#bc this one time I’m not writing thought pieces I’m just swallowing up my discomfort but I’m done w that because I can CHOOSE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

euthymiya · 4 months ago

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ok im putting my comments under the cut:

“Wowwww,” an unfortunately familiar voice croons from a nearby table. “Look at those bags. Someone didn’t sleep well last night.”

HE SUCKS LOL

“Genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

IM CRYING AT THIS SKJDHF

“You remembered.” Dazai stares at you with stars in his eyes, face lighting up. “I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

asjdhf he definitely has low standards. you remember his bday 3 days late and he's like "u know the date!!! ur my soulmate!!!!"

He seems to notice your judgment of him and looks offended

I giggled sdhfg

you find yourself making your way over to him.

This is so funny bc she said she would flee if she ran into him again LOL liarrr

For a second, Dazai looks flustered. You watch as his eyes dart from the chairs and back up to you, the faintest pink hue spreading across his cheeks. His lips part to respond, but no words leave then, and he finally pushes out, “Yes.”

notttt him lying like a loser sdjkhfsd

“I was in an exceptionally good mood,” you amend smugly.

The expression on Dazai’s face is nothing short of bitter and withering. “The next time you’re in a good mood, you should pay for my tuition and rent,” he says snidely. “Well, my next project is a zoo,” you say, and you can tell from the way Dazai’s eyes narrow that he knows he’s not about to like what you’re going to say. “We can fit you in with the rest of the baboons, I suppose. That’ll be your new apartment.” “Haha. Very funny.” “I thought so.”

THIS WHOLE INTERACTION HAD ME GIGGLING

Dazai isn’t particularly liked by the other students in his year—they think he’s odd. Which, he is odd, but they could be more discreet about it.

the good thing is he is self aware HAHA

“Fine,” you say before you can stop yourself, which he clearly doesn’t expect from how his eyes shoot open, and you don’t expect from the way your heart rate spikes as soon as the words register. What the fuck?

omg I was like :O when she said fine

Dazai: hi (＠＾◡＾)

HIS KAOMOJI KILLED ME

Albatross: not ur personal chauffeur 😒 i’m busy

I feel him on a deep and personal level I too am everyone I know's personal driver

“‘s a ten minute drive. I’ll get there in three.”

he is so meeee as a driver hahaha

Two years ago, an organization called the Serpent’s Tongue targeted a girl Chuuya’d been talking to trying to get him to turn himself in—a civilian girl, actually, one that he dragged into this life just like you’re unintentionally doing with Dazai. He turned himself over for her; they killed her anyway, and the whole organization paid for it with their lives. So did all of their families. You don’t think Chuuya’s ever gotten over it.

aw man this made me sooo sad for him :(

Sensing his discomfort, he watches your eyes track down to the bandages peeking over his collar and sleeves, and then you pointedly turn around to face the wall, sighing as you pull out your phone.

this made me clutch my heart it was so oddly sweet in a way awww

Kido slaps his hand to get him to stop when it messes up the measurement of his hips, and Dazai promptly stills. “I prefer free verse. It’s my favorite style of poetry.”

I got a good giggle at the image in my head of him getting his hands sternly slapped kjdfh

Oh. Dazai hesitates, throat bobbing as he swallows, lashes fluttering as he averts his gaze down toward the floor. “My friend… he passed away a few years ago. Right before I was about to enter college, actually. He asked me to finish his book for him—I told him I don’t know anything about writing and that it’ll turn out bad if he had me do it, but he insisted… and I mean, I can’t really say no to my dying best friend, can I?”

eating a rock as we speak. here she comes with her killing everyone off streak. even though this is canon but still

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he’s positively vibrating at your words until Kido lets out a heavy sigh. “Dazai-sama, please stop moving so much.”

he is just a puppyyyyyy

"Cao Xueqin will have him chopped into pieces and send you on a fucking treasure hunt across the city to get all of his limbs together for a proper burial."

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“I’m not you,” you spit out, a low blow, you know. To Chuuya’s credit, he doesn’t react beyond a sharp inhale, nostrils flaring briefly. “No, you’re not,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t be so fucking stupid to make the same mistake twice.”“That was your mistake,” you hiss. “Not mine.”

oh shitttt the girls are fightingggg and its heatedddd

ᡣ𐭩 YOU'RE TOO SWEET FOR ME

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one chance encounter at a bar and suddenly you're seeing dazai osamu everywhere you go. you must have truly done wrong in your past life for you to run into him at so many places so frequently. you can't let this go on—for his sake and for yours—but the stupid civilian is worming his way into your life, blissfully unaware of who you are and what you do.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: AHHHHHHHH GUYS I HOPE UR EXCITED BECAUSE I AM, i've been obsessing over this literally since the idea first came to me, i'm rlly hoping you guys enjoy this half as much as i've loved writing it. civzai is truly becoming my roman empire. please leave a reblog! always appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

If you had known stopping at some random bar in the southern part of Hodogaya-ku would lead to a fucking college student attaching himself to you like a goddamn leech, then you would have gone to a different bar. You should’ve known better; this area is close to YNU, but you figured it was lowkey enough that most of the college students wouldn’t know about it.

It’s just your luck that the most irritating one just so happened to.

Your eye twitches as you take another sip of your whiskey, pointedly ignoring the brunette who’d made his home on the barstool next to yours. He’s talking about something—an assignment for his creative writing class that you could hardly give half a shit about—and your head hurts. You’d been hoping for a quick drink before having to go back to headquarters and give Mori the rundown on the negotiations with Mishima.

You don’t want to go back. Mori pissed you off by scheduling this meeting without notifying you of it until literally thirty minutes before. But you also think that if you stay here any longer, you might murder this kid—and that’s saying a lot for someone who usually refuses to get her hands dirty.

“... but you see, I just have no inspiration,” the student—he said his name, but you ignored it—complains loudly, slumping over dramatically onto the bartop. “How am I supposed to write with no inspiration? I have no muse, no drive, no will to live. What do I do, bella?”

You side-eye him heavily before turning your attention back toward the bartender, Kobayashi, a man who knows who you are and what you do since this is a place that the lower ranking Mafiosos frequent, and is watching the scene taking place with an expression that’s nothing short of concern. You recognize some of the other bar patrons as well—one is an informant of yours that you’ve been meaning to get in contact with, two of Chuuya’s subordinates are here, and one of Kouyou’s.

“Luckily, I’ve run into you, bella,” the man sighs dreamily, big brown eyes peering up at you from where he’s draped across the bar. “You’ll be my muse, won’t you?”

For the first time since you’ve arrived at the bar, you address him, “I think I would rather die.”

He blinks once. Twice. And then he laughs so loud that it draws half of the patrons’ attention. “Would you allow me to die with you?” he pleads, hands clasped together as he leans in closer to you. “I knew you were the one for me—it could be beautiful, a double suicide on the banks of Tsurumi. I-”

“Okay,” you say more to yourself than him, placing your wine glass on the bar and rising to your feet. “I’m leaving.”

He pushes his lip out as he watches you rise to your feet. You tell Kobayashi to put your drink on your tab before turning on your heel and making your way out of the bar. Much to your extreme displeasure, the student seems to follow you, scrambling after you.

“Wait! Won’t you give me your name? Number?” he cries.

You slam the door to the bar in his face, but he’s unperturbed, yelping and pushing it right back open. You grit your teeth when you realize Albatross is the one who came to pick you up and bring you back to base, which means you’re never going to hear the end of this from him or any of the other Flags. You can already see him peering out the closed window, trying to figure out who’s chasing you.

“No.”

“How will I find you again then?” he laments, and to your horror, he catches up with you, trying to grab your wrist to stop you from leaving. You toss him a flinty look before snatching your wrist back.

“That’s the point.” You smile sweetly. “You won’t.”

You get in the car and slam the door shut, pointedly locking it before turning your attention to Albatross, who’s already chewing on his bottom lip, trying not to laugh.

“So,” he starts with a tone that lets you know you’re very much not going to like whatever he’s about to say.

“Albatross, shut the fuck up.”

Dazai stares after you curiously, watching as you slam the door shut to a car that probably costs more than everything he’s ever owned in his entire life. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone like you before, and he doesn’t even know what it is about you that’s drawing him in.

You’re beautiful but cold, aloof but magnetic. He hadn’t been the only one affected by your presence—he’d noticed the lingering stares of other men in the bar, the way the bartender always rushed to ensure that your glass was full, hardly able to meet your eyes. Something itches in the back of his head, a gut feeling that maybe he’s missing something, but Dazai disregards it, leaning against the brick wall of the building behind him, tilting his head up to look up at the vast night sky.

He does know one thing for sure, and that’s that he thinks he’s found his muse. After four years of the worst writer’s block he’s had in his life, Dazai’s fingers finally twitch for a pen.

He finds a smile curling onto his lips—a genuine one—and the muscles of his cheeks strain from the unfamiliar stretch.

For the first time since Odasaku’s death, the emptiness that has been endlessly plaguing Dazai’s chest is pushed out by a warmth that he hasn’t experienced in years. Letting out a shaky breath, giddy and excited in a way that leaves a skip in his step, Dazai makes his way back to his apartment rather than the bridge as he planned, intent on trying to figure out a way to find you again.

Maybe another day, Odasaku.

The gods are sick and cruel. You’ve known this since you were a child—seven years old and sitting in the center of piles of corpses after your village got caught in the crossfires of the Great War, rescued by a man who promised to send you right back if you couldn’t prove your worth to him. Your entire life, you feel like you’ve been the laughing stock of whatever higher beings there are, which is why you’re aggrieved but not surprised when that boy from the bar shows back up in your life.

You don’t even notice him at first. You’re exhausted—you’ve spent the past forty-eight hours awake and on comms for Akutagawa Gin and Tachihara Michizou as they infiltrated one of the low-rung gangs trying to move into the northern wards of Yokohama. It took longer for them to get to the leader than you thought it would, you were confident that it would be an in-and-out, less than twelve hours, but here you are two fucking days later, and you can’t even go back to your apartment and sleep because someone is demanding your immediate presence.

You wonder, sometimes, if death would be easier.

A part of you wants to just straight up ignore Mori and go back home to sleep. You personally think you deserve it, considering the mission went off without a single issue besides the unexpected length of it, but you also don’t want to hear the man bitch and make snide comments about insubordination, so you give your coffee order to the barista—your voice a bit too harsh, so you make up for it with a generous tip and then go wait for it at the opposite counter.

“Wowwww,” an unfortunately familiar voice croons from a nearby table. “Look at those bags. Someone didn’t sleep well last night.”

You think maybe death would be easier.

“As if my night couldn’t get any worse,” you say tightly, lips pressed together in a strained smile as you stare ahead, refusing to even turn to look at the irritating college student.

“It’s actually morning,” he says astutely.

“Find someone else to bother.”

He ignores you, naturally, and you let your eyes slide shut as you will yourself some patience when you hear the chair scrape against the ground, signaling him rising to his feet. You keep your gaze trained ahead even as you hear him approach you.

“Do you believe in fate, bella?” he hums, leaning over your shoulder to look at you.

You squint as you stare forward, rushing desperately for the barista to hurry up with your coffee, and you pointedly step away from him. “No.”

Well, you don’t actually know the answer to that question. Do you believe in fate? You don’t think you do. You like the idea of being able to carve out your own future without the meddling hands of gods trying to interfere, but can you really believe that everything in your life that’s happened to you is just by sheer chance? You’re not so sure.

“Well, I believe in fate,” he begins, and you already know you’re not going to like where this is going. “If I didn’t before, I certainly do now. What else could have led me to you again so soon? The red string tied around our fingers is demanding our love to finally bloom; it no longer tolerates the distance between us. My fated, no wonder I’ve evaded death for so long; it refused to embrace me because it knew I belonged in your arms instead!”

You almost don’t even register what he says, blinking a few times as the words process.

“Genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

You turn to face the brunette, appalled, and he gives you a sweet smile before saying, “You’ll have to be more specific. There’s a lot of things wrong with me.”

“Clearly,” you scoff, shaking your head and taking your coffee from the barista.

You can already feel your phone buzzing incessantly in your pocket. You don’t even have to look to know it’s Mori asking where you are, probably Chuuya bitching about having to cover for you too. You can’t waste any more time lingering around, so without another thought or word, you promptly leave the cafe.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” he calls after you. Much to your displeasure, he scrambles to grab his over-the-shoulder backpack before, much to your displeasure, chasing after you. “My name is Dazai. Dazai Osamu.”

“Did I, at any point, ask?” you ask irritably, making your way down the street in the direction of the headquarters, hoping that he leaves you alone before you get there because the last thing you want to do is get there with him trailing you like a lost puppy. Albatross already saw him following after you once. If he catches the kid around you again, he’s going to start making assumptions, and that’s the last thing you need because he’ll immediately go gossip to Chuuya and Lippmann about it.

“Well, no,” Dazai says, “but won’t you give me your name in return?”

“No,” you say, giving him a smile as equally sweet as the one he gave you before. You roll your eyes as you take a sip of your coffee. “Don’t you have more productive things to do than bother me? Like, I don’t know, finishing that assignment you spent two hours bitching my ear off about a few nights ago?”

“You remembered.” Dazai stares at you with stars in his eyes, face lighting up. “I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“It’s hard not to pay attention when you’re babbling in my ear,” you say dryly, a bit put off by how surprised and pleased he is over you remembering what he’d been talking about. “Why are you still following me?”

“I want your name,” Dazai pouts, words drawn a bit long as if to make a point, but it only makes your eye twitch. “Your number, if you’re feeling generous.”

“Well, I’m in a decidedly bad mood, so you’re getting neither,” you say, giving him a faux sweet smile that makes him push his lip out even further. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously cute?”

“No. Ridiculous.”

“Your beauty blinds me to your cruelty,” Dazai sighs dramatically. “I will not be driven away.”

“You should have more self-respect,” you say flatly, giving him yet another facetious smile before letting it drop and giving him a side-eye. You look him over once as you do; he’s dressed casually in a cream sweater and corduroy pants, a brown bag slung over his shoulder. Cute, but sickeningly… civilian. He seems to notice your judgment of him and looks offended—you speak before he can complain. “I have to go to work, so it’s time for you to leave.”

“To work?” Dazai blinks as if he hadn’t expected that from you, brows furrowing. “You look dead on your feet. You should be going home.”

I wish, you think mournfully. Even just the thought of your bed makes your body heavy with exhaustion. You just want to sleep, but Mori won’t even allow you the relief of that. You can’t help but wonder if you pissed him off because you have no idea why he’s being such an asshole. You don’t even think you did anything this time; you disagreed with him at one of the executive meetings last week, but you weren’t even rude while doing it. And you thought your idea was good.

You realize that Dazai is still waiting for a response from you, and you try to recall what he’d said, rolling your eyes when you do.

“Wow, thank you.” Your voice is dry and sarcastic. You give him a withering look that he meets with a stupid smile. “The longer you hold me up, the longer it’ll take for me to get home and sleep, so kindly fuck off.”

Dazai sighs. “The things I do for love,” he says mournfully, stopping in his tracks and giving you a downcast look, brown eyes wide and sad and lips curled down. You’re actually a bit surprised that he gave in, letting out a hum of appreciation—you almost didn’t think he would. “The next time we meet, you have to give me your name.”

“We’re not going to meet again,” you say firmly, and you mean it this time because if you see this guy again, you’re going to flee in the other direction. For his sake and your dignity because it’s only a matter of time before unwelcome eyes catch you with him.

“We will,” he sings. “Fate demands it of us. Goodbye, bella. Have a good day.”

You don’t respond to him when you walk away. Dazai is still undeterred. He’s hardly stopped thinking of you since that night at the bar a few days ago. Every time his mind drifts off, he finds himself picturing your face, longing to talk to you again. He thinks maybe it’s a bit weird for him to be so enamored by you after just two brief meetings, but there’s just something about you that’s drawing him in like a moth to flame.

His eyes linger on you until you turn the block and disappear from view. He’s a bit put out over the fact that he still doesn’t have your name, but he thinks that the meeting is still a win in his eyes. First at the bar, now at this cafe, you must live or work somewhere in the eastern part of the Kanagawa Prefecture—Hodogaya-ku or Minami-ku, maybe Nishi or Naka. He’s leaning toward the latter, considering you’re heading eastward to get to wherever your work is.

And it would make sense. Naka-ku has all of the high-end corporations, and you must work for one of them. Your outfit the other day, your outfit today—not gaudy wealth, but wealth for sure. He thinks the black suits you wear cost more than his tuition, and the rings adorning your fingers cost a liver or three. You can’t be much older than him if you even are, so you’re probably just a nepo-baby—father owns one of the big corps and gave you a high-up position right out of school. Probably never had to work a day in your life, he thinks bitterly of all of the time he’s spent working odd jobs just to afford rent in the area, surviving off cheap ramen and canned crab.

But it’s a bit odd, isn’t it? You look like you haven’t slept in two days, maybe longer. Dazai almost felt bad for badgering you just because of how exhausted you seemed. Dazai can’t imagine any type of business demanding that type of energy from one of its workers—especially a nepo-baby.

