate. ”you…”

he chuckles. raspy, breathy, a shiver down your spine. ”your acting is even worse than mine.”

”shut up,” you snap, baring your teeth. it comes out almost like a growl, hot and heavy in your veins, and you don’t understand where all this emotion came from. strangling you, bubbling up within your bobbing throat. ”you don’t — understand me, okay?”

no one does. 

and that’s fine. you don’t want them to. 

(you just want him to stop looking you so fondly.)

”not yet,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut. a thoughtful hum on the tip of his tongue. ”… but i think i’m beginning to.” 

he’s looking at you, again, amber and honey and raven lashes, lapping up every hint of a tell in the way you shift from foot to foot. speaking like he knows you, like he’s known you all his life. ”you act difficult — scare everyone away… but deep down, you love them, don’t you?”

a scoff. desperate. ”no.”

”you want to loved,” he continues, not allowing you to flee. relentless in his pursuit of whatever he imagines must be hidden inside your soul, beneath all those layers of frost. ”understood. everyone does.”

”not me.”

”your highness.”

…

the knight continues to look at you, and you avoid his gaze like it could burn you into cinders — like it could turn you into dust. but he parts his lips, anyway, and speaks. so sincere it makes your chest hurt. words that echo through the endless hallways of the castle, against the surfaces of glass that line the walls. words that make your skin flush under the shadows of rain soon to fall.

he smiles, wide, teeth showing. and he speaks. 

”that was very, very kind of you.”

silence. so thick you wonder if you’re about to faint, or fall to the floor, or something equally embarrassing. a sentence so simple shouldn’t be making you feel this way, this weird. you don’t understand why it makes you feel anything, anything at all, and you don’t understand why your eyes suddenly feel a little glassy.

(someone saw through the act.)

”… whatever,” you squeeze out, at last, but it sounds a little meek. a tiny puff of air. turning around, sharply, blinking rapidly to shoo the tears away. ”i just didn’t want to hear that brat whining. it was hurting my ears.” 

suguru bites back a coo.

as he watches your back retreat, hurrying back to the comfort of your room, he’s almost certain that he’s making progress. that your walls are beginning to crumble, slowly but surely, bit by bit. the path before him clears — a thorny, foggy path through the woods, until a sunsplatter falls on the ground and tells him where to plant his feet. 

it’s not much, barely anything, but suguru’s always liked his hunts blindsighted. 

you turn a corner, and he follows suit. sparing a passing glance at the clouds on the boundary of the horizon, the sole ray of sunlight breaking through. and then he’s catching up to you with long strides.

(it’s his duty, yes, but he doesn’t think he’d mind it so much — getting to know his kind, misunderstood little lord.)

sadly, disappointingly, to your great shame — you begin to grow used to suguru’s presence in your life. constant, always close behind, always ready to be of service. as infuriatingly patient as ever. it’s a stretch, but you may have become just the slightest bit fond of it. 

maybe, possibly, you’ve even silently decided to stop trying to scare him away. stop acting so difficult with him, all the time.

or, well — sometimes.

”take me outside, please?” you whine, bottom lip jutting out into a deep pout, accompanied by a flutter of your lashes. 

the voice that spills from your lips is hopelessly meek, pleading, so sweet you’d get cavities if you didn’t know how fake it was. effortless, perfected, your one god-given talent; an irresistible pair of puppy dog eyes. 

suguru answers with a smile, tight-lipped. ”no.”

a beat.

”aw, come on,” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet. frustration bubbles up inside your veins, trickling down to your wrist, nails digging into your palm. ”why not? you’re supposed to listen to my every command!”

”still no, sweetheart.”

a series of grumbles scratch at the base of your throat, but suguru pays them no mind. patient, patient, patient. he’s even kind enough to ignore the way you pointedly avoid his gaze after the term of endearment slips past his lips. ”sorry, but that part is non-negotiable. you know i don’t have a choice.”

you do know. but it still makes your mood sour, pulls a sigh from out of your lips. he moves closer, familiar silver tray in hand, dragging a chair to where you’re seated by the windowsill.

”i did bring you this, though,” he gestures towards a particular glass bowl, filled with red berries. they shine like rubies in the light. ”strawberries, like you asked for. wasn’t easy to get a hold of.”

he places the tray right next to you, smiling as he takes a seat. ”cheer up, hm? don’t be so grumpy.”

your pout remains, but you do settle down a bit. just the teeniest, tiniest bit. definitely not because he was kind enough to indulge your cravings.

”… thanks for breakfast.” 

suguru beams, and you avoid his gaze, like always. biting into one of the rubies, the soft murmur of thanks still burning your tongue, soothed by sweet nectar. he lets you flee, lets you continue on like nothing happened, like it isn’t obvious how much you’ve warmed up to his presence. 

”you’re welcome, my lord.”

…

(even after spending more than a month together, he still won’t call you by name. won’t even entertain the idea. why does that bother you so much?)

peacefully, your morning ritual continues. the same as always; you eat, while suguru watches, a sweet smile on his lips. the silence remains until he opts to break it.

today, he sounds a little hesitant.

”say, your highness…” he picks at a piece of lint on his cloak, absentminded. ”could i ask you for a favour?”

you almost drop your fork. gaze snapping up to meet his own, as a few silent seconds tick on by. tick-tock, tick-tock. then you clear your throat, regaining your composure. trying to sound nonchalant. 

”what is it?” you probe, cutting across the yolk on your fried egg. watching the orange seep out, trickling down, sinking into the crust of your toast. suguru hums. 

”a friend of mine — he’s also a knight…” he wrings his hands together, legs parted. tapping his heel on the floor. ”we’ve been sparring together for a while. once a week, at least. but ever since the king hired me, we haven’t been able to.”

you watch as his gaze flickers down to his lap, then up to you again. it’s smooth, charming, but you still think it seems a little out of place. he must not be used to asking for favours.

”i was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me? just down to the training fields by the castle.” his fingers tap against his bended knee, slow and methodical, from pointer to pinkie. ”the king gave us permission to spar there, but i’m obviously not allowed to let you out of my sight…”

you bite back a huff. obviously. he waits for a response that doesn’t come.

”… so?”

you meet his gaze, expectant. hopeful, maybe. it’s a nice touch — matches with the amber of his eyes.

”would that be alright with you?” he inquires, again. you think he sounds just a tiny bit unsure of himself.

a moment passes. silently, you look down at your lap. folded hands, itching to do something. something fun, new, exciting. 

your tongue forms around a wish. it spills into the air like a shooting star, a meek little whisper. ”… i wanna swing a sword.”

suguru blinks. once, then twice. ”you…” he tastes the words on his tongue, turning the image of you around in his head. ”want to swing a sword?

you nod. glancing at him, coughing a little under your breath. summoning just a bit of audacity, eyes trailing towards the sword by his hip. longingly. ”… i’ll only watch you spar if you let me try it.” 

a brief pause. he studies you intently, a mystery he’s yet to solve.

then he chuckles, light and airy, full of mirth. a sound you’ve grown fond of. ”well, okay. that’s fair.” he rises to his feet, smiling down at you. ”thank you, my lord.”

you don’t respond. but your eyes glitter with excitement, as you dutifully finish your breakfast, wolfing it down. waiting patiently for him to head down to the kitchen with the tray, for him to change into his training gear. 

when he knocks at your door, he’s wearing a flimsy little blouse. almost see-through, if you squint your eyes enough, exposing his bare skin. you think you see a scar curling up from his chest, reaching for his shoulder, just below it by a hair. and you can see his biceps, the fat, the muscle, practically begging to be bitten.

(tantalizing.)

he’s speaking to you, saying something, but you tune him out. focused on trying to restrain your growing urges. when he reaches up to fix his hair, tied up into a bun, the muscle of his arm twitches.

and, suddenly, you can’t contain yourself. 

giving in to the salivating temptation, you grab hold of his bicep, sinking your teeth into it — gentle, but enough that he feels it, enough to leave a set of teeth marks soon to fade. gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.

suguru blinks. pupils wide, quirking a silent brow, quick to smooth over the surprise in his eyes. 

you don’t move. teeth planted against the fabric, the firm muscle beneath it, surprising even yourself; his arm just looked so biteable. you wonder if he’s put off. upset.

but, as always, he’s eerily placating. like nothing you say or do could rock the ship of his patience, an endless sea. smooth, airy laughter flits past his lips, giving way to an indulgent smile. he studies you with fascination, like you’re a creature he hasn’t encountered before.

ever so gently, he grabs hold of your jaw — and the warmth of his touch shocks you into letting it go slack. before you can say anything, he’s rolling up his sleeve. exposing the tender skin.

”go wild, your highness,” he grins, offering his arm up like a lamb to a hungry fox. a teasing mirth in his eyes, his voice coming out as a low purr. ”i don't mind a mark or two.”

to your horror — it flusters you terribly.

you cough. taking a step back, averting your gaze, suddenly disinterested. feigning indifference, anyhow; that was definitely a scar. and a cool one, too. you think you might even have caught a glimpse of a birthmark or two. 

”i’m… just keeping you on your toes,” you stumble for an excuse, still unable to look at him properly. missing the way he stifles a bout of laughter. ”for your training, y’know? gotta stay on your guard.”

”of course. i appreciate the help,” he quips, fond, as he gestures for you to take the lead. ”he’s waiting for us. are you ready?”

for a second, just a second, you consider grabbing his arm. letting him guide you. but the thought is fleeting, like a bundle of peach blossoms, brushed away by the sunshine seeping in through the window’s glass — illuminating the marble flooring. 

a mellow excitement simmers in your bones. 

you head down to the training grounds with a pep in your step, and your loyal knight follows suit. just behind, always, wearing a smile you can’t see.

”suguru!”

the man that greets you with cheerful fervour, seated cross-legged under a peach tree, isn’t quite what you expected him to be. 

when you heard knight, you imagined someone a bit more… intimidating. but this guy is far from imposing. a little shorter than suguru, brown locks stopping right around his ears, exposing his sunkissed skin. freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, a happy little grin curled right around his lips. 

he’s cute. a bit like a puppy. not very knightly, though.

”haibara,” suguru greets, a mellow warmth to his voice. the man in question shoots up from the ground, stumbling towards you both, excitement in his hazel eyes. suguru gestures towards you. ”this is the royal heir. the one who doesn’t like having their hand kissed.”

your head whips towards him, an angered flush to your cheeks — you’re almost sure that he’s smirking, giving you a teasing glance, but haibara’s exclamation prevents you from voicing any protests. 

”hi!” he beams, bowing deeply, so sudden that you jolt a bit. his head whips up instantly, brown locks stirred by the breeze, voice warm and smooth. like honeysuckle nectar. ”thank you so much for letting us spar, your highness! i’ve heard so much about you!”

