#i'm late again sorry

[herewegobebe]

TAEMIN | 'Eternal' ✦ Motion & Emotion Vers #SayLess #DejaVu

[ionomycin]

archfey warlock

[toktopus-art]

happy halloween 👻 it's haunted house time again

[gotchibam]

Ogerpon & Darkrai ko-fi doodle for CyclopeanSpook!

[nipuni]

Casanova sketches!

[sannartsies]

I was going through some old drawings today and found these sketches from when we were considering making a picture book based on Reflection. It never came to anything but I still really love these sketches a lot :)

[canisalbus]

i was testing some new clip studio pens and i drew ur doggy

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[numbuh424]

The unstoppable, mighty hurricane and the immovable, cold, hard truth.

[heyimkana]

Desiderium - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist | AO3 Link

Pairing: Yuuta Okkotsu X Female Reader X Satoru Gojo

Genre: Reincarnation AU, Marriage AU, Fluff, Smut, Slow Burn

Summary: Set in Tokyo, Japan, you and Yuuta were past lovers separated by the cruel hands of fate. That same fate brought you to him again a century later, but while you hold no memories of him or the beautiful life you had shared with him in the past, Yuuta remembers everything. He's waited forever to see you again, yearning for your love, not knowing that you already belong to someone else.

Word Count: 15K+

Content Warnings: None for this chapter.

Notes: Yuuta, Reader, and Satoru are the same age, all in their late twenties. Satoru has his Hidden Inventory personality here, so he might come off as brash and slightly immature.

Written as a birthday gift for my wife Aleks @princess-okkotsu Art drawn by @alwhmd_ on Twitter (commission)

Yuuta Okkotsu is a mystery, and at this moment, as she meets him for the first time in a room filled with papers and ink and comforting silence, he intrigues her more than any lines in her favorite poetry. 

It’s not love at first sight, of that she is sure. She’s experienced that many years ago, or so she believes, with Satoru—the lover with whom she’s shared frantic kisses and burning touches in the last six years. It doesn’t feel the same with Yuuta right now, not quite. It is something more intense, something she cannot yet fathom, something she wishes she understood.

The second their eyes are locked on each other, it’s like she’s electrocuted, her body freezing at the sensation. 

“Oh, sorry,” she says, her voice sounding like she hasn’t spoken in years. A tiny red spot begins to form on his pale skin, where his chin made contact with her head earlier. “I was reaching out for a book. I didn’t see you there.”

The man, young enough to be around her age with a gaze softer than most, has an expression of a heartbroken man. He looks at her, pain fleeting across his face. 

His eyes… They remind her of the ocean before the storm. 

It’s not the color as they resemble more of a sapphire, like the freshly bloomed delphiniums after the rain. No, it’s the feeling, the way they glimmer under the soft evening light, calm and steady, but in a way, it emits sadness. Yearning. Heartbreak. The kind that makes him feel like he had been crushed, trapped inside a hurricane for so long, he was about to fade into the void. But there’s also hope beneath it, as if he was desperately looking for something, and he’s just a moment away from attaining it. Something tugs upon her heartstrings as he peers into her eyes, full of depths and secrets she longs to unveil. 

He looks like he’s about to cry, she thinks. There are no tears in sight, no quiver in his lips, and yet, to her…

“Are you… all right?” 

The man smiles ever so softly at her question, seemingly too kind to be genuinely coming from the heart, but she believes it. The quiet agony in his eyes has not yet dissipated, but he grows excellent at wearing his mask. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” His voice is rich and soft, breathy and tender when he speaks. “Are you?”

“Not my first time accidentally hitting someone from not paying attention to my surroundings, so yes,” she chuckles. Her pretty sounds stun him. The yearning he’s been trying to conceal shows vividly for a split second. It leaves her confused, worried that he got upset by her actions. “Again, sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve kept my distance.”

She’s sure her eyes have never met him. Her mind doesn’t remember him. Her ears don’t recognize his voice, but she swears she’s seen him before, so much that it feels like he becomes gravity, drawing her to him.

She wants to reach out to him. Wants to know why he looks like he’s seconds away from breaking apart. Wants to ask him whether she’s said too much or too little. But he’s nothing but a stranger, and she doesn’t wish to step out of the line. “Were you also looking for a book?”

“Yes, umm…” He’s tall, taller than she’d expect someone who exudes such awkwardness would be. Compared to other men, he has a youthful look, but she has a hunch that he’s around her age, most likely in his late twenties. He points his finger toward a book on the shelf beside her. “That one.”

She follows his direction, smiling when she reads the title on its spine. “No wonder we bumped heads. I was aiming for the same book.”

“Oh, then, it’s fine,” he hurriedly says, pushing the book back toward her when she tries to hand it over. “You can take it.”

“No, please, go ahead. I’ve read this too many times already.”

“Me too, so—”

“I insist.” She presses the book to his chest, looking up at him. 

He looms before her, standing possibly over 180 centimeters tall that she has to tilt her head up to match his line of vision. She catches a whiff of his scent, the smell of soap and aftershave, thinly layered by cologne. Modest, pleasant, just like him as a whole. 

Despite the slight dark circles swelling under his eyes, he’s a handsome man with a face framed by strong jawlines, a sharp nose, and thick, silky black hair parted on the side. The ends of his strands were long enough to brush against the collar of his ivory turtle neck sweater. His brown coat compliments his pallid skin perfectly, and she can’t help but wonder whether his shoulders are just as broad underneath it. An argent necklace with a ring as his pendant dangles just a few inches above his heart, glinting in the same way as his silver watch under the fluorescent light of the room. When his lips curve up, his eyes do the opposite, drooping in a way that makes him seem younger, which leaves her confused as he also gives off the feeling that he might be older than he appears. 

What a beautiful person, a thought runs through her mind, one that she hastily dismisses before it reaches her tongue. “Take it as a form of my apology for bruising your chin,” she says with a slight grin.

His eyes widen just for a split second before a soft chuckle reverberates from his chest. When he speaks again, it’s almost like a whisper—like a secret never meant to be told, “I can never win against you, can I?”

She barely catches his words. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat, tucking his chin to hide his eyes. “I, uhh… I was about to borrow this and grab some coffee. Would you care to join me? I’d love to talk to you more.” His body language indicates that he’s nervous, which she admits is endearing. There’s a momentary pause where she finds herself too busy marveling over his features, but he misunderstands. “I’m—I’m not a pervert or anything like that, I swear! I won’t do anything bad to you.”

She almost laughs. Who talks like that? “That sounds exactly like what a pervert would say.”