Dazai finally shakes his head, glancing down at his phone to see the time, sighing when he realizes it’s time to get to class for his poetry workshop, a bit more pleased because, for the first time since classes started three months ago, he actually has something to give to the professor.

The next time you run into Dazai, you see him first. Despite vehemently telling yourself that you would run in the other direction if you happened upon him again, you find yourself hesitating. You don’t even know why you’re hesitating; you shouldn’t be hesitating.

You’re stopping at one of the libraries at YNU to meet with an informant of yours—the son of the leader of your political opposition in the House of Councillors—all it took was a few sweet words and teasing smiles to have the boy wrapped around your finger, giving you all of the dirty details of his father's dealings for you to use against him when trying to sway the swing votes to your side.

It’s supposed to be an in-and-out meeting, and you don’t want to spend more than 15 minutes in this building if you don’t have to. You still have to meet with one of the oil barons from Venezuela that Mori is trying to get in bed with, and you’re hoping to meet with Mishima before the new military bill passes through the House of Representatives in two months—you suppose you can do that tomorrow, but you’re pretty sure he’s leaving to go deal with some issue with his narcotics trade in western Europe in a few days so you don’t want to leave it to the last minute.

The kid—you don’t even remember his first name, you only know that he’s Kimura’s asshole son, and he cares more about getting his dick wet than the sanctity of family secrets (not that it bothers you considering you’re benefiting from it, but you digress)—is surely already upstairs in one of the private study rooms waiting for you, but your feet are rooted to the ground.

Dazai Osamu sits at one of the study tables in the back, brows furrowed as he reads whatever textbook is in front of him, dressed in a cozy brown sweater. He looks distinctly displeased, tongue poking out between his lips as he scribbles away at his paper—you can’t tell what he’s reading or writing, but it notably does not look like creative writing.

He also looks distinctly lonely. He’s sitting alone at a table meant for four, and there are dozens of groups of students around him, chatting and laughing in their study groups. There are tables for one person lining the walls, so you can’t help but wonder if he chose the larger table specifically to spite the people coming in groups so they have to cram at a smaller table or if he’s meeting people here.

Before you can stop yourself—because you should stop yourself—you find yourself making your way over to him. He doesn’t even notice you at first, not until you’re right in front of the table and peering down at the textbook he’s reading: Intro to Engineering.

“That doesn’t look like creative writing,” you say dryly, lips quirking up in amusement when Dazai physically startles at your appearance, looking up at you with wide eyes and parted lips. Almost cute, if he wasn’t so annoying—you think maybe if he was one of Kouyou’s girls, you might’ve given him a chance.

For a second, Dazai looks as if he’s going to make a quip—you expect a loud comment about fate and love, but instead, his expression softens after a minute as he looks down at his textbook, making you tilt your head to the side curiously at the change in demeanor.

“Intro to Engineering,” he finally says with a wry smile, motioning toward the book. “A required class, much to my extreme displeasure.”

“Sounds terrible,” you say absently, gaze flicking around, noting all of the prying eyes now not-so-discreetly eyeing your table.

You’re used to people staring at you, you have eyes on you pretty much at all times, and a bunch of nobody college students are nothing compared to the eyes of politicians and foreign mafiosos, half of whom want your head piked. Dazai, on the other hand, doesn’t look quite as comfortable beneath the stares of so many of his classmates, which is surprising to you, considering how bold he was with you at the bar and in public the other day.

“Are you meeting people?” you ask curiously, glancing at the empty chairs around him.

A lie. A blatant one at that, and he can tell how poorly it came out from the way he winces. You blink, curious as to why he doesn’t want to admit he’s at the library alone, but then shrug because you don’t really care.

“Why are you here?” You raise your eyebrows at the sheer attitude in the question, almost caught off guard by it. Dazai clearly did not intend for it to come out that way, so he immediately shrinks and then adds too quickly, “You don’t go to school here, I mean.”

“Yeah… okay,” you say dryly, a bit offended, wondering why you even came over here. Dazai looks remorseful at his words but only averts his gaze down to the table. Finally, you sigh, choosing your words carefully because you don’t want him—or anyone—to know you’re meeting someone because if anyone finds out Kimura’s kid is feeding you information, you’d be in a shitty position. Instead, you go with, “I own this building. I come to check on it from time to time.”

Any remorse on Dazai’s face is gone as he stares at you flatly. “You… own this building?”

“I donated the money to have it built, yes,” you say, unsure of why he’s giving you such a deadpan expression.

And it’s the truth: you did it three years ago when you first realized Kimura’s son was attending YNU as a freshman. You needed an excuse to come to campus and ‘run into him,’ so you decided to just have a library built with the reasoning that your deceased father attended the university, and you wanted it in his name.

Did your father attend YNU? You have no idea—hardly even remember the man—but you had Piano Man forge some records to show that he did.

“Why?” Dazai asks.

“I was in a good mood,” you say sarcastically to evade the question.

“You were in a good mood, so you decided to spend hundreds of millions of yen on a library for a university you don’t even attend?” he questions doubtfully.

“I was in an exceptionally good mood,” you amend smugly.

The expression on Dazai’s face is nothing short of bitter and withering. “The next time you’re in a good mood, you should pay for my tuition and rent,” he says snidely.

“Well, my next project is a zoo,” you say, and you can tell from the way Dazai’s eyes narrow that he knows he’s not about to like what you’re going to say. “We can fit you in with the rest of the baboons, I suppose. That’ll be your new apartment.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

As you banter, there’s something sharp and calculating in his eyes that you don’t like—you vaguely noticed it in the past two meetings with him but are only really catching it now as he stares steadily at you, trying to figure you out. Which you can’t let happen, obviously, so you give him a faux-sweet smile instead and lift your hand to wave your fingers in a goodbye, preparing to make your leave and go find Kimura’s kid upstairs.

“I have to go,” you say, and then add belatedly, “hope this never happens again.”

Dazai pushes his lip out into a pout reminiscent of the one he gave you the other day outside of the cafe, but his heart doesn’t seem to be in it this time. His eyes are distant as they flick around the vast library again, disappointed almost. Lonely. You don’t know why you’re still standing there and you especially don’t know why you find your lips parting to speak.

You very much don’t know why your name comes out, and when Dazai looks up at you, eyes wide and with a shine in them that wasn’t there before, a question ready on his lips, you almost hesitate. Almost find yourself at a loss for words. Something that hasn’t happened to you in… years, actually.

What the fuck?

You play it off quickly. “You wanted my name, didn’t you?” you drawl, looking down at him unimpressed as if you’re not entirely horrified with yourself right now.

Dazai looks at you as if you’ve handed him the stars, sun, and moon on a silver platter, and you decide it’s time to leave before he can say anything else—more importantly before you can say anything else—lifting your hand lazily to wave at him over your shoulder without looking back.

Once you’re well out of sight—all the way up the stairs leading to the private study rooms with the one-way glass windows looking down into the main section of the library—you finally allow yourself one last look.

Dazai still sits the same exact way you left him, staring at where you’d left with a stupid smile on his face and a starstruck look in his eyes. You roll your eyes, and you firmly choose to ignore the faint smile curving at the corners of your lips.

Your name rings through his head on repeat, a giddy feeling spreading through his chest. His whole body feels light and his fingers thrum across the wood of the table he’s sitting at, unable to stop the smile that rises to his lips. You approached him this time and you gave him your name—progress, good progress. In his exhilaration, he can almost ignore the dozens of curious eyes lingering on him wondering who you were and how you knew Dazai of all people.

He supposes he can’t blame them for being curious—you’re someone who’s clearly not cut from the same cloth as the rest of them; if your clothes didn’t make that apparent enough, the way you hold yourself does. And to approach him… Dazai isn’t particularly liked by the other students in his year—they think he’s odd. Which, he is odd, but they could be more discreet about it.

“Hey, Dazai-kun, who was that?” one of the third-year boys asks, leaning over from his table to try to get Dazai’s attention, intrigued gaze pinned on where you’d disappeared to.

Dazai pointedly does not acknowledge him. Partially because he’s not about to encourage competition, you’re Dazai’s muse, and Dazai is not keen on sharing you, but mostly because he doesn’t even know the answer to that question.

Who are you?

Dazai knew you were wealthy just from the way you dressed, but the way you so casually mentioned that you’d donated the money for this library to be built a few years ago was absurd. You can’t be much older than him, so what? You were eighteen or nineteen, donating hundreds of millions, billions of yen to have a library built? And for what? It doesn’t make sense. Dazai prides himself on his shrewd mind and ability to read people, but he just can’t figure you out.

He must be missing something

He pulls out his phone, clicking on the safari app before hesitating. You only gave him your first name—he doubts that he’ll actually find anything on you, but a part of him holds out hope because you clearly have more money than god, and anyone with that much money must have some heavy sway on politics and society. Rich people have the media following them like dogs looking for a bone.

So, he tries, and he’s sorely disappointed when only websites about name etymology and pronunciation pop up. He sighs as he flips to a new page in his notebook, giving up on trying to figure out these engineering formulas for now.

Instead, he writes your name at the top of the page, tapping his pen to his lips as he tries to figure out who exactly his new muse is.

You don’t see Dazai for two weeks after that. You don’t have the chance to—you’re busy getting ready for the gala the government is hosting to honor some agency based in Tokyo. An excuse so they can gather all of the House Representatives and Councillors in one spot for both sides to advocate for or against the major military bill passing through the National Diet in a month and a half. You’ll be attending to represent the Mori Corporation, as always, and you’re hoping Mishima sends Kiyomasa on behalf of Age of Blue Co., his own front for the Sun and Steel. You think with the two of you taking on the burden of convincing the swing votes, you’ll get it done.

Now, though, you’re in a foul mood because you have to waste time you don’t have out of your day to deal with one of the landlords the Port Mafia is leasing property to. He’s been skimping out on payments owed and, evidently, has grown balls that he certainly shouldn’t have, considering he had the nerve to turn away two of your subordinates when they came to collect. He obviously thinks he can get away with it because it's a low-priority issue compared to all of the other things going on with the military bill and developments in China and Russia with Cao Xueqin and Vladimir Nabokov. You have half a mind to stuff a 24 in his mouth and pull the trigger just to show him how low of a priority he really is.

You might, honestly, depending on his decisions in the next ten minutes.

You get to the complex in Hodogaya-ku half-past six in the morning, wanting to get this done and out of the way well before Tolstoy arrives in the city at ten to meet with you about the rising issues in the mainland. For once, luck seems to be on your side because when Albatross pulls up to the complex, you see Mado on the phone outside, in a heated conversation with someone.

“Have fun,” Albatross sings as you push open the car door to make your way over to the older man.

Mado catches sight of you instantly, eyes widening and pallor taking on a ghastly color as he hangs up on whoever he is talking to so he can take a step back closer to the front doors of the complex. You tilt your head to the side, pointedly shifting your suit jacket so he can catch sight of the gun holstered at your side before hiding it again.

“I wouldn’t do that,” you say with a thin smile as you draw closer.

“You’re-” Mado begins but cuts himself off quickly.

“Mado-kun,” you greet, hands clasped behind your back as you watch the man carefully. “I hear you had an issue with two of my subordinates.”

“I-”

“Or, well, there was no issue because you quite rudely turned them away,” you amend dryly. “I’d love to know your reasoning. I’ve got a few running theories of my own.”

“You misunderstand-”

“The most plausible theory, in my opinion, is that you think you can slide under the radar because there are more important things going on right now. You think you can make quick money by shaving off the money owed to us to keep for yourself,” you continue, smile falling off your face. “If that’s the case, I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken. The Port Mafia always repays its debts, and we always collect upon them.”

Mado takes in a stunted breath, then steps back again. “N-No. No, you misunderstand-” he tries again, and your lip curls up in frustration, eyes darting around the complex.

It would be risky. Very risky. The Mafia controls all of the cameras in the complex, and you’re not in sight of any of the windows, but it’s broad daylight, and there’s always the off chance someone walks out while you’re in the process of putting a bullet through his skull. You’re just so fed up, and Albatross is right there…

You let out a puff of air, almost amused, as you take a step back and nod to yourself. Whatever, you think to yourself. It’s better than listening to him stumble over weak excuses, wasting even more of your time. Just as you’re about to reach for your gun, the door to the apartment complex slams open, and you halt.

“Really?” A familiar voice says, loud and frustrated. “You’re going to hang up on me now?”

You blink, head snapping to the side for your eyes to focus on Dazai Osamu, dressed in gray sweats and a black-tshirt, bandages wrapped all the way from his wrists disappearing under his shirt. He’s angry, brows furrowed as he glares at Mado, doesn’t even notice you standing there. Your irritation instantly fades, replaced with mild curiosity and entertainment.

“Dazai,” you greet easily, an amused smile curling at the corners of your lips. You ignore the stunned look Mado casts between the two of you. “You live here?”

Dazai freezes as soon as he hears your voice, brown eyes wide as looks at you, finally registering your presence. “You-what are you doing here?” He sounds caught off guard, in disbelief.

Almost the same question, almost the same tone as the way he asked why you were at the library two weeks ago, the smile on your lips now is decidedly mocking as you repeat the answer you gave him back then. “I own this building. The whole complex, actually.”

“You’re joking,” Dazai says flatly.

“Hmm,” you say, as if you’re thinking to yourself. “No, I don’t believe I am. Ask Mado-kun here, I’ve had to take time out of my day to come speak to him because he refuses to pay for the property we lease to him.”

You give Mado a faux-sweet smile, watching as he looks even more aghast as he looks between you and Dazai.

Dazai looks incensed by your words. “So not only do you refuse to fix my water problems, but you can’t even pay for the property?” he says snidely. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

You raise your eyebrows, glancing at Dazai and then back to Mado. “Is that so?”

“Dazai-san,” Mado laughs nervously. “Don’t be hasty now-”

“Hasty?” Dazai demands. “I’ve gone two weeks without water. Every time I call you about it, you blow me off.”

“How fascinating,” you say lightly, giving Mado a cool look. “Well, the complex will have a new landlord soon. Mado-kun, please head to the car so we can work out the details of terminating the contract.”

Mado stares at you as if you’ve just signed his death sentence. Which you suppose you have. Terminating the contract is a gentler way of putting terminating his life. You raise your eyebrows and lift your hand to shoo him away, making eye contact with Albatross who had stepped out of the car as soon as Dazai had come outside.

Albatross tosses you a wink and nods toward Dazai; you give him a withering look, directing your attention back to Dazai as Mado walks over to the sleek black car you’d arrived in.

The look Dazai gives you is akin to a kicked puppy, and his words are drawn out long as he speaks, a quiet whine that shouldn’t do something to you but it does. “I was suffering in your building for two weeks,” he pouts. “I should be compensated.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll send someone to fix your water,” you say dryly.

“You should give me your number,” Dazai says sweetly. “Just in case this happens again.”

“I’ll get you a new landlord and I’ll give you his number,” you say just as sweetly, relishing in the way he pushes his lip out even more.

“But what if it’s another bad landlord? I should have your number so I can call you just in case,” Dazai presses, tilting his head to the side and batting his lashes at you so blatantly that you have half a mind to snort and walk away.

Instead, you find yourself letting out a huff of laughter as you shake your head.

What the fuck?

You justify this by telling yourself that Mado’s inability to properly run the complex has, in turn, made the Mafia look bad, making it seem as if you’re unable to manage your own properties. It’s better to have someone who will instantly start complaining as soon as things go wrong so you can fix it right away.

Dazai scrambles to pull his phone from the pocket of his sweats and your lips quirk up a bit when you see the way his fingers are just barely trembling.

Cute.

You can see him watching you anxiously from the corner of his eye as you type your number into his phone quickly with your first name and hand it back to him. A bit embarrassed by how quickly you gave in to him, you make up for it with: “Don’t bother me unless it’s urgent.”

“Mhm,” Dazai agrees as he takes his phone back from you, looking down at your contact information with bright eyes. Then he suddenly pouts, “You didn’t even give yourself a cute contact name. Just your first name. That’s so boring.”

You watch as he immediately starts typing and squint at him, “What did you change it to?” you ask suspiciously, trying to look, but he pockets his phone before you can, tossing you a saccharine smile.

“You should waive my rent too,” Dazai adds, voice soft and honeyed.

The fucking audacity of this kid, you think to yourself, almost laughing in disbelief. You just gave him your number against all better judgment—he has to have more than a few screws loose, maybe all of them. The worst part is, you think the more time you spend around him, the looser yours become, too, because somehow you’re actually considering it.

You shouldn’t even be having this conversation with him. He’s a civilian. You’re an executive in the Mafia. You shouldn’t have given him your number, you shouldn’t have given him your name, you shouldn’t have entertained any of this at all. He’s a civilian, and you can’t be giving him special treatment because he is a civilian. A normal guy going to university to live a normal life. The more time you spend around him, the more likely he is to become one of the nameless bodies dumped in the abandoned shipping container yard by the ports, caught in the crossfires of an underworld conflict that he shouldn’t be anywhere near just because he was seen with you.

This shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t. You’ve been the reason for countless deaths, pulled the trigger yourself on most, so why is it when you think of Dazai Osamu’s stupid big brown eyes glassy and empty—body forgotten and rotting in a pile of corpses in that dumping ground—do you find your mouth dry and your chest tight?