”… um.” your gaze falls down to a pebble on the ground. unsure of how to act, murmuring under your breath. ”you — it’s… no need to thank me. i wanted to get some air, anyway.”

he continues to look at you, eyes shining with a pure kind of cheer. glittering, honeyed and sweet, too bright to look at directly. you hear suguru exhale amusedly to your left. he’s looking right at you when you glance towards him. 

his hand inches closer to his scabbard, fingertips trailing down the leather. ”should we get started?”

haibara brightens even further, if possible. ”oh, right!” he exclaims. ”you wanted to try swinging a sword, your highness? that’s so exciting! is this your first time?”

a blink. you aren’t really sure how to handle this guy; he’s a bit too sunny to be snarky to. like a fuzzy ball of sunshine given human form, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tail practically wagging behind him. all you can muster is a weak cough. ”uh, yeah.”

”well, you’re here to learn.” suguru speaks up. guiding you both towards the center of the field, hand still at the sword on his hip. ”let me show you.”

in one smooth motion, he’s pulling it out of its sheath, a stripe of silver absorbing the rays of the sun. glimmering, slicing the blue sky in half. 

you’re a little awestruck.

and then he’s facing you. leaning forward, with a familiar tilt of his head, offering the blade with a smile. ”do you want to try swinging it around a bit?”

barely containing your excitement, you nod. making grabby hands at it.

that makes him chuckle. he makes no move to stop you when your fingers curl around the hilt, only parting his lips for a quick warning, a split second too late. you take it into your arms. ”careful, it’s a bit —”

— the sword clatters to the ground with a thud.

silence.

haibara breaks out into laughter, sudden, fond and warm, but enough to have your cheeks burning. fresh with embarrassment, humiliation, before you even hear the breathy chuckle that slips from your knight’s lips.

”… i was gonna say it’s a bit heavy,” he hums, closed knuckle in front of his lips and obscuring his smile. ”i’m sorry, my lord. do you —”

”whatever.” a hiss escapes your throat, and suguru winces. he knows where this is going; knows a bundle of thorns just erupted from the stalk of your spine, knows you're about to get defensive. ”like i’d ever want to touch your dusty sword. get — get real.”

he tries again. patient, patient. the familiar tick-tock of his never-ending kindness. ”hey, we aren’t making fun of you,” he soothes, hoping it’ll make your edges soften. like scratching a feral dog behind its ear. ”it’s understandable. you weren’t expecting it. i’ll let you try again, hm?”

a tiny pause. 

(you’re being childish, again.)

brows furrowed, hanging your head, you kick at a pebble on the ground. having collected yourself a bit. ”… maybe next time,” you finally speak, still grumbling. after you’ve spent some time lifting weights in your room.

suguru tilts his head. speaking softly. ”you sure?”

”yeah.” taking a step back, you raise your head to meet his gaze. ”i’ll just watch you. it’s fine.”

”… okay,” he exhales. leaning forward to pick up his sword from the ground. ”i can spar with you next time, if you want. you’ll be a pro in no time.”

he gives you another sweet smile, bangs fluttering with the breeze; painted in cerulean sunshine. he’s so gorgeous it makes you angry.

a sharp huff. ”don’t patronize me,” is all you can mutter, meeting the eyes of the knight by his side. standing up straighter. ”haibara,” you call. ”knock him around a bit for me, okay?”

from the corner of your eye, suguru pouts.

but the puppy-knight only grins, as bright as the sun in the sky. ”you got it, your highness!” he salutes, cheeks flushing with giddy excitement. 

as you sit on the benches a little farther away, dragonflies buzz in the air. fleeting glimmers of chartreuse and cerulean, chirping happily, keeping you company as you watch the knights spar. the clangs of their blades, the elegance in the way suguru moves. a violent little waltz. he’s sweating, just a bit, but you can see it, droplets glittering in the sun. he looks like he’s having fun. 

he looks like himself. like he isn’t holding back, isn’t acting obedient or well-mannered for the sake of pleasing his superiors. like this, here and now, he looks wild, free, a dog that turns into a wolf under the glow of the sun. 

for a second, your eyes meet — just as he narrowly avoids a slash. 

and he smirks, ever so slightly, suddenly gaining a little more momentum. flashing a brief grin, sunlight reflecting off his white teeth. you huff. heat crawling up your neck. 

show off.

”excuse me, your highness?”

the sudden voice snaps you out of your stupor. mesmerized, by the spectacle before you, the glimmer of their blades and the sight of your knight’s smile. it’s an unfamiliar voice, close, close enough that your head turns to meet the stranger’s ugly grin — inching closer still.

(uh oh.)

— just up ahead, lost in their own worlds, are two knights; huffing and smirking and narrowly dodging each other’s strikes. suguru takes the lead, as always, guiding haibara into improving his swordsmanship. but they both learn from it. and it’s fun, lighthearted, a respite from their more gruesome duties. 

it’s helped suguru more times than he can count; those tiny flickers of normalcy, in a wholly unpredictable profession. a life of bowing and bowing and killing what needs to be killed.

slash, slash, and then two steps back. the same old dance. haibara’s starting to lose momentum, he notices, adam’s apple bobbing with his heavy breaths.

so suguru stills. ”alright, that’s enough for now,” he calls, stretching idly. craning his head, looking around him absently. he wonders if you’re still watching. ”i think i see what the problem is.”

haibara perks up, obeying without a word, wiping the sweat off his forehead and walking towards his friend with a sunny smile. ”okay, great!”

but suguru isn’t looking at him, anymore. 

he’s looking towards the benches, where his little lord is seated, speaking to an unfamiliar man. one who currently has his hand on their forearm, caressing it. you look guarded, irritated, a little like you’re about to bare your teeth. trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. and suguru recognizes that look — the one that means you’re about to start biting and hissing, inching your claws into whatever’s within reach.

(not to injure, but to ground yourself, he’s learned. like how you clutch onto the fabric of your clothing when you’re nervous, sink your nails into your palm. not to injure, but to feel safe.)

in the blink of an eye, he’s making his way towards you. beckoned by his duty, his natural instinct, a protective itch that curls around his ribcage and crawls up his throat. large strides, much swifter than usual. he moves without thinking, and he’s there before he has the time to form a coherent thought.

with as much gentleness as he can possibly muster, he grabs hold of the stranger’s arm. smiling, tight-lipped, cold. ”excuse me, sir,” he greets, ”i need to borrow them for a moment.”

the man meets his gaze with a sour look. bitter, ugly, oddly possessive — like he thinks he owns the arm he’s holding. it makes suguru want to teach him a lesson, show off his sword, but he resists the temptation in a way you never could. his expression is a warning, though, enough to scare most rowdy drunkards and snobby royals away.

and it works. the stranger looks to you, briefly, before finally letting go of your poor arm. something rigid in suguru’s jaw finally relaxes. ”who are you?” comes a question, as the man turns to face him with a look full of contempt. ”their knight?”

before suguru can say anything, you’ve hopped off the bench. clinging to him, with a firm nod; your arms around his bicep. ”yeah. he is.”

(suguru fails to stifle a smug smile.)

with a string of bitter mumbles and a silent frustration, the man scurries away. hesitant, only after being met with another warning glance from the knight in front of him. intimidating, far less subtle, towering above him like a predator over their prey.

as soon as he’s out of sight, your knight turns to you, scanning your face for signs of discomfort. loyal, attentive. ”are you okay?” he asks, a silent shame in his voice. if only he had noticed sooner. ”did he do anything to you?”

you shake your head. ”it’s fine. probably one of the king’s friends — stops by every now and then.” a sigh, a little fatigued, following your explanation. ”they’re mostly harmless. just creepy and touchy.”

”that doesn’t sound very harmless…” suguru lets you pull away, quick to hide the disappointment that flashes in his eyes as you do, waving haibara off with a silent gesture of give us a minute. ”don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye out, from now on.”

still a little guarded, you nod. letting suguru guide you by the small of your back, taking a seat on the solid bench once more. together, this time. 

”there are a lot of those types around the town square,” he exhales, weary, stretching out his limbs before leaning forward. elbows resting on his bended knees. ”they’re a pain to deal with. i’m sorry you have to.”

”are there?” you ask, tone laced with curiosity. ”in the town?” 

”well, i’m sure you’ve heard. that place is a bit of a mess, these days…” a click of his tongue. ”more work for the knights.”

a dragonfly settles on the bridge of his nose. suguru blinks, smiling gently, until it flutters away with a raspy squeak. fading away, melting into the blue paint of the sky. you bite down on your lip. 

”… i haven’t.”

he turns to look at you. raising a brow.

”i haven’t heard about it at all. the king told you, right?” you meet his eye with a rueful smile, before leaning back, nose turned up towards the sky. for a second, you think the air smells a bit of rain. ”i’m not allowed to go out into town.”

your knight falls silent.

so you continue. grinning, with no humour to it. maybe a bit eager to overshare, to break the silent rules you’ve been given. the secret tastes like honey on your tongue. ”i’m a bastard child. he probably told you that, too.” you wouldn’t be surprised. ”thinks it's optimal for everyone involved if i just stay cooped up in the castle.” 

closing your eyes, your voice drips with something close to longing. barely above a whisper. ”i haven't been to the town in a couple of years, now.”

…

he only hums. ”i see.”

(there’s sympathy, in his amber eyes, but you don’t turn around to see it. you don’t turn to look at him until he’s finished sparring, and haibara’s about to leave. 

you wonder if he’ll meet your gaze the same way as before.) 

— that evening, suguru knocks at your door right as you're about to fall asleep. three rapid knocks, the same as always, knuckle against wood. rousing you from your rest.

when you open it, he’s holding something out towards you.

”here,” he says, voice set to a mellow tilt. upon closer inspection, he’s holding a bottle. transparent, see-through, stuffed to the brim with sea glass. smooth little colourful pebbles, green and blue and pink and orange, like frozen little camellias. ”for you, my lord.”

blinking sluggishly, you take it into your arms; holding it up in front of your eyes. when the light of the moon flitting in through the curtains hits it just right, it blossoms with colour, sparkling with every shade you’ve ever seen. shining like a heap of jewels, in your hands, like something out of a picture-book. magical.

it’s mesmerizing. 

”i asked haibara to get it from the town,” he explains, drinking in your expression of awe. ”this one lady — she collects them herself. i see her by the beach nearly every time i go there.”

when you look up, his smile is serene. peaceful, if just a little bit tired. but he looks pleased, lips curling around silky syllables. ”i thought of you.”

it’s odd, you think. you aren’t a stranger to gifts; you get most of what you desire if you just say the word, an easy way for the king to keep you compliant. as if to make up for the plethora of experiences you’ve missed out on since your birth. and you’ve had more than a couple suitors, men and women, eager to gain your favour. 

but this — this particular gift…

…

”it’s pretty,” you murmur, finally, unable to voice even a sliver of the emotions clogging up your chest. shying away from his gaze, feeling your heart pulse against your ribcage. ”… i guess.”

suguru just smiles. always, always, always. no matter what you do. ”i’ll get you something else next time,” he promises, ready to go back to standing guard outside the castle. ”get some sleep, okay? be good.”

and you can’t bring yourself to protest. not even a tiny huff of don’t tell me what to do. you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod, soft and pliant, still gazing at the bottle of sea glass in your hands. like you might turn into one of those transparent pebbles, if you wish for it enough.

that night, you dream of waves crashing against sand, the taste of seafoam on your tongue. every colour in the world. a newfound, reawakened wish — a wish to see more of it.

