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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year ago

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HEYYYY

Soo I'm here to rq another Damian x reader(platonic). But real quick, I'm sorry if I'm requesting too much or being a nuisance. Pls lmk if I am so I can stop! It's just hard to find somebody that writes for him like dis.

Anyways, basically the same thing were theyre friends but this time it's a diff scenario. So Damian n reader are obvi friends but theyre also complete oposites. Like Damian is intelegent, focused and meanwhile has reader is a bit dumber, daydreams too much, and kinder. They also get walked over a lot.

So he invites reader over to the manor and she meets his brothers n dad. It's all fine n dandy but they can't help but notice how diff they are.

Bonus points if reader talks positively abt him to his brothers and they're all like "fym he's nice?" And readers all like "fym he isnt?" (They're just not used to being treated like a normal human being) ‼️

Honestly I love writing for platonic! Damian. So pls don’t apologise for anything bc I’m having so much fun rn. 🦦plus I don’t know if this will read well as I’ve written this late at night when o should probably be in bed.

‘Am I seeing things or has Damian finally made a friend.’ Dick whispered to Jason, his eyes unable to tear his eyes away from you and Damian followed Bruce through the manor.

‘Nope, I’m definitely seeing it too.’ Jason replied also looking at you and Damian as if he was looking at the human personifications of night and day.

‘The fact that the demon spawn managed to get a friend sure is…something.’ Tim piped up, having overheard his brothers conversation from standing in between them. ‘I can only hope he didn’t kidnap the poor soul.’ Dick added as he was quick to click onto how Damian kept a hand on your arm, tugging and pulling you along when you stop to stare at a painting in awe for a little too long, gently encouraging you to keep up with him and Bruce by promising to go back to the painting later. Jason then looked over at Tim, ‘any ideas on who they are?’ Tim shrugged. ‘Only the fact that they go to the same school as Damian, share the same art classes and is known for being a little bit of a daydreaming pushover, but despite all that they’re still a kind person.’

Dick smiled sympathetically as his heart ached for you. It wasn’t easy being nice in a city like Gotham, if anything nice ever wandered into the accursed city it seemed as though Gotham itself would stop at nothing to see it destroyed, decimated and become as miserable and as bleak as the city itself; So it was rare to find someone who genuinely could still bring it in themselves to smile whilst in a city like this. And for that Dick had to give you props for being brave enough -and strong enough- to be kind in a place that would gladly take pleasure in stepping over and on you at any inconvenience. For it was truly a sign of bravery at its finest.

‘That kid is sure brave.’ Jason signed, knowing that people like you don’t last in Gotham but it was people like you that Gotham needed the most, but how could a retched place like Gotham heal when it’s always been a rotten city since it’s very conception? He didn’t believe it could be possible but there were always solutions to fighting the problem that seemed impossible to overcome. So who cares if you weren’t the brightest bulb at school? The education system in Gotham was shit anyway the last time he checked and he doubted much had changed when he…well you know…

Tim was silent. He was too busy recognising the protective measures that Damian was taking specifically for you; mainly the hand tugging at your arm anytime he thought you were getting distracted or wandering off elsewhere and muttering about how you need to keep or you’ll get left behind, despite the fact that even if you did Damian would allow himself to fall behind just so that he could walk besides you. While he might be part of the majority that didn’t think he’s ever see the day that Damian brought a friend home, never less a friend who was the total opposite of him. He couldn’t help but feel a sort of relief that Damian finally found a friend, and he knew that both Jason and Dick felt similarly from the looks upon their faces, silently observing how you interact with one another.

The one thing that Tim was confident in was the fact that Damian needed you as much as you needed Damian because you were a beacon of opportunity for his younger brother in many ways that Tim was certain you weren’t made aware of just yet. So while he and his brothers may tease and take this piss about how different you were from Damian, they mean well and express their happiness the only way they knew best; teasing and taking the piss.

‘This library is beautiful Mr Wayne! Do you have any fantasy books?’ You could be heard asking down the hallway, followed by the sound of Bruce softly laughing as he showed you the grand library. ‘This library has any book you can think of and please call me Bruce, it’s not often that Damian brings anyone home for the weekend.’ He says as you looked the Damian confused and a little betrayed. ‘You’ve got friends other than me?’

Damian groaned. ‘No. I don’t, you’re the only friend I’m willing myself to have.’

You smiled and gripped his hand. ‘Aww Dami! That’s so sweet of you to say, despite how brash and blunt you may come across, I’m glad to say that you’re the only friend I’m willing to have too!’ You said without shame. ‘Everyone else isn’t a nice as you are.’ You trailed off while a rare solemn look appeared upon your face as Damian was quick to squeeze your hand reassuringly, Bruce smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m not smart like your son mr Wayne, I can’t help it if things don’t come to me as easy as they do others but I try! I try really heard to do my best at every test but…but people tend to laugh of me because to them I’m either slow or thick.’ Damian’s jaw clenched and his brows furrowed upon being remembered of what people tended to call you.

He hated it and whenever he saw it happen, he was quick to utter some threatening words before taking his usual position as your pseudo-bodyguard for the rest of the school day. At first he wasn’t bothered but when you became restless in your pursuit of being his friend, he remembered vividly how people were mocking and making fun of you for trying to be his friend, that he often regrets not accepting your friendship sooner if it meant being able to be there when it counts.

‘When will you get it that Damian doesn’t want to be friends with someone like you.’ One person said.

‘Then I’ll just have to keep trying.’ You rebutted, still smiling somehow.

Another person scoffs. ‘Get fucking real. You’re a weirdo, no one wants to be friends with a weirdo who so fucking slow at everything.’

You merely shrugged, even when someone’s insulting you, your brain doesn’t recognises it as such. ‘I’m sure he won’t mind.’

‘God you’re so fucking useless that I’m surprised that anyone bothers with you. Let me say this in a way you won’t have to try so hard to understand dipshit. Damian. Will. Never. Be. Friends. With. Someone. Like. You. Ever.’ A third slowly spoke and Damian had heard enough and within a blink of an eye had laid them out flat. You blinked before looking at Damian with a bright smile. ‘Hi Damian! Did you hurt these guys, that’s not very nice.’

‘They insulted you and yet you defend their honour.’ Damian asked incredulously as you both walked down the hallway, leaving the three bullies to groan from their injuries. You shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘They were insulting you.’ Damian reiterated. ‘They insulted your intelligence and your abilities. People like them often hide bigger insecurities than others.’ Damian replied, finding your ability to keep smiling after such things both annoying as it was admirable.

‘Are we friends now?’ You asked innocently enough and Damian knew he had sealed his fate, and so he sighs and looks up to the ceiling. ‘Yes, we’re…friends.’ He mutters and doesn’t do anything to stop you from dragging him to art class.

‘I was alone before Damian.’ You admitted as you looked at Bruce with a smile as you squeezed Damian’s hand in kind. ‘But now he’s here and he’s my bestest friend ever!’ Damian honestly wishes that you respect yourself more because you could claim that he saved you multiple times, but you’d never acknowledge the times where you have saved him by being unequivocally kind, sweet and over all a better person then all of Gotham’s civilians combined. ‘I was finding my first week at school horrid before I befriended l/n.’ Damian admitted as you softly cooed. The boy then swallows thickly. ‘Their friendship is much appreciated.’