It’s an effort for you to force out a laugh and wave him off over your shoulder as you turn to leave.

“Yeah, as if.”

There’s a skip in Dazai’s step as he makes his way back into his small studio apartment, fingers curled around his phone. As soon as he shuts the door, he flings himself onto his futon, pulling his phone out of his pocket and smiling at the new contact in it.

My Muse is what he’d changed the contact to from the boring name you’d entered it under as if you were only just an acquaintance to him and not his muse, his inspiration, his will to live. He clicks the message button on your contact and quickly types:

Dazai: hi (＠＾◡＾)

Instantly, it pops up that you read the message, and he waits anxiously for the three dots to appear, signaling that you’re typing a response, but they never come. He pouts to himself when he realizes that you’re not going to respond. A part of him wonders if maybe you gave him a fake number, but he doubts it. Still, Dazai wanted to get more information on you anyway, so he quickly pulls up a different contact. Dazai might not have a lot of friends, but he does have a lot of people who owe him favors.

Dazai: kataiii, remember when i helped u get a date with that brunette at the cafe? :P Katai: What do you want?

Dazai types in your number and promptly sends it to him.

Dazai: tell me whatever info u can find about the person who owns this number.

Katai doesn’t respond, so Dazai figures that he’s already on the hunt. Instead, he grabs his notebook and flips right to the page where he’s been listing all of the things he’s noticed about you.

Rich. Nepo baby?

Demanding job? What type of nepo baby has a demanding job?

REALLY rich? Built the nice library on campus, donated hundreds of millions of yen at 18/19 to build it—weird. Evaded answering when asked why.

Dazai taps his pen to his lips, trying to figure out what he wants to add on the next bullet point, and just as he thinks he’s formulated his next observation, his phone buzzes again.

Katai: No information. At all. Not even a name. Dazai: really? Katai: Yeah. Kind of weird, honestly. Usually I can find at least something small to go off of. It’s like this number doesn’t exist.

Interesting, Dazai thinks to himself, even more intrigued now as he sits up in his futon and starts making his next note. Wealthy, distant, cold, and apparently a ghost to even Katai Tamaya, who can usually find anyone and everyone with the smallest bit of information.

Who are you?

You’re in a meeting with Mori, Kouyou, and Ace when you get the text. It’s from an unsaved number, but one that you already have ingrained in your head, considering you get several dozen texts a day from it. You don’t even know why you bother to check this time—you usually just ignore them until you have nothing better to do than see what he’s yapping on about. Maybe this time, it’s because it’s only a single message; you’re used to getting them en masse, eight or nine messages in a row, unnecessarily split up when they could’ve been combined into one message.

As Ace drones on about whatever issues he’s having at his casinos, you spare a glance down at your phone, unlocking it to click on the message. You halt when you see that the only thing Dazai sent you is a ping with his location. Your eyes flit back upward to make sure no one is looking at you, and then you type a quick message back.

You: ?

You wait, tongue scraping against the roof of your mouth as the three bubbles pop up on your phone. His response is quick, and your stress levels skyrocket when all he sends is a “help.” Your mind races as you try to figure out what to do—if you leave the meeting now, you’re bound to draw Mori’s attention, but…

You shouldn’t care. What are you doing? You should not care. He’s a random kid that you happened to run into a couple of times, who has somehow managed to convince himself that the two of you are fated. He’s delusional and annoying, and you’d probably be better off with him gone and unable to bother you. His existence puts you in danger as much as it does him, and the fact that you’re sitting here actually contemplating going to this location to see what’s wrong is proof enough of that.

Shit.

Once again, you’re forced to justify your own actions to yourself as you find yourself rising to your feet. You tell yourself you’re only heading there to put an end to this, to tell him that he has to stop bothering you, to stop texting a dozen times a minute, several times a day. To tell him that he has to forget about you and go back to whatever he was doing before he ran into you at the bar that night.

With all eyes on you, the cogs in your mind turn quickly for an excuse. You only come up with a vague and weak one, one that you know Mori will question later on.

“Something urgent just came up,” you say, smiling thinly at the three other executives at the round table. You pointedly ignore the curious look in Mori’s eyes, knowing nothing good ever comes from drawing his curiosity. “I have more important things to do than listen to Ace whine about his own failings.”

“You-” Ace spits out, face going red as he stands up, but you’re already leaving the conference room.

You: Have the car outside in 2 minutes. Albatross: not ur personal chauffeur 😒 i’m busy

You roll your eyes at the response as you make your way into the elevator, clicking the button to bring you down to the first floor. Each second in the elevator feels like an eternity, and you find yourself glancing back down at your phone frequently to see if Dazai sends another message, but he does not.

What are you doing?

You find yourself shaking your head, a bit lost and taken aback by your own actions, as the elevator doors slide open to the first-floor lobby. You ignore your subordinates and the other Mafia underlings as you make your way to the front doors of the headquarters.

Albatross is dutifully waiting outside for you.

“Not my personal chauffeur, huh?” you say sarcastically as soon as you open the door to sit in the passenger seat. “What happened to being busy?”

“You take me for granted,” Albatross complains, head lolling to the side against the headrest to toss you a side-eye. “Where we goin’, doll?”

You show him the location sent to you, and you pointedly ignore the knowing look Albatross gives you at the unsaved number in your phone. He takes it in his hand to zoom into the precise location and raises his eyebrows.

“The hell is he doing on that side of the city?” Albatross says more to himself than to you, putting the phone down and shifting the car into gear. You also pointedly ignore how he immediately knows who you’re rushing off to help. “‘s a ten minute drive. I’ll get there in three.”

Oh god. It’s not like you haven’t been in car chases with Albatross before, but you don’t think anything can prepare you for the lurching in your stomach as he takes off. They’re fun usually, but you’re also usually with Chuuya, and you’re also usually distracted trying to gun down whoever is giving chase, you’re not paying attention to how dangerously he’s weaving in and out of traffic to get from place to place.

Albatross looks entirely exhilarated. There’s a wide smile on his face, pupils blown wide, sunglasses hanging off the bridge of his nose as he leans forward. He lets out a wild laugh as he takes such a jarring turn that your shoulder slams against the car door. You toss him an angry glare, but Albatross is entirely unperturbed, doesn’t even notice as he lets out a whoop.

That side of the city. You hadn’t even noticed while in the meeting, sparing a glance back down at your phone. Dazai’s up in Tsuzuki-ku—all of the city is under the Port Mafia’s control, all of the city and well beyond, really, most of Japan is under the Port Mafia’s thumb, but the northern wards are frequently tested by lower-rung gangs hoping to try to sliver some of the Mafia’s heartland away from them. They always fail, but sometimes it can get messy, and recently, there’s been another making moves in Aoba-ku.

Your chest tightens in a way that it definitely shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time a wannabe rival to the Mafia targeted someone close to an executive to try to get their hands on one, and you hadn’t exactly been subtly approaching him that day at the library. Two years ago, an organization called the Serpent’s Tongue targeted a girl Chuuya’d been talking to trying to get him to turn himself in—a civilian girl, actually, one that he dragged into this life just like you’re unintentionally doing with Dazai. He turned himself over for her; they killed her anyway, and the whole organization paid for it with their lives. So did all of their families. You don’t think Chuuya’s ever gotten over it.

You’re not trying to start a gang war for a civilian that you’ve met a handful of times, but…

“Should we call for backup?” Albatross asks you, uncharacteristically serious, as the two of you draw closer to the location sent to you. “What if it’s a trap? That Yakuza syndicate’s been pretty active up here in Aoba and Tsuzuki,”

“No,” you say, because you’re not fucking calling in the Black Lizards for this civilian. That’ll make this a whole operation, and then Mori will find out, and then everything will go to shit. “... I’ll text Chuuya.”

You: Where you at? Chuuya: Checking in on the ports in Kanagawa. What’s up?

You: Be on standby?

Chuuya: ??? Ok. What’s going on?

You don’t respond, slipping your phone back into your pocket and resting your head on the window. If Chuuya’s at the ports in Kanagawa-ku, then it won’t take him more than three or four minutes with the Tainted Sorrow to get to your location. You don’t need him barreling over here now if this is something you can handle on your own. The less people that know about Dazai fucking Osamu, the better.

“Uhhh,” Albatross begins. “I don’t think your boy’s in trouble, doll.”

Instantly, your blood pressure spikes.

You follow Albatross’s gaze to where he’s looking at a strip of shops, pulling to a stop in front of an affordable men’s warehouse. You stare blankly. Albatross looks like he’s about to start laughing.

“I’m going to kill him,” you breathe out, stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut so hard that you hear Albatross cursing at you from inside, even when you get all the way to the door of the store.

Your phone is buzzing incessantly, so you pull it out before you go into the building.

Chuuya: Hello?? What’s happening? Where are you?

Bitterly, you type out a response.

You: Forget it. False alarm.

As soon as you open the door, you’re met with the overwhelming scent of shoe polish and cheap dye. A store attendant comes up to you to ask if you need help with anything, but you’ve already spotted Dazai in the back, looking lost as his eyes card between three black suits.

“You,” you spit out loud enough to get his attention. Dazai’s eyes widen as he looks up at you. “You have some nerve.”

“Bella.” Dazai ignores your ire, a smile lighting up his face. “You came!”

“You said help,” you accuse angrily. “You said help and sent me a location with no explanation.”

“I do need help,” Dazai pouts. “I don’t know anything about suits. You wear such nice ones all the time, I figure you can help me pick one out.”

“Do I look like a goddamn stylist, Dazai?” You raise your voice, livid, blood still running hot from the panic you felt when you saw the text, how you’d exposed yourself in front of Mori, from the anxiety of trying to figure out if you needed to bring in the Black Lizards if this was a trap.

Dazai draws back a bit now as if only just realizing that you’re genuinely pissed, and you think you should take your gun and stick it in your own mouth because why are you feeling guilty when he’s the one in the wrong? You haven’t felt guilty for anything a day in your fucking life.

A sick part of you that you want to carve out and throw away defends him. How is he supposed to know the implications of what those messages could mean to someone like you? He’s a college student whose biggest problem of the day is working out the answers to his class assignments, and he has no idea who you are and what you do. He doesn’t know that the first thing that comes to your head is the sight of Chuuya’s girl’s head rolling on the fucking ground, watching him scream over her body. Doesn’t know that there are people out there with blood that runs as black as tar that are trying to hunt you down, would jump at the chance of any weakness to exploit.

You force yourself to calm down. You take a breath, take a step away, look up to the ceiling, and pray to a god you don’t believe in to give you the patience to get through this day.

“Well, since you’re here already…” Dazai tries, giving you a sweet smile and batting his long lashes.

Your eye twitches.

You drag your gaze from his face to the three suits he’s considering. Your lip curls up a bit in disfavor as you reach out to pinch the material between your fingers—it’s stiff and scratchy to the touch, surely uncomfortable to wear.

“What do you need this for?” you finally ask, glancing at him.

“I’m going on a date,” Dazai says proudly. You snort and look him over once. His jaw drops in offense, “That was so rude, what does that mean?”

“What do you really need it for?” you ask dryly.

Dazai withers, shoulders slumping. “My journalist professor is having me attend some event with him. Told me to get something nice to wear so I don’t look out of place.”

“And you think this will do the job?” you ask distastefully. “This looks like something a high schooler would wear to a school dance.”

Dazai looks helplessly at the suit you’re judging. “How can you tell?” he whines. “It’s just a suit.”

“The material and the color. It’s washed out.”

“Why are rich people so pretentious?” Dazai mutters, more to himself than you, and you raise your eyebrows as you watch him pout, clearly taking in the differences between the suit he picked out and the one you’re wearing. Still, he continues bitterly, “It’s just a suit.”

“You’re going with a journalist. He’s going to want you to blend in so people aren’t careful about what they say around you,” you note offhandedly, tilting your head to the side as you look over him. “The more you dress like them, the less likely they’ll be to notice you and the looser their lips will be.”

This is your field of expertise, you learned all of this when you were thirteen and fourteen, just learning the ropes of mafia politics. The first lesson you learned was that of the importance of being able to camouflage yourself in any crowd—the importance of not only acting and sounding like you belong but looking like you belong. If one thing is even a little off, you’ll be sniffed out by bloodhounds. You don’t even notice how you’re absently lecturing him on it until you catch sight of him from the corner of your eye.

Dazai’s looking at you, curious and taking in your words. You don’t like the sudden intense attention from him, so against better judgment, you sigh and change the subject.

“Come on,” you say. “I’ll take you somewhere else.”

Dazai’s mouth is dry as he trails after you into a luxury boutique in Nishi-ku. Everything about the place makes him feel uncomfortable and sorely out of place, from the way even the store attendants are dressed in suits that Dazai couldn’t dream of affording to the way he catches them casting looks toward one another as their eyes drift between you and Dazai.

“Yeah, uh, maybe we should go back to that warehouse? I can’t afford this,” Dazai says hesitantly, nearly tripping over a stand because he isn’t paying attention to where he’s walking.

“Obviously,” you say flatly, and Dazai would feel offended, but when he tries to peek around for the price on one of the suits near him, he finds, to his mortification, that there’s not even a price tag to look at. “Kido-san, can you get the backroom set up to take his measurements?”

Measurements, Dazai mouths to himself, feeling a bit lost.

An older man, who must be Kido, nods his head in acknowledgment. “Of course, hime.”

Dazai’s head snaps to the side, watching as your eye seems to twitch at the honorific.

“Hime?” Dazai whispers urgently, growing more confused by the second. He thought he had a general idea of who you are but finds that every meeting with you leaves him more and more bewildered.

“Don’t call me that,” you scowl before turning to look at him.

Dazai feels strangely seen under your stare, shifting on his feet from side to side as your gaze trails down from his face to his waist. You squint and then reach out, pinch the fabric of his cotton shirt, and pull it to the side; Dazai bites back a surprised yelp, which you seem to catch from how you give him a distinctly unimpressed look.

“I-” Dazai starts to say, but he doesn’t even know what he wants to say, so he just trails off awkwardly.

You don’t seem to notice either way because whatever you’re looking for, you seem to have found, letting out a pleased hum as you make your way to the back of the store, leaving him alone with two female store attendants who are observing him like he’s some unknown specimen.

“So, how do you know her?” One finally approaches him with an excited gleam in her eyes, eager for some gossip. “Hime has never brought anyone to us before, not even Nakahara-sama.”

Dazai doesn’t know how to respond to that. Partially because he’s still caught on the way they address you as hime and partially because he’s caught on whoever ‘Nakahara-sama’ is and why they’re so impressed that you brought him here and not them. He feels smug about it, actually, so smug that he entirely forgets to respond until the woman draws back.

“Oh! We won’t tell anyone,” the woman rushes out, shaking her head as if thinking that’s why Dazai isn’t answering her question. “We have a completely confidential policy with our clients, and hime is our most important. We wouldn’t ever risk betraying her trust.”

Dazai’s mind is whirling, trying to store all of the information he’s receiving so he can put it down in his notebook when he gets home. Hime, the reverence in the store attendants’ voices when they talk about you, going to a boutique with a confidentiality policy… that’s all a bit weird, isn’t it? Dazai isn’t sure—rich people are weird in general, maybe it’s not unheard of for high-end boutiques like this to have policies in place in case clients come in and have to talk about their business. Nobody would want to go somewhere where attendants leak trade secrets for a quick buck.

Hime, though, why-

“Stop badgering him.” Your voice rings through the small boutique as you step out from the backroom, arms folded across your chest as you give the two attendants a sharp look. “Dazai, come.”

Dazai feels like you’re treating him like a pet dog, but he does dutifully follow after you. You motion to a pedestal in the middle of the room and Dazai makes his way over to it, feeling a bit embarrassed as he stands on top of it. You lean against the wall, and Dazai isn’t really sure what to do when Kido waddles over with a measuring tape, so he holds his arms out.

You instantly snort and look away, Kido flattens his lips.

Dazai is embarrassed, but lowers his arms.

“Take off your clothes, Dazai-sama,” the older man snaps his fingers together.

Dazai freezes, hardly even taking note of the honorific because he’s mortified by what’s being requested of him. He does not want to do that because he doesn’t want you to see that he covers his whole body with bandages. He’s had more than enough people see the bandages and immediately cringe away, imagining what monstrosity must lie beneath them for Dazai to hardly even allow an inch of visible skin. Sensing his discomfort, he watches your eyes track down to the bandages peeking over his collar and sleeves, and then you pointedly turn around to face the wall, sighing as you pull out your phone.

Dazai’s lips part a bit in shock, not expecting you to immediately recognize the issue and move to try to fix it. He thinks maybe only one person ever in his life has been able to read him so easily, and he’s been gone for four years.

For the first time since Odasaku’s death, Dazai feels like someone is actually seeing him.

“Shirt, Dazai-sama,” Kido urges impatiently, and Dazai swallows thickly as he pulls off his sweater, noticing the man pause when he sees the bandages wrapped around Dazai’s whole torso and chest.