He gapes, face flushed. “No, I—” She loves seeing him struggle, so she lets him take his time, just watching him with amusement. He takes a breath, probably trying his best to slow down his soaring heart. “It’s just—it’s hard to find someone with a similar taste like mine and I, umm… I’d like to know you—I-I mean your taste in books—better.”

Usually, she’s not as gullible as to agree to a stranger’s offer, but meeting him somehow feels like reuniting with an old friend. It’s easier to trust him than to be suspicious of him. She wonders if it’s simply because of how affable he seems despite his awkwardness.

Her heart convulses. She knows how grabbing some coffee together tends to lead to something more, and seeing how shy and flustered he is standing in front of her, she’s sure he wants it to lead to something more. Her boyfriend’s name pops into her head, but her lips betray her before her brain can form a warning. “Sure, why not? Let’s prove my guts wrong,” she answers with a slight curve of her lips. “As long as you can tell me your name, that is.”

“Right, sorry.” She loves the sound he makes when he sheepishly chuckles, and she loves it more when it echoes louder in her ears. He offers his hand, stretching out his lean fingers. “I’m Yuuta.”

She expects it to be soft, just like the way he’s gazing at her, but his palm feels calloused against her own. “Yuuta…?”

“O-Okkotsu,” he finishes awkwardly as if he hadn’t spoken his surname in so long that he’d forgotten it.

“Pleasure to meet you, Yuuta Okkotsu.” When she replies to him with her name, he freezes, his eyes widening, shaking in disbelief.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No,” he answers, his expression melting into something warm, full of nostalgia. “It’s just... Your name sounds familiar to me.” She arches a brow, but he leaves her with no time to speak her curiosity. 

Calling her respectfully by her surname, he flashes a smile. “Shall we?” ***

Winter comes with a blush of the autumn time, ready to charm her soul and win her heart all over again, the way it always has since the first time she could remember cotton-like ice crystals falling gently across her window. The days, though shorter, remain clear and dry, as if they were already warmed by a sweet breath of spring even when the year has just begun. To her regret, the snow has yet refused to fall, but the way the city of Tokyo glows at night, with fairy lights wrapped around tree-lined streets, serves as a nice consolation.

 Stepping outside the library, she gazes toward the sky, expecting to be greeted by a blue evening sun, as if the rays would somehow be colder in these icy days, but, of course, it stays golden, divinely warm upon her chilled skin.

“Are you cold?” Yuuta questions as he watches puffs of her warm breaths lingering in the air. “Would you like my coat?”

“No, I’m fine.” All thanks to her wooly sweater. “That’s so nice of you, though. Offering a stranger your coat like that.” And honestly weird because who does that on a first meeting? She mulls to herself, though the thought doesn’t bother her as much as it should.

“I just…” Every time the word ’stranger’ comes flowing past her lips, it seems to hurt him somehow. “I thought you might need it.”

He’s being genuine, she can tell. The same way she can see just how red his cheeks are with the breeze biting too deeply into his skin. “I honestly think you need your coat more than me.”

“Ah,” he chuckles timidly. “Yeah, I’m not really good with cold weather.”

The thought of him all bundled up, sniffling from the wintry winds, enters her mind, making him look so adorable in her eyes. “We should hurry and get all warmed up then.”

They walk side by side, exchanging small conversations as they go. “Is winter your favorite season?” he asks.

“It is. I think it’s pretty. And it gives me the excuses I need to spend the whole day just keeping myself warm and cozy at the library, reading my favorite books. What about you? I suppose you hate it, huh?” 

“I don’t hate it.”

“You don’t? Even though you look like you’re about to freeze to death?”

He laughs softly to appreciate her jest. “No,” he smiles to himself. “I think I might have disliked it in the past, but my—” He stops, clearing his throat. “A friend of mine used to love it so much, so… I’ve grown to like it since then.” 

He said it like it was a secret he tried to repress, someone more meaningful than a friend. Her gaze drifts down to the silver ring hanging over his sweater. That looks like a wedding ring, she thinks, but it would’ve been weird, wouldn’t it? Let’s say he was indeed married; would he flirt with another woman while displaying his ring like this? Maybe he’s divorced? But why is he still wearing it? The thoughts swirl, but she keeps them solely in her mind. ***

Walking from the library to the nearest coffee shop only takes around ten minutes. By then, she’s caught on the little gestures Yuuta makes as he speaks: the way he forces himself to laugh a little when he notices he’s being too straightforward; the way he clears his throat when he feels like his words have more hidden meanings than they let on. She’s become aware of his passion and love for books, so strong that it can only be matched by her own. She’s learned about his dream, a novelist in the making, taking his first baby steps to turn it into reality.

“There’s the one,” she says, pointing a finger to a small yet cozy coffee shop on the corner of the main street, still a few meters ahead. “I don’t drink coffee but often drop by to get matcha lattes before work. They’re amazing.”

“You don’t drink coffee?” Despite his question, he doesn’t appear to be surprised by the fact. It was as if he already guessed it.

“Yeah, umm—” She loosens the collar of her sweater, her body heating up as embarrassment grows. I’d rather die than tell him that coffee upsets my stomach. “You know, the caffeine keeps me awake.”  

“Ah, yes. Of course.” 

It’s probably just her fear and shame playing tricks on her mind, but she swears she sees a little knowing smile forming on his lips. She refuses to acknowledge it for the sake of her heart.

“Oh, hold on.” Yuuta suddenly quickens, taking a couple of strides ahead of her. He pulls on the doorknob, holding the door open. Any other man would do it to leave a good impression. Yuuta does it because he’s raised to do so, a gentleman to his core.

“Thanks,” her sheepish smile causes joy to bloom like roses on his face. 

They step inside the shop, instantly surrounded by wafts of the warm, welcoming blend of coffee beans and caramel. A young female performs a love song on the stage with a pink acoustic guitar perched on her lap, a shade that matches her cotton candy hair. The queue of people desperately needing warm coffees in the chilly evening is longer than she expected. She doesn’t find the heart to change places, however, knowing how Yuuta has been secretly hiding his face behind his scarf, seeking warmth whenever he thought she wasn’t looking (she caught him in the act every time but kept quiet about it for his sake). 

Maybe it’s better if we stay. “Do you mind if we wait in line for a bit?”

“Not at all,” he replies.

 And so they wait, standing side by side, trading secret glances and diffident smiles. 

A staff slides open the display shelf beside her, placing a fresh batch of chocolate pastries and strawberry cakes under the fluorescent light. Saliva pools in her mouth almost immediately. The savory cream, the strawberry fillings in between layers, and—

“You can go ahead and take a seat if you want,” Yuuta offers, swaying her away from her stupor. “I’ll place an order for us.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I can wait here with you. It’s fine.”

“It’s still gonna take a while.” He briefly looks at the six people ahead of them, worried. “You sure?”