‘Aww! Dami!’ You cried as you crashed into him, causing you both to hit the floor in a heap of limbs.

While Damian was cursing mom lethal threats and you were laughing, Bruce had already made his mind up about you and was certain to make sure to have Damian invite you over as much as possible. It was obvious for him to see that you and Damian were good for each other despite your vast and glaring differences, however that’s what worked in your favour, the power to have over come all odds was incredible; not to mention the fact that your friendship with Damian had lasted as long as it has was another impressive feet on top of that. Bruce knows it’s been hard for Damian to fit in and find a friend, but he couldn’t have made a better friend than he did in the likes of you.

You were more than defiantly welcomed back to the manor if Bruce had anything to say about it.

‘Get off of me!’ Damian shouts.

‘Damian, I think my foot is stuck with yours.’ You reply, scared.

‘That’s your own foot- how did you manage to tangle yourself up in yourself? You landed onto of me?’ Damian asked incredulously.

‘Sorry.’ You apologised.

‘Don’t be.’ Damian said.

Bruce smiled one last time before leaving you both alone in the library to untangle yourselves, only to be greeted by Tim, Dick and Jason. ‘Can I help you three?’ Bruce raised an eyebrow at the boys.

‘Nope.’ Dick started.

‘Not really, just…seeing how the little scamps are dealing.’ Jason followed after.

‘Damian? Nice? The same Damian who tried to, oh I don’t know…KILL ME?!’ Tim asked, revealing to Bruce all he needed to know, their breathing behind the library door was telling that they were clearly eavesdropping on the three of you. Jason and Dick looked at him displeased as Tim looked back at them. ‘I’m not the only one of us who thought that.’ He defended himself. ‘I mean it’s nice that he’s looking out for y/n but still that’s not something someone casually forgets.’

Bruce merely leaves Tim, Dick and Jason to their own quarrel, he loves his boys he truly does, but sometimes they’re more trouble than what they’re worth. He can only hope that they don’t scare you off from coming back for good because he was already planning your next visit.

#damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #dc x y/n #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc fic #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year ago

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I have a random idea for some sagau crack loosely based on my dynamic with my friend so Im giving it to you because I have been enjoying your sagau language stuff :D

Imagine there are two readers that are two different people. Like, not as in clones they are just two separate people that are rlly good friends on earth. They both really like genshin and play the game, and they both have self aware teyvat citizens. Reader 1 is a whale. They invest a l o t of money on the game, have all the characters, and all the characters have five star weapons. They are like the usual sagau reader you see. They have used up so much money on getting all of the characters, and I mean A L L of them, best weapons, constellations and put a lot of care into it. The place where they really get to show off is their knowledge and love for the lore, and are really invested into it and read all of the artifact descriptions and books. They know about primordial one, the four shining shades, random useless facts about items and often rant to reader 2 about their theories. Their quest bar is always empty because they did them to check out the lore of the game, and are always searching for more lore. They basically play everyday and are always reacting and talking to the characters out loud, unaware that they can hear them.

Meanwhile, Reader 2 is a f2p who is only interested in the archon quest lore and the lore of their fav characters. Because they are f2p, their options are limited so there is some blatant favoritism. They choose their fav character to save up for, and then pull for them. After they get the character they want, they will no longer pull and save up from there. Because of this, they only have like 5 five stars and only have zero five star weapon. Their favourite character is their main(*cough* wanderer *cough*), and unlike reader 1 who uses all of their characters regularly, reader 2 sticks to this character for most of their gameplay unless they need to use someone else. However, reader 2 takes almost an entire month to finish building a character, because they go overboard with the artifact stats. You would expect to normally have a 50 180 crit ratio, but reader 2’s dps characters always, and I mean ALWAYS have 50 200 crit ratio or more. Like, their main (it doesnt have to be wanderer but Im putting him here anyways) has 70 and 200 crit ratio, is crowned, full 4 pc best in slot, and is even crowned and faruzan only needs like 200 er but reader 2 gave them 300. (Im totally not putting this here because this is what I did/j) Reader 2 is also the type to never speak while gaming, so the first time they spoke everyone turned it into a national holiday to be celebrated. They also play a lot less than player 1. Player 1 plays everyday while player 2 plays for a month straight and then takes a long break to wait for the content to pile up.

So these two gremlin besties are always speaking with each other, and are always on coop. Whenever player 1 needs help making team comps or building characters, they just ask player 2 for help. And whenever player 2 needs help understanding the lore of the game, they ask player 1. But all I can think abt is the first time they cooped. Imagine player 1 was using childe and then when the coop starts, both childe and wanderer are very confused as to wtf is going on. Like, childe is confused because he sensed a strange aura coming form them like whenever someone gets controlled by reader 1, and wanderer is confused because reader 2 seemed so excited that they were talking, but its just childe? Reader 2 always skips childe’s banners.

Thats it lol, hope this wasnt too long.

Not long at all! Or more like, I like long asks so feel free to share! :D

IM SO SORRY ITS LIKE MONTHS LATER TO GET TO YOU I PROMISE I LOVE UR STUFF AND AM SUPER EXCITED TO SEE IT,

IM JUST SLOW AND GOOFY 😭😭

Said friends in genshin like: ^^^

this kinda inspires me/reminds me of @mists-reading-nook soldier/poet/king post, you should check xe stuff!! Gave me brainrot to this day tbh, like im imaging how that “3rd King style of worship” would look like even now lmao ive been down bad 😭

☆

Sun: 2 Readers! (as desc. above), (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: wanderer/childe, mentions of others i forgot to focus on any one character or nation :/

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing language, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

dual symbolism everywhere, obv you both thought “for the twins” but it just kept getting out of hand the more the game updated over the months lol

like shrines/temples/churches showing up more often in new countries/areas and always identifying the same 2 gods

obv the for-the-lore player picked up on it first, and by the time the trickle-down effect happened, where characters/NPCs were outright talking about these gods, the 2nd was asking the lore knower to explain lol

the 2 gods kept getting referred to by a few names, like “The Soldier and the Scholar” or “The Sage and the Warrior” or “The Keeper and the Pursuer” etc.

after awhile of comparing both of your games, you realize that some vision users/gods tend to use the soldier/warrior/pursuer titles more often when talking about one of you, and the other gets the sage/scholar/keeper more often

u both get excited, maybe its bc you chose diff travelers or some other reason, but when u try and post abt it or otherwise ask other players u get a lot of negatives/”hasnt happened for me”s??

u both just think the games glitched or some dev is playing a prank on you two maybe,

it gets weirder when u both realize the lore player be over here getting random gifts from all the characters in the mail all the time

and just as grinding players like “ :’( my favs don't like me?? but they have the best artifacts and maxed friendship levels..”

they get flooded with multiple gifts from their main characters, most of which benefit the grind tbh lmao (like a bunch of cheaper materials or crystals to level up artifacts/weapons or to ascend that character = no more slaughtering every samurai on sight for their handguards or collected a fuckton of those blue layered mushrooms for wanderer)

god u were both grateful to this glitch ngl, it saved a lot of dumb misc tasks and was just a nice touch

no but the amount of confusion inside the game from when u first started playing together, like each of ur games began with stuff abt 1 god, then as u co-oped moved onto 2 gods (like said at the beginning)

the lore player is blabbing away like you do, which begins to be heard by the other player’s game world

like it starts as whispers in battle, then all the time, then a quiet convo in the background all the time, until they can just hear u out of earshot esp word for word when they focus!! at first the vision-users/gods got all excited bc their god was speaking!! finally!!! until I'm sure they heard narration that didn't fit/it was there sometimes even when their god’s presence wasn't?/voice sounded “off” to them/didnt fit their god…??

ok ik u were joking abt the national holiday,,, but I’m not. 😈

THE FIRST WORDS 2ND SPOKE BEING IN A PROPHECY, REGARDLESS OF WHAT IT IS THEY SAY.