“I don’t ever go without them,” Dazai says awkwardly, “I-”

“Take the measurements as is, Kido-san,” you say sharply from where you’re still facing the wall.

Kido doesn’t argue with you, immediately getting to work on measuring Dazai’s waist and hips. As he does, Dazai feels particularly uncomfortable with you still standing there facing the wall, so he finds himself talking.

“The day we met at the cafe, I was going to a poetry workshop,” he says suddenly. “For uni. It’s one of my classes this semester.”

“Yeah?” you ask, and Dazai is almost surprised that you’re indulging his conversation, a stupid smile twitching on his lips. “What’d they have you doing?”

“Our professor had us write free-verse,” Dazai continues, fingers thrumming against his thigh as he speaks—a nervous habit that he can’t seem to break. Kido slaps his hand to get him to stop when it messes up the measurement of his hips, and Dazai promptly stills. “I prefer free verse. It’s my favorite style of poetry.”

Dazai doesn’t really know why he’s rambling about this, but he can’t seem to shut himself up. He can feel his cheeks getting hot, realizing this probably isn’t a conversation you’d be interested in partaking in, and just as he’s about to awkwardly change the subject, you speak up.

“… I prefer sonnets,” you tell him after a few moments of silence.

“You read poetry?” Dazai asks, a bit too doubtfully, from the way you click your tongue in irritation.

“Not often. I don’t have the time for it, but I am not uncultured,” you say, and Dazai smiles a bit—he can practically see the scowl that’s on your face. “Il Canzoniere. Francis Petrarch. That’s my favorite.”

Dazai tilts his head to the side, considering you in a new light. “Huh,” he says more to himself than you. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Put your shirt back on and remove your pants, Dazai-sama,” Kido orders and Dazai nearly jumps, almost having forgotten about the man in his conversation with you. Dazai quickly does as asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable standing there in his briefs with his bandages wrapped around his legs. “I’ll be quick.”

“Why is Il Canzoniere your favorite?” Dazai asks curiously when Kido gets to work measuring each of Dazai’s thighs and calves.

You hum to yourself and then answer, “I think the Petrarchan view of love is very… accurate. How it’s so coveted despite how painful it may be. Among all of his other ideas, of course, but that I think is the most meaningful to me.”

Dazai’s lips part to respond, but for a second, no words leave them. Finally, he clears his throat and forces out, “Yeah… Yeah, I agree with that, too.”

“You’ve read?” you ask.

“Of course, I’ve read.” Dazai is almost offended by the question. “It’s Petrarch.”

“Have you really read it, though? The translations don’t do it justice.”

Dazai blinks. “You can speak Italian?”

“Several languages,” you drawl, as if it’s nothing. “Useful for business.”

Before Dazai can respond, Kido rises to his feet and motions for Dazai to pull back up his pants, noting down the measurements on his pad. “The rest I can do with your clothes on. You’re free to turn back around, hime.”

You do, and Dazai’s breath hitches at the unreadable expression on your face as you lean back against the wall and look over him. “What made you choose to go into English? Not exactly a useful major unless you plan on going into law or publishing.”

He thinks this might be the first time he’s talked about Odasaku out loud since his death. He didn’t go to the funeral, hasn’t talked to Ango since it all happened. He’s emotionally isolated himself from everyone for years, and Dazai is feeling more than a little vulnerable because he doesn’t even know why he’s telling you all of this. He just can’t seem to shut his mouth.

“I think you’ll do it justice,” you tell him after a few moments of silence.

Dazai looks up at you, dark eyes wide and imploring. He searches your face to see if you’re just fucking with him but only finds sincerity—you immediately look away, focusing on the wall instead. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he’s positively vibrating at your words until Kido lets out a heavy sigh.

“Dazai-sama, please stop moving so much.”

Dazai stills immediately and instead focuses on trying to help Kido finish up the measurements as quickly as possible. Dazai’s only been to this part of Nishi-ku a handful of times, but if he remembers correctly, there’s a cafe two blocks down, and this is his chance.

This is his chance to ask you on a date. He has to take it. He hasn’t felt this giddy, this happy, this hopeful since before he lost Odasaku. Dazai hasn’t looked forward to the future like this in years, just surviving each day, wishing each passing one was his last, but not wanting to disappoint Odasaku by not fulfilling his last request. He’d been at his breaking point that day at the bar, but then he met you.

Then he met you. And yeah, you hadn’t shown much interest in him that night. Not at all, actually, but Dazai had never been drawn to someone like he’d been drawn to you before in his entire life. He’d known something was there, even if that did make him a little delusional. His heartbeat is erratic in his chest, and he’s clumsily trying to help speed things up, but he thinks he might be doing more harm than help.

When Dazai looks over to you again, he finds himself flustered by the expression on your face. Your head is tilted to the side as you observe him, lips curved up, and a look in your eyes that can only be described as fondness. You don’t notice that he caught you staring, so Dazai tries to burn this image in his head as quickly as he can. He’s used to contemptuous, judgmental looks, he doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him so affectionately before. It makes him feel warm, like he’s someone who’s capable of being loved.

The look disappears as soon as you realize he caught you—Dazai misses it instantly. He watches instead as a flurry of conflicted emotions crosses over your face, and he wishes he could read your mind, know what you’re thinking, but he does know that he doesn’t like the painfully neutral expression that settles there, a dreadful feeling growing in his stomach that makes him feel as if something is wrong.

“Are you okay?” Dazai asks, trying to figure out what had changed so quickly.

You don’t respond to him—rather, you look at Kido instead, making his stomach drop.

“Is that all?” you finally ask as Kido rises to his feet.

“Yes, hime,” Kido tells you. “I’ve finished with the measurements.”

“Good,” you say, and then turn on your heel to leave without even sparing another glance toward Dazai. Caught off guard, he readjusts his shirt and nearly trips over his own feet, trying to rush after you. “When do you need this by, Dazai?”

Dazai doesn’t like the sudden distance in your tone, a far cry from the easy conversation the two of you had just been holding, but he forces himself to respond. “Uh, by the end of the month, I think?”

“Kido-san will have it done for you by the end of the week,” you say, tapping something into your phone, hardly paying attention to him. “Come back and pick it up then. Charge it to my card when you’ve figured out the pricing for it, yeah?”

“Of course, hime,” Kido agrees and Dazai feels a bit unsettled.

“You’ll come with me to pick it up, bella?” he prods, nudging your shoulder and trying to peek over to see what you’re typing, trying to figure out if something is wrong, if he’d done something to cause the abrupt change in attitude or if you’d gotten a text about work or something instead. He feels a bit nervous, his tongue swollen in his mouth, watching you carefully.

You stare at him, and for a terrible, terrible second, Dazai thinks you’re about to tell him no. But then the tension in your brows disappears, letting out a soft puff of air as your expression smoothes out.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Yeah, I will.”

When Dazai smiles, feeling light and relieved, hopeful that maybe for the first time since Odasaku’s death, he won’t have to be alone, he misses the way your expression drops as you look away from him.

“This needs to stop.”

You stiffen at the sound of Chuuya’s familiar voice coming from the door of your bedroom, your shirt half-unbuttoned as you get ready for bed. You raise your eyebrows, turning to look at him over your shoulder, a bit thrown off because you hadn’t even heard the elevator come up to your room.

“Please, enlighten me as to what has you so worked up that you’re barging into my bedroom while I’m half-dressed,” you say dryly, giving Chuuya a cool look as you turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Chuuya looks uncharacteristically angry at you, lips curled down, eyes cold. It almost makes you draw back, mind racing to try to figure out what you might’ve done to piss him off. You can’t remember the last time he’s been mad at you like this—you’re not sure if he ever has been.

“Dazai Osamu. Fourth year literature student at Yokohama National University. Graduated from Kanagawa Sohgoh High School four years ago. Currently living in building number 10511898050 in the residential area of Iwaicho in Hodogaya-ku, unit number 409. He has an eight am class Mondays and Wednesdays, a two pm class Tuesdays and Thursdays, a-”

“Enough,” you cut him off, voice clipped and heartbeat thudding in your ears as you stare at Chuuya, watching as he gives you a sharp look.

“It took me less than ten minutes to get all of that information on him,” Chuuya says, voice low, “and no, I didn’t have Albatross help me. What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything,” you say, jaw tight. “He’s just some random fucking kid who I bumped into once and won’t leave me alone now, that’s-”

That’s a lie, you know it, and evidently, Chuuya knows it too from how he scoffs at you and shakes his head. Your expression twists, throat spasming as you swallow. You’d known you were in trouble since you left the boutique��when you’d caught your gaze lingering on him as he fumbled to help Kido with the measurements, only making more work for the poor man, a warm feeling spreading through your chest when you saw how he gradually became more and more comfortable as you entertained his conversation, rambling about poetry and literature, the solemn look that crossed his face when he spoke about his friend.

“I think you’ll do it justice.”

You hadn’t even noticed the way you instinctively made an effort to reassure him, not until he looked back up at you and you saw the pretty flush spreading across his cheeks, gaze flitting to the ground, too flustered to meet your eyes. It’d been like someone tossed cold water right over you, drawing you from your thoughts and smacking you right back into reality.

You had every intention of rebuking him as soon as you finished finalizing the details of the order with Kido—you did. You were going to tell him not to contact you again, that if he did, you’d block his number. You were going to tell him to forget about you and go back to whatever he was doing before he met you that night at the bar—you were. But when he looked down at you through his lashes, unsure and hesitant, as if he knew what you were about to say to him but had the slimmest hope that maybe he was wrong, and-

And you couldn’t do it.

Fuck.

Who even are you anymore? You’re so bitter that you can taste it in your mouth, it’s an ugly and uncomfortable taste. You don’t even know where this is coming from—the reluctance to hurt this kid, the weakness. Because that’s what this is, it’s a weakness, one that you know better than anyone that people will exploit, and you are still putting him in danger.

“Yeah?” Chuuya lets out an unamused laugh, taking a step forward and pulling something out of his pocket. His gaze is challenging, and you have a pit in your stomach, one that tells you you’re not going to like whatever he’s about to say. “The fuck is this then, huh?”

He slaps a copy of your own credit card transactions down into your hand. Your blood boils when you see the red circle around the recent payment you made to Kido; above that, the 50k yen wired to the new landlord of the complex.

“You’re going to get this fucking kid killed,” Chuuya tells you, leaning in close. “You must realize that by now. You’re going to get him killed. If I could get all of this information so easily, it’s only a matter of time before one of our enemies does. That syndicate in the northern wards. The Red Chamber. Cao Xueqin will have him chopped into pieces and send you on a fucking treasure hunt across the city to get all of his limbs together for a proper burial. And for what? You’re bored? Is that it? You’re gonna have this kid tortured to death because you’re bored?”

You don’t answer, glaring at him as you try to calm yourself down, but you’re unusually rattled by Chuuya’s words. You find your mouth dry, your fingers shaking in your pockets. The sharp, snide words you would usually smack him back with die on your tongue, and you feel like a fool staring at him.

Your lack of response seems to trigger some sort of realization in Chuuya and you watch as his eyes widen briefly, leaning back.

“You actually care about him,” he says quietly, and now he’s the one who looks uncertain, averting his gaze to the side as he thinks.

“No, I don’t,” you correct immediately, shaking your head. “I don’t, Chuuya.”

“You do,” Chuuya murmurs. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t continue this. Cut it loose now, before it gets any further, before you end up getting him killed.”

“I’m not you,” you spit out, a low blow, you know. To Chuuya’s credit, he doesn’t react beyond a sharp inhale, nostrils flaring briefly.

“No, you’re not,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t be so fucking stupid to make the same mistake twice.”

“That was your mistake,” you hiss. “Not mine.”

Chuuya laughs, a huff that’s more mocking than amused, as he takes a step away from you. You’d think you’d prefer anger or hate more than the thinly veiled pity within them now.

“It’ll be your mistake too soon,” he warns, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he turns to leave. “You’re smarter than this.”

You are. You are smarter than this. You know this will turn out the same way it did with Chuuya. You can picture it sometimes. Dazai’s body in place of hers, bruised and beaten, lacerations lining his cold body and his head severed from his neck—a trophy to be taken by your enemies. His blood stains your hands and clothes, no matter how much you scrub your skin raw and no matter how many new outfits you buy. Whenever you look down, you see his blood dripping off of you.

“I’m not reaching out to him again,” you finally say, ignoring the way your chest tightens. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Chuuya.”

Chuuya looks back at you, not even bothering to hide the pity this time. You have half a mind to slap it right off of his face.

“For your sake and his, I hope you don’t.”

“Dazai-kun, are you even paying attention?”

Dazai startles out of his own head, blinking rapidly as his gaze focuses on Professor Ui, who’s watching Dazai with a disapproving frown. Dazai gives the older man a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, Ui-sensei. I was distracted,” Dazai apologizes, glancing once more back down at his phone, smile softening a bit when he sees you read his messages complaining about such a late meeting on campus. You don’t respond, naturally, but Dazai can practically picture you rolling your eyes at him.

“Please focus,” Professor Ui says tightly. “It’s essential that you understand our plans going into this event. We have two weeks left to prepare.”

Dazai sighs as he puts his phone down, looking up at Professor Ui and the two other students who are going to be working this event with him, both of whom look irritated by Dazai’s lack of focus.

“The event we’ll be attending is going to be hosted at the Tocho for a special agency in Tokyo that handles violent crimes associated with criminal enterprises. They made huge progress in pushing the Scarlet Gang out of the Asakusa Ward—the government wants to celebrate them for it,” Professor Ui explains, for the second time clearly, seeing how the two other students share a look with one another. “The whole event is pretty much just a mask for Representatives and Councillors in the Diet to gather and advocate for and against a major military bill about to pass through the Lower House.”

Dazai can already feel himself losing focus again, itching to text you yet another update that you won’t respond to, but he knows you’ll read. He wonders what you’re doing right now—whatever rich people do at seven on a Thursday night, he supposes. Probably out drinking with people, he thinks, jealous that he’s stuck on campus getting the rundown on this stupid assignment. He pouts a bit to himself, wondering if you’re with other guys right now, listening to them ramble on in the same way Dazai did to you, but before his thoughts can spiral too much in that direction, Professor Ui clears his throat.

“Our goal during this event is to find viable proof to move forward with an exposé on a crime syndicate known as the Sun and Steel,” Professor Ui says, and Dazai suddenly straightens, interested in what his professor is saying. “We’ve received a tip that one of their executives is going to be attending this event under the pretense of being an interested party—invites have been sent out to a lot of major corporations who have stakes in the bill. We believe that the Sun and Steel is using a company called the Age of Blue as a front for its criminal activities—if we can find proof and expose them for what they are, it can be a major stepping stone to taking down some of the bigger organizations in Japan.”

“Ui-sensei,” Hinami says, leaning forward in her seat. “The government wouldn’t really let some mafias attend an event for an agency that’s dedicated to taking them down. That’s a bit…”

“Ironic,” Ayato snorts, folding his arms over his chest. “I mean, if there’s no proof of their front company being involved in shady shit—oh, uh, sorry, sensei—shady stuff, it’s not like they can just pick and choose which to invite. Or, well, they can, but it won’t be a good look.”

“Exactly,” Professor Ui says, “and the government can’t do anything about them until they have due cause.”

“That’s what we’re for,” Dazai notes, “... but why us? You’re an adjunct professor—work for Ivory Eagle, that newspaper company that everyone’s been talking about. You have a whole team, why do you need a bunch of college students?”

“Does it matter?” Ayato says with a sharp grin. “Imagine if we pull this off? Our careers would be set. We’d have helped with the takedown of a mafia.”

Dazai thinks it does matter, eyes settling on the unreadable expression on Professor Ui’s face. His two classmates might be giddy with anticipation over such a ‘cool’ assignment, but mafia business is dangerous. Dazai might be fond of the idea of death, but he’s got a final wish to fulfill before that—plus, the idea of being tortured to death isn’t exactly appealing to him. He’s not sure that it’s just a coincidence that Professor Ui chose three students who have no family to help with this assignment. Otsuka Ayato, a second-year student who was orphaned during the Dragon’s Head Conflict six years ago; Koda Hinami, a third-year student who's been in and out of the foster system since she was a baby; and Dazai, whose mother killed herself when he was seven and whose aunt abandoned him, whose only guardian died four years ago.

No one would come looking for any of them if things went poorly.

“You won’t be in danger,” Professor Ui assures them. “Just think of it as a way to test your skill in information gathering while in a conversational setting—go in there, observe, make small talk, and see what you can find out. They’ll have their guard up around my fellow journalists and I, you three are new faces. All you’re going to do is go in there and talk. No danger.”

Dazai isn’t convinced.

“Ui-sensei, you said this is meant to be a stepping stone?” Hinami asks curiously, changing the subject before Dazai can press any further. “A stepping stone for who?”

Professor Ui smiles thinly. “The Port Mafia.”

