#bllk hurt/no comfort

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Not meant to be~ Rin Itoshi

featuring:- Rin Itoshi, fem!reader, _________ warnings:- aftermath of argument, accident, good ol' truck kun, angst, hurt/no comfort, hurt/comfort, some mentions of blood a/n:- omg here its finally here, my first blue lock fic, ngl im scared of the response since ive only written for genshin before but oh well-

I guess i have to thank @damyoujackson, my irl bff for helping me write this( honestly i couldnt figure out how the hell to start the fic, she helped me with that and it somehow turned into her helping me in three-fourth of the fic) i actually have another fic planned to (on my own merit) but ill wait for my exams to get over

word count:- 2k

masterlist

Raised voices. Angry tears. That’s all you could remember. Rin’s cold, emotionless face when he told you to go. Go wherever the hell you wanted. Because he. Didn’t. Care. The way you stormed out of the apartment, hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

His face flashed before your eyes again. You remembered the face you both hate and love now. You remember all the heartbreak he’s been causing you recently. You remember Rin Itoshi.

*******

You get into the taxi you booked to go to Isagi’s house. You’d already planned to visit him and Bachira anyways. Now, maybe if you were lucky, they’d let you stay the night over. There is a strange scent in the car but you can’t put a finger on it. 

You take a few deep breaths. Once you’re sufficiently calmed down, you take out your phone and block Rin. Everywhere. His socials. His phone, his chat. Everything. Right now, all you really want is to distance yourself and your aching heart from Rin. Because it hurt. Staying with him, loving him, hurt. A fresh tear rolled down your face as the car sped onto the highway after around ten minutes.

And thats when the chills ran down your spine.

Something was wrong, you realized. Something wasn’t righ-

*******

It happened in an instant, too quick for you to comprehend.

As you felt the warm liquid trickling down your face, you recognise the strong scent of wine that filled the whole car, emanating from the driver, and the smell of your own blood.

The next instant, it all went black.

~◍~

Rin’s call goes to voicemail for the tenth time. His messages are still undelivered. It’s been ten minutes, and Rin can’t help but feel uneasy, feel like something was wrong.

He shook his head. Who was he even kidding. Of course things were wrong. And he was the reason why. He was the who’d lost his temper, yelled at you to get lost, refused to apologise even though none of it was your fault; you were only trying to look out for him after all. Regret settled in the pit of his stomach, and he didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t mean any of that, he really didn’t, it all slipped out in the heat of the moment because of his pride. You were the reason his life was worth living, and all he wanted right now was you back in his arms safe and sound.

He couldn’t stand the silence that pervaded the room anymore. He wanted to see you. Make sure you were alright, even if you were hurting inside because of him

His keys jingled as he locked the door behind him and hurried to his car.

*******

As Rin sped towards Isagi’s place, figuring that’s where you went since you had already planned to go, he felt something like dread seep into him, although he didn’t know why. Goosebumps rose on his skin as he drove onto the highway, and the reason for it was visible in the form of a crowd gathered around what seemed like a truck collided into a taxi. His sense of foreboding increased.

As he neared the crash site, the first thing he saw was blood seeping out of the shattered windows of the car. He frowned as he slowed down, seeing the flashing lights and wailing sirens of the ambulance making its way towards the crash. Finally, he saw the limp bodies, presumably of the drivers and a passenger.

His car screeched to a halt as he froze, seeing a nurse lift up one of the limp bodies to hurry them into the ambulance.

He saw your limp body being hauled into the ambulance.

*******

Rin silently sat in the ambulance, staring at what he’d done. The nurse who was working to bring you into a stable condition gave him a look of pity. Pity. That’s probably why the nurse had allowed him to get into the ambulance with you. 

He couldn’t fathom it. 

It was his fault. If he hadn’t yelled at you like that, you wouldn’t have left. If he had just dropped you off, you wouldn’t have gotten injured.

Rin knew. He knew he’d broken the promise he’d passionately made you when you two started dating- that he’d keep you safe.

For the first time in years, a tear slipped out of the corner of his eyes, then another. Not a single sound. Just the tears silently streaking Rin’s face.

He’d messed up. Real bad.

~◍~

There you were, lying unconscious on the bed. You always looked so peaceful asleep. Not like you had been all those wakeful, sleepless nights with him recently.

He caressed your face, like he had done so many times before. By this point, he had all the contours of your face memorised. He had lost you. He knew that. He knew you were in a coma, but who knew how long you’d be gone? Rin felt a lump rise in his throat. 

Why?

Why had it been you? Why not anyone else? Why you? You had never done anything to deserve this, if anything, he was the one who deserved this. Unable to bear the sight of you, hurt because of him ,anymore, he got up hastily and walked away, gently closing the hospital door behind him.

“Why were you with her?” Rin heard a voice say, one that grated on his nerves. His jaw set, he turned around to see him. “What do you mean? She’s my girlfriend, she’s the one I love, and she’s hurt. Shouldn’t I be with her?” Rin spoke, the anger on seeing him seeping into his voice. What right did he have to interfere with Rin’s life? He saw a scowl spread across the face of the man in front of him. “No, Rin, you’ve lost the right to. You’re the reason why she’s here. You’re the one who hurt her. Do you really think she’d want to see you after all of this? No, Rin. Not when you’re the reason why she’s… she’s…” His voice cracks, his incomplete sentence hanging tensely in the air.

And Rin watched, eyes wide, as a tear slipped out of his eyes. Sure, Rin crying was one thing. But him? Not when he knew that emotions didn’t come easy to either of them. He must care about her a lot too. It caused an ugly feeling to bubble in his chest.

“Stay away, she’s mine. You have no right to be here.” Rin snapped, causing him to retort. “I have no right? I have no right? Look who’s freaking talking.”

“She was yours, Rin. She was yours. Not anymore.”

“You’ve lost her now.”

~◍~

White, white everywhere. Your eyes stung ike tehy did every time Rin made you cry. You sat up and the world spun. You saw a hand on yours. Rin? His touch felt a bit different, but the eyes you caught with yours were ones you would never get tired of losing yourself staring into. And yet, as the world gradually came into focus, you saw that no, it wasn’t Rin after all. It was him.

“How are you?” He softly asked. Those three words lingered in the air between you two, echoing in your mind. So long. It had been so long since you’d heard those three simple words. How laughable.

You didn’t respond for a while. You just couldn’t.. He didn’t press it either. The silence which fell between you two was in fact, comfortable. Certainly not like the tense, angry silences that fell ever so often between you and Rin recently after unresolved conflicts. They had been cold and unforgiving, just like how Rin had become.

Eventually you tried to speak, and found you couldn’t. Seeing this, he immediately grabbed a glass of water from the bedside stand and gently held it to your lips as you drank, one hand supporting your back.

This felt new. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt warm and comforting.

“I… don’t know.” You responded to his earlier question. He simply set down the glass, took both of your hands in his, and squeezed them softly. “I’ll be here. It’ll be fine soon.” There was a silent promise in his quiet voice. That he’d stay with you.

Unlike Rin.

No wonder this felt comforting. This was the kind of support and comfort you’d been longing for from ages. You missed this feeling.

~◍~

Months had passed since that accident, and you had fully recovered, with no permanent damage. You had completely broken off things with Rin. It wasn’t because of the accident. You were simply too tired. It hurt. It hurt too much for you to be able to continue your relationship with him anymore.

It hurt you to admit it, but life had actually become brighter after you’d broken up with Rin. So you tried your best to get over him, build yourself a happier life.

‘It seems to be working,’ you thought to yourself, shoulders feeling considerably lighter, a spring in your step, on your way to meet him at the cafe.

~◍~

Years had passed. Old wounds were healed, both figuratively and literally. You’d found someone new. Someone who’d gently held your broken heart as he helped you repair it. Someone who you couldn’t help but love with everything in you. Someone who’d stayed with you through thick and thin. Someone you loved more than you had loved Rin.

Funny. Honestly, you barely remembered Rin anymore. Not when you’d found someone better.

~◍~

Rin was miserable, to say the least. He’d barely been able to focus on anything, throwing himself into soccer in entirety. Because if he didn’t, if he let his mind wander, regret and guilt would consume him whole, and his mind would return to the last time he’d seen you. When you’d softly told him that you couldn’t do this anymore. Not with him. When you’d broken up with him, wishing him all the best for his career.

Forget it. Even though you were a big part of his life, the only option he found was to try and forget you, no matter how impossible it seemed. It was the only way he could focus on soccer.

And yet, as he lay alone under the covers of his cold bed at night, body aching from exhaustion, he couldn’t hold back his intense longing for you to be back in his arms.

In the dead of night, he couldn’t deny just how much he missed you. In the dead of night, he couldn’t deny how much he wished everything was back to the way it used to be back then.

In the dead of night, he couldn’t deny that he would always remember you, no matter how much he tried to forget you.

~◍~

Rin stood there, face blank, numbness seeping through his body, as excited loud chatter surrounded him.

This couldn’t be happening.

He knew he should have been happy for you. But somehow, he was unable to.

You looked radiant and stunning as you walked down the aisle. The joy was more than evident in the way you carried yourself, a bright smile on your face as your gaze landed on him.

He couldn’t help but feel incredibly envious of the man standing in wait for you at the altar, a matching smile lighting up his usually emotionless face. Your to-be husband. As much as it shattered his heart, Rin knew that he hadn’t treated you well, that he wasn’t the one for you. That you were happy.

But it still hurt.

It hurt like hell when you both said ‘Yes’ without hesitation, when you both slipped your rings onto each other’s fingers, when the crowd around burst into rapturous applause as the two of you sealed your relationship.

Because the lips you kissed, the eyes you stared into, the hands you held, and the man you loved. It wasn’t him. It would never be him.

It was Sae Itoshi, the only one you remembered.

ngl i loved this

[unluckilyimnot]

Nightmare hc - kinich, Aether (genshin), Kaiser (bllk)

Note: sorry I don't have much time lately, I offer you this as an excuse. Feel free to ask for more if you want (it might take time tho)

m.list | rules

Kinich who still wake up with a gasp in the middle of the night, breath short and heart racing without being able to calm down the panic poisoning his nervous system

Kinich who always hesitate too much before waking you up like you always told him to if he's ever having nightmare again, not wanting to bother you more with that

Kinich who almost get scold every time when you ask him for how long he's been awake but you still can't help it but hold him close as you nag about it again

Kinich who always says ‘no’ when you ask him if he wants to talk about it but is secretly glad you’re asking in case, one day, he'll be comfortable enough to let you know what’s going on in his dreams

Kinich who can tell just by your tender touch that he's feeling better and secure in the warmth of your arms and that he never want to leave the safe place you offer him

Kinich who can finally regulate his breathing when you start talking nonsense in the middle of the night to distract him from his morbid thoughts and memories

Kinich who loves to listen to your heartbeat just so he's sure he's not imagining it, that you're here and he's not alone anymore

Kinich who felt like falling asleep once again and peacefully when you start playing with his hair

Aether who immediately finds you when he wakes up in the middle of the night panting from a nightmare, not necessarily waking you up, but holding you close enough

Aether who feels bad when you turned around to face him and hears your voice ask him what's wrong because he never wanted to disturb your sleep – even more if you already struggle with it

Aether who lies to you at first, telling you it's nothing but he's holding you close, you can feel his heart beating dangerously fast and his hands still slightly shaking

Aether who's shaken when you ask him of its another nightmare as if it was hard to say, but soon feel seen and known because he knows he just can't lie to you – because you love him too much to not get it

Aether who finds peace in the slow motion of your hand in his hair, calming him down as you shush him sweetly

Aether who feels tears in his eyes when he remembers his nightmare, reminded of his sister's face and how he misses her so much

Aether who hide his face away from you but not without wetting your shirt on the way without meaning too

Aether who feels like he's about to cry harder when your hands started to cradle his face, holding him closer and kissing him in hope he'll feel, even slightly, better

Kaiser who's too proud to wake you up and would rather leave than do it – but end up doing so because you'll soon realized he's not there anymore

Kaiser who thinks that staying alone to process it is always the answer but feels like crying when he feels your hand slightly brushing his hair to announce yourself and tears build up immediately

Kaiser who's angry that he's still affected in some way by his father and all that happened but can't figure how to express it well so he tries to push you away

Kaiser who sometimes raise his voice against you when he's overwhelmed but rarely means any harms

Kaiser who had mixed feelings with being glad and feeling bad when you still hug him close to your chest right after the outrageous things he can yell at you

Kaiser who hide himself into your arms from the world if you let him, nuzzling himself into your chest or stomach

Kaiser who could fall back to sleep sitting on the couch, with simply your arms around him and your fingers cradling his back

[fumiscripts]

✦ I'M NOT YOURS

✦ one shot ,, yoichi isagi x f!reader.

✦ content:: you— a corporate worker— suffer being head over heels for isagi yoichi— a pro soccer player.

for @shrii-kk, angst/hurt/no comfort, 603 words

additional: reader FUMBLES big time, author's first time writing angst w no happy ending, author does NOT have experience in romance, no beta we die like my motivation

You didn't know how. 

You just fell in love.

Isagi Yoichi is a very likeable person. So how could you not fall for him? He's kind, friendly, everything sweet. You witnessed it firsthand, knowing him since all the way back when both of you were children. You've been in each other's lives longer than you haven't, it's a type of friendship a lot of people want.

But that friendship is killing you. Being just friends is killing you.

You try and fail to get rid of these consuming feelings, knowing you can't have him. It'd be selfish of you, weighing him down when he's set on achieving his dreams. Would he, a professional soccer player, spare his time for a relationship with a forgettable nobody like you? He could do so much better.

How selfish of you, wishing he'd be yours.

You distanced yourself— to not fall harder than you already have— you know you can't have him. First, you stopped contacting him as often, and then you tried not to cling to him, tried not to hang onto his every word like it was your lifeline. It was difficult to let go, especially when he was your reason to keep going, your reason to live. But you had to do it. You can't keep being a burden. The weight of a relationship could hold him back.

Hours turned to days of no contact, to the point that you found your last conversation to be weeks ago. You could tell he was concerned. Each digital letter spelled it out. Alas, you brushed it off, saying you were busy. With his hectic schedule and you purposefully avoiding him, that connection that was tightly bound started to drift apart.

You ignored the heavy mix of feelings consuming you like wildfire. You needed to let him go.

The quest to distance yourself was successful.

It's been months, and you've convinced yourself that you got over him. You haven't interacted in a long while, so you shouldn't feel anything towards him, right?

So then why did your chest tighten at seeing those dark locks once again?

Isagi looked as surprised as you. After seasons of no contact, he was finally able to see you again— in an airport, walking across each other— the both of you were about to board on your flights to somewhere, a different location from the other. He called your name, it left nostalgic taste on his tongue.

You stared in silence. All the things you wanted to say, and all the things you shouldn't were stuck in your throat. So you settled for a simple nod of acknowledgement, forcing out a casual reply, one that held no trace of all the brewing emotions threatening to overflow within you. “How are you?” you asked, attempting to prompt a conversation for who knows what. Maybe you were desperate for some semblance of interaction, you hated that you missed him. You weren't supposed to.

He looks away, eyes flickering to somewhere else. “Haha, I'm doing fine. I got tournaments to win, games to play, planes to catch…” Isagi trails off, awkwardly fiddling with his hand. There, you spotted a glimpse of it— a golden jewelry adorning his ring finger— it caught the artificial lights of the bulbs above, and your gaze lingered onto it for a second longer than you'd like, the image burning into your mind.

It appears that the articles of him dating some big-shot star weren't just rumors. Hell, they were even engaged.

He's slipped through your fingers, and you let him go.

You weren't his. He wasn't yours.

(a/n):: mb for this writing slop ruejwhiw

taglist (ask to be added):: @tired-xyra-urstruly @fishii-writes @rini-rushed @rinitoshiplzdateme

@luzmilun @motchilyn

© fumiscripts 2024. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[hiorintruther]

I think hiorin is absolutely winning right now with the Egoist Bible. First of all, you can make a solid argument that Rin fits Hiori’s ideal type, the thing that makes Hiori happy, AND Hiori’s fetish. (Note: while his fetish uses a woman as reference, his ideal type is gender neutral and he said he received chocolate from a guy on Valentine’s Day while specifying that he rejected a girl in the year above him, so any ‘straight Hiori’ arguments mean nothing to me).

Hiori’s ideal type is “someone who can leave me alone”, which fits Rin absolutely perfectly. Rin wouldn’t be clingy, needy, overbearing or smothering. That’s exactly what Hiori wants in a partner. Of course they would still be intimate, it’s not like Hiori would want to be alone 100% of the time, but he wants someone who knows to take a step back and let him have his space when he wants it.

Likewise, the thing that makes Hiori happiest is “being left alone”. Once again, Rin would not be constantly hovering around Hiori, needing Hiori’s attention or getting upset when Hiori doesn’t smother him with love.

Hiori’s fetish is “fractured girl fetish”, which everyone is still a bit confused by but it seems to be referring to seeing injuries that are bandaged up (he specifically references the actress Todo Erika in SPEC, where she wears her arm in a sling and cast). It’s a bit fucked up (not to kink-shame) but then again Hiori is a self-described ultra-sadist so I’m honestly not surprised at all. Now then, out of everyone in Blue Lock, who have we seen get injured multiple times and need to be tended to? Rin. Not only that, but Rin’s predisposition to violence and getting hurt is a part of his truest nature. He was scolded and considered weird for it in his childhood and would become nervous if his parents were about to tell him off for his destructive tendencies. So imagine Hiori, someone who categorically does not mind that Rin is this way, wants to help bandage him up and tend to his injuries, and never once scolds him. We know from the U-20 match that Hiori’s first instinct is to ask Rin if he’s alright and help him, but now there’s the added layer that Hiori would enjoy seeing this side of Rin, not being weirded out or put off by it. I think for Rin that would be a massive relief. Hiori wouldn’t be actively trying to hurt Rin or encourage him to get injured all the time, but he would accept Rin for the way he is and never be disappointed if Rin turned up bloodied and battered, in need of bandaging up.

We also got other info which I think can be used for hiorin too. Hiori is now a confirmed Dead By Daylight player, and since that’s a multiplayer horror game I think he would enjoy playing it with Rin (who as far as we can tell only plays horror games). Specifically, Hiori likes to play the killer, so Rin would get the thrill of fighting for his life even if it destroys him while Hiori gets an outlet for his own sadistic mindset.

In the character rankings, Rin and Hiori were ranked 1st and 2nd respectively for who would most likely have psychic powers. Hiori also ranked first for ‘best listener’ meanwhile Rin ranked first for ‘worst listener’. Rin might be hard to get along with but Hiori is the immovable object to Rin’s unstoppable force.

Then of course there’s the stuff we already knew from the Twitter QnAs. Hiori and Rin both love ochazuke. They both game. Hiori’s favourite season is the rainy season which nicely compliments Rin’s connection to water.

Honestly we have so much fuel to work with. Hiorin doesn’t get a lot of canon material at all in the main manga so it’s nice that the extra info provides so much fuel. I doubt any of it is intentional but we have a really nice basis to work with regardless.

[beanxiv]

NAGI X READER WHEN HE CALLS THEM A PAIN AND THEY GET SAD SO HE COMFORT THEM -🌷 anon

waiting ; nagi seishiro ✩࿐

warnings: hurt/comfort (im so bad at writing hurt/comfort so pretend this is good), petnames, nagi being mean (at the beginning), communication issues :/, established relationship

notes: nagi is definitely the type to bottle in all of his frustration and then take it out on you unintentionally, but its ok i can change him.

wc: 1.9k

"sei, can we watch a movie together?" you sit on one end of the couch while nagi lays on his stomach next to you (feet by your thighs and head facing the opposite arm rest) taking up the rest of the couch. his nose is buried in his phone screen, explosions and other video game sounds blasting from the speaker.