Player 1, playing as Childe, steals a singular (1) sweet flower from Player 2, who has Wanderer out:

P2: “I seriously hate you. Listen to what I’m saying, I can’t stand you.”

(Wanderer panicking that its abt him- Childe freezing bc he managed to piss off a god that feels as powerful as his own- the PROPHECY LMAO- )

P1: “… you miss me.”

(everyone else: 💥vine boom sound 💥😦😨😰???)

P2: “I hate you.”

P1: “You miss me and you love me, why must we fight??”

(everyone else: 💥vine boom again💥🤨🫠??…)

P2: “I hate you-”

P1: “-we gotta good thing going on, you and I, why must we tussle??”

(everyone else: 💥yet another vine boom💥 💀💀)

(the absolute deep anxiety/pure confusion as the two harbingers heads just ping pong back and forth towards the voices lmao)

u two scare the shit out of any characters u do this with lol

they do get used to it as u talk, and the characters even manage to interact (thru hacking magical shenanigans and discord)

to send thank you gifts to player 1 for getting player 2 to talk more lol

along with sending copies of any lore books that player 2 has gotten that player 1 hasn't!

and it becomes common/tradition to exchange gifts like this to thank or appreciate the other god, like player 1 characters sending thank you gift copies of rare materials or ascension stuff that player 1 had that player 2 didn't (esp making sure to send during resinless hours lmao)

overall, 10/10, whats better than 1 god that plays one way? 2 gods that compensate for each other and now u have 2x the worshippers

(i wonder how meeting alternate versions of themselves would go, bc id like to headcanon that each of ur behavior towards them/ur unique influence has changed them a bit comparing, like they arent carbon copies anymore, not like they used to be…)

☆

hey sorry for slowing down guys!!

i just feel bad its taken me forever to get to these asks, so i wanted to take what time i could lately and charge thru them so i could spam post lol

I've also been working on fics! so that's delayed things by a lot, bc fics take longer to “respond to” than short asks or replies

my poor bsd fic

Anyway thank you so much for sending this in!!! I'm so sorry i took forever to get to it, and i hope u enjoyed response/my brain shitting this out lol

have a good weekend!! :D

Safe Travels Anon!!

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit

@kiyomi-uchiha777

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m1ckeyb3rry · 2 months ago

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hii, i was wondering if i could submit a request for a fic🤔I don't rlly have any specific prompt but i want it to be about karasu or zantetsu, either one is fine. i've read all of ur karasu fics and they're so good! i love ur writing sm!! if u don't want to i totally understand but i also just want to tell u that i think ur writing is awesome (^◡^)

Synopsis: You become taken with your coworker’s roommate, Karasu, unaware that he’s just as fascinated by you — and maybe he has been for longer than you realize.

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 8.6k

Content Warnings: relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…, <- never thought i’d be using THAT for a karasu fic, i’m bored of normal karasu characterization so i made him ooc, he’s like fr a weirdo icl, otoya catches strays, yukimiya is just trying to get through the workday, reader is a model, reader’s feet are mentioned a lot?? not sexually in the slightest (they’re injured so she complains abt them) but i mean it’s there ig if you’re a hater, very vague and unfinished feeling not on purpose i just gave up tbh

A/N: you sent this to me so long ago idek if you remember it LMAOAOAO i am so sorry i like fell off the face of the earth in terms of answering requests but HERE IT IS erm sorry it actually highkey sucks but at least karasu is in it…i guess…UGHHHH I HATE THIS BUT I COULDN’T KEEP PROCRASTINATING IT YOU LITERALLY SENT THIS IN THE BEGINNING OF AUGUST I’M SO SORRY MY DEAR but also tysm HAHHA you are very sweet!! i’m glad you like my writing and once again i am sorry for disappearing…

Additional: check my pinned post to make sure i have requests open; after reading the rules, please feel free to make your own!

You had never seen the man leaning against the wall behind the camera before. He wore a dark trench coat and a plaid scarf looped around his neck, and unlike everyone else bustling about the set, barking out orders and shoving each other into place, he was entirely calm. In his right hand, he held his phone, scrolling through something on it with his thumb, and in between his teeth was a lollipop — cherry flavored, which you only knew because of the wrapper lying at his feet.

“That’s not Yukimiya, right?” you whispered to the girl who was buttoning up the back of your top.

“Hm?” she said. “No, Mr. Yukimiya hasn’t checked in yet. I have no idea who that is.”

He was tall, with wide shoulders and the type of face that must have been crafted with painstaking detail by someone or another, his features keen, his eyes a brilliant shade of blue so dark they were nearly violet or black. Dark hair fell into darker eyebrows like the ink of a ballpoint pen on a paper-pale forehead, and just above his left cheekbone was a black beauty mark, which changed everything and yet nothing about him.

You supposed he must’ve sensed your gaze lingering on him, for he furrowed his brow and then lifted his chin, scanning the room before his eyes meet yours. He didn’t seem offended by the prying, his lips curling into a smile as he lifted his left hand into a jaunty wave, returning his attention to whatever he was reading on his phone before you could respond in turn or do anything to feel less like you had been caught committing some crime.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

This must’ve been Kenyu Yukimiya, your partner for the shoot. He was handsome, too, with a harried, windswept appearance to his reddened cheeks and tousled hair; when he grinned at you apologetically, he was entirely reminiscent of a painting from antiquity.

He sat in the chair next to you as the makeup team got to work, applying the faintest touch of product so that he was not entirely washed out by the blinding lights of the cameras in your faces. You returned his smile with one of your own, polite and careful.

“Luckily, the director hasn’t arrived yet, so it’s not a problem,” you said. “Apparently, he’s strict on everyone but himself.”

Yukimiya winced as a heap of clothes was thrown at him and the finishing touches were placed on his chestnut hair. You watched him with amusement, your hands folded in your lap as he was yanked to his feet.

“Guess I got lucky this time, then,” he said, stumbling into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood yourself, stretching your arms and legs with a deep breath, rolling your ankles in the air, alternating as you did so, and then pacing back and forth in an attempt to accustom yourself to the monstrosities that your feet had been shoved into.

The man in the corner didn’t seem affected by the chaos Yukimiya’s appearance had thrown everyone into. You thought you saw something like a snort escape him, but otherwise he was calm — although you noticed he had tucked his phone away and shoved his hands in his pockets, opting to instead observe his surroundings with a soft curiosity.

You turned away before he could shift his attention to you once again, because your pride could not handle being caught by him a second time, and you pretended like you were entirely fascinated with putting one foot in front of the other, walking in a line so straight it was as if it had been drawn with a ruler.