#recommendations #dazai #omggg miss rina my talented little friend #this was so good the reader was so funny she had me dyinggg #but dazai was very precious in this #especially his backstory and how it tied to canon even in a college civilian au of him #super excited for the rest of it hehe #also I do not like the prof just had to put that out there

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slightlymore · 4 years ago

Text

Pride | Part 8 [The End]

Pairing: Doyoung, Y/N Other characters: Haechan, Johnny cameo Genre: Series | Smut | Angst | Crack | Fluff Warnings: as usual, language, same issues around mental health and unhealthy coping mechanisms, angsty, hard hitting family drama Words: 10K lol idk I wanted to write more bc it feels a little rushed but then it would drag too much

Okay so I did write this while severely sleep-deprived lol (please get enough sleep, don’t do what I do) so it might be all over the place anyways, when I started Pride I had no idea I would write so many parts, and that it would have been so angsty honk honk tell me if you liked the ending or not and I would love to hear what your overall thoughts on this series are (it’s fine even if it’s like “it sucked aha”) thank you for reading it, I appreciate your love and support a lot!! very many heart emojis here that I can’t do on the laptop, insert also sad clown emoji

TIME JUMPS EXPLANATION

Endind scene commentary

Doyoung has always regretted the things he had done wrong, when he was feeling weak, or imperfect, or exhausted. He would think about those moments and learn the same thing all over. Never again. And he lived with that mantra for a long time. Never again. Don’t slip, don’t let yourself go. Because it was painful.

But was it effectively painful as is, or was it only because he knew he shouldn’t have done that in the first place? Would it have been painful if he consciously let himself go? Was he feeling guilty for the mistake or for not being perfect? And at night, while breathing in and silently screaming his desire to be fragile, to break, to show people his soft imperfect soul he would think about that again and again. He appreciated that in other people a lot. Why would other people hate it in him? Why has he hated himself for such a long time? It is a denial of the inevitable. Just accept yourself, Doyoung. Accept yourself. Accept. And he thought he did it. Doyoung was sure he did it all. But as the first rays of sun hit his trembling eyelids, he already forgot. He opened up his eyes and looked at his ceiling, not remembering a single thing he told himself in the intimacy of the night.

_____

When the phone rang for the first time, you jolted on your seat, staring it down as if it was some kind of poisonous reptile.

God, you hated speaking on the phone.

When it rang again your eyes darted around you looking at the way your desk neighbors were judging you for taking so long to pick it up.

You breathed in and out.

“Y/N from Marketing speaking?” you mumbled into it. “Pizza or noodles?” a lazy but confident voice asked. You blinked, silent for a few moments, and looked around as if checking what was going on. “Who is this?” you whispered. A loud snort made you wince and remove the receiver from your ear. “-can’t believe you don’t recognize the voice of the best boy, the light of your life, the reason of your existence, the spawn of god, the joy of your miserable-,” the voice said when you listened to it again.

You closed your eyes and pinched the base of your nose. “Haechan,” you interrupted the litany, suddenly aware of the migraine lingering in the darkest part of your head. “So, pizza or noodles?” he chuckled satisfied.

It was pizza, and as you sat down for lunch you curiously looked around the dining hall. It was the first meal at the company and if it wasn’t for Haechan you wouldn’t have even known that there was a cafeteria at all. Your eyes darted to your left. It was louder than you’d expect from grown-ups.

“Yeah, it’s just like in high school”, Haechan swallowed his food, following the direction of your eyes as if knowing what you were thinking. Then he put down the slice of pizza he was holding and cleaned his fingers on a napkin.

“Okay, so, that table-”, he indicated with his head a group of people behind him, “lawyers. They can suck my dick and balls. And I’m definitely not saying this because they bully the IT department and we’d kill each other. Then in that one”, he indicated another table in the middle of the hall, “graphic designers. You probably see them around in the marketing wing where you’re at. Eh,” he shrugged, “normal people. Kinda weird. You’d think they won’t have colors on their clothes since they use a computer, but they still do for some arcane reason”.

You stared at them but only briefly before concentrating on your food as a few eyes returned the glares. The company was big and had hundreds of workers, but for some reason everywhere you looked around, people would stare back and whisper between themselves. “It’s because you made a ruckus at the party yesterday. Don’t worry, it will die soon.” Haechan explained, again reading your mind. It was kind of scary. “Where’s your group of people? Why are you eating with me?” you asked, unable to think about the day before.

About to go home the previous night, you looked for Doyoung first. You had no idea why. No, okay, you obviously knew why, but you didn’t know what you would tell him if you'd actually found him.

So you just gave up, suddenly anxious.

During the drive home, you called Johnny, not caring about the late hour. He had some explaining to do. “I can’t believe you’ve done that,” was the first thing you said into the phone.

Johnny’s voice was bright and not at all sleepy. He probably wasn’t home.

“So you’ve met him,” he chuckled lightly. “John,” you murmured tired, unable to say anything more and hoping that the tone of your voice would make him understand. And he did. “I know, I know. But listen, you’re in love with him,” he said. You groaned. “I don’t know, Johnny. I was alright before meeting him again”.

Johnny’s voice got clearer signaling that he went somewhere quieter. “It’s not true. You were not okay. Do you think I don’t have eyes?”

“But what if-” your voice stopped working and you had to gulp down. Your eyes stung as finally, you let your emotions flow after seeing Doyoung.

God, you didn’t want to cry.

“What if I’m like this only because I can’t have him? What if, I don’t know, we get together, right? and, and, what if, fuck, I don’t know, I just change my mind? and I hurt him? again? like, like-” you stuttered and ate your words. “Like you did with me?” Johnny asked. You started to cry silently. “Listen,” he repeated calmly, still able to hear your muffled breaths, “it’s going to be alright. What happened with us it’s not your fault, okay? Not entirely. We-” he stopped as well, thinking. “Johnny, it’s fine, we don’t have to talk about that again,” you sniffled. “No, no, wait, I need the right words,” he assured you. “We just weren’t a match, okay? We liked each other because we were good friends and we saw each other grow up, we were always together and we do love each other, okay? we really do, but not- just not that way,” he added after a pause. You nodded, even if he wasn’t able to see, remembering the long and emotional conversation you had a few months ago. “Doyoung though-” he went on and you breathed in and out, “he’s different. And you know that. Everything is different with him. So go and tell him what you feel, Y/N, please. I hate seeing you this way,” Johnny’s voice got thinner as if was worried. You sniffled again in silence and you both just listened to each other's breaths for a while. It calmed you. “Well,” you finally spoke with a hoarse voice. “It’s too late now” “No, no, Y/N-” Johnny interrupted you. “John, he’s married, he got married, he did it, it’s too late, I can’t-” you interrupted him as well. “Okay, okay, he’s married, like a fucking dumbass, okay,” he calmed you again. “But, honestly, I don’t give a single fuck at the same time. You said he didn’t even know the girl. He got set up. By his family. Like in a fucking soap opera. Who does that nowadays?” You sighed slightly amused. “Say fuck one more time”. “Fuck,” he swore then lightly chuckled. “Seriously though, talk to him, okay?”

And you said that you would.

And now you were there, eyes darting in the cafeteria looking for Doyoung again, heart stinging and anxiety as never before.

Haechan raised an eyebrow at your question. “I’m eating with you because you would probably eat alone right now. And-” he talked raising a finger as he sensed you wanting to interrupt him, “-if by 'my group of people'" he mimicked the quotations marks with his fingers, "you mean Doyoung, he never eats here. He stays in the office.”

You put your slice of pizza down and crossed your arms on your chest as if indicating that you didn’t like how Haechan assumed things. Haechan smiled. “I wasn’t looking for Doyoung”, you lied. Haechan mocked you with a bemused face. “I wAsn’t loOkiNg foR DoYouNg. I can tell him that you were looking for him if you want”. “No, Haechan. Wait, I’m-” you clenched your jaw and closed your eyes briefly.

Haechan stared at you waiting for you to go on sensing something more than just you wanting to see your crush.

“Do you think I should talk to him?” you asked after the pause. The boy's eyes turned serious. “About what?” he asked as well. You sighed. “About us. We… I don’t know. We almost kinda dated and he liked me first but I liked another guy and then when I understood my feelings he said that he was getting married and I had to act so quickly and I fucking panicked and then he was gone and I realized how much I’m in lov-” you stopped yourself from the frantic babbling. You gulped and looked around, as if afraid of people hearing you, or - worse - Doyoung himself.

Haechan breathed in and out slowly while adjusting his glasses on his nose. “I think you should talk then,” he replied quietly.

Your eyes darted towards his, but he wasn’t looking at you. Staring down at his pizza he played with a piece of it, rolling it around. “Are you guys not going along? Do you hate talking about him?” you asked, suddenly aware of his discomfort.

Haechan thought about it for a second then when he raised his face he got a wide smirk on.

“Every day that I see him he has a resting bitch face,” he replied, “or he’s annoyed, or he wants to punch me, or he’s like I had enough of you, Haechan,” he deepened his voice trying to imitate him. You rolled your eyes amused, almost if seeing Doyoung in front of you.

“Honestly? He’s… weird,” he added a little more seriously. You waited for him to go on, a light pressure wrapping your heart.

“It’s like,” Haechan spoke again looking at the ceiling as if unsure of what words to use, “he’s a house with all the lights on, and you come closer, but no one is inside?” he questioned looking back at you. “So you’re left with this sense of worry and uneasiness. I want to understand him but he… won’t let me get close. Not that I actually want that,” he explained with a smile.

You rested your back on the chair, pensive and suddenly feeling uneasy yourself by Haechan’s smile that didn’t reach his eyes at all.

_____

Insomnia, change in appetite, dizziness, rapid mood swings, intrusive thoughts, lack of concentration, pronounced sensitivity to external events, unfulfilled and intense longing. Isn’t this what Doyoung feared all along? Isn’t this what he tried to avoid?

“You don’t look that good, son.”

Doyoung turned his head towards his father as if seeing him for the first time. He hasn't been for a while now but thanks for noticing.

It was a bright and yellow morning. Rude and unnecessary.

“Maybe,” the man talked again with a weird twinkle in his eyes, smiling at his wife, making her chuckle as if she was already able to understand what he was trying to say, “you didn’t get enough sleep last night?” his father finished. Doyoung’s mother hit her husband’s hand tenderly with a little stop it. “I know you’re a grown-up man, Doyoung, but we still have some rules in this house. Sleeping with a lady on the first date it not gallant”.

Doyoung stared at them both.

Oh.

Right.

He met his allegedly future wife the previous night. And they were right. He did come back in the morning. It was a beautiful evening. Doyoung was sitting down rolling the stem of his glass of wine between two fingers, watching the way the dim lights of the restaurant made the golden liquid shine. Then he opened up another button on his shirt, feeling pathetic that he actually made an effort to look good for someone he didn’t care about. He ruffled his hair. He sighed. When The Wife came, he saw her legs first, walking slowly in a high pair of heels. Doyoung let his eyes gaze on them, going up shamelessly until meeting the seam of her tight dress. So he wasn’t the only one that tried for no reason. In spite of everything, Doyoung stood up and put a smile on his face. The Wife did the same and shook his hand. She sat down and the waiter came to fill up her glass as well. She said she was sorry for being a little late. Doyoung said it was alright. It was a nice night, wasn’t it? Yes, it was indeed. Kinda chilly. Yes, it is. The smog these days is terrible. Have you ever eaten in this restaurant? No, it’s my first time. What do you think is good? Let’s check the menu.

“Listen, Doyoung,” she finally said his name after a moment of silence, the cutlery gently hitting the plates as the only sound to fill the room. Doyoung looked up chewing slowly, unable to feel any taste. “You seem like a good person and I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with your family and what’s your opinion on all of this-” she started gesturing vaguely at them both, “-but I am in love with somebody else”, she finished.

Doyoung blinked at her, feeling nothing and gulped down. His head was completely empty.

He looked at her worried and pained face and felt like seeing his reflection in a mirror. She was in love? He felt sorry.

But she was also happy. He could see it in her eyes, in the way her expression wrinkles weren’t accustomed to frowning like that. She wasn't unhappy. She was just worried. That Doyoung would say that he doesn’t care about her love. Forcing her to marry him anyway.

“Me too”, Doyoung said after a few seconds.

The relief that washed over The Wife’s face was so contagious that Doyoung felt like smiling himself, but he didn’t. It wasn’t nothing to be happy for. Not for him. Not at that moment.

“So what are we going to do?” he asked her. She blushed. “We’re not going to get married. If my parents don’t agree... I’ll just run away! - with him!”.

She was so confident, radiant, and - in love - that Doyoung had to recollect himself after being hit with so much light. She knew what she wanted and she was going to get it. She was in love and she was loved back.

Doyoung felt like crying. He wanted that so badly as well.

“I came here to speak to you directly because even if I already knew what I was about to do, I thought it wasn’t unfair to not explain myself and just vanish”, she added. Doyoung nodded and sipped on his drink, unable to speak. The Wife-but-not-Doyoung’s-one-anymore looked at him with a wide smile but he saw how it flattered a little seeing his expression. “And what are you going to do?” she asked cautiously. Doyoung shrugged, letting his lips stretch in a smile that couldn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know. Live in the moment, I guess,” was his reply, hoping that it was an adequate answer and to just drop that conversation.

The Wife furrowed her eyebrows.

“Did you come here with the intent to actually force yourself into this stupid relationship? While being in love with somebody else? Like an idiot?” the Wife asked.

Doyoung felt his eyes widen at her use of words. He suddenly felt pathetic and weak in comparison.

“No one is waiting for me,” he explained. “It’s too late now”. The Wife scoffed. “Are you in love or what?”.

Doyoung emptied his glass with a trembling hand.

“I just feel like I’ve been fighting a lot by myself while no one is fighting for me, so I gave up, as pitiful as that might sound,” he explained himself. His voice got sharper and he just wanted to go home.

The girl rested her back on the chair while crossing her arms on her chest with an angry expression. The fact that she didn’t need to walk on eggshells around him anymore made her real personality shine through. Doyoung found it rather refreshing but he hated it at the same time. He was scrutinizing himself very well already, judging his every step and word and thought. He didn’t need other people to do it as well.

“So you never broke down,” she observed. Doyoung looked up.

“Do you need to reach a breaking point?” he questioned. “Do I really need to get to the point of losing all my pride and sanity? It doesn’t have to be like this. Love is not like this”.

The Wife tilted her head to the side as if analyzing him. Doyoung felt vulnerable all of a sudden.

What was he doing? Talking about feelings with a stranger? A stranger he was sure he was about to marry just 5 minutes ago? He felt dizzy and his head hurt.

“No,” she agreed. “Love is not only this, no. But it can be like this sometimes." Doyoung poured some more wine into the empty glasses. “Why is she not doing it then? Why does it always have to be me?” Doyoung asked with the littlest voice. “Why did she let me go so easily?” The Wife sighed. “I don’t know her nor do I know you. But it sounds to me like she perhaps loves you too much-”

Doyoung interrupted her with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“-because!” the girl raised her voice for fear of being interrupted, “-she did not let her egoistical feelings get in the way. If you told her that you were about to get married, she obviously thought about you first, instead of herself and her needs. What would have you done in her place?” she asked.

“Fight,” Doyoung whispered. “But did you?” she asked again.

Doyoung gulped.

“Did you fight for her love? Your parents told you that you had to get married and what did you do? Accepted it? You went to her and were like 'listen this is the situation, can you promise me you’ll love me forever so that I know it’s worth fighting for you?' Is this what you did?” the Wife was almost angry and in another situation, Doyoung would have found it entertaining.

He didn’t reply. The Wife took it for tacit approval and went on.

“We’re taught to not be selfish in love, that if you love them then just let them go, and all of this bullshit, but!-” she slammed her hand on the table suddenly making Doyoung jolt, “-it doesn’t mean that’s how she is really feeling. I’d say she loves you." she pointed her finger towards him as a politician would after their speech.

“No, don’t feed my hopes, please. You don’t know anything,” he shook his head. “Doyoung, this makes no fucking sense. Get out of your head. I want you to call her, now. Just talk. Communication." “What?” “Call her. Do it. I want you to explain the new situation to her. Tell her that you aren’t getting married and that you love her and you’re ready to fight for your love. Show yourself."

Doyoung shook his head again. “Stop it.”

“Do it."

“Who do you think you are?” Doyoung was starting to get a little angry.

The Wife didn't budge and just smiled.

“Fate."

“We’re done. There’s nothing else to do now." Doyoung got up suddenly and retrieved his wallet. A waiter came from the shadows to accept his card. The Wife sighed and just looked at him as if disappointed. “Alright, but when Fate is going to kick you in the butt again when you least expect it, please think of me and my words." “I don’t believe in fate,” he replied putting on his jacket.

But Doyoung thought of those words all night while moving his phone from one hand to another, walking home slowly. It was cold as hell and he enjoyed the pain of it. He wasn’t alone. He could almost see the black car that was following him from a certain distance. “Yes, sir,” was the bodyguard’s answer when he told him to fuck off after he insisted on taking him home as programmed.