She skims through her options quickly. An open spot in the corner would be perfect for them to talk, a safe distance from the live music playing on the stage and the gossiping crowd. “But I’d feel bad,” she speaks her concerns.

“This is nothing,” he assures. “What would you like to have? I know you’re fond of their matcha lattes, but I saw the board, and it says it’s not available right now.”

“What?” She takes a quick view of the handwritten menu on the blackboard. “Oh, you’re right,” she mumbles regretfully, noticing that even a simple matcha tea is crossed out. Great, what should I get? Will I look childish if I ask for hot cocoa with s’mores? Yeah, probably. “What are you getting?”

“Black coffee.”

And, of course, he had to be an adult and choose that, she nearly pouts. Now, I’m definitely going to sound like a kid.

“What about hot chocolate?” he suggests. When she reciprocates with a frown, surprised at how easily he reads her mind, Yuuta quickly adds, “Sorry, it’s just… You look like you have a sweet tooth.”

“Excuse me?”

“I—I saw you staring at the cakes before, so, umm… Sorry if I jumped to conclusions.”

“Oh, wow, that’s embarrassing,” she forces out a faint laugh to mask her shame. “You caught me drooling.”

“No—it’s cute, really!” It’s even more mortifying now that he’s trying to comfort her about it. “I like cakes too. Chocolate ones, mostly. But also the strawberry ones, they’ve been growing on me lately—” he abruptly stops. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. God, I’m sorry.”

She watches him turn flustered, just for a second before she fails to suppress her giggles from escaping. “You caught me drooling, and now you’re panicking about oversharing. We’re a bunch of idiots, aren’t we?” 

The string of her adorable peals of laughter causes his gaze to soften, his eyes turning melancholic as if he were witnessing a memory unveiled before him. She notices him staring—adoring, really, like it’s a habit of hers he’s grown to love for years. Such a weird thing for a stranger to do. 

“You haven’t changed at all,” he says under his breath, or at least she thinks so. She must have heard it wrong.

“All right,” she says, straightening down her sweater. “I’m going to be useful and find ourselves a table before I further make a fool out of myself. I’ll have a slice of that strawberry cake, please.”

“Noted. And your drink?”

“I’ll have what you have.”

“Coffee? But—”

She strides away before he can finish. 

Leaving him standing on the line, she catches him shaking his head from the corner of her eyes, chuckling to himself.

Yuuta arrives at her table a moment later, carrying a tray filled with their orders. “Sorry for making you wait.”

“Sorry for making you wait,” she says, proffering her gratitude with a smile. “Alone.”

“It’s fine,” he mirrors her expression. “Here’s your order.”

“What is this?” She questions as he places down a plate filled with strawberry cake—two slices, with extra frosting and fresh strawberries on top. “Are you trying to make me fat?”

He laughs, his hands busy settling the cups on the wooden table. “I thought you might be hungry after all the waiting.”

“It literally was only fifteen minutes.”

“Well, then, maybe we can share?” he asks, slightly hopeful, before his shyness gets the best of him again. “O-only if you’re comfortable.”

“Please, I’d love to—” She stops, noticing the two cups of hot chocolate—with s’mores—sitting between them. “Wait.”

“Oh, umm,” Yuuta straightens himself on his seat; his posture reminds her of an employee preparing himself to be scolded by the chief. “You said you’ll have what I have, so I got you the same one.”

“Yeah, but didn’t you say you were gonna have black coffee?”

“Did I?” He does it again, emitting that unique laugh of his to hide his discomfort. “Well, uhh, caffeine keeps me awake, so… I changed my mind.”

She squinted her eyes. “You’re actually a lot cheekier than you look, aren’t you?”

He sweats, hastily taking a sip of his drink. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It’s her turn to shake her head this time, all in amusement. “Well, thank you. For being so considerate.”

With a juvenile glee, he replies, “Don’t mention it.” ***

“Have you thought about what kind of story you plan to write?” She asks as she slides her cup closer to her side. Now that she’s finished tasting some of the s’mores with her spoon, a lovely shade of cocoa shimmers inside, glazed with foam and melted marshmallows. “Is it porn?”

Yuuta chokes on his drink, spilling a bit of chocolate down his chin. 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” She promptly snatches some tissues for him, almost dabbing his mouth herself as some of it threatens to spill onto his shirt. Thank goodness he managed to wipe it off just in time. 

“It’s not porn,” he coughs out, his eyes glassy with tears.

“Yeah, no, of course. I was just kidding.” She checks on him, her forehead creasing with concern. “Are you okay? Did some of it get into your nose?”

“I’m fine,” he sniffles, trying his best to smile without wincing.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. You’re just so stiff; I thought I’d ease you up with a joke.” She half-grimaces, half-grins at him. “Guess it’s working?”

“Guess it is. A little.” When he chuckles, she feels an inkling of joy. It doesn’t take long before Yuuta’s little laughter becomes one of her favorite sounds in the world. “Sorry for being so jumpy all the time. Old habit.”

“Not used to talking to strangers?”

“Not like this, no. You’re my first.”

Something warm and pleasant grows inside her chest, but she chooses to ignore it. “Well, consider me honored. So,” she sips her drink, “Your story?”

“Oh, uhh… I plan to write a romance novel.” 

“Romance? That’s surprising.”

“How so?” 

“Hmm, not sure why, but I see you more as someone who writes crime stories. You know, writing from experience, that sort of thing.”

He pouts. It’s adorable. “Because of the way I behave?”

“Because of the way you behave.” She returns to another good-natured chaff. “Also, because you seem… I don’t know, there’s something strange about you.”

Yuuta falls into silence, just for a moment. A reaction she didn’t see coming. “Strange how?”

“Like…” She peers into his eyes, and there it is again. The way he stares at her. The way he tends to express pensive sadness as if he’s been trying to convey something to her—something really important—but she’s not listening. He doesn’t seem suspicious to her, not in the slightest. But he gives her the same feeling she feels when she encounters a mystery in the book, one that she can’t wait to be resolved at the end of the story. Why do you seem so familiar? She ponders before she shakes the thoughts away. “I can’t point my finger at it just yet.” 

His shoulders sag. For some reason, her answer disappoints him. 

She straightens up on her seat, her lips tilting up on their own to cheer him up. “Perhaps I’ll figure it out once we finish our drinks.”

Yuuta smiles, too, but it lacks the same warmth. There’s something he’s not telling. “I hope so,” he says. If there was a hidden message beneath it, she missed it.

Feeling a tad awkward, she taps her fingers against the sides of her cup. “So, a romance novel, huh? I never would’ve pegged you as a romantic if you didn’t tell me.” 