”are you trying to sneak out again?”

owlishly, all you can do is blink. propped up on the windowsill, immersed in the process of tying pillowcases and bedsheets together to form a rope. caught in the act — by none other than suguru, standing by the threshold, hand on his hip, watching you with silent disapproval. you didn’t think he’d come check on you this late.

a gulp. ”… no?”

and he sighs. walking towards you, brows furrowed, running a hand through his raven locks. you can tell he’s trying to be a little more sympathetic, this time, but it only makes the bitter taste on your tongue thicken. 

”look — i know it’s not fair to you, but the king and queen specifically ordered me —”

”i get it,” you cut him off, with a hiss, a little harsher than you meant to. you soften your voice before continuing. "i know. okay? i know.”

resigned, but frustrated, you clench the silken material of the bedsheets. glaring at them like it’s somehow their fault that the queen couldn’t bear an heir, that your father has a knack for sleeping around. like it’s their fault that he’s so ashamed of your existence that he doesn’t want you integrating into society on anything other than his own terms, until he’s dead and gone and doesn’t have to take accountability anymore. 

like it’s their fault that it’ll always be like this, forever, that it’s better not to hope for more.

(why can’t you just accept that?)

the knight before you exhales. troubled, watching your nails dig into the fabric, watching the way you bite down on your lip and rapidly blink. all signs of your frustration, your sadness, that you always try so hard to hide. 

”hey. how about this?” he tries to get your attention, voice soothing enough to coax you into raising your gaze. ”i’ll tell you a story instead.”

he stifles a chuckle, at the dubious look you send his way, teetering on the edge of a glare. slithering towards you. ”i’ve seen a lot of places. i can tell you about them, if you’d like.” he takes a seat right next to you, on the windowsill, a slice of the moon in bare view. ”what do you want to know?”

you’re silent, for a second. gnawing at your bottom lip, in contemplation, the tiniest bit of nervosity. like you aren’t quite sure if you’re allowed to speak your wishes aloud.

”… the woods.”

suguru blinks. a little caught off guard. 

his silence makes you want to bare your fangs, a bit. misinterpreting it as judgement. your voice comes out cold. ”what?”

but he’s quick to smooth over his features with a smile, as always, cocking his head amusedly. ”sorry — i was expecting you to say the sea, or something,” he stifles a chuckle. “it's the woods that you're so curious about?”

you pout. ”… you can see them from here.”

his head turns towards the window’s glass, squinting his eyes to see the sea of dark green in the distance, a cluster of thick trees. he hums. ”yeah, you can. well… that particular spot isn’t too bad. not many bandits or beasts.” your gaze stays glued onto his lips, every word that spills from them. ”there are wolves, though. this side of the kingdom is crawling with them.”

”they sell their fur,” you state.

(that’s one thing you do know. you spent more of your childhood around wolf pelts than your own parents. they might as well be your legal guardians.)

suguru nods. ”they do. it's a big portion of the kingdom’s exports… general market, as well.”

a frown tugs at your lips. you think of your fluffy childhood guardians, unable to howl or even make a sound; hunters turned decorations.

”isn’t that… kinda fucked up?”

he smiles, revealing no emotion. ”do you think it is?”

you only shrug. ”i’m not surprised that they eat us.” you think of all the stories you’ve heard, the fairy tales you grew up with. ”… if i was a wolf, i’d hate humans too.”

”would you, now?” familiar amusement, seeping from his tongue, soft crows’ feet by his cedar eyes. ”good thing you aren’t a wolf, then. we’re lucky.”

”mhm. you’d be my first target.”

that makes him chuckle, a little deeper this time, and you drink in the glimpse you get of his teeth, the fondness that dances across his face when he looks at you. 

a sudden urge overtakes you. 

”… i wanna know about something else.”

”oh?” he tilts his head, soft locks framing his kind eyes. ”and what would that be, my dear?”

”you.”

… 

for a moment, the mask falls. a silent, subtle kind of surprise, something in the way the tips of his fingers twitch that tells you he’s caught off guard. it coaxes you into continuing, following through with your question. swallowing the embarrassment. ”i wanna know more about you. how you became a knight, and… stuff.”

suguru looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes. undecipherable, unspoken, just watching as moonrays glide across your soft skin. ruffling your hair. 

a hum buzzes in his throat. he scratches at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to dodge your question. clicking his tongue. ”… well.”

anticipation blooms in your eyes, and you cross your legs, waiting patiently to hear him speak. he can’t deny you, when you look at him like that — so suguru simply exhales. a breath of indulgence. 

”it’s not a very interesting story,” he leads, closing his eyes in remembrance. ”they scouted me when i was pretty young…. a bit of a troublemaker, honestly, but i got lucky." memories flash behind his eyelids, fresh bruises, sliced fruit. bittersweet. ”ended up around some powerful people. they liked me. knighthood felt like the right choice.” 

he meets your entranced gaze, speaking with sincerity, devotion dipped in honey and holy water. sinking deeper still. ”it’s my purpose in life,” he breathes, a flurry of whispers on his tongue. heavier than either of you know. ”truly.”

you cock your head. ”being a knight?”

”protecting the weak,” he says. recites. like he’s said it a million times before, in the face of beasts, in the reflection of broken mirrors, a mantra to live and die by. ”protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”

the look in his eyes frightens you. deeper than the deepest lake, dark and murky, dragging him down. a devotion that smells of iron, tastes like steel. mania disguised as loyalty.

(knights love duty. almost as much as they love dying for it. that’s what your father always says.)

”but, honestly — this kind of thing isn’t bad,” he breaks you out of your trance, grinning sheepishly, almost boyishly. ”it’s been a while since i had so much fun on the job… thank you for that.”

he’s looking at you, right at you, into your eyes, an expression reserved for you and you alone. terribly earnest, grateful, a sincerity he wouldn’t show anyone else. ”honestly.”

you can do nothing but avert your gaze. swiftly, meekly, feeling heat crawl up your neck, blooming across your cheeks like the branches of a plum tree. suguru grins, gulping down the slightest coo — but he can’t resist the urge to poke fun at you a bit.

”… you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” he searches for your gaze, chuckling when he doesn’t find it. when you don’t let him. ”can’t even look people in the eye if they’re being nice to you… how precious.”

”oh, shut up,” you groan, glaring out into the night sky. blinking slowly, drowsily, biting back a yawn that your attentive knight still manages to notice. 

(he looks a little enamored.)

”ah… is my sweet little lord getting sleepy?”

”no,” you scoff, far too quick. ”i’m… tired.”

”of course.” he reaches out, carefully, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. ”tired — not sleepy. that would be outrageous, wouldn’t it?” 

a yawn. ”it would.” 

low laughter bubbles up at the base of his throat, like seafoam, melting roses. deep and summery. ”alright. that’s enough stories for tonight, i think.” and with that, he gets up. ”let’s get you to bed, hm?”

rubbing your eyes, absently kicking your legs, you give him a slow nod of your head. making grabby hands at him that you’re sure you’ll be embarrassed about in the morning — but it feels easy, to be greedy, to know that your wants won’t be ignored when you’re with him. ”carry me, suguru.”

an indulgent smile. he doesn’t say anything, only curling his arms under your thighs, lifting you up and cradling you to his chest. you can feel his firm muscles, like this, trace them with your fingertips, hear the beating of his heart. tick-tock, tick-tock. a lullaby. a sense of safety, when you can’t tell where your heartbeat ends and his begins.

lost in that fuzzy, sleepy feeling, a blink away from falling into dreamland, fatigue washes over you — but you cling to his sleeve, even as he tucks you in, dragging the blanket up to cover you properly. 

”suguru,” you murmur, so quiet you doubt he hears it. ”will you tell me more stories tomorrow?”

”of course.” right before sleep coaxes you into its cradle, you feel the weight of his palm on your head; ruffling your hair. ”as many as you want, your highness.”

he smiles, as your eyes flutter shut, at the soft little breaths that flow from your lips. before he slips out, he blows out the candle on the nightstand, a silent prayer that your dreams will be kinder to you than his. 

— one week of nagging later, suguru’s resolve finally crumbles. it’s progress, at last, a tiny crack in his clockwork heart. 

but for once, it works in your favour.

”do you really want to see the outside world that badly?”

he’s got an arm locked around your waist, stopping you from one of your numerous escape attempts. you’ve gotten bolder, sneaking away the moment he takes his eyes off you, but suguru isn’t easy to fool — catching up to you just as you stepped outside the castle, now stuck in place under the portico. it’s to be expected, with that sixth sense of his, the one that seems to alert him as soon as you think the thought to get him in trouble. 

but you still can’t help but pout, huff and puff, pushing at his chest in a helpless attempt to break free. he’s sweet about it, gentle, but entirely unmoving. like a big, annoyingly handsome rock.

”what do you think?” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. ”no, of course not. this whole time, i’ve just been trying to escape for fun. like, as a bit. how could you tell?”

he rolls his eyes, and you break out into a grin. ”mind the sarcasm, please.” he barely resists the urge to pinch your side; letting you loose, instead, trusting you not to scurry away. he’d catch up to you instantly, anyhow. "i’m just saying, it might not be as interesting as you think —“

”what are you, stupid?”

”what did we say about letting people finish their sentences?” he raises a brow, and you try not to cower. rolling your eyes, instead. suguru just sighs. ”i understand why you want to leave. but you have a good life, here. better than most.”

”… i know that,” you grumble, biting down on your lip. a resignation in your eyes that your knight can't protect you from. ”i just —”

you sigh. 

”it’s just so suffocating.”

suguru falls into a contemplative silence. weighing his options, studying the flicker of emotions in your eyes, the tapping of your idle fingers. hands eager to fidget with something. 

moments pass, one at a time, a familiar lullaby of pitter patter ricocheting off the ground just outside your vision. the air smells of marigolds, burning wood, wet concrete. the beginnings of summer.

finally, he makes up his mind. 

”okay, okay.”

when you look up from the ground, what awaits you is an outstretched hand. a familiar palm, and a familiar knight, with a familiar smile on his face. ”but don’t get used to it, alright?”

…

you part your lips, but no sound comes out. gaping like a fish out of water, hunting for the right words. suguru waits. patient.

”w — hold on,” you stutter, eyes blooming with hesitant hope, studying him intently for any signs of trickery. ”you mean — seriously? like, for real?”

he shrugs. ”it’s my duty to keep you happy.” devotion clings to his tongue, sweet indulgence. ”figure i can make an exception this once.”

another moment passes.

(there isn’t a hint of deceit in his features.)

a grin breaks out across your lips, like a joyous bolt of lighting, and you lunge into his chest — throwing your arms over his broad shoulders, jumping up and down, planting a wet kiss against his cheek. bubbly, giddy, heart racing with disbelief. you don’t even have it in you to be bratty. ”thank you, thank you, thank you!”

suguru makes a choked out noise, a little comical, breath hitching in the back of his throat. stabilizing you with a palm on the small of your back, patting it softly, once or twice, before retracting his arm and pulling away. clearing his throat. ”… you’re welcome.”

(his ears burn a cherry red.)