And he thought of those words again, months later, the instant he heard your voice in that party hall. He swore he was hallucinating. He felt his limbs paralyzing and shaking at the same time. But he was trained. He knew how to work in these high tension situations. It was a little click and he couldn’t feel anything, adrenaline killed and buried in the deepest parts of his brain, like hungry wolves ready to tear him to pieces when he wouldn’t have had the force to keep them locked anymore. And so he moved like a machine, like something as far from human as possible. Later. We’ll deal with this later. I can’t. I can’t do it now. I can’t let myself fall. Stay. Focus. Later he could feel it indeed. It came eventually. He felt it right there while worried about your cut. He felt it as he held your hand and dragged you away. Pain washed him all over as if for the first time and love. Oh, love, it was so much love, he felt like drowning, he felt like a withering garden begging for rain and it came suddenly, so quickly, that he couldn’t possibly absorb it all at once.

When he opened the bathroom cabinets he saw the first aid kit in a second, but he felt so overwhelmed and all over the place that he couldn’t bring himself to face you properly. He pretended to look for it for a while and his body felt your burning gaze all over his skin. Why were you looking at him like that? Stop it, no, please continue, no, stop, it’s too much, please, please, never stop looking at me.

When he turned around he couldn’t bring himself to touch you again either without dragging you against his chest, never letting go. Was this fate? Was this the fate The Wife was talking about? Is this real? Is everything real at all?

As Doyoung’s parents were scolding him about apparently fucking like a rabbit the whole night, he put down his coffee and intertwined his fingers together, resting his face on them, closing his eyes and breathing in.

“We’re not getting married,” he suddenly spoke up. The cutlery stopped moving and his parents’ faces fell off.

“What?” Mother asked with a tiny voice. “What are you talking about?” Father furrowed his eyebrows, no amusement left in his eyes. Doyoung looked at them.

“I-am-” Doyoung articulated every word well and slowly as if talking with a stupid person, “-not-getting-fucking-married."

Father’s breath grew in pace, eyes out of his orbits.

“Doyoung,” his mother’s voice was a little surprised whine.

He looked at her with the corner of his eyes and his expression was probably one of his worst ones so far since she jolted imperceptibly as if seeing her son for the first time.

“What’s with this attitude? Who do you think you are?” Father’s voice was getting deeper and his cheeks and neck reddening.

Doyoung looked back at him with a killing glare.

“Doyoung, sweetheart, you don’t have to get married tomorrow. Get to know each other first. You’ll definitely like each other as time goes by-” Mother tried to calm everyone down.

“Like you and dad?” Doyoung let his tongue be as poisonous as it wanted. “Getting married to someone for convenience to just fight like fucking dogs every day in front of a child, huh?” he asked.

Mother gasped and covered her mouth with the impeccable napkin.

“Kim Dongyoung!” Father hit the table with his fist making all the tableware tremble.

Doyoung didn’t flinch.

“Do you want my son to assist at how I fuck different women every night? Pretending that he doesn’t understand what’s going on?”

Mother started to sob.

“And you,” Doyoung spoke to her, ignoring her tears, “do you want my son to listen to his mother bad mouthing me from the most tender age? Telling him what a terrible father I am, that he shouldn’t love him, letting him know how unhappy she is while the only thing he should be preoccupied about is the multiplication table and which toy he should be playing that day with?” Doyoung directed his gaze towards his mom raising his voice on the last words.

“Do you want me to bring my son to work to prove to my wife that I am in fact not fucking the secretary while letting her suck my cock under the desk?” he continued this time directing his speech towards Father.

The man was fully red at this point and when he got up from his chair Doyoung thought that he was about to punch him or just drag him on the ground.

But he didn’t. He was shaking as if no one had confronted him like that before.

His voice was dangerous and slow, like a poisonous snake.

“You’re going to get what you deserve, Dongyoung,” he spoke and Doyoung knew what that was.

Because in his father’s eyes, Doyoung was the faulty one. For speaking up. For telling the truth. For letting both of them, grown-up adults that were still running away from themselves like children, face their own feelings and shortcomings. Forcing him to be perfect and to do stuff that they wanted. Forcing him to accept every shitty thing they did but making him feel guilty for his actions.

“I will. And you as well, Father,” he replied getting up and throwing his napkin on top of his plate. His mother’s sobs were the only sound he could hear as he exited the room.

Doyoung apologized for having spilled his drink on you. And you looked up as if that was the last of your problems. Your fingers were trembling as you disinfected your cut and Doyoung knew it wasn’t because of the pain.

Right?

No, don’t do it. Don’t go there again Doyoung. For once, for a single time, stop jumping ahead. Just ask. Stop living in your head. Don’t assume. She’s not in love. She’s not here because of you. This is not fate.

So he did ask. He asked why were you there and the transient relief he felt when he was as close as to believe he was the reason for all of that, that maybe, just maybe, you tried to be selfish again, washed away. Because he could see how sincere you were while assuring him that you had no idea it was the place he was working at. There was no plan.

So this is fate? This is how it works? It gives you the possibility but you still have to work for it? You still have to endure the pain of trying and trying and failing over and over again? If fate could make you both meet again, why didn't it do everything? Why did fate bring you in front of his eyes again just to listen to your sweet voice say that you were over him? Like a slap. Like giving a thirsty man a cup of water and taking it away right before the moment a single drop of refreshing sweetness could have eased his burning tongue.

It’s not so simple to draw the line. This was the only lesson Doyoung fully understood. There’s no one way someone can be. It’s not black and it’s not white. Everything is blurry. Everything is gray.

_____

“Y/N." It took only that single word to make Doyoung snap his head up and look at Haechan. “She was looking for you,” he added while standing in front of Doyoung’s desk, one hand comfortably inside his pants pocket, the other holding a coffee.

“Is that for me?” Doyoung asked eyeing the cup.

Haechan snorted incredulously.

“I’m telling you that the ex you’re still in love with was looking for you and you talk about a goddamn coffee?”

Doyoung straightened his back.

“She told you that she’s my ex?” he asked surprised. “So you don’t deny that you’re in love with her,” Haechan considered while sipping on the coffee.

Doyoung’s eyes got darker as they usually did when talking to Haechan but the younger one could see the redness on his cheeks and the way his adam apple traveled up and down, anxious and embarrassed.

Oh Doyoung, Haechan thought, you’re so fragile.

“How is that your business?” Doyoung didn’t budge, even though he was aware that Haechan was your new interest.

Was Haechan jealous? Was that a new way Haechan tried to make him angry with? Since Doyoung arrived at the company Haechan has never let him alone. He was nagging and whining and messing up with Doyoung, making him angry and irritated, laughing when Doyoung snapped.

Haechan shrugged. “I’m a Gemini. Everything is my business."

Doyoung sighed and flipped the papers he had underneath his hands as if telling the other that the conversation was over.

But he still felt the other’s gaze on top of his head for long seconds. “So you’re going to be a pussy about it.” Haechan didn’t move and talked with a low voice Doyoung has never heard before. “You’re going to hold yourself back and prepare some escaping routes, just like always."

Doyoung stilled and looked up.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked almost in a whisper, too surprised by Haechan’s serious tone to actually get angry at the insult.

“I see you, Doyoung. I really see you. And I see how your father treats you,” Haechan sipped on his coffee again while staring out of the office windows as if talking about anything besides that. “Y/N was surprised when I told her that you weren’t some CEO or something. I didn’t tell her that you were punished.” Haechan filled the silence again as Doyoung was just staring. “I wasn’t punished,” Doyoung gave him a death glare.

Haechan shrugged.

“Do something for yourself for once, would you?” he added and Doyoung could have sworn that underneath the nonchalant mask Haechan had on, rested a troubled and sensitive soul.

“Are you two not dating?” Doyoung finally spoke when finding his voice.

Haechan came back to his normal self with a nasal laugh.

“You are so fucking stupid, oh my God,” he groaned. “No, darling, we’re not. That poor girl was too proud to admit that she’s in love with you while you probably just got back from your 'forced newlywed trip'”.

Doyoung furrowed his eyebrows and that was enough for Haechan to widen his eyes.

“So it’s not true,” he whispered.

Doyoung didn’t comment on that and Haechan didn’t add anything.

He looked out of the window again, lower lip slightly trembling so he bit on it. Then he smiled bitterly. “Fuck. Then you have to tell her that. Talk to Y/N,” he whispered again and just left leaving Doyoung confused as never before.

_____

You didn’t see Doyoung that morning and you didn’t see him during lunch either. Then at almost 5 o’clock your phone rang again. You rolled your eyes wondering what Haechan wanted to say to you. “Y/N from Marketing speaking." Your voice was flat but a little amused, ready to listen to whatever nonsense Haechan will talk about.

But when you heard the voice you gasped silently.

“Hello, Y/N. Doyoung from IT here."

His voice was warm and deep. Your breath grew heavier.

You couldn’t speak so you closed your eyes. Doyoung didn’t add anything either and you both ended up just listening to each others’ breaths for a while.

“Doyoung,” you said after what felt like ages and a few seconds at the same time, your nerves thin as never.

What were you both doing? What was this?

“Y/N,” he said in the same tone but then cleared his throat. “I-” he stopped. “I actually called with a purpose,” he added.

You imagined him, sitting behind his desk, cheeks flushed, fingers restless.

Or so you hoped.

Maybe he was just nervous. Maybe he hated to see you again. Maybe he was over you and now his pain just got back and it was all your fault.

“Yes?” you asked, raising your voice to seem nonchalant. “Yes. There’s this project that Haechan and I are working on,” he started, “-and we’ve been told to work with someone from marketing for the selling issues. And they suggested you since you’re new and you still have to prove yourself” he finished explaining.

You nodded. “Yes. Okay. Alright,” you almost stuttered.

“Come to my office. The map is on the server,” he ordered softly and hang up.

Just like that.

You remained still for a few seconds, with the beep-beep of the line ringing in your ears. Then you swallowed with a certain difficulty feeling your throat dry.

When you arrived in front of his door, thin nerves and muscles shaking, you just closed your eyes and forced yourself to calm down. You were about to see Doyoung. You were about to see him and talk to him. It wasn’t a dream and it wasn’t a fantasy. He was there, behind this thin closed door.

God.

You knocked.

His melodious voice told you to come in. And you did. He was sitting behind his desk, blinds slightly closed making the office semi-dark. “I didn’t know IT people had their own offices,” you smiled awkwardly while stepping in and closing the door behind you. “Well, we don’t need human interaction to do our jobs,” he replied in the same tone.

He got up and indicated you to sit down on the couch in front of his desk. He brought his laptop with him and placed it on the coffee table in front of it. You sat down, hands neatly placed on your thighs and you hoped he didn’t hear the way your breath hitched as he sat down as well, his thigh touching yours slightly.

His cologne was the same, you noticed, and your fingers vibrated, trying hard to stop themselves from touching him. You looked at his shoulders and imagined tracing them with your hand. Then wrapping them as you got closer. Then sliding them up to his nape, slowly, into his hair, closer and closer and closer and feeling his breath and kissing his lips and sitting on his lap and as you did so, his arms would hug you, pulling you close while he whispered your name.

Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

“Y/N." You jolted. He was turned to you, hands on the laptop screen, a PowerPoint on it. You looked at the computer then at his face. He understood that you haven’t been listening to him and sighed.

You breathed in and out.

“Doyoung,” you said and you saw him visibly shiver hearing your voice call his name.

“I think that we should t-” but you couldn’t finish the sentence as the door got opened with a loud thud.

Haechan was almost breathless when he barged in.

You and Doyoung looked behind your backs, both surprised to see Haechan with flushed cheeks and red eyes. “Haechan,” you said. “Is everything alright?” Doyoung asked as well. Haechan caught his breath by now, staring at you both then his lips tightened in a straight line. “Yeah. Yes. Sorry, I’m late. Let’s go to the conference room. It’s more spacious there,” he spoke up and turning around he just left. You and Doyoung looked at each other surprised.

You bit your lower lip, unable to carry on the conversation anymore.

“You were saying? I think we should?” Doyoung didn’t budge.

His eyes were dark and his lips slightly parted. You stared at them, perhaps far too long because you suddenly felt your cheeks hot and your breath hitch.

You were leaning in, imperceptibly and Doyoung saw.

He didn’t get away and he didn’t refuse you. Looking at his eyes for a split second you could see that he was nervous.

Then the magic disappeared again as Haechan’s voice made you both jolt again. “What are you doing? Are you coming or not?” he yelled.

_____

You were sitting down, each with their own computer, clicking and typing. Doyoung briefly filled you in, explaining again what you needed to do. You just nodded and got to work.

“When is this due?” you asked after probably twenty minutes of full silence. You knew Doyoung would be silent but Haechan? It was surprising to see him so concentrated on his work, not looking up even once, no jokes, and no smirks. He was also in a bad mood, you thought, his red swollen eyes still fresh in your memory.

“Tomorrow morning. We’ll have a meeting and we’ll present the project. Hopefully, it goes well and we can go on with it,” Doyoung replied softly, almost in a whisper. You nodded. It was doable. You got back to work a didn’t speak for some time.

God, you were about to kiss him.

What were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking? And him? Not pulling away? Staying still and looking at your lips the way you looked at his? You could do it, right? Maybe it was possible. You could talk to him and everything would be alright. Just like you’ve always dreamed.

Right? Right?

After an indefinite amount of time, you looked up and glanced at the time.

“Fuck,” you swore.

It was already night and you did almost nothing.

Haechan raised his eyes as well for the first time and turned around to see the dark windows. “We can take a break,” Doyoung murmured closing his laptop.

Haechan relaxed on his back. “Who appointed you as a leader?” he asked amused. You smiled a little, happy to see him that way again.

Doyoung crossed his arms on his chest. “You can be a leader then.” “Okay, then I decide that we can take a break,” Haechan giggled and you chuckled as well.

Doyoung opened his mouth to say something but his voice got suddenly swallowed by a loud, weird noise.

You all looked up and in seconds water poured out of the ceiling.

You screamed and got up suddenly.

“What’s going on?” you asked no one in particular putting your hands on your head instinctively. “The sprinkles!” Haechan yelled. “But there’s no fire? Is it?” you asked looking around the room, shocked.

"Haechan Lee!" Doyoung groaned, eyelashes fluttering in an attempt to see through the drops. "It's not my fault! I didn't do anything this time!" Haechan screamed back, one hand shielding his head. "Go and stop this mess!" the older ordered.

Haechan had the time to roll his eyes before running to the wall on the opposite side of the conference room.

You whined, leaving them to their bickering and tried hard to cover the computers ignoring that they were already wet in a desperate attempt to salvage them.

Doyoung looked at you and promptly came closer, grabbing stuff and throwing it under the desk before realizing that it was too late.

He groaned again.

You fell to your knees defeated, fists holding handfuls of melted paper.

"It doesn't work," Haechan yelled. Doyoung looked at him with such anger that you sensed it radiating through him even if unable to look at him in the face. "For fuck's sake, Haechan, you're useless!" Doyoung walked over and pressed the buttons on the switchboard then looking up at the ceiling as if expecting it to stop soon.

"What the actual fuck," he swore loudly since it wasn't working indeed.

Haechan whined beside him. "This was my best suit".

Doyoung ignored him and walked towards you again, looking around for his phone. "Aren't there other people in this god-forsaken company?" "Shouldn't it stop by now?" you asked, your voice almost inaudible. "I don't know. Something's broken," he spoke more softly to you.

You patted your jacket and retrieved your phone from the inside pocket. It was slightly damp but it worked. "Here," you handed it to Doyoung as he was about to lose his mind from not finding his. He took it and putting one hand on his hip he called someone.

In the meantime, Haechan crossed the room again and looked at the desk near you and the papers on the floor. "Shit," he commented. “At least I saved on the server,” he added.

You looked at his wet strands of hair as he passed a hand on his forehead throwing them back. “Me too,” you said to Haechan, then you both turned to Doyoung.

"They're coming. Let's leave the roo-" he ordered but his voice died in his throat when he heard what you were talking about. He looked down at the computers, pale as a sheet. “Doyoung?” Haechan’s voice was low and dangerous. “You also saved on the server, right?”

He didn’t and while you’ve followed angry Doyoung fighting with an angry Haechan through the corridos directed to the janitor’s room your head was hurting so badly that you thought it would burst.

“Listen,” Doyoung stopped suddenly making you almost bump into him, “I am a fucking mess, okay?” his index was pointed towards Haechan. “I am a mess and I have so fucking much on my mind, I can’t concentrate, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I know this is not an excuse for not doing your job well but guess what, I am not perfect, okay? I am not fucking perfect. I make mistakes and I don’t give a shit, alright? I don’t give a single fuck about anything. And now shut up and go home if you want. You’ve done your part,” he spitted out then busted the janitor’s room open and entered it.

Haechan was still in the corridor a few steps ahead of you.

You were both still, shocked by Doyoung’s rage.

But then Haechan started to chuckle softly and looked at you.

“He did it, finally,” he said, without giving you any explanation and got into the room as well.

_____

"You've already seen it, Doyoung," you whispered slightly embarrassed.

Doyoung was in front of you, one hand placed on the other hand’s wrist trying to undone his sleeves, as he watched you getting undressed.

He looked at the way your bra cupped your soft breasts then promptly turned around.

“You could have gone to another room,” his voice was steady but his reddish ears gave him away.

You were told that the janitors had clean uniforms in the storage room and now you were in the middle of getting your soaked clothes off, with no time to go home and get changed since the dear Doyoung didn’t save any of your work.