Anything that he wants to say, he swallows it all down to himself. “Well, it’s supposed to be more than just a romance story. It has a supernatural element to it. Borderline fantasy.”

“Like what?”

He takes a few seconds before he responds quietly with a secretive smile. “I guess you’ll just have to read to find out.”

“Cheapskate.” She purses your lips. “Is it going to have a happy ending?”

“Well, they’ll be separated by death in the end—”

“Hey! Spoiler alert!”

He cringes, “Sorry.” 

“I can’t believe you said, ’You’ll just have to read to find out,’ and then dropped this bomb on me.”

Yuuta chortles, very light, very charming. “I just wanted to make it sound interesting, I guess. I thought you’d do well with sad stories.”

“Well, yes, angst is my cup of tea. It wasn’t before, but I read this heartwrenching book once, and it’s been growing on me ever since.” She then notices something. “That’s a good guess, though.” She throws a joke, “Were you able to tell because I have this constant miserable look on my face—”

“You’re beautiful.” 

She freezes. His line comes out so suddenly, true, but it doesn’t stagger her as much as the way he speaks it. He says it not as a compliment but as the truth. He conveys it so smoothly, but not because he’s used to flirting. His eyes still shake as they stare at her. The slight crack in his voice is one of the tiny proofs of how nervous he is around her. And yet, these words sound so natural in her ears, as if he’d said that to her a thousand times before. 

And it feels like she’s heard it. A thousand times before.

“I… Sorry.” He settles himself on his seat, his cheek blossoming in red when he scratches it with his finger. “I didn’t mean to cut you off. It’s just… You don’t look miserable or anything, you’re… You’re gorgeous.” He can’t meet her gaze. She’s the blazing sun, and he’s a man who’s never stepped out during daylight. “Ah, what am I saying,” he mumbles, only for his ears to hear. She can tell he wishes his seat could swallow him whole. He’s embarrassed, terribly so, that he practically has one hand covering his face. 

“Umm… Thanks.” That’s all she can say because how else could she answer him when he acts like he just made a love confession? Trying to keep it light, she adds, “You’re giving out that suspicious vibe again.”

He claws against his jean-clad thighs, feeling even smaller. “S-sorry…”

“I’m kidding!” She exclaims, flashing her biggest smile. “I appreciate the compliment, truly. Thank you, Yuuta.”

He stops breathing at the sound of his name escaping her mouth. She realizes it’s the first time she’s said it, and seeing how his shoulders turn tense, she begins to worry. “Sorry, I accidentally called you by your first name. I hope that’s not rude?”

“N-no, it’s all right,” he says, pink flames bursting in his cheeks again. He fiddles with his fingers, bashfully adding, “I… actually prefer you call me that way.”

“Oh…” There’s probably no limit to how adorable he can be. “Well then, you can call me by my first name, too.”

The way joy sparks instantly in his eyes is blatant proof that he’s been waiting for the chance, but he shakes his head, too shy to take it. “No, I… I shouldn’t.”

His choice of words leaves her puzzling over it. Not can’t. Shouldn’t. He’s not shy. He’s refraining himself. But for what? “And if I insist?” She asks.

He nibbles on his lower lip, avoiding her gaze, and maybe he’ll do it, just for her sake, but it won’t feel right, will it? 

“Never mind, it’s fine,” she comforts him. “You can call me whatever you want. I don’t mind.”

Yuuta seems relieved, thanking her in silence with little nods.

“So, what happened to them? The lovers in your story.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to spoil it.”

“You can’t just say something like they’re dying and then not tell me about it.”

He awkwardly laughs. “If you insist, I can give you a hint later, but you’ll have to imagine the rest.”

“Then tell you about it? What if you steal my idea?” She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “I happen to have a very creative imagination, you see.”

“I promise you I won’t,” he answers so thoughtfully that she almost feels sorry for teasing him. “I’ve finished writing my version of it. I’ll let you see it after you tell me yours.”

“Huh, interesting.” She pretends she’s rethinking her decision, just to get him a little hopeful and nervous about it. “Deal, why not.”

His eyes are filled with excitement. “Does that mean we’ll see each other again?”

She wants to poke fun at him again by saying ’maybe,’ but Yuuta resembles an overjoyed puppy waiting for a stroll. She doesn’t have the heart to do it. “Well, I do have to go back to the library to return the book, so… Yes.” 

His lips parted in the brightest smile, his eyes glimmering in delight. “Then, next week. I’ll see you again next week. Same time?”

Like a disease, his glee is contagious, sending ripples of joy inside her. “All right. But be sure to keep your chin away from my head next time.”

He titters, “I’ll try.”

They exchange stares, sharing sheepish smiles. She breaks away first, bringing her focus back to her drink. It has grown slightly cold over the passing minutes, but the sugary taste has become quite an addiction.

“I’ve never seen you in the library before,” Yuuta mentions. “Was today your first time visiting?”

“No. I’ve been going there almost every day for the last month, but I usually visit in the morning. I just moved to a new company, you see, and my office building is nearby. I walk past the library every day, and since my shift starts late, I often drop by before work to read for an hour or two. My apartment is pretty small, so it feels a bit cramped. That’s why I enjoy spending more time outside.”

“You’re spending your weekends in the library too?” He wonders aloud.

She playfully narrows her eyes at him. “Why does it feel like I’m being judged here?”

“No!” He panics. “I just thought that—that you’d have friends inviting you out or, y-you know.”

“Well, I’m not really one to party,” she chuckles to ease his anxiety. “I don’t do well with crowds. It feels better to have a one-on-one conversation like this. More meaningful.” 

He’s a mystery, but in some ways, he’s also an open book. Every time her word delights him, it shows. “Me too.”

She smiles, but it slowly drops as she swirls her spoon, watching the little whirlpool she creates inside the cup. “But it’s also because… Well, I can’t read at home.”

“May I ask why?” 

“I have a boyfriend who works from home, so he’s always there with me.”

Yuuta’s fingers stop tapping against the surface of the coffee table but it’s too fast for her to notice before he starts again. “I see,” he replies. The smile on his lips never falters; the one in his eyes does. “Is he a lively person?”

“Very,” she sighs. “And loud. It’s hard to focus on your book when you have a grown man either swearing at his computer screen for probably twelve hours a day or snoring throughout the morning like he wants the whole town to hear it.” She catches herself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to vent. He’s nice, I care about him a lot, it’s just… I need some time for myself. Somewhere quiet.”

It doesn’t last long, but she senses it, the changes in his expression. It feels like she just said something terribly hurtful to the point that she feels like apologizing for it.

Maybe he notices her noticing, which is why he tries to mask his feelings better with a broader smile that does reach his eyes this time. “And that’s why you chose to visit a library.”