”but this is our little secret,” he reminds you, firmly, collecting himself. or trying to. ”got it?”

”yep.”

”if anyone asks, you —”

”yep, yep, understood.” you brush him off, still grinning brightly. ”don’t worry! i won’t tell a soul, i promise. swear on my mother’s grave!”

your knight exhales. worried, maybe, a little exasperated — mostly just trying to mask how infectious your joy is. how addicted he is to it, now that he’s seen it up close. he’s only caught glimpses in the midst of your painting sessions; to see it directed at him instead of the wolf on your canvas is a treasure he won’t soon forget. 

sneakily, stealthily, like a pair of bad dogs, the two of you begin your journey to the woods on the horizon. wearing cloaks, sticking together, until the sun begins to set and the sky drains of colour. 

and before you know it, it’s right there in front of you. a narrow path into the woods, a cluster of trees, a world you’ve always dreamed of. dark and gritty, beautiful, brimming with bugs and sights yet to be seen. creatures you could only ever see in picture books. a dreamlike world that takes shape before you, like paint splattered on a canvas, as you follow suguru’s lead — right behind him, clinging to the fabric of his cloak, excitement flooding your veins. heart thumping erratically in your chest. 

when you’ve made it to a tiny clearing, you stop in your tracks. suguru’s holding a lantern, a flicker of orange in the dark green world before you, attracting fuzzy moths. proud trees stand tall all around you, keeping guard, mushrooms and forget me nots scattered across the dewy patches of grass. keeping them company. 

everything smells of life, earth, oak wood and thinly veiled secrets. you want to live here forever.

suguru turns to look at you, noticing the way you’ve stilled. completely mesmerized, bewitched, eyes gleaming with childlike happiness. he tuts, doing a bad job at hiding how pleased he is. the sound makes you meet his eye.

”careful,” he croons, inching closer. fingertips ghosting over your wrist, right above your pulsepoint. ”could be wolves around. stay close.”

you tilt your head, feigning confusion. ”i’ve already got one right next to me, though?”

the comment earns you a flat expression, unimpressed, and it pulls a giggle from out your throat. the corners of suguru’s lips curl up, unwillingly, as he shakes his head; exhaling a tired breath. exasperated. 

then he hums. ”well, at least you're aware.”

suddenly, he’s walking forward, slipping away, cold air replacing the buzzing warmth of his skin on yours. hot blood, ever flowing, hidden within his veins — pumped out from his heavy heart. it’s there and then it’s gone. tick, tock, one step after the other, until he’s turning around to face you again. unfurling his outstretched hand, waiting for you to grab hold of it. 

his long hair sways with the breeze, smooth and unburdened, black like the night sky above you. a starry glint in his eyes. his voice comes out deep, a raspy lilt, like the scraping of metal against concrete. 

when he smiles, you think you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth.

”will you trust this wolf to keep you safe?”

under the web of shadows cast by the trees, barely illuminated by the shivering moon, all you can do is watch him. his gleaming eyes, the curl of a toothy grin on his lips. a knight, a wolf, a friend.

your protector. 

finally, finally, you grasp onto his offered hand. his fingers intertwine with your own, a puzzle finally solved, and his palm feels a little calloused. skin littered with tiny scars, years of training and killing, but it’s still somehow so soft. nice and smooth. 

he’s warm. and now he’s smiling at you, like you put all the gold of the world into his palm. 

”yeah,” you grin, a little cheeky. stepping closer, clinging to him without restraint, knowing he’ll indulge you. ”keep me safe, wolfie.”

his laughter rings out into the air like a cicada song, sweet and nostalgic. or a howl, maybe. it makes you want to gnaw at his bones; memorize his taste, so you’ll never quite be without him. it’s not your fault he looks so chewable when he’s smiling like that.

”i will,” he promises, vows, pledges, hand on his heavy heart. knights and their rituals. ”you don’t have to worry about a thing. not while i’m here.”

and you don’t. you know you don’t. because suguru is the greatest knight, the coolest wolf, and his clockwork heart never ceases to tick. it won’t break under pressure, no matter how much you push — so you don’t bother holding back. wrapping both arms around his bicep, cozying up to him, tugging at his cloak with a pep in your step. 

”c’mon, c’mon!" you beckon him forward. "i wanna see how everything looks up close.”

and he just lets you manhandle him, for a bit. following your lead. ”of course,” he croons. ”your wish is my command, your highness.”

the night stretches on, seemingly never-ending, like the branches of the oak tree you find in the heart of the woods. broken, beautiful, stretching out in all directions — as if wishing to engulf the world. a garden of forking paths, covered in jagged bark, but still somehow so warm to the touch. you’re sure there’s a heartbeat in there, somewhere. maybe a couple of swords too.

all good things must come to an end. but you refuse to leave the comfort of your mossy haven until suguru promises to bring you back, someday, maybe, if you play nice. it’s a deal that you’re willing to take.

only then do you begin your journey back towards the castle. having gotten your fill, for now, left to wallow in the newfound sights etched into your memory. still clinging to your knight like a child with their favorite doll, babbling into his ear about something or another. about how you’re almost sure you saw a wolf in the bushes, about how pretty the cicadas’ songs were. how you’re gonna convince him to take you there every single day.

the sun is yawning, stretching its endless limbs out, getting ready to rise and envelop the world. the sky is a calm blue, soon to be painted orange and pink, but you aren’t tired at all. you must sound a little incoherent, but suguru nods along to your every word. listening attentively.

so kind. so patient. sure, he’s a tease, and more than a little patronizing — but you don’t think you’ve ever liked anyone this much before. it’s weird. it’s fun. 

(you wonder if he feels the same.)

”hey, suguru?”

he keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead, but still spares you a brief glance, just to let you know you have his full attention. a second of hesitance is all your sleepy brain allows you, curiosity enveloping most of your functioning thoughts.

”would you… i mean. if i was, like… a different person —” you pause. suguru quirks a brow, and you suddenly feel a little flustered. ”um, what i mean is! like, if the king ordered you to be someone else’s knight… would you protect them like you do with me?”

he blinks. once, then twice, meeting your hopeful gaze. stifling a yawn, and parting his lips. 

”obviously.”

…

your face falls. lips dropping down into a soft pout, rich with disappointment, paired with a barely audible huff. suguru furrows his brows, playfully, smiling in the way he always does when he’s about to tease you.

”ah, my bad,” he croons. ”were you expecting something else? a… forbidden romance, perhaps?”

before you can begin to protest, warmth rushing to your cheeks, he stops walking. dropping down on one knee, dramatically, with a flutter of his cloak. theatrical. 

gently, he grabs hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips as his eyes flutter shut. you bite back a squeak. his voice comes out low, sultry, honeyed — so heavy with emotion that it’s obvious he’s faking it. ”the only person i yearn to protect is you, my liege,” his breath feels hot against your skin. ”i could never love another. i exist for you, and you alone.” 

suddenly, he’s smirking. you feel it against the knots of your knuckle, right before he cracks a single eye open. glimmering with deep amusement. ”… is that better?”

and you huff. sharply, doing all that you can to avoid getting flustered, his heavy gaze burning right into your own. it really, really doesn’t work. ”you’re so mean.”

”not mean,” he chuckles, rising to his feet. dusting off his cloak. ”i’m just… managing your expectations, my lord. they’d have my head on the chopping block if i so much as touched you without their consent — you know that.”

another little huff. ”i never said i wanted you to…” 

(you do, though.)

suguru hums. ”i’m your knight,” he reminds you, as always, until you get tired of hearing it. steadfast, irrefutable. ”that’s all. remember?”

something bitter settles on your tongue. 

but you nod. ”that’s right,” you hum. ”mine.”

a teasing mirth flickers through his eyes, like the first setting sunrays reflecting off cathedral glass. reverent, dyeing the world in all the colour it asks for. and he chuckles, raspy, amused. ”possessive little thing…”

that’s right, you remind yourself. he’s your knight. your lying, teasing, playwright of a knight. always wearing a mask, hiding behind a suit of armor, playing one role or another. only baring himself under the light of the sun, when no one is around to see. he’s infuriatingly patient, endlessly loyal, the greatest bootlicker you’ve encountered in your life. but he’s kind, too. maybe a little too kind. 

and he always, always kneels. 

such a large man, all toned muscle and tall stature, broad shoulders and a firm chest — kneeling at your feet. like a loyal dog. with a rustle of armor, a flutter of fabric, a sigh and a smile. as soon as you ask for it.

”c’mon. let’s hurry back,” you hear him say, biting back another yawn. ”before anyone finds out i kidnapped you. don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”

”i kinda do.”

a silent look. unimpressed. it’s the most sincere expression he knows how to make, and also the most comical. ”careful,” he looks ahead, hiding his amused smile. ”wolves eat bratty heirs, you know? better stay on my good side, your highness.”

a bout of sleepy giggles. you curl an arm around his bicep, putting your weight onto him, but he doesn’t stumble. ”sorry, mr wolf! please, by all means, eat my dear father instead.”

”don’t be disrespectful.”

”sorry,” you quip, entirely unapologetic. ”i forgot you had a crush on him. that’s my ba — ow!”

suguru brushes by you, walking forward, hiding his growing grin. leaving you with an ache in your hip and two wide eyes. 

”hurry up, my lord. we don’t have all day.”

”wha — you pinched me!” you stumble after him, barely containing your quiet delight. ”they’ll have your head for this, you know!”

silent laughter. you don’t need to hear it to know that it’s there, just ahead of you, tucked into crows’ feet and a curl of his lips.

suguru always kneels.

but, sometimes, he talks to you as if you’re equals. sometimes he takes the lead, pinches your hip, tells you off a little. teasing, patient, but there’s an edge to him that he doesn’t always hide. sometimes, he lets you see it, and you figure that must make you at least a little bit special.

sometimes, he feels like your best friend.

careless, careless, careless.

how could he ever be so careless?

everything blurs into a puddle of red. murky, sticky, everywhere all at once. all he sees is red, all he feels is burning. his heartbeat pulses at the base of his throat, bottom lip bruised and aching from hours of sinking his teeth into the flesh, over and over — every single nerve of his body running on adrenaline and nothing else.

(adrenaline and fear, maybe, but they’ve always been synonymous. never one without the other.)

the slaughter is mindless. suguru knows that’s how they like it, anyhow — knights aren’t supposed to think. they don’t need to. 

suguru certainly isn’t. cutting his way through the bandit’s den, practically growling, sword painted such a dark shade of red that he doubts he’ll ever be able to wipe it clean. harsh slashes, pure instinct, wildfire inside his veins, iron on his tongue. 

suguru isn’t thinking, he’s hunting. sniffing like a bloodhound. eyes scanning the area before him like a hungry beast.

suguru is hunting — for you.

and when he sees you, at last, tied up and barely conscious, he’s almost certain he’s going to grow claws, fangs, matted fur. that he’s going to turn into a beast beneath the fading moonlight.

but he falls to his knees, instead, like a wounded dog. throwing his burganet off, with a clatter, crawling closer. heaving breaths, untying you with shaky hands, greedy fingertips hunting for a pulsepoint —

and only when he finds it does he allow himself the luxury of breathing again.

when you come to, veins dragged down by a fuzzy sensation, your vision is blurred. foggy, dull colours on the canvas of your mind, gradually washed away as you struggle for control. you stir, and finally see the figure above you. 

what you see is a knight, a wolf, a beast beneath the moonlight. a kind, kind man.

suguru.

bloodied armor. sweaty, messy hair, sticking to his forehead. pure panic in his bloodshot eyes. he cradles your face, cold metal on your cheek, dirty and smelling of iron. he moves his mouth; you delude yourself into thinking that his bottom lip is trembling. forming around familiar vowels.

he’s saying your name.

there must be something wrong with you, you belatedly realize. the last one to do so. because you’re hurt, scared, but you still feel a skip of your heartbeat.��

(he finally said it.)

you muster all the strength at your disposal, eyelids fluttering. and you try to answer, you do, reaching for that thread between your brain and your tongue — but it comes out as a garbled little thing, more air than noise. 

it’s enough. the tense crease between his brows melts away, and he sighs.