Yukimiya reappeared completely ready a few seconds later, tying the laces of his dress shoes and then joining you at your side, although of course he did not need to practice walking or anything so silly. Like most men, he had been afforded the luxury of comfort; he wasn’t the showpiece of this edition, after all. You were, and so you were the one made up into a spectacle beyond natural ability or attempt.

“Everyone, in your places!” the director shouted as he entered the studio, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the other on his hip. He was diminutive in stature and wore a ridiculously feathered hat, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in position, so nobody would dare to say that to him, least of all you, who could so easily be replaced.

Still, for one final time, you allowed yourself to look at the man standing all by himself, wondering if he’d offer some reaction to the getup, some indication that you weren’t alone in your feelings. You weren’t sure why it was him who you sought out; perhaps because he, unlike everyone else, was a mystery, an enigma, and so while you could map out without knowing what all the other faces in the room looked like at that moment, you needed to see his to understand it.

He wrinkled his nose into a snicker, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and then he took his phone back out of his pocket, maybe to give himself an excuse for laughing. It wasn’t like he really needed an excuse, because no one else was even looking at him, but then again, there was never any harm in caution.

“You’re Y/N L/N, right?” Yukimiya said to you, his hand on your shoulder as you faced the camera, waiting for the director to adjust your stances. “It’s a pleasure. I’m surprised this is the first time we’re actually talking.”

“The pleasure is mine,” you said. “And yes, it’s a wonder we haven’t worked together before, given how frequently I’ve heard your name mentioned. I’m looking forward to it.”

Something about Yukimiya served to enhance everyone he was around, and so, instead of stealing the attention from you, he somehow managed to direct the spotlight so that it shone only on your placid face. You had been expecting the opposite, but you weren’t angry about it; in fact, you couldn’t have been more pleased. It was always the worst thing when your coworker was jostling you out of the way for a few extra seconds in front of the cameras, and you thought to yourself that you’d have to find some way of ensuring you were booked with him more often.

“Amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever been so quickly satisfied by a shoot!” the director said, clapping his hands together and nodding at you both. “Excellent work. I think we can wrap up for the day. I’ll see you two here at the same time tomorrow!”

“Wow,” Yukimiya said as everyone started disassembling the set. “I thought you said he was strict.”

You shrugged as you walked over to the dressing rooms. “I thought he was.”

“Well, we probably shouldn’t complain,” he said. “Between this and practice, my schedule is booked. I have no space to be ungrateful about a little extra time.”

“Very true,” you said. “It’s always nice when things like this end sooner than anticipated. Better than later, anyways.”

The first thing you took off were those excuses for shoes, kicking them under the door for good measure and shoving your feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, wiggling your toes with a sigh. Peeling off every layer you had squeezed into for the sake of the director’s creative vision, you curled up on the bench in only your underwear, sipping on water through a metal straw and staring at the wall, hugging your knees to your chest, lost in thinking about nothing.

Only when you grew cold did you stand, pulling on a sweatshirt three sizes too large and sweatpants that puddled at your shoes, shielding you from the world as you trudged out of the dressing room, wanting to rub your eyes but knowing that you would smear makeup all over the backs of your hands. You settled instead for playing with the thread you had taped to the handle of your water bottle for exactly such an occasion, twirling the loose ends of the meticulous knots in between your fingers idly.

“Ah — L/N!” Yukimiya waved at you as you made your way towards the exit. Unaccustomed to further camaraderie after the end of the workday, you had to fight to keep your expression neutral, and when you noticed the man from earlier was at Yukimiya’s side, the lollipop long gone, you had to fight even harder.

“Is something the matter?” you said.

“No, nothing at all,” he said. “I just figured we might as well walk to the parking garage together, since it’s late and all.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. The studio you were at had only one security guard in its employ, a man that inspired pity more than fear, with a few strands of hair glued into a desperate attempt at a combover and a shirt that was far too thin to be considered professional, so you hadn’t even considered asking for an escort, figuring you would take your chances. Still, the thought of walking alone wasn’t the most appealing, and while you wouldn’t have asked for it yourself, you were glad Yukimiya had offered his company nonetheless.

“Oh! Karasu, this is Y/N L/N. L/N, this is Tabito Karasu,” Yukimiya said as you reached the door and the other man — Karasu — used one black-gloved hand to open it.

“Is he your bodyguard or something? Thank you,” you said, nodding at Karasu for holding the door.

“He wishes,” Karasu said. His voice was rough and deep and sounded like he was perpetually in on some private joke, but you didn’t mind it, not in the slightest. “I’m his roommate — the one with a car, by the way. And a driver’s license. And the time to pick his sorry ass up.”

“What he means is that he offered to stop by on his way home to get me,” Yukimiya said.

“That’s very generous of you,” you said. “Especially considering you were there even before Yukimiya was.”

“Don’t you think? It’s fine, now he owes me one,” Karasu said, his eyes glimmering. “And I intend to collect, of course.”

“He never does anything out of the goodness of his heart,” Yukimiya said with a long-suffering sigh. “You better be careful around him, L/N. Whatever he gives you, he’ll expect the same in return.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, though of course you had no intentions of ever being around Karasu in any way that mattered.

“We play soccer for the Japanese team, you know,” Karasu said. “You should come to one of our games, L/N. I’m sure some of our teammates would be delighted by that. Right, Yuki?”

Yukimiya sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If you’re talking about Otoya and Aiku, then yes, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“Not for her, it isn’t,” Karasu said. “For them, sure it is. But I wasn’t talking about those two, anyways.”

“Pardon?” you said.

“Ignore him,” Yukimiya said. “I don’t really know what he’s going on about.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Karasu said, picking up before Yukimiya on the fact that your steps had stuttered to a stop. “L/N, was it?”

He offered you his hand. You took it and shook, arching a brow at the firmness of his grip, which was much more in line with a businessman than a soccer player.

“Yes,” you said. “Karasu? It was nice to meet you as well.”

“Don’t worry,” Yukimiya said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll make my other roommate pick me up tomorrow.”

“Otoya?” Karasu said. “Good luck with that. He’ll be late to his own funeral, so don’t think you’re high on his priority list. The only time he comes early is—”

“Karasu,” Yukimiya interjected. “Don’t be crass.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “See you around, L/N. Or maybe not.”

“See you,” you said, starting your car so that it wasn’t freezing when you got in, deciding it wouldn’t be polite to tack on a definitely not to the farewell and instead opting to stay silent.

“Bye, L/N,” Yukimiya said. “Until tomorrow.”

Although your apartment wasn’t large by any means, it wasn’t small, either, sitting at a comfortable medium that was paid for half by you and half by your brother, who was hardly ever home, anyways, but needed somewhere for his mail to be delivered. He was a free spirit, always traveling: for work, for fun, for women and wine, for anything his heart desired, which left you the entire space to yourself more often than not. People were jealous of you when they found out, but when you sat on the couch alone, a blanket pulled up around your shoulders and a bowl of salad held in between your knees, the television on only to ward away the silence that permeated the room, you wondered what they had to be jealous of.

The next day, you didn’t look for Karasu when you entered the studio, but you knew as you stepped in that he wasn’t there. There was something missing, the room a little brighter without him in the corner, waiting with an unmatched patience for Yukimiya to be done. Yukimiya must’ve made good on his threat, then, to call their other roommate to pick him up, although privately you wondered why he couldn’t just drive himself.