“Yeah. I mean, I could go to a book cafe, but…” She shrugs. “I don’t really like it. Too modern, too… many people just taking selfies instead of actually reading, you know?” 

That earns her a chuckle. “But why here, specifically? There are many new ones in town. Bigger ones, too. This place is pretty old and dusty.”

“Can’t argue with that,” she nods, sighing. “This is going to sound dumb, but that library feels nostalgic to me. The first time I stepped inside, I felt like I’d spent all my life there. It was like I had memories there—just sitting on that old couch, reading books, enjoying the silence. It just feels familiar, you know? Even more comforting than being in my room. It’s weird, but I can only feel at ease when I read there.” Yuuta stays so quiet that she has to lift her head and meet his gaze to understand a glimpse of what goes through his head. His face is solemn, undecipherable. “What about you? What’s your reason, Yuuta?”

He drags his eyes away from hers, fixing them on the interlaced fingers around his cup. The light in his eyes slightly dims as he turns pensive. 

“It’s just closer to my place.”

***

“Hey, Bunny,” her boyfriend of six years, Satoru Gojo, chirps from the bedroom. It’s not so much of a warm greeting, not anymore, not like how it used to be. The pet name he calls her now feels just like another word. All the fluttering butterflies in her stomach seem to have died, along with his welcome home hugs and I’ve missed you kisses. 

Judging from his voice, he must have a cherry lollipop stuck in his mouth, another replacement for his cigarette. He used to be addicted to it back in college, influenced by his best friends—Suguru and Shoko. His room smelled like one whenever she visited it for… well, a ’study date’ he used to call it. She had asked him to stop smoking countless times in the past and nagged about it for two years as she grew worried over his health, but each complaint fell on deaf ears. Satoru only stopped a couple of months ago, breaking the news to her with a grin, saying, “I did this for you, babe. Aren’t you proud of me?” And she smiled at him, she always did, even as she stared at Suguru’s face among the pictures he had on his nightstand, reminded of the truth. Satoru didn’t do it because of her, and he most certainly didn’t do it for her. He just didn’t want to end up collapsing from heart disease like Suguru did. That’s all there is. And that got her thinking. 

When was the last time her boyfriend did something for her? Or listened to her? Or noticed something different about her hair or the new dress she wore? 

She styled her hair for him. She bought a new toothbrush before he asked for his to be replaced. She decorated her apartment in his favorite color on the day he moved in, eagerly wanting to make him feel comfortable, but every piece of furniture and accessories he bought after always had the same shade. He thought it was her favorite color, too. He never asked, just assumed, which summed up her entire relationship with him. 

It never occurred to him that she did everything for his sake, for his pleasure, for his happiness, because he never thought of doing something solely for her sake. Satoru was always about me and us, but never you. “This color is nice, isn’t it, babe?” It wasn’t, but she smiled again, never letting him know that his favorite color was the color she hated the most.

But maybe it’s just her fault. 

Maybe she’s put herself in this situation for not being honest, for always keeping her thoughts to herself, for always agreeing with him instead of saying what she wants. It’s just… She’s tired. Tired of fighting over minor differences,  tired of worrying that her protest would lead to a bigger fight, one that would drain them emotionally and damage their relationship for good. But she couldn’t help but think how nice it would be if he were, at least, considerate enough to ask. 

Back when they first dated, Satoru was everything she could ask for. He knew how to keep her standing on her toes. He was driven by impulse. Exciting. Unforgettable. 

Those late-night drives on his motorcycle when she spent hours laughing at his stories with her hands settled deep inside his leather jacket…

Those weekends they spent traveling together to a country where none of them spoke the language, wandering around with no map in their hands, sharing heavy kisses in an abandoned alley, and drunk-dancing to songs sung by strangers… 

And those nights when he would have her body speak to him in ways that only he allowed, her head swirling in ecstasy as she succumbed to his naughty smirks and experienced hands. It was fun. 

So what changed?

“Lend me one of your earphones. I want to know what song you’re listening to.”

“You’re a bit quiet today. What’s wrong?”

“Let’s watch this movie again. You seemed to enjoy it a lot when we saw it at the cinema.”

“I like it when you wear your hair down like this. It looks nice.”

These words… Did he use to say them to her in the past? She can no longer remember, but she forces herself to believe that, yes, he did, he said them all the time. It’s a terrible way to deceive her mind so her feelings for him remain the same. It’s a pathetic way to convince herself that his feelings for her remain the same.

“Hey,” she replies to his greeting, even when he’s nowhere to be seen.

“You’re late.” Satoru, like always, has his fingers running on his keyboards. His magnetic blue eyes are locked to his computer screen, probably have been for the past few hours. She wonders if he even looked up to see her when he heard her footsteps earlier. Most likely not. “Did you get the puddings I asked you?”

“Yes. I put them in the fridge.” 

“Okay, cool.”

No ’thank you’ but what was she expecting anyway?

She removes her coat and unwraps her scarf from her neck before moving toward the living room. She can’t remember what or who initiated it, but it has been almost a year since he started living in her apartment. She remembers how he used to spend just one night at her place on the weekend, then two when he felt a bit needy for her touch. Before she knew it, his personal belongings were scattered all over the place—his hoodie on the couch, his towel hanging on the bathroom door, his toothbrush on her sink. Satoru could be spending the entire week at her place, only taking a short trip back to his apartment once he ran out of comic books to read. The changes just came so naturally that she didn’t notice at first, but by the time she did, it was too late to even bring the topic to the table. 

So she decided to turn her apartment into a home, making it official that they’d moved in together, reshaping it into a place where both she and he could be comfortable and adjusting plenty of things to his needs. Satoru didn’t notice the effort, let alone appreciate it. And now she’s starting to count the days when he’ll eventually stop noticing her as well.

Being with Satoru was easy, casual, and he gave her more reasons to laugh over little things than anyone else. During the first two months of living together, they acted like newlyweds, with him peppering kisses on her face whenever she arrived home from work. Unlike her, Satoru is a freelancer who does most of his work at home. He used to be considerate enough to do some chores for her—cooking, cleaning the bathroom, and sometimes even doing her laundry when he felt like he’d been neglecting her. Whenever she arrived late, he’d always have something prepared for her, beaming at her with a infectious grin while chiming, “Oh, finally, you’re here! I’ve been waiting for you for hours, and I’m starving like crazy. Today’s dish is your favorite, so let’s hurry and eat!”

Unlike him, she appreciated his effort. Each and every one of them. It didn’t feel one-sided then, unlike now.

Satoru used to be perfect, more perfect than anyone else, but then she realizes that he was just trying to impress. Impress her, impress his colleagues, impress his teachers. And now, maybe he doesn’t feel the need to impress her any longer. Nor does he want to.