"uhhm, 'kay. lemme finish this round." your boyfriend mumbles, not bothering to look over his shoulder at you.

you sigh, but decide to stay patient. "okay, baby." you fiddle with the tv remote as you wait. when a couple minutes pass you tilt your head to glimpse at nagi's face. "done yet, shiro?"

"no. wait."

you frown, "okay.. but you've been playing for an hour before i asked you to watch a movie and you said you'd finish this round fifteen minutes ago."

"oh, my bad. i accidentally started a new round. i have t'finish the round now, can't pause an online game. just gimme a few more minutes." he still barely acknowledges you, nothing more than a slight shrug of his shoulders.

when another ten minutes pass your patience starts to wear thin. "seishiro, do you want to watch a movie together or—"

"i said wait a few minutes. the round is still goin— ah, fuck! you made me die.." nagi clicks his tongue in annoyance. pushing up off his elbows to sit up and angrily tossing his phone on the carpet. "goddamn, y/n. you're such a pain sometimes."

you blink, an ache building deep in your chest. "what?" you swallow the lump in your throat away. "i asked you if you wanted to watch a movie. you said yes and told me to wait. i waited fifteen minutes and asked again. you told me to wait. i waited again. i stayed patient for thirty minutes. now you're calling me a pain? after barely even looking at me today? you haven't talked to me since you came home from practice three hours ago!" you scoff in spite of yourself, "..really, seishiro. if you wanted space, you could have told me."

you see the weight of nagi's words start to process in his eyes, "shit— i didn't mean that, y/n. wait—"

"i'm tired of waiting, nagi." with that you slide off the couch and walk into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut before nagi can see tears of frustration threaten to spill over your eyes.

when the door shuts loudly nagi flinches but doesn't move from the couch. he sits there, swearing under his breath and running a hand down his face. "i'm such a fucking idiot.." he wishes he could kick himself for his stupid mouth. the image of your face completely falling into bitter sorrow when he called you a pain replays in his head. regret freezes his veins, and his own heart starts to ache each time your expression fills his brain.

he swears at himself again before jumping off the couch and rushing to your shared bedroom. he hesitates but manages to knock twice on the door.

"y/n, baby. i'm so sorry. please," he chews on his lip. please what? he doesn't even know what he's asking for. please open the door, please forgive me, or please talk to me? he doesn't know. he'll take any option at the moment.

he hears you shuffle to the door and sniff. are you crying? his heart breaks a little bit more at the thought of you hurt because of his idiocy.

"nagi, i meant what i said." you still haven't opened the door. but talking through the wood is better than nothing. "i'm tired of this. it's not the first time this has happened. you've ignored me a lot before. i understand if you want time for yourself, i do too sometimes. but don't tell me you're going to do something with me and not mean it."

"i know, y/n. i'm sorry, i just.." nagi isn't known for his way with words. he's not used to voicing his every thought. but he's willing to make the effort to fix his mistake and make it up to you. "practice sucked today. i was in a shitty mood after and i took it out on you when i shouldn't have."

he hears you sigh. the lock on the door clicks and you pull the door open. nagi searches your face for any indication of your reaction. his heart drops at the sight of your red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

he wants to pull you tight against himself— kiss the hurt away— but he holds himself in place. he doesn't want to push his limits until you completely forgive him.

"why didn't you just tell me? we've been dating for so long now, do you still not feel comfortable enough to tell me things?"

"no! i do. i just— today was so stressful, i just wanted to lock myself up in the house and play games to get my mind off of it. i didn't realize i'd been ignoring you all day, i'm sorry."

you let out a laugh that doesn't quite reach your eyes, "see? nagi, you could have told me all of this hours ago. none of this would have happened." you have a bitter look in your eyes that tells nagi you're still upset. "it would've been that easy. just a simple 'hey, y/n i had a rough day today, and i'm not really in the mood to do anything today.' and i would have respected that and moved on."

he steps forward and takes your hands in his, "angel, i'm sorry. really sorry for calling you a pain. i swear i didn't mean it. it was— i was projecting my frustration onto you when i should have just communicated it and found an output a different way. you're the farthest thing from a pain. you're— you're honestly the reason why i'm living my life," nagi breathes out a laugh. "if it weren't for you my routine would just be wake up, football, games, eat, sleep, repeat. and not only that, you're beautiful, inside and out. and you make me laugh, and you make really good food for me, and you help me take care of choki. actually, not only that— you help me take care of myself too. honestly, i don't know if i could survive without you, y/n. so please, please forgive me, angel."

you chew on your bottom lip, "nagi—"

nagi winces, "and please stop calling me that."

this pulls a ghost of a smile onto your lips which sends a flutter through nagi's heart. you think to yourself for a moment and the smile fades slightly. "seishiro, a relationship works two ways. you know that. for it to work you have to talk to me. tell me everything— if practice went well, tell me. if it was absolute shit, still tell me. if you feel like doing something, tell me. if you don't, tell me again. i didn't start dating you just for the title, sei. i want to be with you. i want to know what makes you happy, what stresses you out— i want to know everything you'll allow me to. in exchange, i'll trust you with my heart too."

nagi presses his lips together in a tight line, "i trust you with everything. you know i do. fuck, i trust you with some things more than i trust myself." nagi sighs through his nose, his eyes a window of rare vulnerability. a window that opened only for you. "i can tell you anything, y/n, i know i can. i just don't know how. it's not something i do. i mean before you moved in with me, i lived alone during high school-- until blue lock-- and i didn't talk to anyone except reo in school. i'm not used to talking about myself and what's on my mind. the only thing i ever spilled my thoughts to was choki— my cactus for fucks sake," nagi laughs dryly. he felt pathetic telling you something so stupid. it reminded him why he kept his heavier thoughts to himself. but...

"well, you have me now. ah, and choki too if it helps," is that a smile? you're smiling— only slightly, but a smile nonetheless.

does that mean you've forgiven him? no... even if you do forgive him, he still owes you a proper apology. he wont let you walk away without it.

"i think you're a better listener than choki," nagi admits. when he expected you to scoff in his face and turn away, you stayed and continued talking with him. "i just took to long to understand that. and i promise to work on it. i'm sorry, angel. i never want to hurt you, i only want to see you happy."

"thank you, 'shiro." you murmur, finally looking up at him. nagi searches your expression for any remnants of pain and he sees none, as soon as he sees the soft look in your eyes he exhales, all of his worry leaving his chest. you smile slightly, squeezing his hand a bit. "i accept your apology. and ill try to be patient too, i understand it takes time to completely share all of your thoughts and feelings, so i won't push if you don't want to tell me anything, but at least tell me that much if you don't feel like talking."

nagi nods, "i will. i promise, i swear i'll work on it. thank you, yn. thank you for forgiving me." he can't help himself anymore, and pulls you snug to his chest, his arms right around your waist as he buries his head into the crook of your neck. "i love tou so much.. i would beat myself up if i lost you because i'm a moron."

you giggle a bit, your hand coming up to card through his hair. "mhm, you are kind of a moron."

"yeah?" nagi chuckles back, sighing softy. you feel his breath fan against your neck and pull him from the crook of your neck to look at him.

"yeah, you are. but as long as we both work on communicating, we'll be okay." a grin tugs at your lips as you look at your boyfriend.

nagi nods, his soft white hair swishing a bit as he does. "i promise t'communicate better, angel. or at least i'll try my best for you."

"and that's all i'm asking for," you murmur, the grin still on your face as you lean towards nagi to plant a kiss on his lips.

nagi returns your kiss before pulling away to look at you, "you wanted t'watch a movie together earlier.. right?"

"are you sure?" you chew on your lip, looking at him with a furrow between your brows that he wants to kiss away. "if you're still not feeling up to it, it's oka-"

"i want to," nagi interrupts, pulling you in by your waist to kiss between your brows. "so let's go cuddle and watch something."

taglist : @astruosie @saesins @dreamlessimp @hanmasdolly

©beanxiv — all rights reserved. copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is not allowed.

[verysium]

『02』 出発: departure

ft. rin itoshi, sae itoshi

summary: a star's life is its counteraction against death, an endless deadlock against the brute force of gravity. in the constant struggle between space and time, rin cannot tell if he is being held up or held down. perhaps he has already dictated the terms of his own demise. cw: epistolary montage, mentions of blood in film, rin violently crying and throwing up, highly implied hallucinations, swearing, suicidal ideation, disillusionment and lots of hard angst. word count: 4.9k

previous || series masterlist || next

Two weeks after Sae took off from Haneda Airport, his words still lingered inside Rin's mind. His brother had left with a fiery flick of a grin—a gaping, white-hot maw right where his mouth should have been. It blazed then sputtered cold in his gums by the time he turned back around, but Rin still knew what he saw. The smoke never lied.

A triple tap of tongue against hard palate, the message moving fast as light. Something had flickered between Sae’s teeth. Something about split knuckles and brotherly love. Something about calling him back.

But Rin couldn’t hear over the boarding announcements, the roar of engines propelling out of the runway, the heat waves of people out in front. At half past noon, his brother had already departed from Tokyo, ten thousand miles westbound in a floating aluminum dream, reeling contrails through the sky. 

And Rin still stood on Earth, waiting. Like some dumb thing left behind.

It wasn’t until his mother laid a gentle hand on his shoulder that he finally tumbled back to reality, an empty gate at his feet, no arrival or departure calling. The afternoon sunlight had grown dim, splintering against the glass windows and whirring the blood through his ears. His chest felt strangely suspended.

It was in the backseat where it all began. Three floors down in the parking garage. Fumbling through his pockets, his coat had snagged between the door and car frame, ten digits on a crumpled paper sent fluttering to the ground. Looking back on it now, he should’ve thrown that damn thing away. But he was stupid then, drunk on a heat stroke and the beginnings of terminal grief. Right on the exit of the Shuto Expressway, he made his parents turn the car back around and drive ten miles down to the nearest World Mobile, a wretched inhale of hope stuck squirming in his chest. 

It took him several weeks before he finally decided to punch in those numbers, and then another several weeks to call after that. His body shuddered, sweat-faced and suffocating, as he trailed sticky fingers down the waiting screen. The phone rang once then twice. Then rang on forever.

Nobody ever bothered to pick up.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

2013 年 6月 17日 Nii-chan, 

It still feels like you never left. And I say this with a miserable lack of sincerity because you did in fact leave just two weeks ago. Kaa-san still makes your bed. Square corners and all. Your duvet goes in the pile with the rest of my laundry. 

Just the other day, I think I saw your shadow. I was sunbathing on the roof when I felt something brush against my back. Does Spain have big shadows too? I hope so. A country with so much sun must leave those poor shades short and stunted. Maybe they’re just a little shy. Be nice to them, will you Nii-chan? Not everyone can shine as bright as you do.

I hope you’ll make friends soon. Write to me often. I want to know everything.

2013 年 7月 7日 Nii-chan,

How are you? I didn’t receive anything in my inbox, and I checked with Kaa-san twice. She said you didn’t text me, but there is no way such a thing could have happened. Perhaps old age has finally gotten to her, or maybe something’s just wrong with this phone. Either way, I should’ve asked her to buy me a newer model.

On second thought, if you don’t text me, I will be very upset. But it will be a childish sort of anger. You wouldn’t be very proud. You will be pleased to know, however, that I have grown a total of ten centimeters this summer, and my bones are looking very strong and wide. My shots have improved too, and I scored three goals today.

Otou-san took us out to dinner for Tanabata this weekend. He told me it is about time I became a man. I smiled and said I didn’t want to disappoint. But then he said ten and three quarters is no longer a youthful sort of age, and I suddenly felt a little mad about it. I don’t want to grow up without you. 

The festival was crowded as usual. I ate every selection of wagashi then chased it down with some of the sake Otou-san lent me from his cup. Pretty sure that was illegal, so I threw it all up on the way home. But then we all went and saw the tanzaku, so I guess something went right. I wrote down a wish, but I won’t tell you. Otherwise it won’t come true. I hung it up on the highest branch though, so that someday it might reach you. 

Tell me what you think. Text back soon.

2013 年 8月 31日 Nii-chan, 

I did not receive your reply from last time. I think this phone must still be broken. Perhaps you should check on your end. Even if it’s just a greeting, I will be content. Anything from you is fine, really.

I visited the beach again. It was peaceful until the wind blew hair in my face, and I went blind for almost fifteen minutes. I tried cutting it, but Kaa-san got mad at me. After your disaster five years ago, she said she’d never let her sons hold a pair of scissors ever again. Don’t tell her, but I laughed. Inside, you know?

Sometimes I still see the waves in my sleep. The ones at Koshigoe Beach. They cradle me, and suddenly it feels like my head is floating even though my body isn’t. You’d probably think I’m crazy. But lately dreams are the only way I can reach you. 

I do watch the news though. And I train hard. Very hard. I can pass like you now, though not nearly as good as your highlights on TV. Coach says I still need to learn. You always said the same thing. But I am nearly as tall as Otou-san now and twice as strong. That must count for something, right? I hope the guys overseas will like this new me. When I finally come over there, that is.

Make sure you aren’t training too hard. I don’t want you to overstrain yourself. And if you don’t like it there, promise me you won’t force yourself to stay. You’ll pack your bags and come home early. 

Promise me. Please. 

That you’ll come home to me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

For the second time in his life, Rin finds himself on his knees, heaving up everything that has ever made him whole. The bathroom mourns with every dry retch of his throat, and suddenly he’s laughing into the porcelain, clutching at the sides in a mad form of desperation. His ribs shudder—tough in their hurt—yet nothing of substance ever lies between them. He’d smiled out his guts a long time ago. 

Is empty space still a space or just the photonegative of presence? 

Sometimes Rin feels like his body can never truly filled, but it can never be completely emptied either. No matter how much he regurgitates, there will always be more to come. The space inside him widens until it hangs on a threadlike line of limbo: so much to give yet so much to keep. It tugs at him—a crude form of baptism—pulling him up for air and then crashing his head beneath the waves again. 

Another harsh hurl reverberates across the bathroom tiles, this time accompanied by the loud smack of spit. He’s emptied out so much his bowels might just prolapse at any second, the boy inside him turned into some sort of liquid slop, sloshing back and forth in his ribcage. It’s all over the front of his shirt now, the stomach contents soaked for hours in bodily brine, the grief his body tries to hold. No amount of bleach is going to erase the stench.

Some days Rin just wants someone to cradle him like a child does a bird, gentle and afraid to hurt. He had a dream about this once, many moons ago. After wringing himself out to dry, he had gone to work, looping the washing line around his feet until it resembled some sort of upside down noose. Once the wind picked up, he let go of the string like a pendulum, watching his body sway in third person: up and down and up and down. In this reality, he was a creature of feathers and clothespins, his body molting in the breeze. So long as he swung back and forth in this state of suspension, he would remain in the middle, not tethered down enough to live but not free enough to die either. 

He’d simply exist. 

Some nights Rin still can’t sleep. His eyes lay limp in their sockets, two dead weights sinking into bone. He tried to pry them out with his fingers, but they only pressed deeper into his face, rigid and wax-cool to the touch. No matter what he does, Rin knows he will be too late. He can never reverse this decay—the post-mortem withering of his own heart. 

Just this afternoon, he died once again, his body slumped with the hollow weight of disappointment, his spirit sinking like a fault line into earth. He had been drying his hair in the locker room after practice, the friction of the towel’s loops causing small pinpricks of static to echo along his nape. The static had carried over hushed whispers, trailing along his scalp down to his ears. God, he hadn’t meant to overhear.

“Damn it, we’re really done for this season, huh? I’m telling you it’s the striker. We could’ve won this match if it weren’t for him.”

“I mean, if Itoshi were here, he would’ve destroyed their whole team by himself.”

“You mean the older one?”

“Of course I do. Who else did you think I was referring to? The younger one’s just been blessed up until now.”

“Without his brother, he’s just an ordinary guy.”

“Oi, Haruto, shut up! What if he hears?”

“Hear what? It’s not like it isn’t the truth!”

Rin still remembers how his surname burned on their lips, the tip of the tongue caught raw between teeth, the vowels seared into flesh. Itoshi was a burden coming apart at the seams, a title for something he could never possess. They were right and it left him smarting, reeling. He hadn’t laughed a day since Sae’s departure, but in that moment he wanted to shove his whole fist up his mouth and choke for the first time in five resentful months. The laugh had been a silent one, with tears on his waterline and a smile bruised onto his face. 

Ha.....ha.....hah.....

There comes a point in every boy’s life when he simply exists. Still young but no longer impressionable. Salt in the eyes. Salt in the mouth. Take it like a man. When he hawks back the knife, it must come out breathing and clean. Living but not dead. 

His teammates had every right to blame him. 

He can’t score goals like he used to. Can’t run and bleed. Can’t love like before. There’s nothing but shame waiting for him when the realization finally breaches the bathroom air and his teammates scramble off the benches, cleats stained with guilt. They saw his reflection in the mirror, weeping right above the communal sinks.

“R-rin! W-we didn’t know you were here.”

“Y-yeah! You didn’t hear much, did you?”

Rin had never hated his name more in that moment. They uttered it like a euphemism, hand over his stupid bullet-riddled heart, the blood too runny to salvage. It only hurt him more. So he did what he knew best. He clenched his fist, the nails fisted into the meat of his palm, eyes caught on a hardened edge. It didn’t matter if Haruto was his senior. He’d beat him within an inch of his life.

“So you call me Rin now? Wasn’t I just younger Itoshi to you earlier?”

“I didn’t....We didn’t mean...”

“Then what did you mean?”

Only the scurry of shoes answered—two scuff marks against the dirty floor, Haruto’s yelp in the distance. Rin was left all alone again, his thin shadow blown wide across the whitewashed walls of the locker room. 

“Damn coward,” he wanted to yell after him. “Run! Run and tell them how it’s not your fault!” 

But he was just talking to himself.

Is empty space still a space or just a pseudonym for absence?

He hadn't been thinking at the time. Within the liminal space of the abandoned shower stalls, he lent himself a moment of weakness. He let himself cry. The shower head was cold and dirtied, and he stood there for forty-five minutes, waiting to be filled with a warmth that never came. In the end, he let his tears mix with the brackish water, staring at the evidence of his failure before it swirled down the drain. 

He realized he must have been a mistake. There was no other explanation. The real Rin Itoshi was swapped at birth and replaced with someone else. Inside the four-walled confines of the shower stall, his imposter reared its head through the mist, long baby hair drowned down to the ears. He didn’t belong. Not in this body bathed in condensation. Not in this namesake crowned in tempered glass. But by the time the water trickled down to his nose, Rin was already knee-deep in self-doubt, wading his way into misery. What more did they want from him? No one could ever replace Sae Itoshi. Not even his younger brother. 

Not even him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Six hours post-death in the locker rooms, Rin went home and passed out with his head on the toilet seat, two slick fingers shoved up his throat and his luminous guts buried somewhere down the pipe drain. Six hours later, his lids peel back scarlet, gelatinous with haze—a ringing in his ears. Some fucker is calling him again. 

He doesn’t answer. Twice. But the telemarketer is either underpaid or rudely insistent, so Rin finally picks up just to curse him out on the line. He doesn’t need any scripted intimacy. Doesn’t need other people counting his own losses. He just needs to be left alone.

At midnight, he staggers out of the bathroom, fingers absentmindedly flicking off the lightswitch before collapsing into bed. The sheets aren’t even his own. He doesn’t notice until he sniffs the pillow and stiffens. It smells god-awful. Like tiger balm and soothing menthol. Like somebody he used to know. And much to his chagrin, the images come stumbling back: knee-deep in the salted sea, shirasu swimming around his toes. What color were his eyes again? Blue ice between teeth. Sour like a bad star. Oh, what can he remember? Disappointment peeled into spirals. Happiness running down the back of his hand. The blood of an orange, sweet and dripping. He’s forever staring at someone’s back. Always a few steps behind.

Fuck you, Sae.