The shoot went even smoother the second day than it had the first, and it was a surprise the director didn’t fall to your feet and grovel at the speed with which you executed his vision. Yukimiya struck that perfect balance of workmanlike and personable, and you were content to play along with him, so all in all things moved with relative swiftness.

When you went to leave, you noticed that Yukimiya was standing by the door on his own, tapping his phone furiously. You were under no obligation to stop, but for some reason, you did, waiting awkwardly for a second before clearing your throat.

“Is everything alright?” you said. He startled, almost dropping his phone as he blinked at you.

“Yes! Yes, it’s fine, it’s just my roommate is a jerk, that’s all. Last night, he told me he was fine with picking me up, but now all of a sudden he’s busy,” he said with a scoff.

“Otoya, right?” you said. Yukimiya cocked his head.

“Yes, how’d you know?” he said.

“Karasu — your other roommate mentioned him yesterday,” you said, correcting yourself so that it didn’t seem like Karasu was someone you paid special attention to. Judging by Yukimiya’s expression, you didn’t think you had been entirely successful in the attempt, which was unlike you. You bit the tip of your tongue so that you didn’t say anything further, waiting for him to respond.

“Right,” he said.

“Why don’t you drive yourself?” you said, crossing your arms and standing beside him, facing the road as he was.

“I can’t,” he said.

“You never learned?” you said. He shook his head, adjusting his glasses self-consciously.

“It’s not recommended I do,” he said. He didn’t elaborate further, but he didn’t have to; you recognized it wasn’t your place and hummed in acknowledgement.

“If you want, I don’t mind taking you,” you said. You didn’t know where Yukimiya lived — for all you knew, it was across the city entirely — but it didn’t hurt to extend your hand like that, especially because you had a sense that he wouldn’t even accept it.

“It’s alright,” Yukimiya said. “Karasu said he’s on his way, since last he checked, Otoya’s in the shower now, for some reason.”

“Oh,” you said. “That’s kind of him.”

“Kind?” Yukimiya said, and then to your surprise, he laughed. “I wish I knew as little about him as you do.”

“Is he a bad person?” you said.

“Not at all,” Yukimiya said. “He’s great. He’s one of my best friends, in fact; it’s just that kind and Karasu rarely if ever go together in the same sentence.”

“How can someone be your best friend if you don’t even think they’re kind?” you said, intrigued by the puzzle Yukimiya had presented you with. The way he spoke of Karasu, it was as if he were some willful spirit that occasionally deigned to lend his aid to those who could bring him some benefit, but the way the two of them treated one another didn’t seem anything like that.

“I don’t know,” Yukimiya said. “If you knew him better, I wouldn’t have to explain this. He’s a hard person to understand, and just when you think you’ve finally got it, he goes and complicates things further.”

“That sounds exhausting,” you said.

“That’s the strangest thing about it all,” Yukimiya said as a car pulled up in front of you both, the hazard lights turning on. “With him, it’s entirely natural.”

Karasu stepped out of the driver’s side, shutting it behind him and joining the two of you on the curb, grinning at Yukimiya in a way that almost felt mocking.

“Told you Otoya wasn’t to be trusted,” he said. “You’re paying for dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yukimiya said, tossing his bag at Karasu, who caught it without flinching. “Put this in for me.”

“Whatever you say,” Karasu said, opening the back door of the car and throwing the bag onto the floor before slamming it shut and patting the handle for good measure. “Is that everything, your royal highness?”

“Yes,” Yukimiya said. “I’m going to kill Otoya when we get back.”

“Hm,” Karasu said. “Violent.”

“He deserves it,” Yukimiya said. “Bye, L/N. Thanks for waiting with me.”

“It’s not an issue,” you said, especially because you hadn’t done it on purpose, and even if you had, it hadn’t been for him. “I’m glad everything worked out.”

You wanted to say something more, something to Karasu in particular, but you didn’t know what or how. It wasn’t like you knew him — not a little and not at all, as Yukimiya had pointed out, and indeed you had no reason to speak to him in the first place. He wasn’t anything but your coworker’s roommate, so what did he mean to you?

Yukimiya shut his door with a hurried apology about the cold, and then it was just you and Karasu on the curb, and you couldn’t tell why, but the way he looked at you made you think he could hear every thought which was racing through your mind.

“Yukimiya’s right. It’s cold out,” he said. “You should go home now.”

“I’m just about to,” you said.

“Are you?” he said.

“Why are you questioning that?” you said, surprisingly affronted, although he hadn’t said anything insulting. “Of course I am. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

“I’m not questioning anything,” he said. “Drive safely.”

“Wait,” you said. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Would you prefer it if I am?” he said.

“I’d prefer it if you answered my questions instead of coming up with more of your own,” you said, which you thought would be met with shock — after all, it was a rare thing that you broke character and said anything that could be perceived as cutting — but was instead received with a snicker.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll be here tomorrow. Early, if that’s what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” you said. “Do what you’d like.”

“I think that I will,” he said, and then Yukimiya was rolling down the window, telling him to hurry up, damnit, so he left you behind without another word, the car’s engine purring as they drove away.

You must’ve looked like such a fool the next morning, the final of the shoot, your eyes immediately going to the corner where Karasu had been that first day. It was empty, and despite yourself, your shoulders slumped when you realized that he wasn’t there, which was enough for you to break out of that strange trance. Why had you even hoped in the first place? He had made no indication that he was going to come, and you were old enough to know that hoping and wishing were certain paths to disappointment.

“Do you want me to take you back tonight?” you asked Yukimiya, sitting in a chair beside him as you waited for the director to come. It was a clumsy and roundabout way of getting to what you actually wanted out of him, but the last thing you could do was tell him the truth. What would he say, if he knew why you were actually offering? What would he think of you then?

“Hm? No, it’s fine, Karasu’s already got it. He’s at the gym with Shidou — er, another teammate of ours — right now, but he’ll be done before we are, and the studio’s closer to the gym than our apartment is, so he told me it wouldn’t be any extra trouble,” he said, and you thought he must’ve added those extra details for the sole purpose of seeing what your response to them would be, but then you remembered that Yukimiya wasn’t that kind of person. He was just telling you as a way to fill the time, not to get one over you or anything like that.

“That’s good,” you said. “Convenient.”

“Yup,” Yukimiya said. “My agent told me we’d be doing individual photos today.”

“Huh?” you said. “Oh, right. Yes, I think that’s the case.”

“That’s a shame. I enjoyed working with you,” he said.

“Me, too,” you said, and unlike most times, you weren’t lying when you did. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, though. There’s not so many of us our age.”

“True,” he said. “It’s a given.”

“Exactly,” you said.

“Yukimiya! You’re up first!” the director shouted, entering as he always did — like a whirlwind, leaving papers scattered and assistants flustered in his wake.

“That’s my cue,” Yukimiya said with a long-suffering sigh.

“Good luck,” you said, glad that it wasn’t your turn just yet. The shoes you were meant to wear sat innocently before you, about two feet away, and although it was impossible for inanimate objects to be snide, they were quite close to it, glaring at you with their bejeweled straps and their impossible tall heels, tittering between themselves at the thought of the cuts already forming on your ankles, the bandages you’d have to remove in order for those terrors to slide on without fuss.