”oh, thank the heavens.”

another sensation. he’s touching your hand, now, cold metal on warm skin, bringing it up to his lips; a shaky little exhale brushing against the knots of your knuckle. his lips are chapped. 

then he’s scooping you up, cradling you close, as close as metaphysically possible, as if willing to cut his stomach open to fit you inside. a firm grip, comforting, stable. desperate, a mother wolf carrying her cub to safety, by the skin of her teeth. his hair tickles your skin, but you don’t mind.

only when he brings you back to the castle does everything fall into place. he explains everything, as you sit in bed, still recovering. a sudden attack, from within the castle, a kidnapping. some enemies of the king, a scandal to do with you and your blood. something, something, something. you’ve grown used to not understanding why you keep getting hurt. and you’re too distracted by the sullen face of the knight in front of you to pay attention.

suguru wasn’t there to stop it — wasn’t there to save you, be your knight in dashing armor. the king had invited him to a game of chess, and you had been adamant in your refusal to join them.

so you don’t understand why he’s apologizing.

he’s smiling, but it’s weak, as flimsy as a piece of paper. his lying smile, tight-lipped, betrayed by the redness of his eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. dark crescents. he sits by your bedside and looks a little like he wants to curl into a ball. 

”i’m sorry.”

and ah, you think; there it is. guilt. always, always clinging to him, a ghost haunting him wherever he goes. it’s been there since the beginning, in the scar reaching for his shoulder, the nature of his never-fading smile. guilt, guilt, guilt. you wonder if he's ever gone without it. you wonder if knights begin to crumble when they stop feeling ashamed. 

he looks sad.

with a breathless inhale, you part your lips. you want to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, that you’re fine now — that you could never be mad at him. not really, never truly, never at him. you want to tell him that he’s your favorite person, not just your favorite knight, that he’s allowed to make mistakes without demanding that he suffer for them. 

you want to tell him that it’s okay, really. seriously.

but all that leaves your lips is a meek little sniffle. as the shock of it all finally settles, sinking deep into your bones, the fear of being captured, the dull ache of your skull meeting the ground. you can’t tell him any of the things you want to, and you feel so awful — 

because suguru’s face falls. like you just thrust a knife into his sternum and twisted it. he looks like he could cry, too.

”i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, right down the middle. like a broken vase. ”i’m so sorry.” it’s not at all what you want to hear, but you can’t tell him that either. he’s bundling you up before you know it, dragging you into the comfort of his chest, one large palm on the back of your head; tugging you closer still. he smells of soap and oak wood and peach blossoms. ”it was scary, wasn’t it?”

and you nod. into his neck, wet tears brushing against his skin. not stable enough to act tough. you don’t think he is, either.

suguru exhales, shaky, clutching you like he could lose you if he lets go. lose himself. he knows you’re scared, but you let him soothe you. it means something, he thinks. it means something that you let him come so close, closer than anyone’s ever been. so he swallows the guilt until it’s no longer clogging up the back of his throat, if only so his voice can flow out through the gap, give you the comfort you need. just rubbing your back until you calm down, apologizing silently — over and over again. manic, like the tick-tock of a clock.

until your voice breaks him out of it.

”it’s not your fault.”

he stiffens. still holding you, feeling your heartbeat settle down, hearing your voice break out of your throat. it comes out as a weak croak, with just the slightest hint of disapproval.

he gulps.

”don’t worry about me, right now,” he hushes you. a silent plea. ”i’m not the one who’s injured.”

”suguru —” you sigh, almost a hiss. ”i hit my head. once. that’s all.” you wipe away the wetness of your cheeks, biting back a sniffle. ”… you’re acting like i’m fucking dying. cut it out.”

(for once, he’s relieved to hear that sharp edge of your voice. it means you’re feeling better.)

a weak inhale. ”… they kidnapped you. it must’ve been terrifying. please, just…” and a tired exhale. ”please just don’t strain yourself.”

”it wasn’t your fault.”

…

”your highne —”

”i’m serious.” you’re pulling away, suddenly, clasping onto his cheeks with your tearstained palms. squishing his face together. ”it wasn’t your fault. it was mine.”

he shakes his head, eager to protest, so you squish his cheeks with more force, and shake his head for him. like a misbehaving dog. ”nope. if you even think about apologizing, i’ll start crying again.”

he lets out a huff. frowning, sadly, a downcast pair of eyes.

”don’t pout. i’ll bite you.”

it’s slight, barely even there at all — but you think the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, just by a hair, exhaling through his nose with just the slightest hint of amusement.

he places his palm over yours. 

a moment passes, slow and steady, both of you catching your breaths. calming down, letting the fear of it all seep out of your aching bones. you hope the warmth of your skin against his soothes him as much as it soothes you. 

”… you know, your highness,” he murmurs, softly. meeting your puffy eyes with his tired pools of amber gold. ”there’s something i never told you.”

you blink. he continues.

”just the night before the king reached out to me… i had a dream.” he musters a weak, exhausted little smile. ”dreams… i don’t have them very often. and when i do, they’re nothing good. but this dream…” 

his eyes flutter shut. a curtain closing, a raven taking flight, the tick-tock of a heartbeat. you can’t look away. ”it stuck out to me.”

silence.

your voice comes out soft, like the bedsheets beneath you, the man before you. a tiny breath of a question. ”… what was it about?”

he smiles. smoothing a thumb over your knuckle, reverent, as if memorizing every ridge and dip.

”a fox.”

…

”it had…” his hand slips from the small of your back, reaching for your cheek, pinching it gently. ”a cheeky smile.”

your skin heats up, beneath his touch. and you blink, not saying a word, because there isn’t any need to. all the words you could ever want have already been painted out.

(well, maybe not quite all.)

”suguru.” you lean close, just a little, drinking him in. and he listens, as always, so you don’t bother beating around the bush. swallowing any embarrassment your tired mind can still feel. because your knight is right in front of you, eyes still red from crying, and you want him to be happy. “i think you’re my favorite person.”

he stills.

then he’s burning up. 

”wha — where did that come from?” he stammers, a strawberry hue to his ears, his neck, the tips of his fingers. enveloping him like a blanket of warmth.

you only shrug. ”you told me the truth. figured i should return the favour, for once.” a giddy, exhausted smile. “we’re both awful liars, huh?”

suguru opens his mouth. then he closes it, again, desperate to collect himself. you think he must be a little too exhausted to, and you wish you could say you felt bad. ”you… you can’t just —”

he squeezes his eyes shut. sighing. giving up, the gears of his mind grinding to a halt. your grin blooms wider.

”hehe.” you poke at his flushed cheek, and he cracks a single eye open. ”you’re blushing.”

he huffs, leaning away from your touch, and you find yourself enjoying the reversal of your usual roles. very much so. he tries to smile, tries to get one up on you, but he only blushes a deeper shade of red once your words reach his ears. 

so he settles for using cheap tricks.

”you’re hallucinating,” he scoffs, shoving your head into the fluffy pillows all around you. ever so gently, listening to your muffled giggles. trying to stifle his own joy. ”go back to sleep.”

”my blushy knight,” you coo, and he drags the blanket over your head. biting down on his lip to stop himself from joining your bubbly laughter, blushing more than ever. 

(the word knight sounds very pretty, when it’s falling from your lips.)

”i swear,” he exhales, heavy and exasperated, but you can hear the smile in his voice. ”just what am i to do with you?”

it’s fond. delicate, even in his bouts of teasing, the light instances of manhandling. and you’re happy, because he’s not apologizing anymore, and he’s happy because you aren’t crying anymore. give and take. there’s a rhythm to it, a point where everything else becomes background noise, whether it’s memories of a kidnapping or a decade-old guilt.

he stays with you all night, even after you’ve fallen asleep. just watching you, safeguarding you, checking your pulse every now and then. content to watch as your chest rises and falls, with the tender ticking of your heartbeat.

that night, you dream of a kind, kind wolf, and a painting yet to be finished. 

before you lies a field of stars.

you’re seated on a blanket, with a pretty knight to your left, up on top of a grassy hill. daffodils bloom around you, sweet nectar hanging in the air, a field of sunflowers waving at you from below. dragonflies greet you with a scratchy song. 

everything is perfect. a midnight rendezvous, a picnic under the stars — suguru’s own idea. to celebrate the time that you’ve spent together.

(well, that part was your idea. but you’re sure he appreciates it, too.)

the basket next to you is filled with fruit and berries, marmalade and jam, bottles of herbal tea. suguru’s delicious sandwiches. you bite into one of them, humming happily, and he’s quick to brush the occasional crumb from the corner of your lip, ghosting over your skin with a smile.

there’s another basket, too, just in front of you, that you brought on your own. hiding a secret; one you're just about to unveil. 

you clear your throat to get his attention.

like clockwork, he’s looking at you. listening, when  you tell him to close his eyes, only giving you a questioning raise of his brow and an amused exhale. 

you’re quick to lean forward, uncovering the basket, revealing the secret you’ve hidden so well. suguru is still waiting, indulgent, patient. you feel a little hesitant, but still part your lips.

“… okay. you can open them, now.”

he does. instantly, two ravens taking flight, and the sight that awaits them is that of a painting; a painting of a wolf, in the middle of the woods, empty armors and wilted sunflowers all around it. dragonflies and dragonflies, a knight just out of view.

he stares, silently, and you do your best to hide your growing nervosity. even as he takes it into his lap, and your gaze falls to the blanket below you. ”it’s… not my best work, but —” his eyes stay glued onto the painting, as you stumble blindly for the right words to say. wringing your hands together, clutching at the fabric of your sleeves. ”i’d… like you to have it. i mean, unless you —”

”thank you.”

you raise your head.

suguru is gazing at the canvas with the softest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. melting amber, crinkled at the edges, accompanied by a sweet grin. 

”i’ll treasure it,” he vows, meeting your eyes, voice dripping with warmth. hand on his heart, and you can’t even poke fun at it. ”always.”

his earnest acceptance is enough to fluster you, enough to make you feel as it your heart is about to collapse, but he continues to look at the painting with enough awe to fill an empty lake with water, and it makes you terribly shy. 

until his smile drops.