There’s haunting laughter coming out from the window panes, and he can hear the waves crash on shore in the distance. Two children run across sand. Muted footsteps. One soft thump then another. The vision is so close he can practically taste it. Salt in the wind, in the eyes, in his mouth. The seagulls pluck at his eyes, but he takes it like a man, breathing and clean. Living but not dead.

One of the children stands with his arms behind his back, face hidden by the shadows of the horizon. The ocean spray nips at his burgundy fringe, the hunger of a whole world engulfed in his gaze. In the distance, a younger boy shouts his name, dark hair framed by a cowlick, turquoise eyes smoothed over by water. He runs as fast as his little legs can carry him, his arms filled with bone-white shells.

“Nii-chan, wait for me!”

Sae’s face blurs before he can turn around, and Rin is left staring at the wooden slats above his childhood bed, resenting something he can no longer remember. Why did people have to go and change? Three years later and his brother had gone straight from stealing seashells to swindling stars clean out of the sky. Three years and he still had nothing to show for himself.

He imagines the look on Sae’s face when he tells him this. Conversations over Sunday dinner. The family gathered round the kotatsu, piss-yellow light slicing every dish into halves. He spoons pickled radish and chokes Sae’s teacup till it breaks. Would it be disappointment he sees on his face? His brother’s features crumpled mid-smile, blue-green eyes wounded into a porcelain state. Why? Why haven’t you done anything with your life while I was gone? 

Or perhaps it was anger. Smoke on the lips, bruised fists, and the heat of his mother’s blazing scream. Her son bares teeth and scrapes every syllable of their surname clean. Wrestles her other son’s shoulders down to the ground and shakes until the boy—the real Rin—gurgles and sloshes up inside. Do something, Rin. Do something! Or else you’ll never make it this lifetime.

Both, he could live with. But not this. The silence that burrows into his mind while he sleeps. The constant calling and the phone that just rings and rings and rings. It’s a circle, some sick sort of cycle. Every night he dreams of war—of sights and slights and stars. Things that end then don’t end then never end. He dreams until he wakes up screaming, on his hands and knees begging. Say something, will you? Anything. Fuck, why won’t you just say something?

Three years later and his brother still can't love him in a way he understands. 

But what did he expect? Sae was like that: pale and blistering, beautiful even when burning. Last dream cycle, his brother fell down three stories and erupted into flames, limbs compacted into fine dust. Should’ve screamed but didn’t. By the time Rin got down to him, Sae was already on his feet, sputtering soot from his lungs then flaring back up like nothing had ever happened. As if his hurt was merely bursts of light gathering and bunching, violence in free fall. 

And he was beautiful, Rin thinks. A boy of the blaze, man in the making, hair aorta-red, staring right back at him. By the time Sae opened his mouth, Rin’s arms were already open, ready to embrace the glittering shards. He crumpled before him as a building does a god, set alight on his brother’s palm. Strike me. He begged, blood around his mouth. Strike me anywhere and set me free. 

But that’s not what happens when you die. Not when his brother said it best.

I think I’d die and become a star. 

So he holds onto this life. Bunches it between fingers and twines it around his fist until he knows the person he’s dying for. Until he’s blacked out and dreaming in that damnable backseat again. Experiencing everything in the third person—the news, the screen, the slow-motion reels of an astral body wound up in constant replay. He can only watch as his brother slowly becomes a stranger in his own life again, and it guts him every time.

Sae Itoshi Dominates at Junior Championships, Secures Victory with Hat-Trick. Future Star? Sae Itoshi’s Sensational Performance Stuns Fans and Scouts Alike.

Who the hell is Sae Itoshi? Man, celebrity, celestial body? Not even his brother knows. But what Rin has learned over these past few years is that all stars are really just dead people, housed in a mausoleum of glittery beginnings and explosive endings. It’s binary—circling, really. A blinking eye in the sky, ticking time bomb, crying corpse, then everything wailing before its implosion. Sae could never comprehend this. The smoke-sputtering reality beyond tangible substance. This form of dying. 

But dying isn’t even the worst part of it all. It’s people like him who suffer. Unlucky stars are cursed with another, forced to revolve around each other. If one collapses, the companion gets ejected out the deep end of space and time—stumbling, groping, searching. 

Three years later and he’s still searching. 

Hey Google: Can stars still be seen from Madrid? 

The results for light pollution pop up. In a city of light, even light cannot be seen. How ironic, he thinks, that Sae is now a shining thing, flaring tendrils a million light years away. Post-nebula and he still loses himself in people who look exactly like him.

But that past has already come and gone, leaving nothing but the future behind. In the next dream cycle, Rin too will die, sputtering and choking, like a firework lit from within—violence in free fall. And when the time comes, he will leap off the fire escape, the city blocks spinning and spinning, every second a little death. The faster he falls, the more alive he’ll feel. He’ll drop all the way down until the only way he can go is up. And then he’ll ascend, floating past the skyscrapers, the streets, the sprawling metropolis. His toes curled, caught on the hook of night, the burnt flesh peeling back on bone. Floating until he disappears, his body nothing but white light.

Someday his brother will drown himself in his own artificial brightness. And Rin will follow, screaming, rearing, and set ablaze.

If you die Nii-chan, I think I’ll die along with you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

There are rare moments when seasons die a sunless death, quiet and wilting into the earth. Rin’s final birthday without Sae falls on one such month—a red September during which nature bleeds, the autumn leaves rusting around Engakuji Temple. He’s taken up long walks during that time, pacing for hours around the park nearby. Something about taking his mind off things. Something about counting his own losses.

By late afternoon, his hands are shoved fist-deep into his coat pockets, on track to finish his ninth lap around the perimeter. The daylight has long pooled down his back, tiny dollops of brightness slow-dripping and honeyed, settling into the hollow divots of his spine. The mise-en-scène frames him in a languorous ochre—the kind of lighting reserved solely for an aged romance. And the wind plays his lover, its post-meridian breath tender as it brushes against his cheek. It’s all a range of motions from there. He takes another step, adjusts a stray earbud, then tugs his scarf all the way up to his nose. Ten laps now, and he still walks. The only time he ever stops is when he stalls mid-way to check his phone. 

Zero messages received. Message not delivered.

His thumb hovers briefly over the send button. The cursor at the end blinks with an almost human hesitancy before it opens its mouth, swallowing everything back up. The screen clears itself again, reduced to nothing but absence: a small square of light where silence reigns. Rin sighs before trudging home, a thousand words lodged into the back of his throat.

Nii-chan, I miss you. 

The kitchen is empty by the time he slides open the shoji, removing his shoes with practiced ease before padding across the soft tatami. His mother’s gone on an errand for groceries, her hastily scrawled note tucked under his door with a bowl of persimmons. The house is empty, the joss sticks still smoking in the living room, tips warm and powder-soft. He grows heady on their incense, locking himself away in his bedroom and drawing the curtains. His old Fujitsu laptop whirrs to life, propped up against two pillows and an oversized owl plush. This time he puts on a splatter film, splayed on his stomach as he reels through the opening credits.

He can watch without the subtitles now, even converse with tourists at the station in Enoden. He recalls his teammates’ faces last Saturday—breaths held tender, jaws slackened with faux horror—when he gave out directions in perfect English. Sae would’ve been proud, if only he knew how much it meant. But lately, there hasn’t been a single interruption to Rin’s nights alone, despite how desperately he longs for one. The most his English is good for nowadays is translating the kooky foreign films he puts on rotation, ninety minutes of runtime for thirty-one evenings.

He must have gone through a dozen franchises by now: Halloween specials, 90’s vintage, slashers, the paranormal. The American flicks still remain his favorite, mostly because of the chainsaws. Something about the suspense of disembodiment scratches an itch inside his brain. Like the adrenaline before a final goal, moments before he implodes—naked body slathered in pools of primary color.

In the darkness, the films weave together: a tidal wave of light that washes down his bedroom walls. The victim shrieks before she is bathed in an eerie swathe of red, pierced at the helm of a bloodshot lens. Something about her death is both alien and terrifying, and Rin feels himself come alive again. 

At climax, the light from his laptop is nothing short of searing, carving-knife intensity digging slowly into thin, rousing bodies. He can only watch as the killer sharpens his blade, each stroke a day-bright epiphany, cutting little wounds into the night. His figure is lit up from behind, illuminated in such a way that Rin can see his organs and count every one of his ribs. The scene peels back like water, reflecting montage after montage on the glass display case next to his closet. The trophies electrify themselves in the shadows, each silhouette splayed neatly on the shelf and serrated round the rim. The metal handles distort the characters’ faces in two-frame slashes, decapitating nose from ear, eye from mouth. Another scream rips through the background as Rin digs graves into his palm. This time the murderer chases a mother down the stairs, gleeful when her child fails to keep up. 

He’s seen this scene play out before—three years and eleven months ago, when he first got himself killed. It’s the final match against Tokyo Metropolitan Youth, and he’s running on fumes, ten minutes into additional time. There’s only a few more meters to the goal area, the footsteps fast approaching from his left. He has to make an escape. The opponent closes in behind him, knife in hand, and all he can do is run, body barreling straight toward the camera. 

The impact hits him right before the shot, his leg flaring out in some desperate attempt at a goal. The ball soars as he stumbles forward—violence in free fall, the boy inside him lit from within. In the final moments before he combusts, time stretches itself thin over his bones, smoking and exorcized from the fire. The shadow of his killer looms behind him, arm raised with the promise of metal and memory, the blade gleaming in sparse light. 

Got you.

The child on screen turns around, facial features contorted in dramatic horror. Rin can hear her scream before the lips even part. He can already predict this ending. He can predict the next one after this too. Plight of the final girl: last to die but forever immortalized in her own grief and helplessness.

In six months, he will be named the most valuable player for Kamakura United Youth. In another six, he will be hollowed from the inside out, cursed to feel only the loss inside every win. This motion picture has rewound itself one too many times, the credits rolling and taking him along with them. End scene and he’s standing there in a pool of his own triumph—the grass strewn with painted carcasses—a thousand boys dead at his feet. His knees make hard contact with the earth, nothing but penitence in his eyes. This is all he knows: love and its smoking aftermath, the weight of it iron-hot on his tongue. Victory has never tasted so bitter. 

But it always ends the same. For the final girl, the film star, everyone crucified by the crowd. All good auteurs come from a long line of men who have already run out of time, color pooling past their waists, crashing in over their heads. They don’t want to die, so they preserve their souls into billboards, spool strands of silence into substance. They only shoot what is in their blood: the sensational guts, glory, and gore. Because what better way to keep your memory alive than burn it onto the emulsion side of thirty-five millimeter filmstrip?

The red lights have begun to feel suffocating—the last of his breath now a belt around his neck—as the cameras pan down to a mutilated body. Rin secretly envies the child’s soaked shirtsleeves, the ground beneath her perfused in violent color. If only he could be filled with something that beautiful. But instead he was given the body of a pale child filled with longing, constantly waiting for a change and constantly wishing for something to flow out of him. 

Eventually the clock strikes twelve and Rin closes his laptop, the backs of his eyelids whited out, brain overstimulated from the psychedelic screams. His brother’s portrait blurs in his peripheral vision, overexposed from the red glow, staring up at him from the cluttered nightstand. And in the moment, he briefly wonders if Sae left Japan in search of a new image. Perhaps Spain was just ninety minutes of solid technicolor screen where people could scream without horror, where the protagonist could freely bleed. And in the end, there was no death. The audience remains seated in theaters, their memories replaying over and over, bodies forever housed in cinema.

At the director’s cut, Rin’s consciousness falls under, hand still clutching the frame. End scene and Sae’s blown-out face smiles just a little into the darkness.

© verysium 2024 / please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize any of my works

[kitorin]

one more time.

contents. 6.031k words (gave up on proof reading i'm sorry-), second chance romance, hurt to comfort, author + psychologist reader, swearing, nsfw (not smut just mentions), getting drunk, one nightmare, abandonment issues, kaiser’s terrible with people, it takes a while for kaiser to appear

part two to this

a/n. i guess you could read this as a stand alone, but a lot of the details won't make as much sense (like they'd have a lot more relevance and meaning if you've read part 1). and you're being referred to by your first name by your nephew for the sake of keeping it gn

"y/n?"

Your nephew's question brings some of your attention towards him, with the rest focusing on the road. Rain droplets raced along the windows, and he must've gotten bored of guessing which one was the fastest. 

"Yeah? What's up?"

"When are you getting married?"

The innocent yet so significant question made you choke on your own spit. It was unexpected for a child to not gag at the idea of intimacy and love, let alone one questioning your marital status.

"Why are you asking something like that?" You carefully dodge the question, given that you have little to no experience with any sort of romance, the closest to love was an eternity ago. Despite graduating from college already, nothing about that had changed.

"Well." He begins explaining himself. "Mama and papa met each other in high school, they got married when they were younger than you." Unlike you, your sibling had a quite successful love life, already married and with a child. The fact that they were even high school sweethearts seemed to only accentuate your sorrowful envy.

"Your parents were lucky. Not everyone gets to meet the person they love forever in high school. Even if they do not everyone ends up marrying them." It was a difficult approach. You wanted him to fully understand the possible outcomes of love but didn't want him to avoid it entirely. "Love is dumb luck. Sadly, not everyone ends up loving someone who loves them back."

"Hmm." He sounds like he's deep in thought, which also surprised you given that he was still young and oblivious to these sorts of discussions. "Were you unlucky? Is that why you're not married?"

The query stung a bit. Not necessarily because it hurt to be reminded of him, but because it wasn't mere misfortune. It was ultimately up to him to act that way. 

"Hmm, I guess. Your father got all the luck I suppose." You chuckle, an attempt to conceal that your heart was begging for some sort of closure, even after all this time. 

"But that's not fair."

A sigh leaves your lips as you continue. "It isn't. But that's just life."

"What happened to them? Did they not like you?"

"They did at one point. I think. It was pretty obvious but after I liked them back, they became a bad person" It felt so weird. You've bottled up all the memories and emotions, sealing them away from the world, yet with this tiny child you've decided to open up. It's odd, but not uncomfortable.

"They're dumb." 

"You can't say that. It's not their fault for not liking me-"

"But you're amazing. You always spend time with me since Mama and Papa are too busy to. You bring back yummy snacks and tell the best stories. You even teach me so many new things. You're the best person ever." 

Although misery from the past had been reawakened and nurtured at the topic of the conversation, his kindness seemed to combat that, you can't help but grin.

"I'm glad you appreciate that."

"You deserve better!" 

That makes your breath hitch up, a weird, indescribable sensation accumulates in your chest, and for the first time in a while your eyes begin to prickle. 

You blink away the sensation. Three, simple words uttered by a literal child, yet it seems to affect you so much to the point you're moved to tears. 

Because no one ever told you that.

No accusations of you being delusional and crazy. No sort of discomfort inflicted through others attempting to make it public. 

It was what you've been waiting to hear for so long.

"Thanks bud. Keep this a secret from everyone else, yeah?" You come to a stop at a red light, turning towards him with a grateful smile.

He mimes zipping his lips. "Of course!"

"I know everyone's asking about me getting married, but it won't happen."

"Why?"

"Because." Because you feel undeserving of it. Because you're terrified of being abandoned like that again. Because you're simply just scared. "Because it just won't. I'd rather focus on making sure you and your parents are happy."

"Am I supposed to do that when I'm older?"

"Maybe not to my level. Make sure you treasure your family, but your lover too." Now that piece of advice makes you wonder what it'd be like if you got lucky.

"I don't want to get married even if I'm lucky. I want to be cool like you and take care of family too."

"Then do that. But don't close off your heart completely. Your dad didn’t think of love when he was a kid, look at him now. But it's completely okay if you don't love anyone." Obviously, you'd support him no matter what, but a part of you desperately wished that he'd be lucky enough to never experience what you did.

He nods but changes the topic. "What about you? You seemed happy when you talked about that person. A different kind of happy."

What was that supposed to mean?

"It's just nostalgia."

"That's a hard word. What does it mean?"

"You'll learn when you're older. Promise." And with that you dodge the topic of love, adjusting the conversation to one about the new Doraemon episode he watched the other day.

"Holy shit Ness look at how good they are at this."

"Fucking useless."

"Please help me with trig, I'm begging you. Really? Thank you so much."

"That's such a bitch move. Class average was so low, yet they're still scared of showing their high B. Fucking pussy."

"I love you."

Fuck. 

Another nightmare. It's only a mess of his words, both the good and the bad; followed by overwhelming dread and fear swallowing you. A wave of relentless cold engulfing you and drowning you in the depths of torment.

The dream leaves you drenched in sweat and panting. It doesn't fucking make sense. It's been years, you were only kids and now you're an adult. Yet it still leaves you so affected. You don't even clearly remember what he looked like. Only the cerulean orbs and the blonde wolf cut. 

Most people brush off any sort of heartbreak in high school as trivial and temporary, yet yours has clung onto your heart so persistently, that it still constantly haunts you. 

Nothing's working. Attempting to date others only accentuated your paranoia and abandonment issues. Trying to open up to trusted ones caused the words to get stuck in your throat, to the point it feels suffocating. You even wrote an entire book about it; sure, it was effective in expressing yourself and it was a huge hit and profitable, but something deep down still hurts. 

You keep trying and trying, heart craving for closure. But the only way you'd satisfy that miserable desire is through meeting him.

Only you know that so damn well.

Maybe that's why you keep fiercely trying. It's your own way of hopelessly trying to escape him.

But it's futile. It's so draining.

It doesn't matter though. It should stop soon. It's such a stupid thing to be sad over. You're successful, a now bestselling author known for your beauteous expression of love and hurt, while still working as a psychologist. You've achieved something majority of people couldn't do, and you're seeing the fruits of diligence and hard work. But it still hurts.

You do your best to shrug off this sense of dread, focusing on what's important. 

"Thank you for today!"

Your nephew wore his signature grin, one that was adorable and so full of joy. It was almost impossible to not smile back at him. 

With the commencement of school holiday, you decided to take him to a nearby soccer match, France vs Germany. You didn't know anything about soccer, but he loves the sport, constantly practicing and rambling about Julian Loki (a.k.a. his favourite player of all time) You got extremely lucky, if it weren't for Yoichi and his connections to the JFA you wouldn't've been able to surprise your nephew. Yoichi wasn't prepared to see you constantly thank him ("You're my closest friend, your nephew's a good kid too. Lemme coach him some day!"). He even managed to get you three VIP seats.

"Yocchan, how do I win more? I want to shoot the most goals in my team!"

You passively listen to Yoichi's advice for your nephew, as you can't understand or contribute to the conversation much. It's impressive how people play with this many people watching. The whole stadium was flooded with people, except for the VIP section but that was purely due to how expensive it was. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to France vs Germany!" The commentator booms, earning a cheer from everyone. You expected it to be loud, but not to the point you think your eardrums would burst. 

The event went on normally. Player names were read out, with an energetic screech from your nephew when it was Loki's turn. At this point in time, you were pretty laid back, given that you recognized no one.

"Aaaaand Germany's ace and forward, Michael Kaiser!"

You froze. 

Michael Kaiser, the Michael Kaiser from back then? 

Finally, you have a vivid image of what he looks like. His blonde hair was partially dyed blue, the pretty shade slowly fading out, and navy roses decorated his neck. Red eyeliner adorned his almost feline like eyes. He looks almost unrecognizable yet he's still the boy who had a crush on you. 

Suddenly, VIP seats weren't so tempting anymore. Suddenly, you want to drag yourself out of there and ask Yoichi to supervise your nephew.

But he still looks beautiful.

"I hate that bitch." Same Yoichi, same, you silently agree with him. "He's insufferable and a fucking prick."

"Language." Although you'd agree with him, it was a bit too early for your nephew to start speaking like Yoichi (though you wouldn’t mind him learning how to verbally defend himself from Yoichi).

It's only 90 minutes. There's over 20,000 people. Kaiser won't notice. Besides, high school was years ago. He's a professional player and seemingly a famous one, he would've met plenty of players and coaches, too many to even remember your existence.

You suck up your fear, the three of you cheering on Loki.