She was happy, but things are bound to change, and happiness doesn’t last forever. It started slow, almost unnoticeable, with him forgetting to kiss her good night before bed and her treating the fact that he no longer paid attention to what she was wearing as normal. Nowadays, he doesn’t have enough affection to greet her with his smile—one that used to shine brighter than the sun. Comforting hugs and welcome kisses are long forgotten.

It’s lonely, but it’s fine. He’s still here. Satoru is still hers as much as she is his.

It’s fine.

As she rests on the couch, her fingers brush against the book she borrowed from the library the other day. Her mind drifts back to the stranger she met, her smile growing so naturally on her lips at the memory.

Satoru walks out of the bedroom with a yawn, one hand rubbing against the back of his head while the other slips underneath his shirt to scratch the itch on his stomach. He’s stopped minding about his appearance in front of her a long time ago, wearing and doing whatever he feels comfortable with, unbothered by what runs through her mind. She never speaks up anyway. With an enervated “hey,” he enters the bathroom, never stopping to ask her about her day, though she doesn’t really expect him to do so. 

A brief moment later, he returns with his eyes still bleary despite his attempt to wash his face. Noticing his messy silver hair and the black shirt he’s been wearing since yesterday, she follows him to the bedroom, asking, “Have you taken a shower today?”

“Nope,” he answers, plopping himself back to his gaming chair, his eyes locked on his computer screen. “I was busy. Had a meeting with a client this morning.”

She takes a glance at the digital clock on his desk. “But it’s already eight-thirty.”

“Thought I could shower with you today.” He flaunts his cheeky grin, catching her off guard. She didn’t expect him to say something like that, but then again, now that she noticed, it’s been almost two weeks since they last had sex.

She’s exhausted from work. Her body is aching. “I see. Well, I’m about to take a shower now.”

“Like now now?” He hisses when his character on screen takes damage from his opponent. “I’m still playing. Tomorrow morning, then?”

“Sure,” she says, just for the sake of conversation. She already can tell it won’t happen. She has to leave early for work, and Satoru would rather die than wake up at seven in the morning. 

“Hey, umm… I met someone yesterday.” She reaches out to stroke his hair. It’s so soft and fluffy, like a dog’s fur, even when the strands point in every direction. If there was one thing that hadn’t changed, it was how she still found it calming to just card her fingers through them. A habit that she did often in the past as he loved falling asleep with his head on her lap while she indulged herself with her favorite book. The feelings are the same, only his reaction isn’t. He used to lean into her touch as a kitten would. Now, he doesn’t even spare her a glance. “Satoru… Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah, one sec.” He smashes more buttons before he slides down his headphones, letting them rest on his neck. “What’s up?”

“I met someone yesterday. At the library.”

“O… kay?” He knits his eyebrows, confused. “What’s that gotta do with me? Someone I know?”

Surprise blinks in her chest at first, followed quickly by disappointment and then acceptance. Another piece of her heart still breaks, but she’s grown used to the feeling. “No, I just… I don’t know, I thought you should know.”

He snorts, holding back a laugh. “Honey, I’m not keeping you locked up in here. You’re allowed to meet anyone you want. Don’t need to report everything back to me.”

She refrains herself from chewing on her lip. “You’re right. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Baby, of course you’re not bothering me,” he coos, poking her playfully in her stomach. “I’m just saying that ’cause you made it sound like a big deal.”

“Yeah,” she replies, careful not to sound too cold. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Satoru smiles before he spins on his chair, returning to his game. “Who was it?” He asks, fingers running fast over the keys. “It’s not a man, is it?”

She pauses. “Yes…”

He stops tapping, only for a second. “Is he hot?”

“Well, he’s not ugly.”

“Then don’t get too close to him.”

Satoru is the jealous type. He has always been. He’s far from controlling, but his possessiveness often feels suffocating. Or, at least… It used to be. And that was fine. It made her happy to know someone out there liked her so much he didn’t want to share her with anyone else. She felt wanted. Needed. But not today. 

Today, although his words weigh heavily on her, she can tell they weren’t born from his affection for her—if there was even still any of it left. She is his belonging, his possession, and he’s a lion guarding his territory. That’s it.

And that’s… fine, too. At least he still cared.

“I won’t,” she answers, as she should. “I won’t get too close to him.” She repeats it, this time for her own ears, to remind herself.

“Good,” he says, dismantling their tension as easily as a moth shreds its wings. He flashes her a grin with that youthful sparkle in his eyes. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about.” Satoru returns his full attention to the screen, not caring if she’s still standing in the room, waiting for him to care more about her than the man he suspects is eager to snatch her away.

“What will we be having for dinner?” She asks him while he’s busy shouting foul words to his screen.

“Jesus—left, you moron!” He groans loudly into the air before turning around, finally realizing she’s waiting for his answer. “What? Oh.” He pops the lollipop out of his mouth. “I just had some take-outs.”

“You didn’t wait for me?”

“I was dead hungry, but I ordered some for you, too. It’s probably cold now, but you can heat it.”

“Can you do that for me, please? I love it when you add more seasonings to it.” 

“Bunny, you know I’d love to do that, but,” he smiles apologetically before his fingers dance across his keyboards again, “I’m in the middle of something here. There’s an event going on, and these assholes literally won’t let me take a break. Listen, I’ll cook for you tomorrow, I promise.”

She has stopped believing in his promises, or at least doesn’t allow herself to believe in them anymore. She’s learned that the best way to avoid disappointment is to not expect anything.

She smiles back, pushing his hair away so she can land a kiss on his temple. She refuses to say a word no matter how much her bottled-up feelings are about to burst.

Because she knows silence is what keeps their relationship alive. 

***

That following night, Yuuta appeared in her dream.

Standing on the small row between bookshelves with a small feather duster in hand, she found him entering the door to her library—one that bore an uncanny resemblance to the place she often visited in reality. 

He seemed much, much younger than the version she knew, maybe by ten years or so. He had more tan on his skin, his hair a little shorter, color’s a shade darker. He was dressed in an old-fashioned way, like a young English man from the 1940s, with his white buttoned-up shirt, suspenders, and a beige coat that was a couple of sizes bigger than it was supposed to be. Nevertheless, he looked just as breathtakingly handsome as in real life.

Yuuta took off his wool-felt fedora hat, greeting her with a polite bow the moment their eyes met. He was just as timid and awkward; his cobalt eyes never stayed long enough to be locked with hers, but they were honest—the way they shimmered in adoration at the sight of her, painted with both suppressed desire and affection.

He called her with a name—a surname, she assumed, one that she didn’t recognize, but it didn’t feel quite as strange in her ears as it should have been. It was the first time she heard it, and yet, it almost felt like it was her own.