”uh, actually — i…”

now it’s your turn to stare, silently, as he fumbles with something in the basket at his feet. gentle, as he takes out glass jars and wrapped sandwiches. out comes a sheet of paper. 

then he’s clearing his throat. handing it to you, pointedly avoiding your gaze. ”i’m not an artist, so you know. i just…” he coughs, a little out of his element. “well. here.”

with delicate hands, you accept it, bringing it down to your lap. big, curious eyes taking it in.

it’s a sketch — made with coal, a little smudged, but awfully charming. pretty, delicate.

it’s a sketch of a fox.

wide-eyed, all you can do is stare. gaze flitting up to meet his own, his nervous expression, before falling back to the little canine. ”you — this…” back and forth, over and over again. ”for — ?” 

you point to yourself. 

suguru only chuckles. ”yes, it’s for you. who else?” he taps the pads of his fingers against the handle of the basket, watching you silently admire the mischievous fox. not saying anything; so he continues.

”like i said; i’m not an artist. you can always throw it away, if you’d —”

”i’m gonna frame it.”

…

”i'm gonna frame it,” you repeat, eyes shining with sincerity. a little manic. ”i’ll hang it on the wall of the castle hallway so everyone can see it. it’ll be there for centuries to come, passed down —”

”please don't —”

”d’you think a gold frame would fuck up the vibe? maybe a modest silver is best.” you turn to face him, ignoring his blatant embarrassment. ”oooh, hang on! father knows this guy who makes them with real minerals. i’ll just —”

”your highness,” the knight cuts you off, almost with a squeak. ”please. it’s just a dumb drawing. i just… wanted to give it to you. that’s all.”

a pause. you look into his eyes, flickering with hesitance, an earnest desire for your approval only. so you hum, albeit a little hesitant.

”… alright. if you say so. i’ll hang it in my room, then.”

he sighs; relieved. ”that’s better. really, you —”

”thank you.” you whisper, blinking away the wetness at your lash-line. staring at the sketch with a dreamy, dreamy smile. ”i love it.”

you grin, happily, practically beaming. suguru wants to keep it there, always, on those pretty lips; he wants to lay his life on the line to protect it. but something tells him that would just make it fall. 

finally, everything clicks into place. the air fills with the scent of herbal tea, fresh strawberries, acrylic paint and hushed whispers. your own ritual, repeated over and over, like a loving waltz. 

as always, it’s suguru who breaks the silence. shatters it with the tip of his tongue. 

”hey,” he calls, softly. “my lord.”

mouth full of bread, you simply look at him. chewing silently, attention piqued. swallowing with a gulp. he places his folded hands on his lap, exhaling a little breath. ”… i’ve been thinking.”

”uh oh.”

silently, he gives you one of those flat, unimpressed looks of his, and you quiet down with a grin and another mouthful of bread. he quirks a brow, exhaling amusedly, then shakes his head and continues.

”i retract my earlier statement.”

when you glance up again, he’s smiling. showing more teeth than usual, a little wider, a little wolfish. a little more himself. you want to paint it, keep it hidden away somewhere only you can see.

”if it was someone else — anyone else…” he trails off, tasting the words on his tongue. “i doubt i’d feel this way. i doubt i’d want to protect them as fervently.” his voice flows out like a river of gold, just a little scratchy. it always is, when it sounds this sincere. 

he meets your eyes, and everything falls into place. 

”you’ve become precious to me,” he admits. ”i can't remember what it felt like to not be yours.”

his tongue curls around a familiar set of syllables, and your name seeps from his lips like a prayer, a vow, a trickle of honey and wine. devotion sticks to his tongue, to the vowels, a heavy fondness — something devout. something you've only ever heard from the mouths of priests.

and then he’s smiling. 

”i think i’ll be your knight until the day i die,” he breathes, and deep down you know it’s a vow. “even if the king discards me of that title.”

silence. except for an increasingly loud mantra of tick-tocks, from the depths of your own chest, echoing in your ears. your knight is in front of you, and he’s yours, and he’s smiling like he loves you. like he always will.

”… suguru.”

he hums, eyes lidded, blinking slowly. serenely. he lets you cling to him, pull him close, practically dragging him into your lap.

”stay with me,” you plead, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. too desperate to feel embarrassed. ”forever. promise me.”

an exhale, right by your ear. it sounds so fond you could cry. 

“i promise,” he whispers, fingers intertwining with your own. a perfect puzzle piece, a functional clockwork. lifting your hand, bringing his glossy lips to your knuckle; where they belong. ”until death tears me away from you.”

”it won’t,” you deadpan, partly to distract him from the growing heat of your fingertips. mostly because it’s true. ”you won't let it.”

he smiles against your knuckle, breathing out an airy laugh. ”clever little thing…” his free hand goes to rest on your spine, as always, and you lean back to see him properly. knowing he’ll catch you if you fall.

“.. but yeah," he sighs. "i won’t.”

before you know it, you’re leaning back in. because his eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, and his hair is just a little tousled, and he looks so kissable it aches.

his jaw trembles, a little, when you press your lips against the curve of it. his whole body seems to still, for a moment, and you pull back just to see if he’s blushing. he is. 

but he must have anticipated your teasing, because he’s tucking you under his chin before you can see it through. pressing you close. and he tuts, a click of his silver tongue. ”… you little tease,” comes a whisper. ”how am i supposed to hold back now?”

”don’t hold back, dummy,” you grin, muffled against the column of his throat. you just barely resist the urge to sink your teeth into the skin. ”you’re a bad actor, anyway. the worst.”

and he is. he’s been looking at your lips this whole time — he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.

suguru laughs, breathy, overflowing with fondness. chest rumbling with the noise, blending together with the rhythmic thumping of his clockwork heart. ”okay,” comes a soft lull of his tongue. ”i won’t, then.”

a drowsy feeling overtakes you, just as you feel his lips meet the crown of your head. it’s not much, but it’s a start. and it’s tender, tender enough to get you choked up, to get you to close your eyes to stop any tears from forming. because one person in this kingdom understands you, and he tells you that he’ll never leave. and you think you can actually find it in you to believe him. 

one person’s clockwork heart never breaks for you, and maybe that’s enough to convince you to stop trying to push it there.

”you can sleep, if you’d like,” is whispered against your hair. soft, soothing, his palm on your spine. ”i’ve got you. always.”

(one person in this world can make you feel safe, with just four little words. and isn’t that something?)

so you doze off, on the shoulder of your very own knight. your favorite knight, always and forever, a sword at his hip that was forged to protect you. or so he’ll tell you, years from now, when he’s got you in his lap, when there isn’t any need for him to act anymore.

and you dream a perfect dream. a dream of a wolf, and a fox, and a garden of stars.

[laleblanc-blog]

Chris V/Vermouth Manifesto. 05.07.2025

Well. I had one last attempt to write down what i want in writing and its only necassary to conclude this process on here too.

I realize that my purpose is different from an average life, but I am angry about the fact that all these tragedies had to play out with no real excitement, fun, healing, acknowledgement or respect to come along with it. It was just intelligence and survival tactics. No madness, unhinged fun or silliness. No love, romance, community or networking. absolutely nothing. The only thing I had and sometimes have is the layer of mistery that made people intrigued. But I knew, the moment I open up, that illusion shatters and Im left with nothing. It begs the question, am I dangling a prize infront of their head or also mine? Was I pretending to be worthy, knowing I was so much more inferior to these people? I mean, they happened to get away with everything; they got the full time job ; the relationship; the fulfilled crush. Where is the thing I deserved? Why was I chosen to go down this path, If I know these past years and this past decade was only of struggle and worse is yet to come because the ultimate prize is worth more than anything but will be met with major fights to get it? And is it? This is the universe we are talking about, I don't know wether or not this is a big fat scam and just an unfortunate yet random turn of events. Im also angry at myself. I have let myself go in many regards. I have become very lazy, envious, bitter and depraved. I have become the person I feared to be and let me tell you, it is exactly as bad as I thought it was back then. I'm a total fucking mess. Hair brittle and balding, skinny fat, no friends & continiously isolating, broke as all hell and struggling day by day. I have years and years said to myself, this is the last time i am this person and yet i fail to change it because i lack the ethic and the bravery. Or lacked. Im soooooooooooooooooooooo done witjh this type of life. I don't want to do this anymore, Im looking for a way out of this to get what i actually want. I'm tired of obsessing to leave an impression on someone who could maybe see my worth, I'm over the things I say and do (inauthentically) to make people think im cool and aware. Its a long road to nowhere; I'm never gonna do this again. Do you hear me: IM NEVVVERRRRRRRRR GONNA DO THIS AGAIN. I'm gonna devote myself to my purpose, even IF its met with loneliness, mockery, abuse or pain. This is what my life is meant to be on here, I need to create this very badly, professionally, but badly and urgently so this is the plan. JADE, AMETHYST; AQUAMARINE THIS SUMMER RUBY; GRANAT; SAPPHIRE THIS FALL EMERALD TO END IT Trust the work and let it crystallize itself but be smart and quick. Work harder than you ever did before, make the rust of every part shake off. Devote to the purpose. BUT: I want the reward to be exactly what I thought it would if not way bigger. Im looking at you and I mea n it this time.

I want the reward. I really fucking want ti win this. Make it happen if i put thw work in, asap.

[invalidatedatbirth]

I’ve been trying. I’ve really been trying, I promise. But this life is just too hard. It’s too much. Everything. And the worst part is it feels like I’m going through it all alone. The people in my life, I don’t think it would make much of a difference to them if I wasn’t here. Any minor difference probably wouldn’t be negative anyway.

I don’t think anyone would truly miss me. No one knows the aches in my soul anyway. No one truly knows me. So no one would miss me.

I’m so tired of going through it all alone.

Everyone else I know has someone. Someone else. Someone they can depend on. Me, I’ve been hospitalized twice in the last 2 years, and the nurses are always asking me where my companion is. Well I don’t have anyone. I don’t have someone that’ll sit at my bedside with me as my SO. I pretend like I’m fine, like it doesn’t bother me, like I’m used to it. Because I really am used to it. I’m used to it just being me, alone.

And honestly I don’t want to trouble anyone. I don’t mean enough to anyone to impose, to be a burden. So I make myself as convenient as possible. And so I’m only there in people’s lives at their convenience.

I’m not anyone’s constant presence. No one’s life would be significantly changed if I just wasn’t here anymore.

It’s so pathetic. I’m sure I’ve written and rewritten and reiterated this same thought over and over throughout my life. So many diary entries or silent posts or hidden notes saying this same thing over and over. I’m not important enough to anyone that my disappearance from their lives would make any significant impact. You would think after 5, 10, 20 years that would change, but it hasn’t. I’ve been alone and insignificant in the 30+ years I’ve been alive, and, even though I keep doing it despite how tired I am, I don’t want to do it anymore.

If self loathing and depression could will me to die, I would have died thousands of times already within this one lifetime.

The isolation never went away. It just got worse and worse as I met more people in whom’s lives I was still insignificant. And I got more self aware. I could understand why I wasn’t significant.

Why must I continue this existence? I’m so tired of pretending and surviving and persevering. I keep trying, but it seems to be for naught every time. I keep trying to connect, but I keep getting rejected or sidelined, or kept as a spare.