"Do you think I can be like Loki?"

The game concluded, and to your nephew's joy with France's win, 3 - 2. To be honest, you were still clueless about the sport, but you could at least tell Loki lived up to his name, rapidly scoring and leaving his opponents in the dust.

"Of course, you could be better than him!" You appreciate Isagi's support but that probably wasn't the right thing to say in an environment full of soccer fans. Nor the smartest.

"I'm going to head to the bathroom, I'll meet you outside." You hurry away, ready to get out of the stadium.

You were being too paranoid earlier, obviously nothing would happen. To a national athlete like him, someone he hurt all the way back in high school, someone who he entirely ignored for a few years too.

"Fucking found you."

As if the universe was transpiring against you once more, you're dragged into some unknown corridor, a hand silencing you.

It's him.

Michael Kaiser, now a full-grown adult. His high school popularity bloomed into real world fame and glory now. While your success had sprouted from seeds of hurt. 

Now you're pressed up against a wall by him again. This time with his arms having an iron grip on your shoulders, roughly pushing you against the wall.

You can't help but reflect on last time something like this happened. But instead of childish affection it’s aggressive and rough, with his aquamarine eyes clouded with something unreadable. That wasn't particularly new, but what changed was that the foreign but hostile glint flickering in them.

All Kaiser does is stare, hair messy from the match and breathing unstable.

You don't say anything either, you can't even think properly, let alone find the right words to say.

"I've waited for this for so fucking long. You're too distracting."

His arms wrap around you, tightly, as if his life depended on it.

You can't move. Your body won't let you. It's not like you were petrified with fear. It was more so all the conflict of emotions. You weren't sure if you wanted to reciprocate the hug, scream for help, or spit in his face and swear at him.

"Kaiser... Please let go."

He abides, partially, changing back to his original position of holding you against the wall.

"No."

"Please?”

" You always fight back when you're uncomfortable." He wasn't wrong, you didn't exactly hate being in his proximity. You hated how he treated you, and how he's suddenly here again.

"You don’t mind this, right?”

Despite his words, his releases you, allowing you to run away whenever.

But you don't.

Because even though it'd be smarter to run away and never see him again, the tiny hope within you is still pleading for closure, and Kaiser himself.

"Kaiser, I can't, my nephew-"

"Is with Yoichi." Kaiser brings his face a lot closer to yours. "If you wanted to run away, you would've already."

Both of you remain silent, as your cheeks heat up at his touch and presence. His hands reach towards your face to caress your cheeks, the roughness of his calloused hands contrasting your soft skin. Annoyingly, you whimper at the unfamiliar sensation. It earns a cocky smirk from him.

"Cute, you really haven't changed."

"I don’t want to see you."

"Why? We both know you would've already kicked and slapped me if you really hated me."

"Because" Because he scarred you beyond words. "Because you hurt me. A lot." Your voice cracks up at the end, he's the one person you didn't want to be vulnerable around, both before and after heartbreak. 

For the first time in forever, there's something vaguely readable in his eyes. Was that regret? Sorrow? Guilt? Empathy, even?

"I know, I could tell-"

"Then why did you do it?"

You've given up on sounding stoic, evident anger was displayed in your voice.

"I tried everything, dating other people. Yet you still haunt me to this day." Years of accumulated feelings were finally released. "Just when I finally figured out, I liked you, you fucking did that then, and then." The rest is cut off by him.

"... You liked me back...?" There's a significant shift in his tone, from cocky and confident to vulnerable and shocked. "You, liked me...?"

"Of course I fucking did Michael." A quiet gasp leaves his lips at the sound of you finally using his first name again. "You were so sweet and was always there no matter what, until you decided to hate me for no reason."

"No, I've never hated you-"

"Just stop lying. Please. First you lie about loving me and now-"

He swallows the rest of your words with a kiss, denying your claim. The kiss gives you butterflies, your cheeks heat up even more and his lips taste you and him; sweet and irresistible.

When he's done his face is flushed as well, lips swollen. His chest rises up and down, he seems more flustered from the kiss rather than the actual match itself.

It's back to the uncomfortable silence, his hands gripping your shoulders tight and various emotions clouding your mind and heart. 

Without a word, Kaiser just leaves. 

The action evokes a nostalgic yet dreaded emotion, it's just like how he initiates whatever he wants without considering anyone else. 

You swallow your hurt, leaving the hallway and finding Yoichi and your nephew.

You don't lie to your loved ones. You’d rather die than deceive your nephew or your best friend Yoichi. But tonight, was an exception. 

It's not like you wanted to make Yoichi baby sit your nephew ("Sorry, work suddenly called me in), but you were too hurt to spend time with anyone.

The bar's loud, all the noise drowns out your thoughts, as you're up to the nth bottle of alcohol, no one was keeping track.

It's out of character for you to drink so much, but the state of being disconnected from the world, not having to deal with any worries was irresistible. 

"You're drinking a lot." A stranger seated next to you comments, you don't bother questioning who they were.

"I desherve it." You slur out, evidently flat out wasted. "I hate men! Especially the German ones." A few glares were probably received after you said that.

"Why's that?" Their calm tone juxtaposed your upset and livid one. 

"Because, because, this bitch leaves me heartbroken for years, appears out of nowhere, kisses me and." You're cut off by a hiccup. "Disappears again! I, I-" You're a complete mess, hiccupping while chugging down alcohol, and now sobbing with tears messing up your expression. 

The stranger doesn't respond, taking a quick sip from his own glass.

"Did you know," You begin explaining, despite them not asking. "I did so much. I never wanted to date much but I tried to so I could forget him. I even went to a party, and I'm scared of those. Heck, I wrote a whole ass book! At least I can monetize my pain."

"You must hate this guy."

"Beyond words, he's the reason why I think everyone will leave me, but I still feel like I have some kind of hope. If you want to know more, you should read my book." Now you were self-promoting, but the alcohol diminishes your shame. At this point it wouldn't be surprising if people were concerned about how much you've drank. "There's no point of a stupid psychology honours degree if I can't fix myself."

All they do is chuckle, still calm. "I'll read it, and I'm sure he likes you back if he kissed you. There's nothing about you to fix." 

You burst into laughter; you sound borderline manic. "That's what I thought after he said he loved me." Another glass, swallowed down by you with ease.

"After all, there's no way the Michael Kaiser would actually love me."

The next morning you wake up, with a splitting headache and swollen eyes. 

You try to get up and get started with the day, but the lights are so blinding, only amplifying the splitting headache. 

How much did you drink? 

Now you start remembering last night, the (probably) unhealthy amount you drank, your inconsolable bawling and that mysterious yet kind stranger. Your immediate reaction is to grab your pillow with plans of screaming into it, out of embarrassment, praying that you'll never meet that person again and that they'll forget who you are.

Wait.

Since when were your pillow cases white? 

And where did your bookcase go? What about the drawings from your nephew and childhood you cherished and decorated your room with? And what happened to your clothes, since when did you own white robes?

Shit.

"Finally awake?"

Your eyes have finally adjusted to the light, and blinding white melts into something, no, someone.

Kaiser. 

He's seated at the end of the bed, white robe matches yours, with his exposing his toned and muscular chest, and the navy roses blooming on his neck.

What the hell happened. 

It's as if your fight or flight response was triggered, and your brain decided on flight with full confidence, you scurry backwards, avoiding him like the plague.

"Did we-?" The new and completely different outfit and waking up in his bed were obvious hints.

He blinks. 

There's no fucking way. 

"Did you at least use protection? If I get fucking chlamydia because of you, I'll ki-" 

Kaiser laughs. So hard that it sounds like he can barely breathe.

"I didn't say we slept together. The y/n who never understood anything remotely sexual, instantly assuming we went that far." He composes himself, "No, we did not fuck. You were too drunk to consent."

"Then..." Your hands grip at the robe.

"Nothing happened. All I did was give you that to change into"

Alright, now you've confirmed that you don't need to get tested for any STDs or STIs.

"Goodbye then, where's my stuff?" As you try to get up, his hand holds you and your shoulder down, denying your question.

"Don't run away."

It's so ironic for him to tell you that when he stopped talking to you, avoided you, and even went as far as treating you badly. Anyone would want to run away if their first love who had scarred them emotionally randomly reappeared in their lives. 

You remind yourself to remain rational, to stay calm and respond maturely, to deescalate the cascading sentiments overwhelming your heart, like a proper, polite, and perceptive adult. 

But you don't want to be an adult. Not when it feels exactly like your high school years, ones where you had stayed up late just to innocently fawn over Michael Kaiser. Only for your heart to be a toy, one that he had thrown away and ruined merely because he had enough of playing with it.

You're a scared teenager alone in your room again, fearful of everything, heart closed off to the point not even you could fully comprehend what it was feeling. 

You just want to run, to run away from all your problems until they'd give up hunting you down, until they found other prey to pursue, until you could live at peace with your scars.

When people mention 'confronting your fears', most would imagine someone fearless and undisturbed, someone who knows what they're doing. Yet you completely contrast that curated image, a troubled individual who wants to return to how they were before their irremediable suffering.

"Don't give me that crap. You're the one who fucking did that to me."

He's the one who decided to poison you with the suffocating fear of abandonment.

"You never cared for me in any way, why should I bother listening to you now?"

To break your heart was one thing. To do it out of nowhere without explanation after years of captivating affection was another.

Kaiser remains silent, expression still stoic. 

"I hate you." 

That's what you've told and convinced yourself for so many years, yet something inside of you refused to fall for your self-inflicted dishonestly. The part that miserably prayed that Michael Kaiser would one day go back to the boy who was head over heels for you.

You've managed to forget this torment for years, but all he's doing is ruining it, making it even more difficult to get over him and the indescribable hole in your heart.

But now, it doesn't seem like you're the only hurt one.

By the end of your speech, you're panting, despite only staying still in bed. You still have so much more to say, but you're already in disbelief that you've finally expressed the hardships plaguing you, and to the reason for said burdens.

"Why'd you hurt me?" And it finally happens. Tears. Ones that had hid from the world, cowering at the thought of another witnessing this pathetic vulnerability. “Everything would be so much easier if you never appeared again, but you had to randomly appear again to kiss me, only leave again.” 

He finally speaks. Voice equally soft and weak as yours. “I know I did. And I know it wasn’t right. But I never wanted to, I never wanted you to hate me or end up hurt. I’ve always wanted the opposite.” Kaiser shuffles closer, hand inching closer towards yours, not daring enough to hold onto it. 

He inhales, deeply, as if this whole ordeal had an emotional toll on him too.

“I didn’t avoid you because I hated you, or wanted you to get hurt. I wasn’t trying to play with your emotions either. I was young and foolish.” For the first time, he’s readable, evident sorrow painting his features. Right now, he was a complete juxtaposition of his image on the field, assertive and lionhearted to now frightened and uncertain.

He’s not done yet. “I’ve always liked you, from the day we started talking. I wanted to love you properly, to take you out on nice dates and to be a boyfriend no one could ever compare to. I was just… scared.” The Michael Kaiser admitting to fear was something new. “Scared of ending up as a disappointing lover or you never reciprocating. I ran away yesterday because I was a coward. But I don’t want to stay as one. I refuse to."

Kaiser continues. “It feels unreal, the idea of you liking me back when you’re so perfect. You’ve always been mature, diligent, and hardworking, your future seemed so bright with how academically proficient you were. At the time I was so unsure of myself and felt so inferior, it doesn’t justify anything I’ve done but I wanted to rather hurt instead of being hurt.”

“You, think I’m perfect…?” It’s such an innocent question. The praise seemed to melt away the resentment accumulated within your heart, and momentarily you forget wanting to leave.

“Of course, I do.” There’s still the same vulnerability in his expression, but this time it’s complemented with a soft smile. “I mean, look at you. You always got the top marks, and you’ve achieved a dream of entering the psychology field. I still love what you wrote about PSTD.”

How did he know that?

“I never mentioned my job.” He still remembers that one piece you wrote, a task that your English teacher had given. You were allowed to write anything you wanted to, and that was the birth of that PTSD essay, which Kaiser had found impressive for the level of detail it had.

“Your books state it.”

And how does he know about those too? You used a pen name for privacy and to avoid any attention to your personal life and loved ones.

“I never mentioned being an author.”

“You certainly did last night. I quote ‘you should read my book’.”

Wait.

A wave of realization crashed over you, the poor individual you complained to about Michael Kaiser was Michael Kaiser himself. Now the memories are flooding in, the declarations of hate, the miserable murmuring, and your stupidly embarrassing behaviour.

But even after recalling all the events and details of that night, you don’t remember providing a title and your pen name. It’s a complete secret, not even Yoichi or your own family know.

“I didn’t tell you the novel name though?”

Kaiser’s now grinning, but there’s still the soft feel to demeanor. “I’m a bit of a fan. ‘Where the Sea and the Horizon Meet’ is my favourite." It’s the book you wrote about him.

“But how did you know I wrote it?” Anyone can write about their tragic first love and the bitter yet beautiful saccharinity it entails. Your pen name didn’t allude to your legal one in any manner, and you dismissed any questions that interviews that attempted to intrude into your personal life.

“Because I instantly knew it was about you, about us. I’d never forget that day, right before English. When wanted to tell you I loved you since it was so pretty that day. I missed bothering you. I missed you.”

He actually remembered?

All this time you had assumed it was a memory that had been sitting at the back of his mind, only to be forgotten so easily after a couple of years.

You don’t say anything. It’s so confusing and overwhelming, the person who hurt you did it out of the fear of hurt, yet still missed you.

“You didn’t forget?”

“No. You were the first and only person I’ve ever loved.”

First… and only too?

You hadn’t shown any signs of auditory hallucinations recently, right?

Even though he himself just said it, it’s still a fever dream to you, unreal and fictitious.

Did you hear that right? You’re the first and only person he’s ever loved; all those touching memories were real, that heartfelt proclamation of love wasn’t fake.

Despite Kaiser’s confession to being in love with you, there was the tiny part of you that was still convinced that you were dreaming; that none of was real.

Because someone who completely destroyed you so long ago shouldn’t be able to waltz back in so easily.

Yet every part of you is begging for him to come back.

You haven’t said anything for a while, only lost in the storm of thoughts while trying to navigate the seas of your emotions.

“Same.” You whisper, you wish you had said something more than a simple agreement, but it’s all you can muster. And it’s true. No one else had been that loving with you. “I don’t hate you. I hate the pain I felt.” You take back your claim, and he looks like he’s received the best news of his life, relief washing over his features.

“I know, which is why, I would never do again. That’s if, if you’re willing to give me another chance.” He finally has the courage to hold your hand with his own, fingers ghosting over your knuckles. “I want to love you. Again. This time properly, and until I learn how to do perfectly.”

There’s an undeniable fear of you have of vulnerability and love, yet the offer is so tempting.

Is the risk really worth it?

You’ve always depended on logic and rationality to make decisions, and here, it’s clear that trusting someone who hurt you isn’t a smart idea. It’s common sense, but something about him makes you want to oppose your usual ideals; to get hurt over and over again until something works, to finally break down the walls you’ve miserably built, and to expose your heavily guarded heart.

“I love you y/n.”

It doesn’t the possess the same grandeur it did that day, years ago, but it still conveyed the same passion, laced with his true feelings for you.

Only this time, you say it back.

“I love you too… Michael.”

“Am I allowed to kiss you again?”

You permit his request, pressing your lips against his, and it tastes just as saccharine and tempting, but this time it’s now garnished with satisfaction.

“Congratulations on your wedding, Kaiser!”

A smile tugs at his lips as his teammates congratulate him, well pleased with how the event had been turning out so far. His parents were overjoyed about you and the occasion, and everything was running smoothly.

It’s been around three years since you had given him another chance.

You looked flawless, the outfit you chose complemented all your tones (though he’d argue that any colour and shade would’ve looked beautiful on you).

Kaiser couldn’t find the right words to describe how euphoric he felt. The closest to this happiest he’s ever gotten was when you accepted his proposal.

He's relieved and buzzing with a sense of pride. Not the typical, cocky kind, but the kind of proud where he’d be able to happily tell his younger self about all of this, that it all works out in the end, that he eventually makes up for his actions; that he ends up marrying his long time crush.

Everyone was happy, at least, except for one person.

“I can’t fucking believe you’d date and marry this man.”

Kaiser snickers at Yoichi, someone who he’s been competing against constantly and has been his rival for years but is also your best friend.

“I swear, he’s not that bad. But I understand if you’re disappointed.”

 “Excuse me, I’m the perfect boyfriend and husband.”

“Oi, did you hear something? Must’ve been a fly. Didn’t expect any here.” Michael’s jaw drops at being ignored by Yoichi.

“Shit, I’ve forgotten the bug repellent, my bad. My mother might’ve brought some.” Michael lets out an exaggerated gasp at the betrayal.

“You guys are so mean.” You and Yoichi grin at his faux pout.

“Well,” Yoichi begins to slip away. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone; I’m going to go say hi to Kunigami and Hiori again. Kaiser I’ll kill you if you ever hurt y/n.” He waves a small bye to you before running off.

“Someone seems to trust you a lot.”

“I- “Before Michael can try to defend himself and respond with a witty comment, your nephew interrupts, with his parents following from behind.

“y/n! Congratulations!” He comes running towards you with a bouquet, so big that it was almost the size of him, it’s a miracle how he’s able to carry it. You quickly accept, hoping that it wasn’t a hassle for him to bring it.

“Thank you. How’d you carry these? They’re too big for you.”

“He insisted.” Your bother replies to you, his wife nodding. “He said he wanted to be the ones to give them.”

A hand playfully ruffles his hair. “Thanks bud.” Even after years he still has the same kindness and enthusiasm.

“We’re going to say hi to everyone, are you coming?”

“Can I talk to Michael and y/n more?” They nod, reminding him to be polite and greet everyone afterwards.

“I can’t believe you’re dating the Michael Kaiser though.” Kaiser stands with pride at your nephew’s disbelief, about to make a confident statement until your nephew continues. “You better behave properly, you clown.”

Again, Michael’s jaw drops and the sight has you biting your lip to avoid laughing uncontrollably. Your nephew runs off to his parents, saying that he wants to see his grandparents.

“Since when did he talk like Yoichi?” He nudges you, still shocked at being called a clown again. “He even waited for his parents to go. And he ran off immediately. ”

“No idea, but I like it.”

“Of course, you do…” He takes a few moments to stare at you, dazed by your beauty and seemingly in a trance. “You’re stunning.”

“What’s with that suddenly?”

“It’s not sudden, you’ve always been cute. And pretty. And just perfect in general.”

“Someone’s cheesy.” But your smile is out of control.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Giving me a second chance.” The morning you woke up in his hotel room comes to mind, and although you were conflicted on whether to let him back into your life again or not, you don’t regret anything.

“Liebling, I’m truly forever grateful for it.” His hand takes yours, planting a kiss on your knuckles.

Because it’s been amazing with him. From the small yet sweet things like how he'd pay attention to literally everything about you, and remember every time detail about you to his grand proposal by the beach, the one that was located near your high school, the one outside of the window when he first declared he loved you. You adored it all; the connection you and him had that no one else would ever understand, to how the sun sunk into the sea, breathtakingly beautiful. Even the aftermath of arguments because he always refused to deal with them immaturely, knowing the consequences of not doing things right better than anyone else. The mere thought of you crying could bring him down to his knees.

Now, if someone were to ask you about Kaiser you'd end up stumped, thinking of all his actions of love, from always defending you no matter what, even if it's him against the world and the media, to how he constantly teases you (he never shuts up about how you assumed you had slept with him when you woke up in his hotel room.) He's your everything, your boyfriend, lover, your own proof reader and soon to be husband.

Now, you'd describe him as your favourite, someone you adore beyond what words could capture, not even your experience as an author could ever change that.

“I love you, so so much. I would die for you Liebe.” Kaiser eagerly kisses you, and no matter how many times he does you never get sick of how he tasted, or how soft and tender they were.