Her body went on autopilot, words flowing from her mouth before she could process the situation. It was like she was residing in someone else’s body, just a bystander. “Good morning to you, too,” she said, bowing her head.“Okkotsu-sama.”

He displayed a mix between a smile and a wince. “Must you refer to me in such a way again?”

“Well, I thought we’d agreed to call each other by our names yesterday,” she heard herself correcting him in a playful manner. “But someone seemed to change his mind.”

He fidgeted a little, his cheeks smeared with scarlet. “I’m… I’m feeling rather embarrassed.”

“If you feel embarrassed calling me, a commoner, by my name, how do you think I feel to be addressing a young nobleman such as yourself without any honorifics as you requested?” 

“Well, I…” Unable to compose a retort, Yuuta sighed in defeat, though his amusement was still sketched vividly on his face. “You’re quite stubborn, aren’t you? We’ve only met for a few days, but I already can see myself never winning an argument against you.”

“Well, isn’t it nice to lose sometimes?” She tossed him a smirk, returning half of her attention to continue swabbing the dust off the shelves. “You already have everything you want under your feet, after all. I think it’ll serve as a nice change.”

“Not everything,” he said, staring at her fondly, like a young boy captivated by a lovely dancer on stage. A thousand messages remained unspoken, and yet, with butterflies swirling in her stomach, she could somehow read each one.

“Maybe not yet,” she said, a glimmer of seduction on her lips. 

He gulps. 

Taking off his coat and letting it hang loosely on one arm, Yuuta shortened the distance between them with nervous steps. They chatted for a bit, feeling grateful that it was still quite early in the morning for other patrons to visit. It was easy to melt the ice between them, but only because she knew how, and watching him loosen up around her filled her with some sort of achievement. 

Sometimes, when their conversation died for a few seconds of comforting silence, she’d catch him looking at her with a half-dazed look on his face.

“What is it?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer. “You’re staring again.”

“Oh, umm…” Though mortified, he still used the chance to confess. “I just thought… You look beautiful today.” He sported a soft smile, one that melted her heart the same way his roseate cheeks did. It was also, she realized, the same one that bore the exact look like the one she saw in real life. 

“Why, thank you,” she replied, a hint of teasing in her voice. “Hopefully, you’re not implying I didn’tlook beautiful yesterday.” 

He blanched. “No, of course not! You’re always beautiful! Ever since I first saw you, you’ve always… been…” At the sight of her covering her smile behind her hand, he exhaled in relief, resting his hat on his chest. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, putting her duster away before dismantling her apron. “Now, if you’d follow me, Okkotsu-sama, I will show you where—” 

He cut her off with a gentle call of her name—her first name—and it staggered her to her feet. Her body might come to a halt because of how lovely her name sounded in his voice—in that sweet tone of his—but her heart froze because it was her name that rolled off his tongue. Her actual name.

That was when she realized: the person who she believed to be a stranger, was herself. And it had occurred all the time in her other dreams, yes, but this one felt… real. 

“T-there,” he stammered, flushed. “I called you by your name. Can you please stop addressing me that way now?”

She felt her lips curving upward. Her voice had never sounded as sweet as  it was when she said, “Yuuta.”

His blush unfurled from his neck to his cheekbones, like red tulip burgeoning on pure white snow. “Thank—” he stopped to swallow his breath, unable to maintain his gaze. “Thank you.”

Tittering lightly at his behavior, she took him by the hand. “Shall we?” 

She guided him further inside the library, introducing one title after another with her fingertips dancing between books. They weren’t as dusty as they were in her reality, the titles far from familiar to her eyes. Weird, she thought, as she was confident that she had memorized most of the books sitting on that particular shelf. Even when she’d visited the library earlier that morning before her shift started, her eyes had roamed along the same section. 

“Which book would you like to read today, Yuu?”

He still grew adorably tense every time his name slipped through her lips,  especially like that, but he was getting used to it. “I’m—I’m not yet sure. Will you choose one for me?”

“Hmm…” She tapped her chin. “Unfortunately, I have a peculiar taste when it comes to books—”

“I trust you,” Yuuta said, smiling a tad wider than before, perfect teeth peeking behind soft red lips. 

“Well then…” She stood on her toes to reach the book she’d been excited to show him all day. “Shall we start with this one?”

The vision ended without her knowing what book it was or the line between her dream and reality. They stood out so vividly—the scenery, his expressions, the lines she’d exchanged with him—that it took her a few good minutes to convince herself that it was just a dream and not a memory.

She couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. 

***

Her dream follows her every step like a shadow, even in her wake.

Saturday comes, and she finds herself in the library again, just as she promised him. Compared to what she’s seen in her dream, this place is indeed old, with walls standing in dire need of being repainted and books collecting more specks of dust than they have readers flipping through their pages. But the faint smell of sandalwood combined with the orange tint of sunlight sneaking through the windows is always calming. Crowds don’t gather much around here—maybe four or five people at most—and the tranquility consoles her. There’s only a soft thrum of acoustic guitar playing through the speakers that keep her company—

“You’re looking for this one?”

—and Yuuta.

“Yes, indeed, my good sir.” She takes the book from his hand. “Thank goodness we didn’t have to bump heads today.”

“Well, I’d promised you not to,” he chuckles. “Though I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

He’s wearing spectacles today, round glasses adding a layer of maturity to his youthful face. Combined with his long brown coat accentuating his height, he looks even more handsome, her stomach tingling whenever his eyes flicker back toward hers. He tilts his head slightly to the side, one eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tries to read her expression. “Is there something wrong? You’re staring at me. I-is it my joke? Was that rude? Please don’t take it the wrong way—”

“No, calm down,” she can’t help but giggle despite being embarrassed for getting caught in the act. “Sorry, I was just staring because of your, umm… height.” It is true, though not completely.

“My height?”

“Yeah. Must be nice being so tall, huh? I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach it, and I still needed your help.”

He blinks, noticeably surprised, though she’s not sure whether it’s her grumbling or her childish pout that bewilders him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, returning to his gentle smile. “I just… didn’t think you’d say that.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean you specifically. You just remind me of my boyfriend.” He seems surprised, yet again, but instead of restoring his smile, this time he turns quiet. She feels the need to explain. “He’s so tall, you see. Taller than you, even. And he always makes fun of me for my height, like moving my coffee cups to a higher shelf just so he can watch me beg him for help. He’s a bit of a prankster.”

Yuuta chews on the inside of his cheek, tucking his chin. “I wouldn’t have made fun of you,” he says quietly after a moment of confusing silence. “I will never make fun of you.”