You set your water bottle on the armrest of your chair, taking up the thread and crossing it over itself in the patterns you had been taught in elementary school. You didn’t have anyone to tie these bracelets around, and you couldn’t wear them yourself, for they’d be cut away almost immediately, but the repetitive motions soothed your mind, distracting you from the red soaking through your white socks.

“L/N!” the director screamed, even though you were sitting right there and could hear him perfectly fine. “Put your damn shoes on and get the hell up here!”

Without Yukimiya there to soften the blow, you were the direct target of all of his anger. Swallowing back every emotion you had ever felt and would ever feel, you bent over and began to rip the nude-colored band-aids, stained rusty at the edges, off. Balling them up and throwing them in the trash, you stood on aching soles and pulled the shoes on, one after another, clenching your teeth and taking off your sweater so that you could waltz over to where the cameras were trained.

“Took you long enough,” the director groused.

“Yes, sir,” you said. “How should I stand?”

“Just put your hands there, and your one leg there,” the director said vaguely, waving his arms about before striking what must’ve been an approximation of the pose he wanted you to take. You did your best to copy it, and the cameras went off, your vision temporarily fleeing and then coming back in spots as the lights faded. “No!”

“No?” you said.

“That’s all wrong! It’s horrible, horrible — you’re not even trying to do what I asked!” he said. “Yukimiya could do it, so why can’t you? Just do this!”

He did the same thing again. You weren’t sure what else you could adjust, but you moved slightly, twisting your torso at a different angle and smiling without your teeth this time. He grunted and motioned for the cameras to go again, but after a few more photos, he groaned, dragging his face over his hands.

“This is horrendous! You look entirely stiff and posed. It’s like you're a mannequin!” he said.

“I don’t — I’m not — what should I fix?” you said, unable to stop nerves from creeping into your voice and jostling it about. As difficult as he was to work with, you knew that the director was a big name in the industry, and if he only had bad things to say about you, then your entire livelihood would be threatened.

“Ugh!” he said, stomping onto the set and grabbing your arm, wrenching it down so hard you were surprised it didn’t dislocate. You chewed on the frayed flesh of the inside of your cheek to keep from yelping, allowing yourself to be pliable as he dragged your leg forward into what he wanted from you. “It’s like you’re a completely different person today! Just disappointing.”

Whatever position he had coerced you into was nothing like the one he had wanted you to imitate, but you refrained from pointing that out, holding it in place while the photographers adjusted their lenses. It was uncomfortable and made the lace lining your collar dig into your throat even more, but at least that served as a reminder for you to be silent.

“That’s enough,” the director said, massaging his temples. “We’re not getting anything more out of you.”

“What?” you said, standing normally, tired of contorting yourself for the impossible-to-please man. “What do you mean?”

“You’re lifeless. I don’t know how you managed to fool me yesterday and the day before, but I see it now. Honestly, if it weren’t for the concerning accusations I’d face, I’d just dig up a grave and pay the families half the royalties. It’d be a cheaper and better performance than whatever you’re giving me,” he said.

“What?” you said again, shame pouring over you, cold in a way that was closer to heat, ringing in your ears and coating your tongue. You couldn’t think of another response, any other way to defend yourself. If he was saying it, then it really was the truth. You swallowed, about to bow your head and shuffle off of the set for good, but then, like a bird in your peripheral vision, you noticed someone standing in the corner.

It was Karasu, and he was muffling a laugh. When he noticed you were looking at him, he dropped his hand from in front of his mouth and jerked his head towards the director, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like get a load of this guy. Your eyes widened, and then you, too, were fighting back a giggle, because you were so tired of the entire charade and your feet hurt and you wanted to go home and sleep for a few hours but this director, this stupid fucking director, couldn’t make up his mind about what he wanted from you. And now your career was ruined and you’d go back to waiting tables and Karasu was standing there, which was ridiculous, because where had even come from? But, then again, did it matter? Because the most amazing thing of all was that he was laughing. The situation was horrible and he was laughing as if it was the most entertaining moment of his life.

“There!”

You cringed as the cameras went off in quick succession, but they were faster than you, and you knew for sure they had caught you before you had cowered away. The director stroked his chin, and then, to your surprise, clicked his tongue in approval.

“Well done,” he said. “That’s the kind of genuine appeal I was looking for. If you can bring more of that to the table, then anyone would be happy to have you.”

You frowned, his sudden switch in mood giving you whiplash. Only seconds earlier, he had been berating you, and now he was praising you? You couldn’t understand what had brought about the change, but you were at least quick enough to not question it.

“Thank you,” you said. “I appreciate the advice. And the opportunity to work with you.”

“I’ll hire you again,” he said, which sounded as much like a threat as it did a promise. “We’ll bring it out of you. Now that I know what you’re capable of, I won’t rest until I’ve perfected it in the way only I can.”

The thought of being perfected by him, molded and shaped and honed, was the most unappealing you had had in a while. You could imagine him tugging your limbs out of their sockets, rearranging them at his leisure, slicing gashes into your skin so that his clothes and accessories sat better, smoother, without unappealing wrinkles or reflections marring their surfaces.

“Thank you,” you said once more. “It’s an honor.”

“Are you alright?” Yukimiya said when you wobbled over to where your shoes and clothes were strewn about.

“I’m fine,” you said, but you weren’t looking at him. Your distracted eyes were following Karasu as he left the studio, your eyebrows knitting together as you tried to ascertain what the point of him even coming inside had been, if he was going to leave without you — without Yukimiya.

He didn’t come for you, a voice in the back of your head, sounding eerily similar to the director’s, said. He came to pick up his roommate, just like he promised he would.

“I can’t believe he chose you as his favorite. Maybe you’ll be his muse for the next few years!” Yukimiya said. The director was known for picking one model to fixate on for an extended period of time. His every project revolved around them, and they were catapulted into unprecedented stardom under his guiding hand, staying there until their retirement. It was everyone’s dream, and you should’ve been happy at the prospect of being next in that line, but when you beamed at Yukimiya, it was fake, the muscles in your mouth straining at the unnatural position you were putting them into.

“Who knows?” you said. “I don’t want to rely on it. It’s not a guarantee.”

“Smart idea,” he said, scrunching up his face. “I’m sorry. I’m used to soccer more than all of this. Everyone’s very…full of themselves.”

“You’re not full of yourself,” you said, shutting the door of your dressing room behind you and calling through it as you changed, hoping to delay him even slightly.

“You’ve never seen me on the field,” he said. “There, everyone’s different. You have to be, if you want to live. Ego’s a form of survival out there.”

“Doesn’t sound much different than modeling,” you said.

“A little different,” he said. “People here are just vain. That’s not the same.”

You hadn’t ever gotten changed so quickly, but in record time, you were swinging your bag over your shoulder and rejoining Yukimiya, who seemed as surprised as you were that you had finished so quickly. After all, you had a bit of a reputation for…sulking? Brooding? You weren’t sure what word they were using for it nowadays, but regardless, your proclivity for sitting in your dressing room in silence was well-known, as much a part of your character as it was a habit.

“You’re not wrong about that,” you said. “But vanity’s a necessary evil, I think. If you want to succeed.”

“Er, right,” he said, standing in place like he was unsure of how to react. “I suppose so.”