“I love you too Mihya.” You breathe out, crimson dusted all over your face as you’re panting in between words.

He really wasn’t lying when he said wanted to love you properly.

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[boinin]

HioRin for 6, 17, 29, and 30

Hioriiiiiiin. They're such a lovely pairing, even constructed from crumbs 🥲 I just need them to nerd out about horror in canon, even once.

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Rin above all is drawn to Hiori's calm kindness. Hiori has a presence that soothes Rin's demons and puts him on a more even keel. Yet Hiori has a spine, and isn't afraid to call Rin out when he's being a dick. Rin values that more than he'd admit.

Hiori sees through the edgelord to Rin's vulnerability. They bear similar scars, and when Hiori opens up to Rin about his parents, he's surprised by Rin's level of empathy towards his situation. Rin teaches Hiori that it's OK to rage and experience anger, rather than gloss over everything. Hiori also finds Rin adorable when he's flustered, and likes to tease him.

17. Who says I love you first?

He wouldn't say it aloud, but as for who'd show it first, it'd be Rin. Through his actions, he'd make it clear to Hiori how much he values him. Hiori has the emotional intelligence to realise what Rin won't say.

Then, Hiori would quietly say I love you one night as they're going to sleep. Rin panics, pretends to be already asleep, goes on to act erratically the following day, corners Hiori and asks him if he meant it, before accidentally revealing that he loves Hiori too mid-outburst.

From then on, they both say it at night, curled around one another as they're slipping into dreams.

29. One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

The headcanon that they both had abusive childhoods and trauma bond as a result. 😭 Them getting together despite their hangups and healing by each other's side is a heck of a trope.

30. One headcanon about this OTP that mends it

Love the idea of these two being introverts together, comfortable only in the other's company, playing horror games and binge watching movies on their days off.

[maochira]

Shidou is bad with romance. Sure, he's flirty, but as soon as he's in a serious relationship he struggles.

But he tries his best. Although he genuinely has no idea how to be romantic. So he learns as the relationship progresses.

Little things like tying his partner's shoes, holding their hand or even picking them as they cross the street, feeding them whenever they eat together.

But the worst part about him being bad with showing love is how he purposely hurts and insults his partner to make them cry. It's because he enjoys the process of comforting them. Cause hey, comfort means love, doesn't it? He doesn't even enjoy seeing them cry in a fetish way, it's genuinely all about the process of comforting.

He knows it's wrong. He knows he shouldn't treat his partner like this. And still, every time his partner is angry or hurt by something, no matter if caused by Shidou or someone else, he can't help but put more salt into his partner's wounds.

And of course, this confuses the shit out of his partner. Does he really love them, or not? Why would he say and do these things only to be loving and comforting afterwards?

It seems... manipulative.

Really, that isn't Shidou's intention. And after he and his partner talk about it, he knows he has to change. He can comfort them without pushing them to the edge of a breakdown.

And in the end, he really does improve with this. And his partner knows who the best person to be comforted by is.

A part of him still thinks his partner's tear stained face looks adorable while cuddled against his chest.

(Very much inspired by this song)

[myreygn]

Kiss it better

summary: The urge to kiss Nagi and the urge to cry in a corner aren't as mutually exclusive as one might think. Chigiri learns it the hard way.

an: I DON'T KNOW HOW THE GAME ENDS I LEFT IT AMBIGIOUS ON PURPOSE DO NOT TELL ME HOW THE GAME ENDS ISTG I WILL EAT MYSELF (spoilers for the U20 game up to episode... 9? 10? idk man shortly after the start of the second half)

wordcount: 1454

taglist: @giggly-squiggily

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

The urge to kiss Nagi is overwhelming. To grab him right here, in front of the entire viewing world, and smash their faces together as if there was no one else in the room. But right now literally everyone else is in the room with them, so Chigiri puts his entire composure into not doing the only thing he wants to do right now and just clenches his hands into fists, screams and cheers with the others and throws himself at Nagi in that entirely platonic way all the others are doing too.

He's first and his arms wrap around Nagi's shoulders. He feels the hard bone press into his chest, right where his heart is and for a split second they lock eyes. For a split second he pretends that Nagi looked at him because he felt the vibrations of Chigiri's heartbeat through his entire body, then he gets shoved out of the way by all the others who all want to throw themselves at Nagi. Platonically, just like he did.

The urge to kiss Nagi is overwhelming. Chigiri feels it nagging at the back of his head long after the high of the goal has passed, long after the following kickoff and the kickoff after that. Then there's the break and nothing more. No major input from Ego, no drama in the locker room, no bothering from Karasu and Otoya. Just Nagi and Nagi's lips and a single bead of cold sweat. Nothing major.

His stats are great so far. He's active, he's a part of the game, he's present on the field, he got to hug Nagi. Things couldn't go better right now. And then the game continues and the cramp kicks in and he can see the horror in Isagi's face, the horror at the pain in Chigiri's own face and for a second, Chigiri feels the horror too, running over his back in waves of pain and more cold sweat. He should've know that where there was one bead, more would follow. He had this happen before, way back when his ACL tore. And now his knee might be done for, for good this time. His leg is shattered. His career is over. Nagi is looking at him. Chigiri feels his heartbeat vibrate through his own body and he wishes it was Nagi's. Nagi's body or Nagi's heartbeat, whatever, doesn't matter. The eye contact breaks, the pain returns, the horror is snuffed out. Stupid, stupid Chigiri. It's not his knee, it's just a cramp. Don't let it get to your head, they'll take you out of the game. They'll do that anyway. You're done for, go cry in a corner.

The urge to kiss Nagi is gone. Instead, it's being replaced by the entirely different, even more embarrassing urge to be kissed by Nagi. He's crying in a corner and he wants Nagi to kiss it all better, how pathetic is that. Ego tells him he's being an idiot and he knows he's being an idiot, he fucking knows it, dear God, but that doesn't make the pain in his chest go away. It feels like his heartstrings have been tied into a knot and they're just pulled tighter and tighter with each passing second. Where is Nagi to kiss it all better when he needs him? Right, on the field. On the field where Chigiri is not allowed anymore. That's what happens when you're pathetic. Go cry in a corner, Chigiri Hyoma, the sprinter who couldn't outrun his own mistakes. The game is still going on and he's not there anymore. The game is over and everyone else is still playing.

---

“You were amazing.”

The bath is empty aside from him, or so he thought. No one ever stays behind to watch him do his braid, not even when his hands aren't shaking. Now they are and it's taking him thrice as long as usual to do his braid, and as soon as he's done he undoes it again because it looks awful and messy, like someone did a braid with shaking hands. Chigiri glances up into the mirror and sees Nagi lean against the wall behind him. Not that he needed to, not that he didn't recognize Nagi by his voice immediately, but so what? Maybe he felt an urge to see Nagi, that's nobody's business.

“I messed up.”

“You didn't mess up anything.”

“I got benched.”

“That's not what messing up means.”

Chigiri's shaking fingers tense up and he undoes his braid for the fifth time with a hiss. Messed up again. On a much smaller scale, but a mess up is a mess up. Of course a miracle boy like Nagi wouldn't know the meaning of that word. Dude probably never got benched once in his life.

“Let me.”

Chigiri turns around to tell Nagi to get lost and flinches slightly when he finds Nagi already sitting behind him on the bench. How he got there within two seconds without making any sound at all is beyond Chigiri. That's kind of Nagi's thing, being very quiet and getting way too close. Chigiri can feel the other boy's breath on his neck and finds that he doesn't mind it one bit.

Nagi's hands aren't shaking at all and his fingers are working quickly on getting the loose strands into a braid. Whether that's actual expertise or misplaced confidence, Chigiri doesn't know and he doesn't want to know. Right now, he just wants to get rid off the tension in his shoulders somehow and maybe lean back against Nagi's chest and not think about the bench. The urge to kiss Nagi is back and it's stronger than ever.

“You ran like hell out there.”

The urge to kiss Nagi disappears and makes room for the urge to cry. Is he asking for too much?

“Did I,” he snarls back, because it's the shortest possible answer that isn't a complete lack of a reaction and that doesn't give the waver in his voice much opportunity to shine through.

“Of course.” Nagi's fingers brush against his neck and his breath ghosts over his ear as he leans closer to focus better on a tricky part of the hairdo. “I saw you.”

Nagi saw him. Nagi saw him run and Nagi saw him cramp and Chigiri remembers how his heartbeat felt in that moment when their eyes locked. He felt alive, he felt alright, he felt like the game could go on, and then Nagi looked away and Chigiri was sad and at the same time he was happy that Nagi didn't see the aftermath of him crying on the bench like a loser. Like an idiot.

“Then you saw me mess up.”

“I saw you give it your all.”

Long, slender fingers grab his chin carefully and turn his head around, gray eyes stare right into his soul. Nagi's hands are cold, but his gaze is warm and Chigiri feels his heartbeat vibrate from his chest into his legs and arms and head and he's sure that Nagi can feel it too.

“I saw you fight, Hyoma. Like the monster that you are.”

The urge to kiss Nagi is overwhelming. To grab him right here, in this empty, sterile bath, and smash their faces together like the entire world was cheering him on. But there's no one in the room with them and no one would shoulder him away if he were to do it, if he would just lean forward and kiss–

“You were unbelievable.”

Too slow. That's all that Chigiri can think when Nagi leans forward and captures his lips. Not crashing together, by any means, but passionate nonetheless, and if his heartbeat wasn't going crazy before, it's definitely freaking out now. Or maybe it's Nagi's heartbeat, both of their heartbeats mixed together, and the thought makes Chigiri wrap his arms around Nagi in a way that is not even a little bit platonic.

The moment stretches and stretches and seems to stretch on for forever, then their lips part and Chigiri feels himself be pulled against Nagi's chest, feels the knot in his own untie. He buries his face in Nagi's shirt and breathes in his scent. They'll play together again. He fought. He fought until he couldn't anymore and he will be able to fight again. He catches a glimpse of them in the mirror, at the way they fit together like two puzzle pieces, the miracle boy and the other miracle boy, and he decides to tell Nagi later that the braid looks like shit before he closes his eyes and lets the warmth overwhelm him.

I will kiss you tomorrow, Nagi Seishiro.

[rensukepie]

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ “i dont wanna talk about anything.”

when you aren’t doing so well mentally, sae is the one who’s there. the one to heal you.

kinda angsty, reader is drained, established relationship later on, sae heals you :;((, hurt/comfort, can you tell i was listening to adrianne lenker?

it felt so draining everyday before you met sae.

you had so many friends around you, yet you’d still feel so lonely, like something was missing?

you curl yourself up into a little ball as you lay down in your bed, you hate this feeling, you truly do.

“it’s the same shit everyday!” you think to yourself, the familiar lump getting caught into your throat once again.

months later, you’ve found your missing half, your best friend, your lover.

your life has never been better. you dont curl up in a little ball anymore with tears forming in your eyes, your room seems brighter these days, it feels warm and cozy instead of cold.

he makes you happy, he makes you show your true gummy smile that you were once so scared of showing, he makes you show your true personality to him.

maybe life wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

[metalkitty21]

Here's the TabiEitaKen! You guys voted for all 3 together so here they are!

Karasu's POV: sickfic, no major warnings needed. Just general sickness stuff Word Count: 1123

Yukimiya's POV: Hurt/comfort, lots of mentions about Yuki's vision. (I apologise if anything is inaccurate! I did my best) Word Count: 1270

Otoya POV: Birthday fic. Mentions of making out. References to Karasu's voice fetish Word Count: 1227

Full Fics under cut!

Karasu groans as he opens his eyes, groggy and his body overall feels ten times heavier than usual. It takes him a short moment to realise two things. One, this is about the third time he’s waking up after going back to sleep, and two, the reason for his awakening is the constant, soft buzzing of his phone. Knowing it isn't his alarm, he decides to ignore it. Reaching up to rub his eyes and groaning at the pain in his chest and throat, and the weight of his own body. 

To be fair, he should be used to this by now. He’s always one to get sick more frequently, and more severely than most people do. Just his luck. As Winter has finally made its way around, Karasu shouldn't have been surprised when he got a dull burn in the back of his throat which turned into him waking up at 3am with a deep pain in his throat and chest, leading to him being unable sleep again due to a hacking cough and blocked nose.  

Currently just gone 1pm, Karasu’s done nothing but sleep. He’s sick and tired, and therefore his lack of productivity is justifiable, and makes a lot of sense. Staring at the ceiling trying to decide what his next action should be, torn between rotting in bed for another 2 hours and finally getting up to get something to eat, his phone buzzes to life again. With a groan, Karasu blindly reaches for his phone, managing to grab it and look at the caller id. He blinks as Yukimiya's contact name lights up on his screen, his mind too foggy to properly register that he’s been radio silent all morning and that his partners are likely worried about him. Without much thought, Karasu answers and puts it on speaker, dropping his phone by his side. 

“Okay so you aren't dead, glad that's finally ruled out. You okay, Tabito?” Karasu goes to respond, but ends up in a coughing fit before he can form even a simple ‘yes’.

“That explains things then.” Otoya's voice says from the other line, and Karasu’s too busy coughing up his own lung to properly register that the two of them are together. He didn’t miss plans the three of them had scheduled together right? He does however register the faint sound of music and the occasional clicking of turn signals. 

“Yeah.” Karasu responds, sounding like he had a serious smoking addiction and smoked a pack a day for ten years. He hears a chuckle and a wince from the phone. If he had to guess, Otoya laughing at his misery and Yukimiya jabbing him in the side for being an asshole. He doesn't consider the potential consequences of Otoya being playfully attacked while driving. 

“We’ll be there in 15. Don't get out of bed.” Yukimiya’s sweet voice fills his ears, relaxing him slightly. 

“Thank you, Yuki.” Karasu sighs slightly, both in relief that Yukimiya and Otoya are coming to his rescue, and from embarrassment due to how his voice sounds at this moment in time. He hears some light chatting from Yukimiya and Otoya, way too tired and groggy to even attempt to process anything or hang up the call himself. He decides that staring at the ceiling is his best option, not that it gives him much to do, but it's better then trying to focus on the conversation Yukimiya and Otoya are having while they drive over to Karasu’s place. 

“You still with us, Tabito?” Karasu simply groans in response, not paying enough attention to know who spoke to him. He hears chuckles from both of them. He finally decides to roll over onto his side, looking at his phone, seeing the timer on the call tick by. He hears the sounds of car doors closing before the call hangs up, then soon after, he hears the door to his place unlock. 

He rolls over to the other side of the bed, facing the door to his room, which after what feels like forever, opens. Otoya walks in, Yukimiya somewhere else in his house, Karasu’s small tortoiseshell cat follows behind Otoya, jumping onto Karasu’s bed immediately, settling against the bend of his legs. 

“You really do look like shit.” Otoya states, getting a roll of the eyes from Karasu, who pulls one of his hands out from under his duvet to scratch the head of his beloved cat. 

“Thanks, Babe. I feel so loved right now.” Otoya pulls his gloves off, stuffing them in the pocket of his trousers as he crouches to get close to Karasu, probably would have sat down if Yuzuki hadn't taken the only spot close to Karasu. Karasu feels Otoya’s hand on his forehead for a few moments, before he pulls away. 

“You're definitely sick.” Karasu once again rolls his eyes, coughing slightly.

“I could have told you that.” Otoya rolls his eyes back, threading his hand into Karasu’s unwaxed and sleep-scruffed hair, brushing the blue-purple hair back and out of Karasu’s face. Karasu relaxes into Otoya’s hand, enjoying the warmth and feeling of his touch. Yukimiya finally shows up to join the ‘care for Karasu’ club, a glass of water in one of his hands, and some medicine in the other. How he knew where it was kept was unknown to Karasu, but he’s too tired to question it. 

“Can you sit up?” Karasu groans, but slowly pushes himself to sit up, resting against the headrest as Yukimiya passes him the medicine and the drink.

“Thanks Yuki.” Karasu puts both pills in his mouth at the same time, downing about half the glass, the coolness of the water helping to soothe his throat. Yukimiya takes the glass from him and places it on Karasu’s bedside table, moving to Karasu’s left, sitting by his side.

“If you want we can stay and I’ll make dinner for the three of us?” Karasu nods, leaning his head against Yuki’s shoulder, who rests his head on top of Karasu’s.

“Shift forward a little.” Karasu glares over at Otoya, who’s busy fighting the laces of his boots so he could climb into Karasu’s bed. Karasu does as told, shifting forward so Otoya can slip behind him once he’s done taking his boots off. With Otoya’s warmth against his back, and Yuki’s against his side, along with the gentle purring of Yuzuki makes Karasu feel at peace.

He always hated whenever he got sick. He’d have to cancel plans and be stuck in bed for however long and often alone as well. Not anymore. He had two wonderful boyfriends by his side to keep him company, no matter how often he got sick. He could very much get used to this.

After leaving Blue Lock, Yukimiya and his partners, Karasu and Otoya decided to settle together in a decent size house, all still pursuing their football career. Despite being on separate teams, the three make the most out of it, enjoying what time they get together, and the occasional match against each other. Now in a break in the season, the three of them are enjoying the two weeks of uninterrupted time they get to spend together.

Yukimiya shouldn’t be surprised when he wakes up and hardly anything in his vision changes. Despite his eyes being open, Yukimiya can hardly see anything, his vision blurry. He sighs, burying his face in the head of silver head which is stuffed into his chest, basking in the warmth which is both against his chest and his back. He should have expected this moment to come sooner than later. He was aware that his vision was slowly getting worse, his glasses doing less and less to make his vision clearer as time went on. But actually waking up and being in the moment where his eyes are the worse they’ve been hits him hard. He curls his arms tighter around Otoya instinctively, longing for a sense of comfort, hoping this is just some horrible nightmare, and not the reality that the match he played just last week would likely be one of his final matches. 

He feels Karasu’s arm tighten around his waist, nuzzling into the nape of his neck. Yukimiya decided not to acknowledge Karasu’s affection, not for any malicious reason, but due to the fact he wasn’t ready to face reality yet. He doesn’t want to acknowledge his faltering vision.

“I know you’re awake, Yuki. Don’t ignore me.” Karasu’s tone is playful, nuzzling into Yukimiya’s neck again, his warm breath tickling Yuki’s skin. He feels Otoya shift against him, tucking his head over Yukimiya’s shoulder to see Karasu.

“Morning, Stupid Crow.” Otoya’s voice is gruff with sleep, and he can feel the rumble from his chest against his own. He also feels the rumble of Karasu’s chest as he chuckles, turning his attention to Otoya.

“Mornin’ to you too.” Karasu’s normally subtle accent shines through, as Yukimiya tries his best to simply ignore his partners, which is made impossible by the fact that they’re both pressed right up against him. “Come on, Pretty Boy. No more hidin’.” Karasu sits up, reaching his hand out to brush his hand through Yukimiya’s sleep-scruffed hair. They fall into a moment of silence, Yukimiya conflicted between keeping up the facade of pretending to be asleep, or just blatantly telling his partners he’d rather be alone right now. He feels Otoya also sit up, Karasu shuffling to sit closer to him. “Hey, Yuki, what’s wrong? Talk to us, Pretty Boy.” Karasu continues to thread his fingers through his hair, his other hand finds a resting spot on his hip. One of Otoya’s hand hold Yukimiya’s own, which he, almost on reflex, squeezes tightly. 

“Hey there, Pretty Boy. What’s on your pretty little mind?” Yukimiya sighs, deciding that talking would be the best course of action. He sits up, going to reach past Otoya to grab his glasses, hoping to at least partially clear his vision, but Otoya’s already sliding his glasses onto his face, pulling the few tufts of hair out from under the arms. He mutters a quiet thanks, leaning his head on Karasu’s shoulder, keeping his hold on Otoyo’s hand. 

Either of them speak, letting Yukimiya speak when he’s ready. He doesn’t want to speak. He wants to go back to when his vision was perfect. Back to when he didn't have to worry about his time running out. 