“And also, I've never seen anything," he said. "Well, I’m not saying naked but you definitely saw me in a bra before,” you replied.

Doyoung’s back tightened and he turned around, looking at you from under his wet hair. "I'm afraid you're mistaking me for Johnny," he raised his eyebrows before turning away again.

You opened your mouth to speak but you were too surprised to say anything. Doyoung's eyes were - you might dare say - jealous and furious.

Was this what Haechan was talking about before? That he’s done it? Was he talking about Doyoung just owning his true feelings and wearing him of his sleeve? Did he finally snap?

"Okay, so who is this Johnny guy?" Haechan stepped closer with a sly smile. You looked at him but he wasn't looking at you. No, he was looking at you but not at your face.

Doyoung raised his gaze for a second and slapped his shoulder. "Look away."

Haechan exaggerated a cry. “I was just curious. I don’t care about Y/N."

“How can you not care about her?” Doyoung mumbled and you swore that your face turned violet.

Haechan put his tongue in his cheeks annoyed. "Doyoung, you're so fucking stupid. So many months working together and you still didn't get it?"

"Doyoung," you called him softly. "He's not interested in boobs," you explained with a smile, still shy from Doyoung's previous words.

Haechan gulped, suddenly blushing even harder.

Doyoung turned his head around and furrowed his eyebrows at you.

Then his eyes got wide and when he looked back at Haechan he noticed his red cheeks and the way he tried to not look at Doyoung's naked upper body.

Doyoung covered his nipples.

Haechan groaned and hit him.

“I’m not interested in you either, dumbass,” he added but still turned around to not look at either of you.

_____

It was hours later and you kept glancing at the neon green number on the clock in front of you. You got back to Doyoung’s office to, well, continue or start again everything you’ve done before.

“If you’re tired, you can go home, it’s fine,” Doyoung’s soft voice grabbed your attention.

You sighed and closed your computer.

“Do you want to talk?” you asked with a low voice.

It was almost a whisper but in the thick silence of the room, disrupted only by the buzz of the computers and your breaths, it sounded almost too loud. You glanced at Haechan, fast asleep with the head on his arms then you glanced at Doyoung again and at his slightly surprised expression.

That was blunt and all of a sudden. But it was so late and you were exhausted physically and mentally and you couldn’t take it anymore.

You both knew that you weren’t asking to chat about the weather but he still wanted to make sure.

“Talk about what?”

Yeah. Talk about what? Us? Is there an us? There was only you and him and the feelings in between. Talk about feelings? Does he have feelings as well though? Talk about me and my feelings? Fuck.

You looked down at your hands still on the keyboard and at the way your fingers started to shake. You clasped them together.

“I still have feelings for you,” you breathed out suddenly, then you looked up for a split second to see Doyoung’s expression.

His eyes were wide and round, his glossy pupils shaking imperceptibly. He didn’t expect you to say it like that.

“I know,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched at his words and you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

He knows. He knows? He knows.

Of course, he knows. He probably noticed. You were no actress and you couldn’t fake your emotions. Also, you tried to kiss him just a few hours before that.

He knows.

Okay.

That’s it? And now?

You shook your head. “No,” you said. “I don’t think you do”.

Doyoung blinked, a single expression line between his eyebrows. “I don’t just have feelings for you, Doyoung. I am in love with you,” you confessed and this time you tried to sustain his gaze.

Doyoung’s adam apple went up and down and his lips opened as if he couldn’t breathe.

“I am foolishly in love with you. I am foolishly in love with everything you are and with everything you do,” your voice trembled. “ “When I think and when I don’t think, you’re still in my mind, roaming around the whole day. And during the night I can’t get any relief from this mind of mine because you’ll visit me again and for a while," you breathed in sharply, talking fast, "-just for a while, the gap inside of me would get filled only for me to wake up and realize that it was just a dream. I have so many feelings and all of them are consumed by you and I have so many things but they all mean nothing to me, without you. And I could blame everything and everyone for this but it’s all on me. It’s all on me, Doyoung. I knew everything and I still acted that way and when I heard you before when you said that you couldn’t concentrate or sleep or-” and you choked, tears spilling on your face.

Your hands found them and you hid your head in your palms only to jolt and look up at your side after a moment.

Doyoung got up in a second and grabbed your hand.

He was standing there with his fingers around your wrist, flushed and short-breathed.

Then he pulled you towards him making you stand up and you let him do that, landing in his arms, wrapping yours around his torso, muffling your cry with his shirt, closing your eyes, drifting away, head empty and heart full.

Doyoung was holding you tight, one hand on your back and the other one on your nape, stroking your hair and shushing you softly. “I hate to see you cry and I hate that I’m the reason for that. I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered against your temple. You shook your head with an exasperated whine and looked up at him. “You didn’t do anything, Doyoung,” you objected.

He looked at your face as well. He didn’t expect that. He didn’t expect any of that. His mind was racing and his heard was about to give up.

“That’s the point,” he explained. “I didn’t do anything. I could have tried more. I walked on eggshells around you the whole time and at the first problem I would just let you go, finding an excuse, being afraid-” “No,” you interrupted him, shaking your head again, “I don’t want to hear you blame yourself." “I don’t want to hear you blame yourself either,” he replied.

You opened your mouth but didn’t say anything, knowing how stubborn Doyoung could get.

Okay. Okay. It's fine.

“Okay, now I-” you looked at your hands, pressed on his chest feeling his heart pumping blood like crazy.

Your first instinct was to just pull yourself away, telling him that you’ve said everything you had to say. And wait. Wait for him to take the second step, to understand your thoughts without you explaining anything, just like he has always done before. But Johnny’s voice thundered in your head telling you to talk and explain yourself and to use your words, so you raised your head to look at Doyoung again.

He didn’t look away from you, not for one second, and when you locked eyes he brought one hand up to cup your face and with his thumb he caressed your cheek, removing the last tear.

“What about you, Doyoung? Do you love me?” your voice trembled.

Doyoung sighed as if relieved.

He pulled you close and cupped your face with the other hand as well.

He leaned in until breathing on your open lips.

“I love you,” he said in the tiniest of whispers.

“I love you,” he repeated. You whimpered.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you,” his soft chant continued.

He said that again and again, kissing you with little pecks, then again after the kiss got slower and as your lips didn’t want to leave each other anymore.

“Look, I’m glad you idiots finally aren’t idiots anymore,” Haechan’s voice startled you for the third time that day, “but would you get a room? If not I’m going home."

_____

You ended up all going home that night - or very early morning. The project could have granted you all a promotion but you decided that you all didn’t give a single fuck. Everything looked so unimportant now that Doyoung was holding your hand and your muscles relaxed in his arms.

You felt asleep there, in the crook of his neck, deeply, after months of insomnia.

You remembered little snaps as he carried to his car. He would shush you when your fingers gripped his shirt harder.

“Doyoung, it’s fine, I can walk. Put me down,” you whispered going in and out of sleep. “Sleep, I’ll take care of you,” and the kiss he planted on your forehead felt like a spell as you lost consciousness soon after.

You didn’t wake up a single time during the drive and it was only when you reached your front door that Doyoung woke you up by gently shaking your shoulders. “Sorry,” he said. “Last time I had luck but this time I can’t find your keys,” he added when you fully opened your eyes with a yawn. “My bag now has more stuff in it than when I was at university,” you smiled. Your voice was hoarse from the nap and from the cry you had.

Then you entered your apartment, walking slowly in silence, and you both undressed, throwing the coarse uniforms away.

You did it lazily and with no malice, looking at each other bodies, this time without blushing.

Then you sat down on your bed, completely naked and you looked at Doyoung, naked as well, standing in front of you as he removed the last piece of fabric from his body.

“Wait,” he suddenly said, and turning around he left the room. You looked at his back as he was walking away and sighed.

You couldn’t believe it.

It was so surreal.

You sighed again deeper, feeling it difficult to breathe.

You were exhausted and drained, body aching and head-spinning so when Doyoung came back with a glass of water all you could think of was the morning after your terrible meeting with Doyoung.

That time he was also standing in front of you, with one glass of water in his hand, face lit by the new rays of the sun. He had fewer clothes on now, of course, but for some reason, you started to feel as if no time has passed at all between the two events. There was no misunderstanding, no pain, no fights.

You smiled and took the water from him. He smiled back and sat down on the bed beside you. His eyes were telling that he knew what you were thinking, like soulmates reading each other’s minds and that he was thinking about it as well.

“Another thing,” he said and his voice was as tired as yours. “Someone, let's say Fate, told me to tell you that I am not married and that I am ready to fight for our love,” he added looking at you with a little nervous smile.

Your eyes widened.

“But-” you felt overwhelmed. “But the ring,” you mumbled looking down at his hands as your brain was trying to run at a speed too high for your tired cells. Doyoung looked at his hands as well before raising them up and showing that they were bare. “It was just a random ring. You assumed things,” he replied.

You looked back at his face, confused and dizzy.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why-” you gulped, “why didn’t you call?”

Doyoung sighed.

“I also assumed things. I thought you didn’t love me,” he tightened his lips. “I am sorry,” he whispered wrapping your shoulders with his arms and pulling you towards him. He nudged at your temple while you processed the information, repeating the apology, planting little kisses on your temple.

“Does this change something?” he asked after a whole minute of silence. His voice sounded afraid and you looked up at him.

“No, love, no, shh, don’t get me wrong,” you assured him with a pained expression, cupping his face.

He let you do that, slightly surprised and definitely flushed by the sudden pet-name. “This is even better, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not married,” you chuckled a little.

Doyoung cupped your face as well, his thumbs pressing at the corners of your eyes.

“Then why are you crying?” he whispered so softly that it made you sob even harder.

Your lower lip trembled looking at his eyes, at his expression, at his face, drinking him in.

“I’m just happy. And I love you. I love you so much and all of this is just-” you smiled through the tears unable to go on.

You were too exhausted and emotional to be rational in that moment. You had do idea what to do and you just wanted to be.

Doyoung’s pupils shook as he bit his lip, trying not to cry as well.

“God, how much water do I need to make you drink to make up for all of these tears?” he chuckled lightly as a few tears fell on his cheeks as well.

You were both there, naked, crying, and laughing at the same time and you’ve never felt happier in your whole life.

“What happened though? How did you end up not getting married? What did your parents-” you started to ask wiping your face. Doyoung closed his eyes and shook his head, letting himself fall down on the bed and dragging you with him. “Later,” he mumbled getting you both under the covers when you landed on his chest.

You smiled and closed your eyes as well.

And you both slept a lot, hugging each other tight, bare limbs intertwined together, skin pressing on skin, lips murmuring loving whispers. It was the highest level of intimacy, naked in front of each other, and clothes had nothing to do with it.

Your souls were open and your emotions out, telling each other everything, with no fear and with no more pride.

#doyoung #doyoung smut #doyoung angst #doyoung fluff #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #haechan #johnny suh #nct angst #nct fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct fanfiction

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isafms · 4 years ago

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tag dump is coming soon and all that, just wanted to churn this out before i go out for the day FDLGJSD

hey y’all, i’m lia and i’m excited to be here ! ngl i only found the group yesterday but i Had to join since i’ve got a slight obsession with obx, not to mention i’ve been boring myself with bold, no nonsense muses and isabella seemed like the ideal switch-up. i’ll get straight to the point and give y’all a brief summary of isa since.. i haven’t fully fleshed her bg out and i typically let musing posts explain the little things i can’t put into words sdflgkjds so without further ado:

[ jang yeeun , cis female , she/her ] do you hear [ EVEN IF IT HURTS BY TEI SHI AND BLOOD ORANGE ] coming from the beach ? oh, that has to be [ ISABELLA “ISA” KWON ] . they are a [ TWENTY-THREE ] year old [ COLLEGE STUDENT ] from the outer banks, and they’ve been living there for [ EIGHT YEARS ] . they were chosen to be on the show because they are a [ KOOK ] , but really , i heard it’s because they can be [ CONFORMIST & INSECURE ] . if you get to know them though , they’re pretty [ BENEVOLENT & FAITHFUL ] . they might become a quick audience favorite due to their [ COLLECTION OF WHITE BLOUSES, EASY SMILES ON GLOSSY LIPS, HER TREASURE TROVE OF VINTAGE ACCESSORIES ] . ooc – lia, 23, ast, she/her.

tw: alcohol and drug mentions

the basics

isa’s the only child of first ( papa kwon ) and second ( mama fka kwon, mama nka greene ) gen korean-american citizens and spent her early years in charlotte, where her dad worked as an orthopedic surgeon and her mom an event planner

she didn’t have to ask for much between her mom naturally spoiling her only daughter and her dad’s income, though she was pretty content with the little things like a dainty necklace or the newest, inexpensive fashion fad that swept through her grade

anyone else remember silly bandz being a big thing ?? bc yeah, she had TONS, i’d imagine GDSKFLJ

at fifteen, her parents decided to move to the outer banks after years of it solely being their vacation hub when family friends wanted to get together — well, her mom decided to move there while her dad dragged his feet at the prospect of leaving his practice, so a compromise was reached so he could stay in charlotte whenever an operation was taking place

though i think from their jobs alone y’all know where this is heading, and considering isa’s the step-sister of the greenes so i mean ??

they divorced when isa was seventeen and it was a hard pill to swallow for the poor thing; her dad stayed in charlotte while her mom stayed in obx and going back and forth while on the cusp of adulthood and college was a tiring but necessary endeavour for the daddy’s girl herself

not to mention she had a slight issue with assimilating to the more scrutinizing behaviours of kook territory, going with the flow that her friends had established before her arrival, but i’ll expand on that a little later lgfsdjk

let’s just flash forward to the present — isa’s got a step-family, she’s wrapped up her post-secondary and is just waiting to officially graduate ( honestly.. major is also tba fgsldkg ) and she’s among the newest cast members of outer banks.. suffice to say the poor girl’s overwhelmed !

tbh i’m losing steam bc it’s BOILING hot and it’s noon, i’ve gotta head out soon, so lemme insert what i put in my app to explain a few things that might have a gap or two in them

i view isabella as a bit of a sheep in the kook world based on the traits she’s been given; she has a good heart, however she follows many of the standards set by the longtime, affluent residents of the island. it makes her appear naive or held hostage by a feeling of inadequacy as her own person, something she’s sure that others have felt at times but believes she feels it far too often in comparison. that doesn’t mean that she hides facets of her personality so readily as she doesn’t feel nearly as confined when away from the island or with her trusted loved ones, rather it has to do with keeping up appearances for her parents’ sake — gossip among the country club boomers can cut DEEP, after all

i’m sure isa believes the rivalry is unnecessary as adults — not to mention that she doesn’t see someone’s socioeconomic standing as the most divisive factor one could consider — however she plays into it in her own way. whether it’s by dodging some pogues at parties because her kook friends are doing the same or because she doesn’t want to be caught in the brunt of the crossfire of tension, she keeps a distance and only hopes that it doesn’t come across as cold to everyone else

the show opens her up to the criticism she tries to avoid in her day-to-day life, being under the microscope ultimately making her anxious, however she tries to pull through; any publicity is good publicity, she supposes her friends would say, though that doesn’t keep her from dwelling on what certain subsets of people might think about the raw sides of herself. on the other hand, it’s an opportunity for her to branch out and eventually explore new avenues beyond what kildare county can offer her, let alone the outer banks. nonetheless, isa’s motivated to put her best foot forward and follow the script that she always has, albeit with slack on her leash as her televised coexistence with the pogues means leaving her past approach and her friends’ influence to the wayside

ok back to the current!me typing this intro, that last bit wasn’t to say she’d have no pogue pals, but more that she doesn’t branch out so easily and stays on the straight and narrow of what she’s done over the years. now onto her as a person GFDLK

personality and such

she’s baby

a given with yeeun as her fc especially, but i see her as a very tender and thoughtful person

y’know, ignoring her anxieties over public image and all

the type to pay it forward for purchases both big and small, is a shoulder to cry on for her friends and tries to be courteous with a smile per her dad’s advice when she was younger

sentimental and in some ways free-spirited, so again..... baby SLGJLKSDF

however, she’s a follower a lot of the time, doesn’t break rules or promises unless they’re totally out of line and even then, she either handles the matter gently or tries to shrug off her discomfort and go along with the rest

and with that, she doesn’t think her authentic self is all that special, hiding away certain traits or hobbies because they don’t reflect when she’s SUPPOSED to represent nor what those around her represent

she LOVES dressing up, opting for flowy or lightweight clothes during the summer months that are either crisp and white or whimsical and vibrant

she has vintage and thrifted pieces that she cherishes, locally made jewelry that she pairs with dainty gold bracelets and such that her parents have given her over the years.. she’s just a chill little fashionista jgfdlsk

isa isn’t the heaviest drinker, though that’s partially due to her being a lightweight as it is; doesn’t drink beer or straight liquor, one due to personal preference in taste and the other bc she can’t deal with much of the burning sensation GSDFJL

has had edibles a couple of times and doesn’t write them off as a one and done kind of thing, but she only touches them when offered in a social setting with her friends

so i mean.. she’s far from what some would consider a buzzkill for someone who’s as in her head as she can be

uhhhhh lemme jump to wcs bc i’m really pushing the time here but that comment about musing posts a while back ?? they’ll come into full effect later on so y’all have a better idea of her personality dgfslkg

plot ideas

people in her main friend group, but not necessarily a part of the kook conversations that mess with isa’s head that i’ve mentioned earlier. i’m sure there are a couple of people who she trusts most in that bunch and i’d love for her to have that kind of support and assurance that she needs for.. well, anything fsldgj

college friends/potentially a roommate ?? i’m gonna assume she attended college within nc, haven’t narrowed down where just yet so i’m flexible for this one unc to be specific ! they may or may not have been close before post-secondary started ( assuming they’re a long-time obx resident ) but they stuck together for the first week of their first semester and have been good friends since ! ( 1/? )

give her a pogue friend or two who tries to get her to get her head out of her ass and ignore the few things the rivalry’s instilled in her so she can ease up, and so they can hang out more

ex-friends, ex-fwbs, just give me some drama ! that’s all i ask !

crush(es) from years back or recently, pogue or kook, doesn’t matter bc this chick would hesitate on making a move on ANYONE 90% of the time so this is super flexible slfdkjgdf

also she’s bi, so have at it y’all !

maybe a secret relationship in the past ?? we love a good opposites attract love story with unresolved feelings, shove these two together in front of the cameras and watch them squirm to keep it all private SLGKFDJS

#╰ 💫 . ❪ 𝐖𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐒 ↝ lia chats ｡#outerhq.intro #oh and since i'm hopping off feel free to dm me over on discord !!#that way i won't leave you hanging LDFGJDS

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princesssteve · 6 years ago

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The Widomauk server continues to be a notable influence on my writing and now we have chapter 2.