When you did not halt but instead kept moving towards the exit, he straightened and hurried after you. You weren’t going very fast, and his strides were so long that he caught up with you before you could even brace for the biting wind that rushed in as soon as you opened the door. The two of you went along in silence, Yukimiya obviously befuddled why you were still with him but too polite to say anything about it, and it was only when you reached the entrance to the parking garage, where a familiar car was waiting, that you allowed yourself to smile.

“Man, talk about an asshole,” Karasu said, stretching like a cat as he got out of the still-running sedan. “That director is a piece of work.”

“Karasu!” Yukimiya reprimanded, which got him nothing but a sly smile from the man in question. “He’s our boss. We can’t say stuff like that about him.”

“He’s your boss,” Karasu corrected. “So you can’t say stuff like that. I can say whatever I want.”

“You’re going to get me fired,” Yukimiya said. “It’s a good thing I have soccer to fall back on, or else I’d be in trouble.”

“Go sit in the car, then, if you want to stay blameless,” Karasu said.

“I will! And you better not bother poor L/N. I don’t want her to have a bad opinion of all of us just because of you,” Yukimiya said, jabbing his finger at Karasu, who raised his hands in the air innocently.

Today, he wore a white windbreaker over a grey shirt, and because he was not wearing gloves, you could see that there were calluses on his palms, standing out pale at the seams of his fingers. You weren’t used to seeing calluses on anyone, not when the few people you met on a semi-regular basis took such diligent measures to prevent them, but now that you were faced with them sans demonization, you found their roughness was warm and friendly, not hideous.

“He was pretty bad,” you mumbled as soon as Yukimiya had shut himself away in the car.

“Yuki, or the director?” Karasu said.

“Don’t be horrible,” you said. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“I can’t believe he compared you to a dead body,” Karasu said.

“That’s not the worst I’ve gotten,” you said. “It took me by surprise because things had been going so well until then, but he was relatively tame, all things considered.”

“Really?” Karasu said.

“Yes,” you said, dropping your voice to a murmur in case anyone was around, not wanting to give yourself a reputation as a whiner. “Once, someone asked me if my mother was a fish, because there was no other explanation for how I was flopping around.”

“That’s rude,” he said.

“It was!” you said. No one had ever listened to you before, least of all with such a benign expression on their face, and you were so starved of it that you could not contain yourself any longer. “Especially because I was standing still, not flopping around or whatever. Honestly, I wanted to ask him if his mother was a fish, because you know what? There was no other explanation for how he smelled!”

“Horrid!” Karasu said, beaming at you. “You should’ve.”

“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t even have said it to you,” you said, shaking your head and pressing your hands over your mouth, unsure of any other method of stopping yourself that would be nearly as effective.

“But you did,” he said, zipping up his jacket in a swift movement. “I’ll think of something about myself to tell you in return. Give me a day or two.”

“That’s not why I did that,” you protested. “And we don’t have a day or two, anyways, so you’ll have to do it now or never again.”

“Sure we do,” he said. “We live in the same city, don’t we? I bet our paths will cross. Where do you go grocery shopping?”

“Grocery shopping?” you said.

“Karasu! You’re low on gas!” Yukimiya said, rolling down his window.

“I go to the place across from the park on South 18th Street. Every Thursday after practice,” Karasu said. “Meet all sorts of people there. Never know who I’m going to run into.”

You could picture exactly the store he was talking about; it wasn’t where you typically went, but sometimes, if you were running low on something hard to find, you’d walk the extra few blocks. It was much bigger than the one close to your apartment, after all, and suddenly you wondered if you had seen Karasu there before, if you had seen him ten or twenty times and just not noticed.

“When do you finish practice?” you said, right before he got into his car.

“Lunchtime,” he said. “I’m hungry more often than not.”

“It’s not good to shop for food when you’re hungry,” you said.

“Then I’ll have to do something about it before I do,” he said. “Well, it depends. Only if I have good company.”

You didn’t realize until you were halfway home what he meant by that, and by then it was too late for you to change your mind — not that you would’ve. Not that you needed to. He wasn’t holding you to anything, even though you knew as well as he did that you would be there; still, ultimately it was your decision. Your choice.

That was a strange characteristic of his, one that Yukimiya hadn’t mentioned. Karasu didn’t ask for things; he didn’t command them, either. He only made suggestions, nudging you along until you reached the destination that he wanted you to arrive at. You had never met a person quite so adept at it, at presenting choices and questions as disguises for inevitabilities, at guiding people’s thoughts so precisely. It would’ve been unsettling coming from anyone else, but from him, it was natural. It was how he operated. Who were you to chafe at it when that was simply who he was?

The grocery store was large, but they never changed their layout, so you knew where everything was familiarly and without checking the signs. You didn’t have anything to shop for, so you decided to wander the aisles, thinking that if something caught your eye, you’d buy it without further consideration.

You found yourself staring at a bag of oranges, a bright red 50% Off! sticker slapped right on the netted packaging. Swallowing, you reached for it, but before you could, someone snatched them away, holding them in the air teasingly.

“I thought you shouldn’t shop for food when you’re hungry,” Karasu said. “And might I add, what a coincidence it is, seeing you here!”

“I’m not hungry,” you said, taking the oranges back and holding them to your chest protectively. “And I wasn’t looking for you.”

“I didn’t say that you were,” he said. “I distinctly recall saying that it was a coincidence we even met, in fact. Anyways, maybe you’re not hungry, but I am, so I should be off. Meals to eat, shopping lists to plan…it’s a busy life I have.”

“Sounds mundane,” you said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re right. That reminds me! Before I go, what is it that should I tell you?”

You couldn’t deny that that was the real reason for why you had come to the grocery store — what was he going to reveal? For as much as he knew about you, you knew frighteningly little about him, and now that you were faced with a chance to learn what kind of person he really was, you didn’t want to let it leave your grasp.

“Whatever you want,” you said. He plucked the oranges from your grasp again, and before you could complain, set them at the bottom of the small basket he held in his arms.

“How about this? I knew you were going to go for the oranges,” he said.

“How?” you said.

His eyes sparkled as he leaned closer to you, and you suddenly remembered Yukimiya’s warnings. Whatever you thought you knew about Karasu, it was likely only half or maybe a quarter the truth. Really, he was shifting and cunning, a fox and a crow, far from comprehension, not a danger but not kind, either.

“I’ll answer if you tell me something else about yourself,” he said.

“Why are you acting like I’m entering some kind of contract with a devil?” you said.

“I’m not a devil,” he said. “Just Karasu. My teammates think I’m a great guy, if the recommendation sets you at ease.”

“It sounds more like you’re trying to blackmail me,” you said. He shook his head.

“Couldn’t it be said that you’re doing the same? You’re asking questions about me and expecting that I answer when you have no intentions of reciprocating,” he said.

You pouted, because when he put it like that, he wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t that you didn’t trust him — because you did. You trusted him more than you should’ve, considering how guarded you had learned to become.

“I have an older brother,” you said. “He’s overseas right now. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”

“I have an older sister,” Karasu said. “Maybe they know each other.”

“Probably don’t,” you said. “Also, you didn’t answer my question.”

“I guess I didn’t,” he said, reaching around you to take two boxes of cereal off of a shelf. “Try again.”

“My parents didn’t want me to be a model,” you said. “They thought I should be a teacher. I’m good at it. Children like me.”