“My vision has gotten worse” Yukimiya forces himself to say, wanting nothing more for this to be some horrible dream. He can feel the mood in the room drop, Karasu’s arm wrapping around his waist to pull him more into his side, and Otoya squeezing his hand. “...I don't know if I'll be able to play anymore” Yukimiya can feel the tears begin to well up in his eyes. He doesn't want to stop. He loves the sport, he loves his team, he loves watching his partners play, he loves playing with his partners, he doesn't want this to be the end. 

“Don't say that, alright? Not yet, at least. Book an appointment with your doctor. We can come with, if you want to, and we can see if maybe it's as simple as making your glasses stronger, or something, I'm not a genius. But don't say it's over until you know it is.” Karasu holds Yukimiya’s face in his hand as he says this, gently brushing away any tears that fall as he speaks, giving Yukimiya a soft and supportive smile. Yukimiya lets out a shaky sigh, nodding slightly. Otoya momentarily lets go of Yukimiya’s hand, moving to drape himself against his back, his arms under Yukimiya’s, wrapping around his chest as he nuzzles into the sides of his neck, the feeling of the touch subtle, yet so welcome. Yukimiya settles back against Otoya, feeling the ninja place brief, light kisses to his neck, as Karasu presses his forehead against Yukimiya’s, both him and Yukimiya letting out a comforted sigh. 

“Thank you both.” Yukimiya moves away from Karasu, taking both of his hands, which Karasu gently squeezes. 

“We’re your partners. It's what we do.” Otoya speaks into his neck, resting his chin over Yukimiya’s shoulder. Karasu nods in agreement, brushing both Yukimiya’s hair and Otoya’s out of their faces. 

“How about we have a lazy day? We still have a full week to do any exciting things we want to.”  Yukimiya and Otoya nod in agreement. Karasu smiles, slipping out of bed. He cracks a smile when his tortoiseshell cat comes sprinting into the room, meowing at him, letting him know that it’s feeding time. “I know, you noisy thing! I’ll make us all breakfast, you two stay and cuddle” Karasu pats his chest, signalling for Yuzuki to leap up onto him, which she does, clambering onto his shoulders. Yukimiya watches as the two leave the room, focusing on how blurry they are from the first time he saw Karasu show one of Yuzuki’s little tricks to him.

“You’re overthinking.” Otoya states from over his shoulder, tightening his arms around Yukimiya’s chest. Yukimiya sighs, letting his head drop against Otoya’s.

“I just…I don’t want this to end.” Otoya nods, bumping his nose against the underside of Yukimiya’s jaw.

“This won’t end. Even if-”

“When”

“If you go blind, you’ll still have me, Tabito, Yuzuki. All of Bastard as well,  I'm sure. You’re still good friends with the sloth right?” Yukimiya nods. Otoya has a good point. He may lose his vision, and his football career with it. He’ll still have all his friends though.

“I’ve been thinking about applying for a service dog.” Otoya shuffles out from behind Yukimiya, shifting to lay against his chest. Yukimiya wraps one arm around his waist, the other caressing up and down his arm. 

“Yeah? Tabi’s gonna be more helpful than I am, but I’ll do what I can.” Yukimiya chuckles, pressing a kiss to Otoya’s forehead. 

“Thank you, Eita. You and Tabito are too good for me.” Otoya scoffs, hiding his face in Yukimiya’s chest in a poor attempt to hide the blush on his face. 

“You’ve got it the wrong way round. Either if you’re out of our league, we’ll always be here for you.” Yukimiya smiles, feeling himself growing slightly flush as well. He couldn’t ask for more in a situation such as this.

Otoya can’t remember the last time he woke up in bed alone, yet here he is, laying in bed, staring at the wall with neither of his boyfriends to be seen, not even the remnants of their warmth for him to pathetically cling to. Ever since he met Karasu in First Selection, the pair has had a strange relationship, which Otoya realised later down the line was due to Karasu actively trying to flirt with him and Otoya dodging it to try and avoid an inevitable identity crisis. By the end of First Selection, the pair had somehow managed to get themselves into a make out session in the locker room after their final match and that’s how Otoya ended up getting with his first boyfriend.

“Come on, get out of bed, lazy ass.” Karasu pats Otoya’s hip, before jabbing him in the side.

“I’m up, I’m up.” Otoya groans, batting Karasu’s hand away with no effort to actually try and send him away. 

“I can see you’re up, but it’s time to get out of bed. We let you have your birthday lie in, but it’s morning time now. Yuki made breakfast.” Otoya blinks a little, reaching out to grab his phone from the bedside table.

December 3rd. Huh, guess it was his birthday. Otoya can practically hear Karasu roll his eyes. Otoya slips out of bed, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his shorts. Karasu leans in to press his forehead against Otoya’s, pressing a small kiss to his nose. “Happy birthday, ya idiot.” Otoya mumbles a thank you in response, tucking his face into Karasu’s neck. The two walk together into the kitchen of their decent little place. Otoya smiles at the sight in front of him. Yukimiya stands in front of their stove, preparing three piles of pancakes for them all. Between his legs stands his new guide dog, an Australian Shepherd called Archer. 

“Morning, Eita. Happy Birthday.” Yukimiya turns to face him, opening up one of his arms. Otoya happily accepts the embrace, tucking his face into Yukimiya’s neck just as he had done with Karasu only moments ago. Yukimiya’s hand threads into his hair, causing Otoya to let out a pleased hum, relaxing further into Yukimiya’s body. 

“You’ll put him back to sleep.” Karasu teases lightly as he reaches to take his and Otoya’s plates, carrying them to the living home. Yukimiya pats Otoya on the small of his back, silently urging him to follow Karasu. Otoya does without complaint, following Karasu into the living room. Karasu’s in his spot on their sofa, his plate on his lap and Otoya’s on the small table in front of the sofa.

Otoya sets himself down next to Karasu, tucking himself into Karasu’s side before he reaches out for his plate, placing it on his lap. It doesn’t take long for Yukimiya to join them, Archer not following far behind him. Otoya has to lift his plate as Yukimiya takes up the rest of the sofa as usual, his legs resting in Otoya’s lap, and Otoya doesn’t hesitate to put his plate back down into Yukimiya’s legs, silently hoping that the other doesn’t make any sudden movements.

“Thanks for breakfast, Yuki.” Otoya reaches a hand out towards Yukimiya, who reaches out in return to take Otoya’s hand.

“Please, it’s the least I could do for you” Otoya smiles fondly at Yukimiya's soft and gentle tone. He’d always had a weakness for Yukimiya’s voice, and that’s usually Karasu’s thing. 

His soft amber eyes and soothing voice. That was Karasu’s and Otoya’s first impression of Yukimiya during Second Selection. Having just lost Kiyora to Nagi’s team, Karasu, Otoya and Himizu went back down to the third stage, where they encountered Yukimiya’s team. At first, they had their eyes set on other players, but after seeing just how powerful he was in one-on-ones (and how pretty he was) Karasu made the final call to have him join their team. Best call the stupid crow had ever made. Yukimiya was not only a great addition to their team, but Jesus Christ if Otoya didn’t want him he’d be lying harder than he was denying his sexuality. Both Otoya and Karasu could tell the other was thinking the same thing, but neither knew the best way to approach the situation. It wasn’t until the Neo Egoist League that Otoya and Karasu simply grew impatient and asked him out, which considering the chaos of confession, went surprisingly well, far better than Otoya’s and Karasu’s weird post match locker room make out. 

Otoya jumps a little when he feels the weight of Archer’s head rest on his knee. Otoya smiles, reaching out to scratch the shepherd’s head as he and his partners happily ate together. Yukimiya being the first to get up, without sending Otoya’s plate flying. He takes the others’ plates back to the kitchen, Archer following him as always. After cleaning up, the three did their daily workout as usual, all going to their local gym to train and keep fit. They all want to move into a bigger place where they can get their own at home gym, especially for when Yukimiya’s vision goes. Once they all return home, Otoya finds himself being showered in gifts. Yukimiya got him a nice pair of boots he’d been wanting for ages but felt the price was obsessive, because despite popular belief, Otoya’s semi-decent at money management, as well as some good quality rings, since most of Otoya’s were, in Karasu’s words ‘shitty and not his style’ among other things.

Karasu’s gifts were things Otoya had explicitly asked for, mostly clothes, ones from his favourite brand, more beanies to add to his abundance, as well as a mix of general trinkets and manga. 

“Thank you both for the gifts.” Otoya reaches a hand out to each of them. Karasu takes his hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of his palm, while Yukimiya takes his other, pressing it to his own cheek.

“You don’t need to thank us, Eita.” Yukimiya presses a small kiss to Otoya’s wrist, Karasu leaning in to litter his facing in many more. Otoya tries to shy away from Karasu, but the arm that snakes its way around his waist holds him in place. Otoya hears Yukimiya chuckle at the action, which lends him a glare from Otoya.

“Not gonna help me?” Otoya grumbles a little, still trying to push Karasu away from him. Yukimiya shakes his head, closing the little distance between the two of them, joining Karasu in his onslaught against Otoya. “Stop!” Otoya can’t help but laugh a little, truly enjoying the affection. The others laugh in response, both of them sharing a kiss with Otoya, then each other.

“Happy Birthday, Babe.” Karasu speaks into Otoya’s hair, his hand rubbing small circles on his hip.

“Thank you, both of you.” Otoya smiles, leaning into Karasu, making room for Yukimiya to join the cuddle, which he does. Despite being the tallest one, even with his measly 1cm on Karasu, he tucks himself as much as physically possible into their chest, both his arms wrapping around their backs, his glasses awkwardly digging into their chests but they both don't care. Otoya drops his head into Yukimiya’s head, breathing in the scent of his ridiculously expensive shampoo. Oh how he couldn't ask for more from them.

[emmie-writes-stuff]

I may be in my flop era for school, but I’m finally on time for WIP Wednesday

Writing this time, I’m working on an Itoshi brothers oneshot where they’re like, eight and six

I had these types of conversations with my little brothers all the time when we were kids (sometimes we still have them, despite the fact that 2/4 of us are adults-)

[jukey]

hiii🥺 can i request reader comforting hiori after his huge mental breakdown? love your hiori hc💞

Blue Lock x Reader Scenario

Hiori x Reader Scenario

if there was one word you wouldn't use describing the relationship between you and Hiori, it would be 'confusing'. it was all but confusing, honestly. the way both of you understood each other so easily made Hiori truly believe that you two were soulmates, like the ones he's seen in the sappy romance series he binged regularly with you in mind. even through times when it would be hard to grasp the situation from the outside, it wouldn't be as difficult for either of you to acknowledge whatever the other is going through.

this led to now, with Hiori laying on your bed staring up at the ceiling after arriving at your house in the middle of the night. his unannounced visit was not surprising, honestly. you understand him well enough to know about his frequent depressing mood swings caused by the pressure of his parents. there are no words needed to let him know that you're there for him, and there are no words needed to let you know that he appreciates everything you're doing for him.

"Here, I got you some tea," you gently placed the tray on the bedside table. you couldn't help but notice the wiped tear stains on his hand as he tried to compose himself in front of you.

"thank you," he whispered, as he sat up to take a cup, you adjusted yourself to sit next to him. despite the gloomy atmosphere, it felt nice for him to be close to you.

tracing your fingers over his free hand, you couldn't help but think about how soft they were. no matter how rough and vicious his surroundings were, he would never reflect on the awful things he experienced. you were grateful for it, the cruelty his parents gave to him cound never influence the way he acted toward others. it's one of the things that made you fall in love with him even more.

your train of thought was stopped once you heard the choked-out sobs from Hiori, his hand tightly holding onto yours. the way you gently hold onto his hand like he was something fragile and delicate was enough for him to break down once again.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he let out. "I don't want to be a burden," you lightly clasped your arms around his figure and caressed his back.

"you know that you're not a burden to me, Hiori. you never are," next thing he was tugging on your shirt for dear life. the only sounds next to the quieted-down cries were the raindrops hitting the window, alarming the upcoming storm.

"you're," he started, a bit more collected than before. "the best thing that has ever happened to me,"

Yes, understanding him might have been the best thing that has ever happened to you, too

IDKKK THIS SEEMS OOC AND LONG AND BORING BOOOO SNOOZE THROWING TOMATOES🍅🍅

TYSM FOR REQUESTING

[kkaewrites]

good as strangers [2] — chigiri hyoma x reader !

warnings. mentions of depression + anxiety, ooc chigiri.

content. hurt + comfort, second chance romance.

pit. pat. pit. pat.

there’s a sense of melancholy as you reached the city of tokyo. it was ironic, you thought. you were excited to finally be back home after so many years— but one step in and you’re starting to rethink that maybe you’re better off away from this place. it reminds you of old memories that you’ve long buried and frankly, you’re not very good at dealing with these feelings.

you don’t remember how long it has been, not the exact numbers, no. maybe it was two years. or three. or four? you pause— that’s too long. has it been that long? you’re not very sure. the only thing you’re sure of is that your leave was long enough for chigiri hyoma to emerge as one of the greatest soccer players of japan. it was long enough for him to thrive and conquer everything he didn’t think he’d get through.

you laugh at the irony. he says he wants to quit soccer, but where he is now? playing with the major leagues, you suppose. it’s the opposite of what he wanted a few years ago. but you’re not one to talk— not with your broken promise as well. not when you said you want to continue on playing, not when you said you want to fall in love again with tennis. because here you are now, a burnt out adult who does everything but play tennis.

how unbelievable that this is what you’ve become.

maybe that’s the exact reason for the immense dread you’re feeling. everyone— your friends and your rivals alike— would ask how have you been? how has your life been? how’s tennis? and you won’t be sure what to reply, because how would you tell them that you’ve quit? how would l/n y/n, a well-known genius for her sport, would have the heart to tell anyone that she’s anything but successful?

how would you have the heart to tell chigiri hyoma that you’ve broken the end of the deal— that instead of finding that ‘spark’, the opposite happens? that the fire fizzled out and there’s nothing left now but ashes of who you once were? how do you tell him, when he’s incredibly far away from where you are?

you sigh. you said that you’re tying up loose ends, that this is your way to start anew. that in order to become something else, you must conclude your old self. to tell the world that “this is who i was” and to leave it all behind. that was your plan for coming back here.

“the rain’s not stopping.” you mumble to yourself.

everything confuses the hell out of you. why do you feel this way? why do you feel so small? why do you feel left behind, when you were the one who left in the first place? how tiring. noise engulfs you like an old friend. this time, you’re determined to shut it all down.

the rain doesn’t stop. not when you hailed a taxi cab. not when you checked in a nearby hotel. not when you dropped your baggage off. not when you changed clothes. not when you walked to that place. yours and chigiri hyoma’s favorite place.

your umbrella was a transparent one, allowing the street lights to shine on your face as you gazed down the view below. nothing seems to change from there— but you knew better. and you start to think that this is an ironic coincidence again. how everything is the same and yet at the same time, different. two things at once.

“i thought it was nothing but a rumor.” he says hello. you know that’s what he means, that’s his greeting— but you ignored it and basked in his comforting presence instead. his voice was irony, too. it was the same, but there’s something there that’s different. you’re pretty sure that’s the kind of person he is now.

“well.” you turned around. chigiri hyoma’s hair has gotten longer. he probably has gotten taller, too. his eyes stayed the same shade of reddish pink hue, but the emotions beneath them was different. he looks happy. contented, even. “missed me?”

how that even managed to smoothly roll off your tongue, you had no idea. despite the small changes that chigiri hyoma has embraced, somehow, everything still screams the same. simply knowing that fact brings you ease, and it’s the first time you actually felt at home.

he lightly grins and walks towards you. “you don’t need to ask.”

“that terribly sounds like an ‘i do’, don’t you think?”

“that’s ‘cause it is.” he stands next to you this time. the glittering stars and the glittering city beneath the both of you made this reunion magical, but you’re sure that a kiss is the last thing on your list right now.

“careful, football star.” you chuckle. “our conversation might end up being the headline for tomorrow morning’s news.”

he hums beside you. “that’ll be a huge fiasco, then.”

“don’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong idea, do we?”

“you could’ve just asked like a normal person,” he comments, bringing his hand out to test whether it was still raining. it has seemed to quiet down a few minutes ago, but you were too preoccupied to notice. “i don’t have a girlfriend. does that answer satisfies you?”

“it does, yeah.” you follow chigiri’s lead when he closes his umbrella. it finally stopped raining. what a relief. “but that’s not the question you wanted to ask me. so, shoot.”

“touché.”

“so, what is it? how am i? how has my life been?”

“boo. did america made you boring or what?” he chuckles lightly. judging the sides of his face, he’s still smiling from his short remark, and it’s nothing new. chigiri hyoma knows how to tease and humor you, after all— but you’re thinking, from the back of your head, that this is the happiest he has ever been. this is the happiest you’ve ever seen him.

“what then, mr. prodigy?”

maybe it was the cold or maybe it was the lighting, but you could’ve sworn that blood dusted his cheeks as he asked you: “will you go out with me?”

it’s like that night all those years ago. when he confessed to you how he felt— it was strikingly similar. but you’re not sure if you deserved this at all. for some reason, you’re still that teenager who left chigiri hyoma’s confession empty. and you’re starting to think that something will get in the way of this so-called reunion, but it’s probably just the noise talking.

so, against your better judgement that things could go horribly wrong, you took chigiri hyoma’s outreached hand and believed.

“where to, pretty?”

the dinner went well, better than what you anticipated. but you’ve got your guard up the whole night, as if an invisible knife is pressed against the warmth of your skin. you’re positive that the dull blade prodding against your back were nothing but the eyes of other people— that thought alone doesn’t make things any easier.

“hey.” chigiri’s voice brought you back to life. “what’s wrong? you’re so pale.”

“nothing.” everything.

he frowns, as if saying that he knows you better than that and he knows something’s wrong. so, even through your denial, he stands up from his seat to go to your side.

you’re sweating buckets and your hands have gone clammy— internally, you scream at yourself: what the fuck is wrong with you? but you’ve been over this. things like this happen to you at any given moment. especially ever since you quit your sport.

“we can leave if you want.” his whisper was soft; like a lullaby that seemed to calm the never-ending noise of your mind.

“but you made a reservation.”

“and?” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear— so close that you could feel your breaths mingling. he doesn’t look like he minds the proximity, and neither did you. “we’re still leaving since you’re unwell.”

he stands tall to call a waiter, probably to inform them of your situation, but you grabbed his sleeve to stop him. “you don’t have to.”

instead of abandoning his plan, chigiri only smiles at you. “y/n, i want to.”

and so, here you were, at chigiri hyoma’s exclusive condominium. he claims he had never used it much, since he still preferred to visit his family during vacation, so your heart jumps at the thought that you’re maybe, quite possibly, the first person he ever brought here.

the coffee he made you was unlike your bitter thoughts. and for once since coming back to tokyo, you feel safe. you feel at home. this is the first time you’ve ever been in this place and yet, strangely enough, you feel like you’ve been here all your life. maybe it’s because chigiri hyoma’s here. he makes you feel safe and sane.

“i’m sorry for earlier.”

“hm?” chigiri emerges from his room, his hair undone and free from his neatly done braids.

“back at the restaurant. i don’t know what came over me.” he could only look at you gently, but he doesn’t speak. or rather, he wants to wait for you to finish— to explain if you wanted to. his silence meant it’s okay to come crumbling down, i’m here. but how could you explain what you’re feeling if you don’t even know what it is?

“i think something might be wrong with me.” you didn’t want to say that. saying that outloud means you’re acknowledging it, and acknowledging it means it’s real. because it might just be. something might be terribly wrong with you and you’re not sure how you’d be able to handle that.

chigiri sits down next to you, tilting his head as he peers over your face. he searches every corner of your face, from the light furrow of your brows, to your eyes threatening to spill tears, to your downturned lips— he observes it all, trying to understand even an ounce of what you’re feeling. he listens, and all the same, he watches you.