Title: Caleb Widogast Needs Help

Ship: Widomauk

Fandom: Critical Role

Words: 3,221

Rating: Pg-13. There is mention of drinking and whiskey dick???

Chapter One: Here

Original Prompt: By Weed Nephew – “au where molly delivers like 90% of calebs food bc he only ever orders from one place and he eats there almost every day & molly likes getting to see him but is genuinely starting to get concerned bc this cute man is going to die of eating nothing but takeout 24/7”

Chapter Two: Caleb goes out drinking with Mollymauk. Everyone is a drunken disaster but like... charmingly so.

He had stood, lo mien in hand and what he knew to be a dumb look on his face, watching through the half-opened door as Molly sauntered away with all the ease and grace of someone who genuinely did not care. He watched and tried, desperately, to think of a way out of this.

Molly knew where he lived and had access to his phone number. Further, the tiefling did not strike him as the sort to be willing to let him beg off with a bullshit excuse. Not for this. Caleb closed the door and turned to press his back against the wood, cool and solid in a way which was not helping at all. The house was as dark as he could stand to keep it – saving on electricity in every way he could to help fuel his lo mien addiction. It wasn’t even good lo mien. It tasted rather like it was the reheated leftovers of a meal the Riverworks staff had last week and then sent along to him. But it was easy. It was good enough to sate the needs of his traitorous stomach and didn’t have to be reheated once it went cold. It let him focus, let him work, let him do more-

Caleb breathed, slow and through his nose, and pressed his shoulders back against the door as carefully as he could so as not to startle Frumpkin. Something in the vicinity of his spine popped, loudly, and he did his best not to wince. He’d been slumping over too much. Again. Nott had been giving him the look of mildly hypocritical disapproval for days, but he hadn’t heeded it. Oh well. He had… they had plans now. An excuse to get out that would not let itself be excused away. Caleb huffed out a breath again, reaching his free hand up to gently attempt to force the worried crinkle of skin from between his brows. It didn’t work, but it was grounding. It reminded him that he, somehow, was this mess of anxiety and thoughts and worries wrapped undeniably in a physical form. A physical form that needed a shower.

It just seemed like such a waste of time. If wasn’t like he hadn’t bathed in recent memory, it was just that he hadn’t in… most likely a few days. He curled a finger in his ginger hair. Most likely called such due to the red ginger plant -alpinia purpurata-, which were a vibrant red and spikey. Native to newly occupied areas during the 18th- Caleb mentally shook his mind from that path, reminding himself not very kindly that no one cared about his random tidbits of knowledge. Hair was wrapped tightly around his finger and he focused back on that. It wasn’t awful, but he could feel the sweat and oils from the few days he’d forgone bathing. The texture of lank hair sent an uncomfortable roll down his spine and now that he was directly aware of it, Caleb knew he’d have to shower. Molly hadn’t seemed to mind, but Caleb was only partially sure that his quip about this being a date was a joke.

He pushed himself off the door, shifting his raised hand from his hair to steadying Frumpkin as he shuffled carefully past not quite teetering piles of books that lined the hall. Nott sat on the floor in the kitchen at the end of the hall, surrounded by a near to obscene collection of buttons that she was carefully cleaning and inspecting one by one. There were piles, clearly some sort of organization that simply escaped him, and she looked up from straightening one to shoot him a sharp smile.

“Your dodecah-whatever glowed at me,” she supplied, jerking her head toward the gentle grey light of his latest obsession. The first time it’d sparked and glowed she’d had a near to panic attack, shooting it with a crossbow she kept stored and then yelling for him when shooting it hadn’t made it stop. The glow was old news now, random and seemingly without reason in a way that frustrated him to no end.

“Ah, jah. It does that,” He returned needlessly, setting the bag of lo mien before her. They were probably out of forks and he needed to do dishes, but there was just so much else to focus on. Caleb shifted his eyes from the only just overfilled sink to Nott, watching as she pulled out a styrofoam container and plastic fork with triumph in her expression. Oh. Yes. Of course. The goblin, long green hair hanging in heavy locs that could be handsome dreads if either of them had the patience to twist and maintain them properly, returned his gaze – long noodles already half hanging from her mouth of sharp teeth.

“Ou wan some?”

Caleb looked away, uncomfortable but not with her. Just. In general. “Nien,” He replied after a moment’s hesitation. “You eat first. I’m… going to shower. We uh… we have plans. With some friends. Tonight.”

Nott swallowed, and he did not have to look to see the incredulity of her expression. “We have friends?”

“We do! Apparently. They want us to go drinking tonight. Mr. Mollymauk and… his retinue.”

“Do we want to go drinking with them?”

“He has my number. And address.”

“I have a cross bow.”

Blue eyes snapped to her in a knee jerk reaction of panic, Caleb taking a step towards her as if to stop her right this moment from shooting someone who wasn’t there. “No, no, no, no, nien. We are not shooting them.”

She studied him a moment, slowly returning her hand to her fork and dinner. “So you do want to go then.” It was structured like a question but said as a statement. Caleb wasn’t sure if that was reflective of Nott’s tenuous grasp on common or a judgement she was making. He wanted it to be the former, but knew she was entirely too smart for this to be true. She knew. Maybe not entirely, but she knew.

“I think it… could be good for us. To speak to other people. People we are not robbing, or doing,” he gestured vaguely to the dodecahedron which returned his gesture with a faintly diminished glow, “that for. To have some fun.”

“Are they paying for our drinks?”

“It was insinuated.”

She gave a put-upon sigh that was very badly acted, returning to her food. “Okay. We can go. I’m not showering though.”

He waved off the statement easily, sure it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Nott was always better about her self-care than he had ever been. It would sting considering her phobia of water if he was in the mood or position to care. As it were, he had entirely too much bouncing around in his mind to give much of a shit about his failure to person. He’d always been bad at personing, this should come as no surprise to him.

Later, sitting with a dark head of hair on his shoulder as the woman it was attached to waxed poetic about girls, Caleb reminded himself that he was really, really bad at personing. He took a long drink of the swill this place called beer and tried not to think about it.

Molly had come, as promised, and ushered them both into his car with a deep bow and relish like he was the driver of some grand stretch instead of a beaten Saturn. He’d taken one look at Nott -and Caleb hadn’t thought it would be a problem but maybe he really should have considered the possibility- and waved her into the backseat with a throw away “Takes all types my dears.” He did not explain what it took all types for, but Caleb pretended to not let the hanging statement bother him. The car had slowly gotten more and more full as people forced their way into the backseat with every stop Molly made. Luckily, everyone seemed to like each other. Even more luckily, any movements made to join himself and Molly in the front had been cut off with charming ease by the tiefling and Caleb was… Well. He wasn’t comfortable. But he wasn’t panicking.

By the time they’d arrived at what was absolutely the most divey dive bar he’d ever seen, there were seven of them, five in the backseat alone. Nott had very quickly made an unholy alliance with the blue tiefling whose lap she’d been shuffled into, and in turn the half orc man who held them both in his lap. Fjord was his name, and he’d had an awkward stumble to his southern drawl as he introduced himself around Jester- hands hovered over her hips. It was by no means safe, and the weight of the car was wildly unbalanced, but they’d gotten there in one piece.

They’d gotten there, and they’d gotten very, very drunk. The only other human in the group, a younger woman named Beau with an abrasive approach that reminded him of Nott, had ended up latching onto him – perhaps recognizing that they were both equally bad at love or maybe simply for the familiarity. She’d gotten three beers in before girls had come up, but the subject had not left since. She rambled, making sense in only the loosest terms, about women in general. And one woman in particular. A woman who, judging by the stiff hold of her admittedly impressive shoulders and the dusting of charming pink across her cheeks, could absolutely hear them.

Caleb didn’t think it mattered much to stop Beau. She was having fun very harmlessly, and Molly’s warning from before suggested this was common. Instead he met the eyes of the large woman, holding the contact despite the discomfort it brought him, and lifted his drink in her direction. Solidarity. Awkward, awkward solidarity. The woman, Yasha he reminded himself, returned his gesture with a nod and from his place sprawled across her shoulder Molly downright giggled. They were all drunk disasters, as promised.

At some point Nott had dragged away their DD, the blue tiefling who had expressed a gentle discomfort with drinking that spoke of experiences. They had gone off to do something, and Fjord had followed after like a very concerned duckling as they cackled away. Now it was just the four of them, not really sitting together but also not sitting apart, as Beau rambled about the arm muscles of a near to goddess named Yasha.

It was all… very charming. Caleb couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable with anyone, let alone this many people. And while he wouldn’t dare to say he was well and properly… comfortable… he was closer to it than he’d been in a long time. It hadn’t been since. Since he was much, much younger and fancied himself in love.

He never did know, now that he was far enough removed to consider it, what it was about her that he was in love with. Astrid. He wasn’t over her, not by a long shot. You never really got over people you once loved, you just learned to miss them less. He had learned to miss her less so well that sometimes he could even think about the moments he hadn’t loved her. The moments that hadn’t left his heart clenched and his breath short and wild. It was when he thought of these moments that he wondered. By any stretch women had never quite been his cup of tea, romantically speaking. But she had been an exception. Had it been her? Or had it been the way she was with him? Gentle and guiding, but still pushing him further. She would lead as they danced, in more ways than the literal, but he had still danced when he was with her. Had that been what he loved? Or had it just been her? Was there a difference?

His eyes burned, and Caleb realized with a start that he was drunk. Way too drunk to be thinking about this. He looked up, as far up as he could reasonably excuse as being socially acceptable, in the hopes that gravity itself would stave the sluggish tears where he could not. Instead he met red. Molly. Molly was looking at him, his coat slung over the back of his chair and his smile soft with drink and something he couldn’t read. Something almost like concern, or affection, or a mixture of both. He looked away, settling his eyes over Molly’s shoulder and letting his breath out slowly. The emotion in his gut wasn’t quite under control before Molly stood, graceful in his drunkenness as he let the waves only he could feel take his body in a way that almost seemed sensual. Or maybe Caleb was just drunk and far more interested than he should be.

“Alright you twat, my turn. Switch cuddle buddies!” The purple tiefling stood next to them, tall but not towering. Beau narrowed her eyes in suspicion and tightened her grasp on Caleb’s arm despite the way the rest of her immediately leaned a little more toward Yasha.

“Why?” She asked, the headstrong aggression of her default sober softened into an almost pout.

Molly huffed, all drama and jutted hip. “Because,” he stressed, “that’s my date you’re macking on. I blackmailed him into coming out, I want me some cuddles.”

“We’re talking.”

“He’s gay.”

Caleb didn’t correct him, didn’t know if he needed to. Didn’t know if it was true. His gut twisted.

“So am I!” Beau continued, clearly not noticing his vague distress. Maybe he was hiding it well. Maybe no one knew. The gentle cast of Molly’s gaze over his features suggested otherwise.

Molly shifted his weight to his other hip and jerked his head very pointedly at Yasha, who watched with equal parts understanding and discomfort. Truly, she was one of Caleb’s people. “So are you,” he agreed with a sharp annoyance.

Beau followed his gesture, remembering who exactly she was switching to, and sat up properly. She spared his arm a parting pat as she stumbled to the other side of the table and bodily threw herself into Yasha’s side. Yasha did not move, although a small smile did turn at the corner of her lips as Beau clung onto her arm and began blathering about needing to be carried. His attention was torn away from the image they made – admittedly quite the cute one – as Molly settled on his other side. He was close, but not touching yet and Caleb noticed that he had brought his beer with him.

“Better?” Molly asked, head tilted to the side inquisitively. His hair fell in short, purple curls between his bejeweled horns in such an artistic way Caleb thought briefly that he was like a painting. Exquisite and rich and colorful and in no way meant to be touched, particularly not by someone like him who burned so easily from his fingertips.

He stared, and beer loosed his tongue before he could think to stop it. “Not really.” Caleb looked away from the flash of concern in vibrant red eyes, instead staring defiantly at his hands wrapped around the chipped glass stein his beer had been served in. “It was not her fault. I was just thinking. About… things that are better left un-thought about.”

Beside him Molly hummed and eased himself to lean gently against his side. There was no way to settle his head without stabbing Caleb’s shoulder with his spiraled horns, but the warm press of another body against him was not unwelcome. Tieflings ran hotter than most, something about the hellfires in their blood or some other vaguely racist wives’ tale. “Wanna talk about it?” He asked, voice rolling like spiced honey with care and caution so overwhelmingly obvious in his tone that Caleb felt his cheeks heat in shame.

He glanced to the side to hide it.

“Nien. I am fine.”

“You sure?”

Caleb dared a glance back at him, wondering if Molly’s face would hold the same careful condescension he’d seen in countless strangers’ faces during break downs and anxiety attacks and moments of fierce hyper fixation. None of them had intended to understand when they'd asked. It did not, and for a brief moment his mind pipped up. Tieflings are largely immune to fire damage, with very few examples of diluted blood removing the racial advantage. This was first observed in- No one cared Caleb. Pay attention.

Blue eyes flicked to Molly’s proper, meeting his gaze head on. He was concerned, clearly, but not demanding. Not condescending. Just… there.

Caleb swallowed and made himself smile. It hurt, a little, and it felt wrong. Even he could feel that it was a bit angry, a bit broken. But it was true. “Nien, nien. I just need to… not think. For a bit.”

Molly’s returning smile was far easier, and far more beautiful as he sat upright to reach for his mug. “Sounds to me then like you’re not drunk enough.” Molly offered his mug to him, raised expectantly. “Cheers?”

“Ah. Cheers. Did you know the custom of touching glasses originated in ancient human society? It evolved as a way for a host to put his guests at ease, by serving everyone drinks from the same carafe and – ah. I am… rambling. No one cares.”

Molly blinked and leaned in, resting his chin on Caleb’s shoulder with the same easy, beautiful smile. “No, no. I do,” he corrected in a tone that was entirely, confusingly genuine. “It’s interesting. I always wondered but never bothered to find out. Go on.”

He blinked in response, slow and off kilter. Tieflings are immune to fire damage. His mind supplied, and this time Caleb leaned into the thought. There was a twist of emotion deep in his gut still, but not entirely her. Some of it was gentle affection. A soft thought of ‘Oh. That’s cute’. A gentle linger in the way his eyes caught on purple curls twined around large horns and sharp fangs peeking just behind lightly chapped lips. He focused for a moment, on a place lower, but found that he had likely already drunk his way into whiskey dick. For all the gentle interest and slight stirring there was no response. Generally, not great. But right now, it was somewhat reassuring. There was only so much damage he could do to their relationship. Drunk as he got, there was only so much his mind and particularly body would allow.

His fingers birthed flames, but tieflings were immune.

Caleb swallowed, and saw the way Molly’s eyes followed it – feeling his gut twist just a little bit more. He raised his glass and drank deeply, then bumped their mugs together as gently as his drunken hands would allow before Molly could look disappointed. “Ah… the host would drink first. Like that. To show the drink was safe. Before raising their cup to the guests and inviting them to drink in good health.”

Molly leaned his head forward, pressing lips into his shoulder in a brief kiss that burned through his coat before pulling back to raise his glass. “To our good health,” he returned with a sardonic smile that Caleb felt to his soul. “Eventually.”

#Holy shit #original content!#steve writes #Widomauk #caleb widogast #Mollymauk Tealeaf #fanfiction #cross posted from AO3 #here be angst #ambiguously queer Caleb #Please remember it is ALWAYS okay to be unsure about your sexuality

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