You would think after meeting thousands of people over a lifetime, I could connect with just one. You would think my existence would matter to someone.

Perhaps I’m not meant to exist in this world. Perhaps I’m incompatible with this current age. Or perhaps I’m being punished for sins in a previous life. Or perhaps I am unlovable. There has to be a reason that I’m still this solitary existence despite persistent attempts to connect with someone, anyone. I can feel how frantic I am, how desperate I am to connect. Just to prove I can be loved, that maybe I do deserve love. But if until now nothing has changed…

I’m just so tired. If I could, I would end it. But no one would find my body for too long, hence no one would find the dog.

Another birthday comes next week, and I will wish again for the final release of death. I hope I am deserving of that mercy at least . If not, perhaps I really am being punished.

Another birthday, another holiday, another year of loneliness, of celebrating alone. And celebrating what even? That I’m alive? It is no longer a reason to celebrate. I don’t think I’ve ever really celebrated it.

I’m so tired. I wish it would all just end already. I wish I had the guts to end it, but I’m a coward. So I will just suffer slowly, endlessly. Perhaps this truly is purgatory.

[drratiosstudent]

Favourite Quotes from Pachinko by Min Jin Lee (Part 2)

"Is it so terrible to be Korean?"

"It is terrible to be me."

…

"You people work together to make sure nothing ever changes. Sho ga nai. Sho ga nai. That's all I ever hear."

"I'm sorry. I am sorry," he said before leaving.

…

Etsuko wanted to justify herself - her numerous and repeated attempts - to offer proof. Being a mother was what defined her more than any other thing - more than being a daughter, wife, divorced woman, girlfriend, or restaurant owner. She hadn't done it well, but it was who she was, and it was what had changed her inside forever. From the moment Tatsuo was born, she had been filled with grief and self-doubt because she was never good enough. Even though she had failed, being a mother was eternal; a part of her life wouldn't end with her death.

…

"Listen, man, there's nothing you can do. This country isn't going to change. Koreans like me can't leave. Where we gonna go? But the Koreans back home aren't changing, either. In Seoul, people like me get called Japanese bastards, and in Japan, I'm just another dirty Korean no matter how much money I make or how nice I am. So what the fuck? all those people who went back to the North are starving to death or scared shitless."

"Man, life's going to keep pushing you around, but you have to keep playing."

"Forget him. Your mother was a great lady; my wife thought she was the best of the best. Tough and smart and always fair to everyone. She was better than having five fathers."

…

"Maybe if you see him and know that he is well, then you will not need to see him so much. He has chosen this life, Sunja, and maybe he wants us to respect that."

"He's my son."

"And mine."

"Noa and Mozasu. They're my life."

Hansu nodded. He had never felt this way about his children. Not really.

"I've lived only for them."

This was wrong to say. At church, the minister preached about how mothers cared too much about their children and that worshipping the family was a kind of idolatry. One must not love one's family over God, he'd said. The minister said that families could never give you what only God could give. But being a mother who loved her children too much had helped her to understand a little of what God went through. Noa had children of his own now; perhaps he could understand how much she'd lived for him.

…

In life, there was so much insult and injury, and she had no choice but to collect what was hers. But now she wished to take Solomon's shame, too, and add it to her pile, though she was already overwhelmed.

When she had been a young mother there used to be only one time in her waking hours when she'd felt a kind of peace, and that was always after her children went to bed for the night. She longed to see her sons as they were back then: their legs chubby and white, their mushroom haircuts misshapen because they could never sit still at the barber. She wished she could take back the times she had scolded her children just because she was tired. There were so many errors. If life allowed revisions, she would let them stay in their bath a little longer, read them one more story before bed, and fix them another plate of shrimp.

Why did her family think pachinko was so terrible? Her father, a traveling salesman, had sold expensive life insurance policies to isolated housewives who couldn't afford them, and Mozasu created spaces where grown men and women could play pinball for money. Both men had made money from chance and fear and loneliness. Every morning, Mozasu and his men tinkered with the machines to fix the outcomes - there could only be a few winners and a lot of losers. And yet we played on, because we had hope that we might be the lucky ones. How could you get angry at the ones who wanted to be in the game? Etsuko had failed in this important way - she had not taught her children to hope, to believe in the perhaps -absurd possibility that they might win. Pachinko was a foolish game, but life was not.

"But I was born today, and isn't it funny how no one gets to remember that moment and who was there? It's all what's told to you. You're here now. You are a mother to me."

"A woman's lot is to suffer,"

All her life, Sunja had heard this sentiment from other women, that they must suffer - suffer as a girl, suffer as a wife, suffer as a mother - die suffering. Go-saeng - the word made her sick. What else was there besides this? She had suffered to create a better life for Noa, and yet it was not enough. Should she have taught her son to suffer the humiliation that she'd drunk like water? In the end, he had refused to suffer the conditions of his birth. Did mothers fail by not telling their sons that suffering would come?

…

Sunja watched Kyunghee pat her mother gently until she quieted down. Her mother was unrecognizable to her; it would have been easy to say that the illness had changed her, but it wasn't so simple, was it? Illness and dying had revealed her mother's truer thoughts, the ones her mother had been protecting her from. Sunja had made a mistake; however, she didn't believe that her son came from a bad seed. The Japanese said that Koreans had too much anger and heat in their blood. Seeds, blood. How could you fight such hopeless ideas? Noa had been a sensitive child who had believed that if he followed all the rules and was the best, then somehow the hostile world would change its mind. His death may have been her fault for having allowed him to believe in such cruel ideals.

Sunja knelt at her mother's pallet.

"I'm sorry, umma. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was away. I'm sorry about everything."

The old woman looked weakly at her only child, hating herself suddenly. Yang Jin wanted to say she was sorry, too, but strength passed from her body, forcing her to close her eyes.

…

Etsuko stood there, believing that if she could just listen and suffer, then maybe her daughter could be saved.

…

"In America, there is no such thing as a Kankokujin or Chosenjin. Why the hell would I be a South Korean or a North Korean? That makes no sense! I was born in Seattle, and my parents came to the States when there was only one Korea," She'd shout, relating one of the bigotry anecdotes of her day. "Why does Japan still distinguish the two countries for its Korean residents who've been here for four fucking generations? You were born here. You're not a foreigner! That's insane. Your father was born here. Why are you two carrying South Korean passports? It's bizarre."

…

"Listen, there is a tax, you know, on success."

"Huh?"

"If you do well at anything, you gotta pay up to all the people who did worse. On the other hand, if you do badly, life makes you pay a shit tax, too. Everybody pays something."

Kazu looked at him soberly.

"Of course, the worst one is the tax on the mediocre. Now that one's a bitch." Kazu tossed his cigarette and crossed his arms. "Pay attention: The ones who pay the shit tax are mostly people who were born in the wrong place and the wrong time and are hanging on to the planet by their broken fingernails. They don't even know the fucking rules of the game. You can't even get mad at 'em when they lose. Life just fucks and fucks and fucks bastards like that." Kazu wrinkled his brow in resignation, like he was somewhat concerned about life's inequities but not very. He took a deep breath. "So, those losers have to climb Mount Everest to get out of hell, and maybe one or two in five hundred thousand break out, but the rest pay the shit tax all their lives, then they die. If God exists and if He's fair, then it makes sense that in the afterlife, those guys should get the better seats."

Solomon nodded, not understanding where this was going.

Kazu's stare remained unbroken. "But all those able-bodied middle-class people who are scared of their shadows, well, they pay the mediocre tax in regular quarterly installments with compounding interest. When you play it safe, that's what happens, my friend. So if I were you, I wouldn't throw any games. I'd use every fucking advantage. Beat anyone who fucks with you to a fucking pulp. Show no mercy to chumps, especially if they don't deserve it. Make the pussies cry."

"So then the success tax comes from envy, and the shit tax comes from exploitation. Okay." Solomon nodded like he was starting to get it. "Then what's the mediocre tax? How can it be wrong to - ?"

"Good question, young Jedi. The tax for being mediocre comes from you and everyone else knowing that you are mediocre. It's a heavier tax than you'd think."

Solomon had never thought of such a thing before. It wasn't like he saw himself as terribly special, but he'd never seen himself as mediocre, either. Perhaps it was unspoken, even to himself, but he did want to be good at something.

"Jedi, understand this: There's nothing fucking worse than knowing that you're just like everybody else. What a messed-up, lousy existence. And in this great country of Japan - the birth-place of all my fancy ancestors - everyone, everyone wants to be like everyone else. That's why it is such a safe place to live, but it's also a dinosaur village. It's extinct, pal. Carve up your piece and invest your spoils elsewhere. You're a young man, and someone should tell you the real truth about this country. Japan is not fucked because it lost the war or did bad things. Japan is fucked because there is no more war, and in peacetime everyone actually wants to be mediocre and is terrified of being different. The other thing is that the elite Japanese want to be English and white. That's pathetic, delusional, and merits another discussion entirely."

…

"This will sound stupid, but how can you get her to sign if you don't know how?" Solomon asked.

"I'm making a wish, Solly. I'm making a wish. Sometimes, that's how it starts."

…

"Why don't you sell the shops, too, Dad? Retire maybe. YOu're set, right? Pachinko is a lot of work."

"What? Quit the business? Pachinko put food on the table and sent you to school. I'm too young to retire!"

He shrugged.

"And what would happen if I sell my stores? They might fire my workers. And where would my older wokrers go? And we give work to the people who make the machines. Pachinko's a bigger business in Japan than car manufacturing."

…

In America, everything seemed fixable, and in Japan, difficult problems were to be endured. Sho ga nai, sho ga nai. How many times had he heard these words? It cannot be helped. His mother had apparently hated that expression, and suddenly he understood her rage against this cultural resignation that violated her beliefs and wishes.

…

"Oh, Solomon. I don't want to go to America." Haha exhaled loudly. "I don't want to live. I'm ready to die. You know? Do you ever want to die, Solomon? I've wanted to die for so many years, but I was too cowardly to say it or to do anything to make my wish come true. Maybe you could have saved me, but you know, even wonderful you, even you, my Solomon, I don't think so. Everyone wants to die sometimes, nee?"

It's a filthy world, Solomon. No one is clean. Living makes you dirty.

I don't believe in God, but I guess that doesn't matter. I never had someone pray for me before, Solomon.

"Your grandmother Sunja and great-aunt Kyunghee visit me on Saturdays. Did you know that? They pray for me, too. I don't understand the Jesus stuff, but it's something holy to have people touch you when you're sick. The nurses here are afraid to touch me. Your grandmother Sunja holds my hands, and your great-aunt Kyunghee puts cool towels on my head when I get too hot. They're kind to me, though I'm a bad person -"

Then the whole Japan-is-evil stuff. Sure, there were assholes in Japan, but there were assholes everywhere, nee? 

...

Kazu was shit, but so what? He was one bad guy, and he was Japanese. Perhaps that was what going to school in America had taught him. Even if there were a hundred bad Japanese, if there was one good one, he refused to make a blanket statement. Etsuko was like a mother to him; his first love was Hana; and Totoyama was like an uncle, too. They were Japanese, and they were very good.