“i don’t know what this is— this overwhelming boredom and grief. i don’t know where i got it from, and where i could put it down. hyoma, i’m breathing. but why don’t i feel alive?” as the sky wept once again, so did you.

you explained what happened when you quit your sport, you explain the pressure from your parents, from your school, from everything and everyone else. you’ve explained how difficult it was to fall out of love of something just because you’re sick. you’ve explained everything there is about you, everything he missed out on and everything he’s gone through with you.

your secrets came spilling against his hands and he acknowledges the weight of it all. it’s just like old times, but this time, you’re not only bounded by your sport. this is all you and all him; personal lives entangled together like how it should have been from day one.

“i’m sick, aren’t i? i must be.” you whisper against his chest and he pulls you close.

“you must be in so much turmoil for so many years.” his voice was gentle, the very same way he cradles you. and at this point, you’re thinking that nothing else matters than this. that everything’s worth it because of this. because of chigiri hyoma. “i’m sorry. i’m here now.”

that night, you dreamt of death: floating around a dark and empty abyss, thinking of nothing and feeling nothing. yet, it was the best sleep you’ve ever had in years.

it was already morning when you realized that you and chigiri have fallen asleep on his couch. the sun was shining bright against the dark curtains, and it makes you wonder if last night was even real. you were sure it rained heavily, but no trace of gray clouds could be seen when you pulled the heavy mantle apart. yet, you’re swollen eyes and the slightly wet pavement indicates that last night wasn’t a fluke.

maybe you should’ve taken note of how light your heart felt.

“you’re already up?” chigiri mumbles as he squints against the sudden brightness of the room.

“yeah. wanna go out for breakfast?” when chigiri doesn’t answer, you turned to look back at him. he was still sitting down, hair surprisingly not as messy as yours, with a small smile. “what are you smiling about, weirdo?”

he shakes his head. “so this is what it’s like to marry you, huh?”

“you’re being goofy.” you chuckle. “i’ve thought about last night. you know, before falling asleep.”

“care to share?”

“yeah. i’ve considered therapy.” you’ve always thought about it even then. but you’re set on the belief that if you don’t acknowledge what you feel, it might as well be nothing. now you think otherwise. with how much your head has been fucking up everything you do and your personal relationships, you thought that there must be something you should do against it.

“want me to refer you to one?”

“that’d be great.” and the noise stops, like all of your worries and fears did. in your mind, the same thought from last night runs over and over again: nothing else matters but this. “let’s have breakfast first, though.”

and breakfast you had.

it was almost noon when you first checked your phone after your arrival. you’ve quickly forgotten all about its existence because of chigiri, and now that he’s busy buying food, it’s all that could ever accompany you.

you wanted to ask chigiri if he’s safe to be seen with you around japan, having dinner at fancy restaurants (albeit being cut off short) and having breakfast at a random fast food chain, but now you’re sure you don’t have to ask. instead of your usual quiet notification center, you’re bombarded with several text messages from your friends from america and posts from different websites.

apparently, everyone dubs you as chigiri hyoma’s girlfriend. not that they’re wrong. but you’re pretty sure the both of you aren’t official yet, even though chigiri has the intention of marrying you (as he stated that morning)— nonetheless, you don’t spend time googling more about it. people with fame has this curse that’s connected with the media, and because chigiri is well-liked by people, who’s never been linked with any girl before (you’ve checked), you’re scared of people’s reactions.

what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

chigiri enters the room with the beep of his keycard soon after: he looks like he has seen the tabloids, too. worry marrs his pretty face before walking towards you, “sorry. i didn’t expect the news to spread this fast.”

“i don’t mind. i didn’t read the news articles.”

“they’re more or less supportive about it, but that’s the bare minimum. they can’t go hating on people i love.”

“you love me?” was your quiet inquiry.

“i thought we’re past that already?” he laughs.

“i didn’t— well. you never said it.”

he plops down next to you and rests his head on your shoulder, a relieved sigh tumbling out from his lips. “i love you. so much. and i’m glad you’ve chosen to share your burden with me.”

“do you think i’ll ever get better?”

“i know so, because you’re a fighter.”

“and what if i don’t want to fight anymore? what happens then?”

“then i’ll fight for you,” he grins. “whatever it takes.”

“since when did you get so cheesy?” you tease him, leaning deeper to his comforting warmth. the food he bought as lunch lies forgotten on the kitchen countertop, as the both of you indulged in another cuddle session (which ends up with the both of you falling asleep).

and just like that, life’s worth living.

you’ve got a problem (above many other piles of problems).

you’re pretty sure that therapy has been working great for you, especially since ms. anri has been nothing but kind and accommodating to you— but you’re really feeling it today. and there’s no stopping it.

your heart feels like it has sunk to the depths of hell with how melancholic you felt, and you were not sure how to handle it. you’re not sure if this is normal, if spiraling down is normal, when you’ve been well for the past couple of months. because you’ve been good and you’ve done good, but why is it happening again?

“hyo . . ” you couldn’t get his whole name out of your system because you suddenly felt like crying.

“what’s wrong, love?” oh yeah. you’re ‘love’ now. how nice, it reminds you that no matter how rough things get, someone out there calls you love. like, love? it’s the word used for things we like to do and things that interest us and there’s so much we could use it for— so to be called one like that? it feels like you’re everything chigiri hyoma likes, all at once. and the thought calms you down.

“i feel like my entire being had been shattered into terracotta pieces at my feet. and i can’t, for the life of me, pick all of it up to help myself.” you clung to him like a small kitten towards its mom; helpless, clueless, and afraid. but chigiri hyoma has been with you long enough to understand what you need.

he hugs you tightly, whispering sweet reassurances to your ears. telling you that it’s fine and it’s okay to have crashed and to be broken apart into pieces, because that’s the reason why he’s there to love you in the first place. he will pick up your pieces no matter how much you shatter. you’re not alone.

the next day, you woke up with chigiri gone. you’ve figured that he has gone off to soccer practice, because he mentioned that he’s got a game coming up and they need to be conditioned. despite his absence, you were left with breakfast in the fridge, a gift on the table, and a note that says: ‘i’ll be gone for the next couple of hours, but i’ll be thinking of you until i’m back. love you.’

this simply puts you in a better mood than yesterday, and you could tell because you were smiling even as you waited for the microwave to heat up your food. you were smiling even as you ate it and watched tv. you were smiling even as you washed the dishes you’ve used— and even when you carefully unwrapped the box.

you’re not sure what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t a terracotta plate shattered to many pieces, and was carefully glued back on. you carefully took it out of the box, afraid that if you’re just a teeny bit rough with it, it’ll break down to pieces— but contrary to your belief, it does not. so you inspected it: heart warming that chigiri has gone out of his way to respond to your ramblings last night.

this was his way of telling you that he’ll glue you back together no matter how many times you’d break down, with the intention of toughing you up. because the plate was anything but fragile— that probably symbolizes you, too. and you were mesmerized by it, how did he find the time to even do this?

when you turned the plate around, you couldn’t believe your eyes. there were notes written at the back of the plate, in different pens and handwritings, and in separate pieces. each of the piece that has shattered has something written on them, and it took you awhile to realize that they’re all similar: they are things that your friends and family love about you.

and it’s the first time you’ve felt this seen.

you’re struggling with depression and anxiety, but you’re quite certain that there are no regrets in your body. you don’t regret quitting tennis. you don’t regret leaving america. you don’t regret staying at japan with chigiri hyoma, even with his busy schedule. you don’t regret anything that has ever happened in your life and you don’t blame yourself— because this is the best you could do at this moment.

you’re on the road of healing with chigiri right by your side, and it’s everything you could ever want. but sometimes, you do remember the start of everything: how chigiri has always been nothing but a stranger back then. how you said that the both of you were just good as strangers— how ironic. because the only thing that’s as good as strangers to you now is none other than your old self.

end.

notes. FINALLY FINISHED THIS (took about two business days?) LOOL im so sorry this was well anticipated months ago & ive only had the right state of mind to write this now. but here it is, loves <3 im so sorry this didn’t go the way that it should and have been a bit dark talking about depression and all, but i hope i didn’t make any of u uncomfortable ;( fun fact, y/n was already depressed even in the first part & idk if any of u noticed but there were several hints that she internally struggled a lot.

i say this because i, too, experience this piece of shit called depression 😠 so this is for us. for everyone who’s silently suffering. chigiri hyoma and the blue lock characters love you. i love you. you’re so strong for still being able to read this and i hope life treats u kinder than ever, u poor soul <3 i love you from the bottom of my heart. let’s all live together!

this fic’s really personal to me in a deeper level. it’s so sensitive & stuff but i promise the next fic won’t be as angsty </3 as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated! thank u for the support for this blog mwah ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

𖤐 previous ! • 𖤐 masterlist !

[verysium]

『01』 到着: arrival

ft. rin itoshi, sae itoshi

summary: the forces of nature abide by a single law: all cataclysms are creators of their own collapse. in the wake of such destruction, rin tumbles his way down to earth, and along the staircase of heaven, a new star is born. cw: mild swearing, childhood nostalgia and growing pains, rin being embarrassing, social anxiety, sae being somewhat parental, sibling dynamics, kamakura and japanese culture, spanish lessons, very dense prose (cus i suck ass at dialogue), star analogies, orange peels and other fruit metaphors, fluff but bittersweet.

word count: 6.4k

series masterlist || next

The first word Rin learns is star.

It is spoon-fed to him in glittering globules of milk fat, dense and pooling around the gums. Stars are what he senses when rough hands slip around his torso, stuffing the nib of a plastic bottle into his mouth. He is only a week old and can't see yet, but he already knows the set of eyes he is staring into. There are tiny pinpoints of blue-green light, reflective and shiny, a mirror to his own.

The world is blurry but somehow Rin finds his own image. His newborn legs are scrunched inside a wad of cotton blankets, poised and ready to strike. Rin doesn't like being confined, but the four walls of the hospital room offer him no reprieve. He cries and bawls and screams to go back. Only the silence answers.

Rin hates this place. The world out here is a different state of mind: too bright, too loud, too much. Anything and everything has been etched into a single frame, time scorched into untouched skin. It is to the point his senses cannot handle any more.

Every morning the shadows of nurses gorge themselves on daylight, waistlines growing by the minute as they enlarge into his field of vision. They pry at the wires of his crib, brushing off invisible dust as they try so hard to make his heartbeat sync with their incessantly beating machines. His body refuses to obey. They should've known the moment he was born that he'd always be one step behind.

Rin wants to screech his head off again. This time he babbles that the milk tastes like car grease, that he'd rather die free than live in pain, but a firm hand stays the bottle between his lips, insisting on its delicacy. Rin blanches. He isn't hungry. He tries to pull away. But his mother's voice cuts through the silence, a warning.

"Sae-chan, be careful with your brother."

The two-year-old grunts, lips twisted in annoyance as he tries the balancing act of feeding a newborn with one arm. His gaze is ancient, too piercing for a child. Rin's fingers crawl up Sae's face, clumsy and blind as they grope for his nose bridge. There are stars in his older brother's eyes, ones Rin cannot reach no matter how hard he tries.

Rin ends up spilling milk on himself, crying as he drools white rivulets down his chin. If Sae could swear, he most definitely would’ve called Rin an ungrateful little shit. But Rin knows it is an honor to be born where he was. He is a legacy to someone else’s dream, both a spare and a second chance at living. He butters himself up in their nasal tongues, machinating his lips in tandem. 

When his brother offers him another drink, his mouth is already open.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It turns out life outside the womb is actually far greater than it was inside. Rin learns that real people walk and talk and grow up to find something called a purpose. He doesn't understand why the adults deem it complicated though. How could something so simple take years to discover? After all, his brother has already figured out his purpose, so why couldn't he?

"Rin-chan, you must find something to do with your life," his grandmother mentions over dinner, smoothing her weathered hands down the locks of his hair. The family is gathered around the table for tea, sitting like a portrait on the zabuton. Rin tries his best to emulate, his three-year-old spine drawn taut with practiced humility.

"Your brother has already paved the way. You can do the same, can’t you Rin-chan?"

Of course he can. Rin's heard these words a thousand times before. Sae isn't called the family's star collector for nothing. His nii-chan has already amassed tens of thousands of these five-pointed shapes, a few of which sit in a glass trophy case Rin isn't allowed to touch. He’s seen this all play out before.

A fortune teller once read their futures, thumbing her way along his brother’s palms as she spilled the very same oracles. Rin still remembers that day clearly: a morning visit to the shrine, the image scattered like water. The torii unfolded like a vermillion tongue, moseying its way down Komachi Street. He had been dressed in his little navy blue hakama, toes tucked politely into his tabi, his round eyes reflecting the world like a fisheye lens. There was much to observe from the hustle and bustle of life. Peculiar squiggly lines danced along the signage of shops. Candied lacquerware displayed themselves behind glass windows. Rin even stopped to point out the goldfish hanging in their crystal bags, giggling when the force of nearby windchimes sent each fish for a tumble. One soba stop and two taiyaki ice creams later, his small feet had grown tired from the hours of excursion, and his mother carried him on her back for the latter half of the trip home. 

It was then that he spotted her. 

An old lady sat in a booth by the wayside, framed by colorful curtains. His father had told him that she could foresee the future with the mere touch of her hand. Sae had gone first, holding out his palm with assured poise, as if he already knew the outcome. Rin wasn’t surprised when he heard the verdict. The old lady claimed Sae was destined to become the world’s greatest star, to bring glory to the nation of the sun. Rin didn’t doubt it if this was true at the time. His brother’s existence was proof enough. Sae’s certainty was a lesson Rin learned before object permanence, before any preconventional stage of development. Nii-chan is always one way and not the other. He is on track to do something important, and nothing can sway him from it. 

That was the first truth Rin learned of this world.

Even now at the family dinner, he doesn't even need to look to know that his brother is sitting with near perfect posture, the precision of still life running through his veins. Sae is an adult before he is a child, a handcrafted figurehead for the Itoshi name. Rin lifts his chin a little higher, his toddler hands raised in firm conviction.

“I’ll follow Nii-chan! Follow him to the end of the world!”

His grandmother nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Rin doesn't say anything else, quiet for the rest of the night. He doesn't understand the words she exchanges with his parents, nor does he try to. Adult talk still isn't his strong suit, especially not when it concerns the future. But his mother's eyes shine wet and proud, and his father chuckles more than usual. Rin decides his purpose right then and there.

He wants to be a star too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The day after starting kindergarten, Rin shows off his first masterpiece, cradling two sheets of rice paper as he runs up to the front door. By the time the fusuma slides open, he has already uncrumpled his work, dramatically revealing a bold shock of color. It appeared to be some sort of assemblage, painstakingly inked in blue crayon and pieced together with painter's tape.

"That's a pentagon, Rin."

"No, it’s a star! See? 1…2…3…4…5 points! Star!"

Sae isn't amused. Rin does not know why. His brother’s eyes are hardened slats of light, the still water of an abandoned lake. There are no mouths to swallow the light, no twinkling ripples at the surface, not even the gasps of glimmering excitement. There is only the mirrored slate of the sky: one shade of blue bleeding into the next. Rin feels his stomach plummet into its depths. This isn’t the soft look of pride he wanted to see. Not in the slightest. 

At first he thinks about crying, his bottom lip already curled with the onslaught of a pathetic sob. But spite unfurls in his lungs, so instead he turns his nose up with huff, trying to seem unaffected. He would be very proud of his star. And it most certainly was not called a pentagon or whatever stupid name Sae learned in his stupid math class. But apparently his older brother always had something else to say.

"Just come here and erase it. I'll show you how to make a proper star."

"But I don't want to! It's my star. It's perfect!"

Rin can hardly utter another word before Sae's glare nearly freezes the living daylights out of him. Nii-chan is scary, especially when angry. He doesn't even have a choice when he sits down at the chabudai, pouting in reluctance. Sae works out his magic on paper, crafting ley lines within the grain of paper. Rin does his best to follow, licking his lips as he guides his crayon through the dotted lines. It gets increasingly difficult though when Sae's hand echoes warmly around his own, gentle but firm in its direction. Rin tries to avoid his brother's eyes, but Sae's kindness is as disarming as his gaze. Had Nii-chan always had that crease between his eyebrows? The slight upturn of his lips when he bit his tongue in concentration?

Rin tries to trace the lines, but he ends up tracing Sae's face instead. His focus isn't even on the paper when he scribbles out a mess of incomplete pentagons, some geometric concatenation he cannot translate into real-time. Sae would have pinched his cheek, scolding him in disappointment.

Sae never did.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The next time Rin traces a pentagon, it is on the surface of a black-and-white ball, shot like a meteorite through a football goal. His brother becomes a comet, light on his feet as he thunders down the field, weaving seamlessly between defenders. Rin can only stand on the sidelines, drowned out in his second-hand hoodie, face smushed up against the fence as he tries to get a good view. The team's been at it for hours, and Rin's pretty sure he now has the diamond imprint of chain links burnt into his cheeks.

"Somebody stop him!"

"Get after him!"

"Mark Sae Itoshi!"

There will always be someone up to the challenge of his brother's prowess, but no one ever comes close to toppling him. Rin doesn't think Sae would ever miss a single step, not when he's so far ahead. His brother is strong and calculated, absolutely unwavering in his ascent to the top. The only way Sae Itoshi could ever fall is if he buckled under his own weight, caving into himself.

Rin's eyes follow the reporters as they trail after Sae, and his nose wrinkles in disgust. They were no better than a pack of bloodhounds, desperate for a small taste of his brother's victory. How dare they? His Nii-chan outshined everyone at everything. Rin wasn't the smartest boy, but even he knew that a star could never be caught. They didn't even belong on Earth in the first place.

"Let's go, Rin."

Rin doesn't complain when his brother calls him to return home, oblivious to the media's chagrin. Like Sae, Rin is utterly indifferent to their plight, side-stepping one of the reporters who dry-heaves on his shoes in exhaustion. It was definitely their fault for failing to outrun both an eight-year-old child and his kid brother, let alone try to feast on their glittering remains. If they couldn't catch a star, they ought to eat the dust left behind. After all, that was how the world worked according to Nii-chan.

Only the best could succeed. All the rest would implode with the universe.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It is the summer before his tenth birthday when Rin takes back every single one of those words. He is that reporter now, completely humiliated and exhausted as he collapses on the sidelines. The afternoon workout had just entirely rearranged his guts, so much so that he's foaming at the mouth, the remnants of his hasty breakfast speckled all over his cleats.

Out of every star in existence, the sun has to be the worst one. A pool of sweat trickles down his back, melting into a sticky discomfort along his nape. It’s too far up his jersey for him to do anything about, and he might just die from the sweltering heat.

Perhaps it was true that sports stars had to suffer in order to burn bright, but Rin would never wish this fate upon anybody. Sae is shouting at him from somewhere outside his periphery, insisting that the sun has never stopped revolving, that Rin has to never stop practicing if he ever plans on keeping up. But at this point, he could care less about a goddamn metaphor, let alone rub two brain cells together to interpret it.

"That shot was shoddy, Rin. Redo it."

"But it's so hot, I can't—”

"It's not hot. It's lukewarm. Redo it."

Sometimes Rin regrets ever thrusting himself into the orbit of his brother’s football dream. Playing on the world stage sounded so much easier in his head back then, but now it might as well have been an impossible fantasy. He most definitely wasn’t cut out for this line of work because his legs feel like shit, his arms feel like shit, and his whole body can’t even breathe under the thick, grimy layer of sweat. Blinking his eyes against the burning salt, Rin curses to himself. He should’ve taken that energy drink from earlier. At least the caffeine would have kept him sane. Sae snaps Rin out of his reverie, his thin voice seeping into Rin’s bones. There’s something softer in his tone this time.

“Suck it up and redo it. I’ll buy you ice cream after practice.”

There is silence. Rin stands back up, wiping his forehead as he stares his brother dead in the eye. The field has never been larger, and the goal has never been closer. And just like that, he is off, powering down the turf.