“I was going to go into investment banking,” he said. “Or consulting. One of those such fields. Maybe I still will, but soccer is fine for now.”

This was a game for him, you realized. Like tennis, but better, and so, instead of being irritated, you decided you might as well indulge it. It had been so long, anyways, since the last time you had spoken to someone freely, without concern for what they might spread about you, whose ears they would whisper your secrets in just to get one or two steps ahead.

“I threw a dress at a designer’s face once,” you said. “He didn’t like the shade of lipstick I was wearing, even though he was the one that picked it. The only reason my reputation wasn’t ruined was because he ended up liking the way the lipstick turned up digitally and promised not to say anything about it if I allowed them to use my photos after all.”

Karasu laughed, opening the doors to the fridge and taking out milk, stacking it neatly in the basket. You weren’t sure when the two of you had begun shopping in earnest, but it seemed he had forgotten about his plans to eat lunch.

“In high school, my teammate pissed me off, so I made sure to shove him around extra when we tried out for a nearby youth team. It made him look so inept that he didn’t make the cut,” he said, taking an abandoned cart and depositing his things in it, motioning for you to put your purse in as well.

“That’s mean!” you said, but it was hard to disguise the fact that you, too, were laughing. “You’re mean.”

“His fault. He should’ve played better, anyways,” Karasu said. “I had been helping his sorry ass out for too long. He would’ve been cut regardless. You could say I just…expedited the process.”

“I’m the only one in my family who still wishes my brother happy birthday,” you said. “He’s a disappointment in everyone else’s eyes, but he lets me live with him and pays his share of the bills, so how can I disown him?”

“Between the two of us, my sister is the perfect one, so I’m afraid I can’t relate. Vanilla or hazelnut?” he said without skipping a beat. Before you could even answer, he face-palmed. “Oh, wait, Otoya hates hazelnut. I’ll get that so he doesn’t mistake it for his own.”

“I used to be a waitress,” you said. “Before I was a model. It was a lot less glamorous of a career. I don’t think my feet ever recovered from it.”

“I’m sure those shoes that you were forced into for your last job didn’t help any,” he said. “They looked inhumane.”

“They were,” you said, your ankles panging at the reminder, still inflamed and angry as they were. “Though I think anyone would’ve suffered with them on. I doubt the designer had human anatomy in mind when making them; I haven’t bled like that in a while.”

“They made you bleed?” he said. You hummed.

“Yeah,” you said, seeing no point in lying. Who would he tell? Who would even believe him? “Fashion over function, right? It was only for a few photos. They’ll be healed so quickly I’ll forget I had them in the first place. Enough about me, though. Tell me something else about yourself.”

“I sprained my wrist playing soccer as a kid,” he said. “It was a long time ago, but even now, I can feel it when it rains.”

He still hadn’t answered your original question, and you didn’t think he would, not until you offered him something of equal or greater value. But what did you have like that? What aspect of your silly life held enough weight that it would make someone like Karasu, always so ready with his wit and his charm, willing to part with something he clearly deemed to be a secret?

“I’m lonely,” you said, turning away from him, pretending to be fascinated with comparing two different brands of yogurt, neither of which you would buy. “You’ll laugh, but I think this is the longest conversation I’ve had with someone outside of work since my brother last came home. It’s nice, surprisingly. Talking to you and all. I like it.”

Or maybe you just liked him. You couldn’t really separate the two. Either way, it remained that ever since you had met Karasu, you could not conceive of a time when you had not known him, a time when you had gone home to your empty apartment and watched your empty shows and eaten your empty salads and thought you were satisfied by it all. You doubted he knew he had this effect, and you certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell him — after all, he’d probably be frightened if he found out that you had, in such a short time, grown so attached to him and his games and his conduct.

“The oranges,” he said. “You tried to buy them the first time I saw you.”

“What?” you said. Now it was his turn to avert his eyes and yours to watch him in fascination, finding it far easier to stomach a secret than to spit it out.

“It was a long time ago, but it was definitely you,” he said. “It was a Thursday, and I was just coming back from practice; this grocery store is far from my apartment but close enough to the field that, when Otoya — he was sick, so he had skipped that day — texted me that we were out of bread, I decided I’d make the detour. I wasn’t planning on staying here long, but right when I was about to leave, I saw you. You only had a packet of instant noodles and a bag of oranges in your hands. They were on sale back then, too, but—”

“But I had to put them back,” you finished for him, remembering that day as well as he did, albeit not his role. “Because I didn’t have enough money to get them, even when they were 50% off.”

“Yes,” he said. “I left before you noticed me, but I always — I always wish I hadn’t. I kept making the trip here, doing my shopping every Thursday at the same time until it became ingrained in me like routine, and I told myself if I ever saw you again, I’d buy them for you.”

“I can buy my own oranges now,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “That wasn’t the only reason I came back each week.”

“Why else?” you said.

“Well,” he said. “I can’t just tell you everything in one go like that, can I?”

You scoffed. “You can.”

“But I won’t,” he said.

“But you won’t,” you said with a sigh. “Anyways. So you knew me even before we met?”

“I knew of you,” he corrected you. “Though not as a model. Just as an absurdly beautiful girl I saw in a supermarket once and thought about occasionally.”

“So it was a coincidence that you happened to be at that shoot?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“When Yukimiya told us about the girl he’d be working with, Otoya looked you up,” he said. “And despite how long it had been since you last crossed my mind as well as how much longer it had been since the only time I saw you in the flesh, I recognized you immediately.”

“You have a good memory,” you said.

“So I’ve been told,” he said. “I didn’t go with any strange intentions, if you’re wondering. I only wanted to know what kind of person you actually were.”

He wasn’t a typical admirer, taken with your celebrity or your status. He was curious, not about Y/N L/N the model, but you, the girl he nearly met in a grocery store so long ago it was all but inconsequential. You wondered what it said about you that instead of being wary, you only felt all the more inclined to reveal yourself to him. You wondered if this was some lack of self-preservation, as your brother would declare it, or if this was an innate knowledge, an instinctual understanding that the man before you was different.

Maybe he was or maybe he wasn’t. You didn’t know, and maybe, on some level, you didn’t care. Taking his hand, you set it on the bag of oranges, placing your own atop it firmly, your thumb tracing his scratched knuckles.

“Buy them for me,” you said. “And I’ll tell you who I am, plainly and without fuss.”

“Is that what you consider a good deal?” he said. “I’d say you’re a bit more valuable than a discount bag of oranges.”

“Do you think so?” you said. “Fine, then. The oranges, and a pack of instant noodles.”

“Closer,” he said. “But I’m a fair person. I can’t accept.”

“You,” you said, all in a rush. “The oranges, the noodles, and you. That’s my final offer. I’ll give you everything if you give me that much.”

He didn’t even pretend to consider it. You thought that it must’ve been what he was waiting for all along, what he had been, in that way of his, leading you towards.

“You’re a tough bargainer,” he said.

“So you agree to it?” you said.

“Sure,” he said, and when he noticed your face falling at the noncommittal nature of his acceptance, he laughed. “Yes. Yes, yes, I agree. The oranges, the noodles, and me; you can have all three as you please.”

And it was odd, but just for a moment, the reprieve lasting only for as long as his breathy chuckle, your feet ceased to ache.

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