…

There was consolation: The people you loved, they were always there with you, she had learned. Sometimes, she could be in front of a train kiosk=k or the window of a bookstore, and she could feel Nora's small hand when he was a boy, and she would close her eyes and think of his sweet, grassy smell and remember that he had always tried his best. At those moments, it was good to be alone to hold on to him.

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/drratiosstudent/785655527266975744/favourite-quotes-from-pachinko-by-min-jin-lee?source=share

[silenced-by--the-night]

George Orwell once said: The most terrible loneliness is not the kind that comes from being alone, but the kind that comes from being misunderstood; the loneliness of standing in a crowded room, surrounded by people who do not see you, who do not hear you, who do not know the true essence of who you are. And in that loneliness, you feel as though you are fading, disappearing into the background, until you are nothing more than a ghost, a shadow of your former self.

It’s that soul-deep ache of being surrounded by people—friends, family, colleagues—yet feeling completely invisible. You may smile, nod, and go through the motions, but inside, you feel a sense of isolation that words can’t fully capture. You feel as though no one truly gets you, as if the truest parts of you are hidden, left unrecognized, while the world only acknowledges the version of you that fits in.

This kind of loneliness hits hard because it isn’t about the absence of people; it’s about the absence of connection. You crave to be seen for who you really are, to have someone understand your soul’s language, your quirks, your dreams, and the complexities of your heart. But when you’re misunderstood, it feels as if there’s an unbridgeable gap between your inner world and the outside one. It’s like standing behind a glass wall, desperately hoping someone will look through and truly see you, only to realize they’re gazing right past you.

In that space of feeling unknown, you start to question yourself. You wonder if you should change, if you should become what the world expects or desires, just to feel a hint of acceptance. But even then, the loneliness doesn’t vanish; it only grows. Because the deeper tragedy is the slow fading of your own essence, the parts of you that you start to hide or let go of, simply to belong. You become a shadow, a ghost of the vibrant self you once were, drifting silently, holding onto the hope that one day, someone might understand.

What makes this kind of loneliness so painful is that it’s not just the longing to be loved—it’s the longing to be known, and loved for being known. For someone to look at the parts of you that are messy, complicated, and even broken, and to say, “I see you. I understand. And I’m here.” It’s the yearning for someone to hear your heart’s quietest whispers and to feel the depths of your soul without judgment or expectation.

Yet, even in that terrible loneliness, there’s a quiet strength. There’s a resilience in holding onto your essence, even when it feels invisible. There’s courage in keeping your light alive, in refusing to let the world’s misunderstanding extinguish the fire within you. You may feel unseen, but the truth is, your uniqueness, your complexity, is what makes you extraordinary. Somewhere, someone will value that. And until then, you can value that.

Sometimes, the journey through being misunderstood leads to a deeper understanding of yourself. It teaches you to embrace who you are, even if the world isn’t ready to. It invites you to find peace in your own company, to nurture the parts of yourself that feel lonely and unacknowledged. And, in time, you may discover that the right connections—the ones that see you, hear you, and know you—come when you least expect them.

So, hold on. Keep your essence alive. Refuse to become a shadow, even if that means standing alone for a while. Your true self deserves to be celebrated, and though the wait may feel long, the beauty of being fully known is worth every moment. Your people—the ones who truly understand your soul—are out there, and when they find you, the terrible loneliness will start to fade. You’ll realize that your essence was never meant to be hidden. It was always meant to shine.

[misguided-spiritcat]

For as long as I can remember I’ve felt alone you could say, and when I look back to as far back as I can remember I see the me who was alone, isolated even. It’s not like I was physically alone, I guess I did have some friends in school. But were they even my friends? Maybe, but I could never tell anyway. There is just some part of me that can’t understand why anyone would like me. I don’t have anything exactly special about me, and maybe others think the opposite but how am I supposed to believe that? I was always judged for my appearance, I don’t think I've truly gotten a break from it. My childhood memories, something that I should be able to look back on with a smile. Is that even possible for me though? All I think about is the countless nights I spent crying myself to sleep, feeling miserable everyday, and thinking that if I could pretend everything is fine then maybe I could actually run from my feelings. I would run and run and run from everyone, everything even. I didn’t want to face how I was feeling because if I did then that means that I would have to face the fact that I needed help. I never wanted to burden anyone with my problems thinking it’s useless to tell someone who can’t help me. Sure I’ve tried to be honest with others, yet I am still so incredibly empty. I could pour my heart out to everyone I know and I’d still feel this way. They tell you to keep fighting for the better days to come, but will they even come in first place? I’ve felt this emptiness practically my whole life. I just chose to ignore it so I wouldn’t have to confront anything, especially my own thoughts and feelings. I don’t even know where to begin on my farthest back memories that I can see in my mind.

I can almost clearly remember all the times my parents or dad would criticize me for my weight and appearance. It hurts more than anything to hear that from someone who’s supposed to care about you. Although I knew it hurt me, I still tried running away yet again. I hate this feeling of fear my brain wants me to face the truth, but as much as I want to recognize how I feel I just can’t do it. I used to think running away would solve all my problems because no one had to know and I could forget about the things that are “wrong” with me. It’s never that easy though and maybe if I could’ve realized that sooner I wouldn’t be here. It’s useless to think about what I could’ve done though because what’s done is done. We can’t change the past no matter how hard we try, and maybe that fact is what keeps me going. I find the guilt nearly eating me alive every single day, I can’t leave my bed, I can’t do my homework, I can’t eat anymore, and my brain feels no sense of urgency. I want to do everything like how I used to do it, but the moment things get hard nowadays I just try to run from my feelings. Run from the stress that eats me alive, run from the loneliness that tears me apart, and most importantly run from everyone and everything. I try to drown myself in the things that I enjoy hoping my feelings just go away, but no. It’s not how that works and I knew that, of course I did. But it’s not that easy to face the truth, especially for someone like me. It’s not as if I don’t want to do all those things I can’t, but for something that should seem easy it seems so. Impossible. Maybe it’s the exhaustion that swallows me whole everyday that causes this. Or maybe it’s the piles of work I have that causes me to feel this way, yet I feel no urgency to do them. Everything feels like nothing to me, I feel so empty that I can’t even find the motivation to do my school work. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I wish I could have an answer that would solve all my problems. But don’t we all want something like that? I’m not very special and I know that much, I’m just one person in a world of billions of people. Sure maybe that’s what makes me special because I’m my own unique person, but is it really? I now think about if I were to die now would I be happy with the life I led? Do I have any regrets? Do I even wish I could’ve done something more? Maybe. But I don’t even know anymore to be honest. I’ve buried my feelings under the guise of trying to make myself “better”. I don’t feel better, not at all.

No matter how much I struggle everyday, the daily burn out that eats me inside out every.single.day. I told myself as long as I try to stay optimistic better days will come like most people say at least. When will that day even be? I feel like I’m constantly in and out of drowning in a big body of water. Like the ocean will swallow me alive at any moment of weakness. I hide away in my room to avoid all problems of stress or anxiety whenever I can, fearing the outside that I can’t predict. At least maybe then it won’t feel like I’m on constant alert to fix myself into something else I’m not. I’m my own best friend, my support system, and.. my own safe place. I thought that when I started taking this medicine to help with my depression I could get better at the very least. Sure, it worked at first and I thought that I finally had a reason to not feel so empty. Why did I have to be so wrong? I used to believe good things come to those that wait, now all I think of that is useless crap. I was too busy trying to distract myself into a weird fantasy place that doesn’t exist. Nothing works out in the way that we want it to, rarely ever at least. Now the daily burnout is the only thing that’s on my mind, after school, during school, before I go to bed, and wherever I’m relaxing in my room. I feel so tired all the time I just want to sleep and escape through my dreams. To live in a temporary place of no worries hoping I can pretend I’m everything I’m not in hopes someone will actually like me. It sounds better than the life I live right now anyways. I stare at my ceiling wondering about if I have even changed over the years, do I feel happier with my life? Or do I feel like shit as usual, there would be no change then. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a straight answer to that for anyone ever, it’s too hard to say for me. The ups and downs come and go, much like my own emotions. I have to remind myself it’s only temporary, everything will come as fast as it leaves me. All that I want is just out of reach to me, no matter how much progress I make it only stretches further past my fingertips.

Good things come when we least expect it is now what I would like to believe anyway. At least with this mentality I don’t have to constantly be wondering when the better days will come to me. I can feel a sense of freedom I never have before, so I don’t feel confined to my own imaginations but way beyond it. I hope that one day my words reach the hearts of others that possibly feel the same. I write and write away all my problems onto a page and type it out on a computer. Although it may feel better to get my every feeling and thought written out on a document or page it doesn’t feel enough at times. I just feel like I’m writing into the void, no one will read this anyway. I can’t seem to picture how others would react to my words in the first place. Will they seem surprised? Emotional? Maybe even upset? Who knows, I’ll continue writing for myself then. For now I’m the audience that I write my heart out to, and maybe one day it’ll be the one I trust the most in the world or even thousands of people. The only distractions I’ll need are my own thoughts that run through my head. I sometimes wish the sensation of exhaustion could overtake me so I wouldn’t have to wake up to this life. But since I’m still here anyway I’ll try my best to find this supposed purpose I have. Whether it be something, someone, or even just a fleeting idea. I’ll protect it with everything in me in hopes that I can live the way I’ve always wanted. And maybe then is when I can finally look back and understand it all. The meaning to my useless life will someday have meaning to me or maybe even someone else all I can do is wait. Patiently wait for my reason to come to me one day and give me the purpose I was looking for. And maybe all this struggle wouldn’t have been for nothing in the end.

[disarchive]

I dont even want to try anymore, I quite literally am wasting peoples time by postponing my suicide or by getting better. Like I go to therapy and cant even say anything like literally anything of substance. And I dont even want to talk about anything but I still show up, like I always feel sort of motivated before therapy then I arrive and honestly refuse to talk about anything then leave feeling 10x worse about myself. And people ask me to get a job but quite literally I dont think I can handle it I can barely fucking leave the house without getting anxiety/crying when did I get so pathetic. Literally when. I had a job throughout highschool, I was working and going at school, and learning how to drive on the same fucking day every tuesday for like a semester in highschool and what am I doing now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I know thats all I can achieve because everything else is fucking impossible for me. I can do it for a while then I cant. Then I get all sad and suicidal except I dont kill myself—I just ruin my life, quit/get fired, isolate and lose all my friends. Like its constant it happens every fucking time and will probably continue to happen as long as im alive cause I never fucking change. I dont even think I want to change. I dont try changing anymore. I gave up on trying like 2 years ago. Fuck this. All I have are regrets and emptiness inside me. I feel like I fucking disappear when no ones looking. I dont want to bother because it’s only my life. I dont care if I suffer or not maybe a part of me even wants me to be miserable. I deserve it. I know I fucking deserve every little moment of loneliness and emptiness I feel. I think people can see it when they look at me like really look at me—that I deserve it and more. Itll be over soon. Soon enough Ill be gone. Or I wont. What does it even fucking matter anymore I died a year ago practically.