Under the supermassive gravity of his brother's ambitions, Rin becomes a supernova, his body charged with enough energy to last through entire lifetimes.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

In the oppressive sunlight, Sae's cold stare becomes a welcome sight. Augusts in Kamakura are the products of heat waves, the sun so scorching Rin can see a visible mirage above the asphalt. The heat spares no one, and Rin feels his cargo pants stick to the crease of his thighs. Even Sae’s bangs are plastered to his forehead, unusually slick behind the ears. They had just met Sae’s agent that morning, taking the Yokosuka line back from Tokyo. Sae had even left early, planning to evade the weekend’s tourists. But neither of them ever anticipated the harshness of the afternoon heat. After nearly an hour of searching, their only refuge was this 7-Eleven, some tiny microcosm practically stowed away between two utility poles.

The oba-chan at the konbini greets them with a seasoned smile, chirping with polite bubbliness as she rings up Sae’s Garigari-kun popsicles, a total of 70 yen for the original soda flavor. Rin waits demurely in a corner, eyes drawn to his brother’s silhouette. Some oji-san sits himself down nearby, fanning himself with a newspaper as he twirls a toothpick between his gums.

“Trying to avoid the heat, eh? You and your brother come here often?”

The man looks middle-aged, crowned with an artificial toupée and a cracked tooth. His eyes dart between Rin and Sae, a knowing smile plastered on his lips. 

“Nii-chan and I just found this place. We don’t come here a lot.”

“Ah. Is that so? You seem awfully young to be shopping without parents. What’s your name?”

Rin doesn’t want to answer. He hates this man already, even more so his strangeness. There’s a disarming nature to his beady eyes, like he knows something Rin doesn’t. Rin looks down at the floor, his sneakers toeing a shy line across the linoleum tiles. 

“R-rin.”

“Rin-kun, eh? You must look up to your Nii-chan a lot, huh? Your gaze hasn’t left him since.”

Rin feels his throat close up, cheeks flushing with heat of embarrassment. On second thought, he hates everything about this oji-san now, even down to his obnoxious friendliness. The old man winks, bending down in a conspiratorial whisper. Rin wrinkles his nose at the stale smell of beer, feeling embarrassed for even bothering to converse. This man was clearly drunk out of his mind, and Rin secretly hopes no one else is watching him. But unfortunately, the whispers are loud enough to travel across the entire convenience store, right into Sae’s ears.

“Oh-ho? Are you blushing?”

Rin vehemently shakes his head.

“Don’t worry, Rin-kun. Your secret is safe for me. You must be your brother’s little shadow, right?” The man pumps his fist out, his voice distorted in a childish imitation. “Nii-chan's number one supporter!”

Rin’s hands ball into fists at the oji-san’s teasing, his ears red to their tips. Sae is looking at him from over the cash register now, a confused look etched onto his face. Rin clenches his teeth in annoyance. Stripped bare of all defenses, he is now analyzed for what he is. Was his admiration that obvious? Did Sae know about his feelings? He didn’t want to be taken for some stupid, awestruck fool. The old man’s question is barely answered before Rin makes a break for it, the bell on the door ringing with his sudden departure.

The road outside swirls in holographic patterns, a dizzying blend of feet and socks and concrete. Rin has to take a moment to steady himself before Sae comes up behind him, armed with a plastic bag of wrappers and blue ice between his teeth. Rin licks his popsicle with caution, burning away his shame as his tongue freeze dries itself to the candied surface. Sae crunches his ice cream in two bites, an amused lilt to his voice.

“What was that back there?”

“N-nothing! I didn’t know him.”

“You’re too shy to talk to strangers?”

“N-no…H-he was just talking to himself.”

Sae gives Rin a weird look, but he doesn’t question further. Instead, his hand reaches down to slap Rin on the back of the head, ruffling the hair there until it somehow resembles a bird’s nest.

“Next time someone asks you something, just answer. Stop acting like a damn coward.”

Rin’s entire face burns with humiliation at that comment. He wishes the ground could just open up and swallow him whole. The last thing he wants to be is the laughingstock of his brother’s dry humor, but the fact that Sae rarely even cracks a joke makes this entire situation much worse. Instead of replying, Rin follows what he does best and rapidly changes the subject. His voice trembles as he stares at his popsicle handle, noting the hiragana carved into plywood. Atari.

“Ah, look. I won a prize.”

Sae’s eyes widen momentarily, pausing in his step as he looks down to check his own stick. Less than a minute later, he grimaces, tossing it away.

“Tch, don’t waste your luck on something so meaningless.”

Rin knows what Sae means. Only becoming the best matters, and with the sparse amount of luck to go around, he might as well spend it on a real victory. The Itoshis can’t afford loss, not that they’d ever know what it was. A foreign emotion flickers through Sae’s eyes, something akin to uncertainty. Rin brushes it off as a trick of the light.

The trek back home is tinged with a golden hue, the sun milder as it cascades rays down both their faces. Sae's appearance has always been unsettling, even in the mellow glow of summer. Rin recalls his mother used to say that Sae inherited all the sharpness in the family. His mother was definitely right. Sae’s nose is too straight, the slant of his brows too unnatural. If Rin took a ruler to his face, every measurement would come back scientifically accurate. Nothing about Sae is soft. Nothing about him should be comforting. But when his brother looks at him, Rin feels someone’s breath brush across his forehead, the skin still warm from the imprint of their lips.

He grips Sae’s hand tighter, knuckles looped between calloused digits. They tread silently, all thoughts of victory forgotten, the coastal breeze whispering their names into air. Rin can’t take his eyes off his brother, and, despite his lack of situational awareness, Sae notices it too.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing… It’s just… Back at the store… If it were you, you’d never be afraid to speak up, right?”

“Of course. There’s nothing that I fear.”

Sae’s tone is stiff when he says this, his face tilted towards the horizon. Rin almost misses the slight waver in his voice. His brother does everything to keep his word. At least that much holds true. Rin silently wishes that too would never change.

Sae always looks forward, always stares towards the skyline, always plans for the future. Not once has Rin seen his older brother look fully back at him, let alone pivot toward the direction he once came from. One side of Sae’s face is always hidden, not too dissimilar to the far side of the moon. His Nii-chan might as well be some celestial body, cast under the penumbra of his own eclipse. No one could ever know him in his entirety.

Sae’s eyes must be lonely, Rin ponders. They’re trapped on opposite ends of his face, two stars that could align but never cross. He swears to always remember the constellations in his brother’s eyes.

He'd follow them wherever they took him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Sae has his eyes set on Spain: a land of gold, guts, and glory. The streets are somehow more burnt than its people, and the nation itself flickers with twisting tongues. It is also the only place where Rin cannot follow, and he is inconsolable.

Sae hadn’t even given a week’s notice before he broke the news on a Sunday, stating his plans factually over a family dinner. Rin nearly spit out his ochazuke right then and there, choking pitifully on his tea-steeped rice grains. Who in their right mind would willingly travel to a country that sees the sun for nearly three thousand hours a year? Perhaps Sae was immune to all natural phenomena, but Rin would rather die than train in that hellish heat. And most importantly, what was with the sudden announcement? Did his brother not even care about the people he was leaving behind?

He thought about it hard during dinner and even harder when Sae blow-dried his hair that night. They had both stepped out from the tub at the same time, arguing after their shared bath. Rin complained his brother turned the water temperature up too high every time, and Sae pointed out he was dripping water everywhere, the suds still stuck deep in his scalp. Their fingers had been at each other’s hair, clawing and tugging until their mother finally intervened, wrapping Rin up in the family towel as she knelt down to dry him. Rin stood there, an angry flush on his cheeks and his features pulled into a petulant sulk as he observed Sae clean himself with elegant precision, a quiet look on his face. Life at ten and a half was simply unfair. Rin couldn’t wait until he was his brother’s age. Apparently being a teenager meant Nii-chan could have his own towel, a custom gift embroidered with seagulls on the hem. Nii-chan could dry himself without any help from others, no longer needing his mother’s guidance. He could even leave the house if he truly wanted, and no one would come after him. Rin’s scowl deepens, glowering at Sae as his mother forces his little arms up, tugging the pyjamas over his head. In another life, he would’ve admitted that he was envious of Sae’s independence, the sheer effortless grace with which he carried himself. But Rin was too prideful to do that. A confession of his own failures was equivalent to suicide in his book.

The best he can do is bite his tongue, forcing back the angry vitriol that would have otherwise spilled from his lips. His brother stands on a stool behind him, blow-dryer in hand as he ruffles through Rin’s tresses, the nozzle spewing warm air across his forehead. Sae’s fingers are rough and heavy, riddled with calluses underneath, likely from the months of weightlifting and grip training. But as solid as they are, they are also nimble, delicate as bird wings as they gently comb through strands of hair. The hot air massages around his temples, and Rin feels the tender brush of something against his nape. He cannot tell if it was the blow-dryer or the warmth of Sae’s body behind him. 

In the end, he decides he does not want to know.

By now, the water droplets have cleared from his skin, his locks rusted from a dark olive to a coarse black. Sae turns the blow-dryer to his own head, tousling his hair as he shakes out the excess moisture. Rin watches silently through the mirror, squeezing a fine line of mint paste down the center of his toothbrush. He chews on the plastic bristles as he contemplates, moving his arm back and forth in a repetitive scrubbing motion. Sae had inherited their mother’s hair and their father’s countenance, his visage a perfect combination of both genetic features. His obaa-san once remarked that the kami had accidentally spilled wine on Sae’s birthday, anointing his head in a rich maroon. In Japan, red is the color of all things joyous, a shade Rin identifies with the uchikake at weddings and the rope decorations his parents pin onto doors for good luck. But to be associated with joy, Rin finds that fact highly ironic. He has never seen Sae express any semblance of happiness before, except maybe the occasional grimace he tries to pass off as a smile. 

Still, the connotation of their contrasting hair colors does little to ease the ache in his tiny chest. If Sae is the blood of an early sunrise, then Rin is the death before night. Black is not a marriage but a funeral, the makings of an era filled with fear, violence, and misfortune. In a way, Rin is the end to Sae’s beginning, both the antithesis and the complement.

A soft touch against his chin interrupts his thoughts, and Rin looks up just in time to see Sae retracting his hand, wiping the excess toothpaste off Rin’s chin. And in that moment, he wants to scream. How dare Sae try to leave him? To act like everything was alright. He said the end was another beginning when really it was just the end. There wasn’t any coming back from it. Sae would disappear off to Spain, and he would never come back. At least the version of Sae he was seeing now. 

In the dim lights, Rin’s hair is darker than ever, the inky tendrils plastered around his ears like a vacuum devoid of light. He brings a death omen, a curse wherever he goes. In between the liminal space of bathroom mirror and tile, he divorces memory from mind, separating the flesh until it can last no longer. He’ll kill this memory of his brother if he has to, suffocating it in the most gruesome of ways. He doesn’t want to admit this might be the last time he’ll ever see Sae. 

And most importantly, he doesn’t want to admit that he just might miss him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rin resolved to give Sae the silent treatment after that night, avoiding him throughout the house and acting like he was repelled by some nameless force. But his plans sadly never seem to work. The more he turns away, the more he is reeled back in, as if cast on some invisible fishing line. Now he’s here in Sae's bedroom, forty-eight hours before D-day, trying to mouth out words that aren't his own. 

His brother has somehow convinced him to adopt a new language, something about how he needs to be bilingual to play in different countries. Rin didn’t understand most of it before he complied, letting himself be dragged onto his brother’s bedspread. His English flashcards sit opposite to Sae’s Spanish ones as he crosses his legs, mouthing the shapes on his brother’s lips.

Manzana. Banana. Naranja.

Translation: I am undoing everything that has ever made me whole. 

In the middle of their lesson, Sae hands his brother said fruit, as if to accentuate his point. He peels the orange in a perfect spiral, thumb under the calyx as the spongy white fiber separates from ochre flesh, the pulp inlaid like jewels beneath skin. He cracks the segments hexagonally and tosses Rin the larger half.

“Naranja.”

“Naranja.” Rin repeats, curling his tongue around the foreign vowels. He catches the fruit with ease, shoving the flesh into his mouth until juice pools between teeth and his mouth is bursting with flavor. The language trickles down his throat, settling into the hollow of his larynx.

Naranja.

He looks down at his own orange, a half-imitation at best. His fingers are still stuck inside the skin, the liquid squirting into his right eye. It is sour, acrid even. The flesh has gone bad, wrinkled like soft cherries. A tangerine blooms saffron yellow beneath his nails, zest building up under the cuticle. He makes a mental note to wash his hands later.

Mi media naranja.

Unlearning, Rin decides, is a very difficult process. It makes him feel like a child again, an estrangement from his old self. Sometimes two halves aren’t enough to make him whole, and other times it is a section too much. There are many things in this world that elude his grasp. One day perhaps he will know them all. In another life, he would have been able to tell the difference between an apple and an orange, to draw the line between his half and Sae’s half. But for now, he is still discovering, still plucking and choosing, still floundering in a body he has come to hate. Rin picks up another flashcard, right next to the yellow one labeled starfruit, named estrella for each of its five points.

“What’s this one?”

“Desastre. Spanish for disaster.” 

"Dis…as…star?"

"It's disaster. You have to enunciate the r."

"Dis…as…ster? What the hell even is that? Another star?"

Sae deadpans, and Rin mentally braces himself for another harsh remark, probably a brutally honest insult about his own stupidity. But this conversation has long evolved past fruits and colors and my half and your half. His brother’s eyes soften with shadows, as if bruised by something far deeper. A contusion forms beneath the surface, purpled and pained. Rin’s mind fills with confusion when Sae suddenly stares out the curtains again, his gaze strangely wistful. The room is so quiet he almost misses Sae’s answer.

"Yeah...it's a star.”

Disaster is a bad star.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The day before Sae leaves, Rin wishes on a bad star. He wakes up at an unlucky hour of dawn, slinking past a sleeping town as he goes to find his brother on the embankment near the sea. The streets bend around this corner of the peninsula, gaping like a mouth, lips pried apart at the seams. Located between a rock and a hard place, the coast of Koshigoe Beach oscillates between two types of constant turmoil, battling the erosion of natural forces from the east while facing the gentrification of construction in the west. During early mornings, the tide is sometimes low enough to expose the rocks up to the seawall, the desiccated seaweed forming fishing nets along its edge. Occasionally, the imprints of a stranger's footsteps leave behind small pockets of water, each one a home to an assorted array of abalone and oyster shells. Rin remembers the family vacations he spent here, the storm-cloaked skies. He had been so excited to go clamming after watching every episode of Chibi Maruko-Chan. In his red bucket hat and plastic shovel, he raced to the water’s edge, his little cheeks puffed out in exertion. He had anticipated sunny weather and clear skies, the glitter of rainbow sea glass, maybe even the golden sands he had seen in many of Sae’s travel brochures. But his first impression had been one of utter disappointment. 

The sand was a dull, drab grey: a single expanse of color that stretched on forever across the horizon. There were no clouds, only the stinging brittle of salt stuck inside his lungs and nestled between his toes. And to make matters worse, there weren’t even any clams in the first place, no sparkling bits of the golden treasure he had been so desperate to bring home. He felt his spirits dampen with ocean spray, his little feet coming to a sudden halt as he stared crestfallen at the waters.

Rin learned two major lessons that day. One, Maruko-chan was a big fat liar. And two, he should never believe anything that he sees on screen. Unfortunately, his folly cost him a hefty price: one tantrum on the car ride home and zero pretty seashells to add to his collection. Looking back on it now, Rin feels a strange sense of comfort in his disillusionment. In all four directions, his home is still the same greyish wash of color, unchanging as the sea and as unforgiving as its waters. At least that is something he can rely on. Nowadays, the constants in his life can be counted on a single hand, and the number of childhood remnants dwindles down to even fewer. 

Still, he can recall one memory clearer than the rest.

While Rin had been busy lamenting the lack of clams, Sae had tugged him by the back of his shirt, pulling him to the wayside as he stuck his fingers into the earth. Obviously, Rin was too caught up in his misery to notice, but his sniffles soon died down when he saw the faintest of bubbles lurk beneath the sandy surface. Sae taught him how to dig, how to plant feet into the ground, how to scavenge for survival. And Rin followed without question.

Soon, a cast of translucent crabs spilled forth from the pits, scuttling in massive red tides. Rin scooped some out with bare hands, sectioning them into segments: the ruby shells of a pomegranate, dividing and dividing again. He held a hermit up to the light, a look of gleeful amazement on his features. Was it their shells that determined their shape or the tender bodies inside them? Rin could never tell. All he knew was that these crabs were a different sort of treasure, ones that he cradled gently with bare hands and shielded from the foraging gulls. They were creatures meant to be loved.

The waves now break across concrete fortifications, crashing upon cubic breakwaters. By the time Rin reaches the paved promenade near the shores, Sae is already there, feet drowned in the freezing Pacific, the shirasu swimming between his toes. He doesn’t even turn when the sand crunches with footsteps, and Rin silently curses his brother’s superior senses. 

“I thought I told you not to come, Rin.”

“I know....But I still wanted to.”

In Rin’s mind, it doesn’t matter if Sae didn’t want him to be there. It doesn’t matter that he should’ve never come. He’d always keep chasing this dream if it meant he could stay. In fact, any ill omen would be better than this sinking pit in his stomach, this feeling that something was about to change forever.

The twinkles of light in the sky ripple across the sea, and Rin can’t help but see the view reflected in his brother’s visage. Sae’s eyes are like the ports of Sagami Bay, hardened with the carapace of cold comfort. Absence, Rin believes, would be his brother’s ultimate paradox. Sae could do everything and nothing all at once, and he would still be both the empty hole and the overflowing home. If eyes could be waves and faces could be stars, Sae would be the coldest, but he would also burn the brightest. Right now Rin just wants some of that warmth.

“So...you’re really leaving?”

“Yeah. I’m going ahead of you now. You better catch up.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll do my best to become scouted like you.”

“Right. And then onto the world. The two of us will become the best there is.”

A silence hangs between them, loose as a thread. The wind whistles across the boardwalk, stirring up small spirals of volcanic sand. Sae notices Rin’s contemplative expression, following his gaze until he finds the moon still in the sky, lit up by the fading light of Polaris. Rin prays silently, knees tucked into his chest as he clasps his hands tightly together. His soft whispers are frequently interspersed by distant murmurs of the sea.

Please let Nii-chan be safe. Please don’t let him forget me.

The sunrise is about to start, one more hour until the day fully begins. Sae has to put an end to this, or else he'll never leave.

“Stop praying, Rin. They’re just stars. They'll die before your wish can come true.”

Rin peeks an eye open, unfurling from his tucked position. He looks to the stars then back at Sae, a familiar prickling in his eyes. Sae doesn’t even need to check to know that he’s crying.

“I just...” Rin’s voice wavers, “I think I’lll miss you, Nii-chan. At least send a message home?”

“Maybe. When I have the time.”

“Oh...okay.” Rin looks down awkwardly, staring at his feet before perking up again, “Do you think our dream can be achieved in a few years? I’ll come visit you in Spain! Maybe we’ll even play for Royale together.”

“You better. Don’t slack off just because I’m not here.”

“I know. I won’t.”

Rin had never been particularly good at farewells, let alone his first one. His voice is watery now, as if liquid and unable to be contained.

“Hey...Sae?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think we’ll make it big?”

There’s a pause in the conversation, the length of it too long for Sae’s liking. For once, certainty does not come to him as easily. But Rin already knows there is a fundamental difference to the depths of his brother’s greed. Sae’s eyes harden into flints, his voice crashing across the sandy beaches, unrelenting in its harshness but still shapelessly soft.

“We have to.”

Rin doesn’t have anything to say to that. Neither of them do. If killing himself meant living forever, then Sae Itoshi would have died a long time ago. 

He would have died and become a star.

© verysium 2023 / please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize any of my works