The sudden solemnity in his voice feels heavy on her ears. “You don’t think I’m short?”

“I  think you’re perfect.” He lifts his face, suddenly blurting out his words like he’s in a debate he desperately tries to win. Staggered by it, she can only stare. He turns flushed. “I—I mean, being short makes you look cute, like a child. N-not saying I’m into kids—I’m not a pedophile, I swear—”

“That sounds exactly like what a pedophile would say.”

His jaw drops. A giggle escapes her. And when she laughs, he does it too, the sound so warm and comforting that it makes her feel like she’s sitting in front of a cozy fireplace.

She returns her gaze to the shelf. “So, Okkotsu-san,” she teases, “which book would you like to read today? Can’t be this one ’cause I got it first,” she grins, lifting the book she held in her arms.

“Which you only got because of my help.”

“True, but the point still stands.”

Her childishness never fails to amuse him. “Hmm, I’m not yet sure. Will you choose one for me?”

She freezes, her heartstrings playing a familiar symphony. She opens her mouth, hesitates, but then decides to say what her memory tells her to do, “Unfortunately, I have a peculiar taste when it comes to books—”

“I trust you.”

From skipping a beat to racing twice as fast, her heart feels foreign in her own chest. “Umm… Okay.”

Yuuta tilts his head, examining her. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I just remembered something, uhh, something to do at home. Later. Anyway,” she hastily averts her gaze, her eyebrows tied in a knot as she tries to understand is this what deja vu feels like? She searches for a book, trying to be at ease despite her stomach swirling uneasily. “Shall we start with this one?”

Yuuta’s frown stays for only a second longer before he breaks into another smile. “Sure.” 

***

Weekdays are reserved for Satoru, but weekends…

Weekends are the days when her heart can finally dance and smile and live. And every song starts and ends with his name: Yuuta.

Satoru always has plans every weekend, plans that don’t involve her, not anymore. She did this to herself, mostly by declining his offers to mingle with his friends and co-workers until, eventually, he stopped asking. It’s not that she doesn’t want to go; she just no longer has the energy to keep up with hours of his social life when all she does is sit at the corner, doing nothing but sip on her drink and waste her phone battery to pass the time. 

Satoru’s friends are nice, but they don’t really resonate with her in the way she would love it to be. Shoko smokes too much. Suguru judges her taste in anything behind his angelic, saccharine smile. Haibara is exceptionally energetic that he tires her simply by looking at him. Mei Mei visits the girls’ bathroom once every twenty minutes to check on her little brother, and Nanami… Well, Nanami is all right. They could spend hours just grousing over how terrible it was being a corporate slave, but he’s not there often, taking away the small chance she has to make herself visible. Satoru would bring her into conversation occasionally, but as soon as he got a nod or two, he’d focus on Suguru, who, for some reason, always knew how to ruffle his feathers.

So, the routine starts. Friday nights are for his co-workers. Saturdays are for his college mates. And Sundays… Well, Sundays are supposed to be filled with breakfast in bed and bodies tangled under the sheets with her, but Satoru has forgotten his promise a long time ago, using them to regain all the sleep hours he’s been missing the days before instead of having some quality time to catch up with his lover. But it’s fine. She’s learned how to make the best of her time, finding companies in books that never make empty promises nor offer her disappointment the way he does. And now she finds an even better option. 

She meets Yuuta every weekend when the sun is a couple of hours away from setting. They don’t chat for long as their conversations are always reserved for the little coffee shop gathering (she’s trying to avoid the word ’date’) that always occurs after a few pleasant hours of reading. They begin to grow comfortable with each other, much easier than she thought they would, and very quickly, as if they were old friends reconciling for the time they’ve lost. Maybe even more than old friends—a thought that should scare her. 

At the library, she spends most of their hours poring over her chosen book for the day while stealing glances at him. More often than not, she’ll catch him doing the same, but whenever their gazes meet, he’ll look away with his face steaming, busying himself at once by scribbling something incoherent, most likely, down on his paper.

Today is a rare occasion. He’s been keeping his gaze fixated on his own writings; the world seemingly turns obscure around him. His eyebrows taut together as he sinks more profoundly into his thoughts, a habit that she finds beguiling. His raven hair seems a shade lighter as the evening sun casts its light upon his face, basking him with such a warm, beautiful glow.

He really does look like a painting, she admires, stealing glances at him from behind her book. The perfect shape of his nose, his skin as pure as the driven snow, the way he’s so fixated on his story, drowning inside his imagination… It’s easy to be bewitched by his beauty.

She must be careful not to let her endless praise slip through her mouth. “So focused,” she coos, choosing to act mischievously instead, which earns her a little smile. “Writing a new scene? I thought you’d finished your draft.”

He looks up from his paper, meeting her eyes. They linger briefly as if it was hard for him to look away once he’d set his eyes on her. Though it happens all the time, she can never get used to it. 

He smiles quietly to himself, a soft blush painting his features. “Just a short one.”

She hums in response. Having trouble refocusing on the passage she just read now that he’s giving her attention, she throws another question at him. “Why aren’t you using a laptop? I mean, it would’ve been a lot easier, right?”

“Not fond of it,” he responds, re-reading the words he just wrote. “I feel more like a writer this way.” When he notices her tittering, he arches his brow. “What?”

“You sound like my father.”

He scrunches his nose. It’s cute. “Then I’m sure your father is a brilliant, tech-savvy man.”

“I’m saying you have an old soul, the way you prefer to do things more traditionally.” She sinks further into her chair, opening a new page, eyes scanning the lines but not reading them. “Well, I guess that makes the two of us since I already have the e-book version of this on my iPad, yet I’m still here reading it in a library. How’s your story going so far?”

“Pretty well. I just came up with a really annoying character.” His smile is a bit different this time, somewhat impish. A new look on him that she instantly adores. “Inspired by someone.”

“You’re not talking about me, are you?”

Yuuta drags his pen over his note. “Character B begins to question whether she’s—”

She playfully slaps her book against his shoulder.

The more time she spends with him, the more she feels like he’s becoming a mystery she can’t solve. She’s closer to him, closer than any of her friends, but she knows there are secrets he tries to bury underneath those tender smiles. To her, Yuuta, with his eyes always seeming like they’re telling a different story—one that nearly drives him to the brink of tears—still appears like an incomplete puzzle. And if time allows her, she’d gladly collect every piece of him to perceive  him better.

***

Dreams are supposed to be strange. Nonsensical. Meaningless and easily forgotten. And yet, ever since Yuuta walked into her life, they’ve become anything but. Every detail stood more vividly than the memories of her own childhood, so vibrant with colors that it made it impossible for her to stray away from it even when she was awake. They occur every night, forming a chain of events beginning from the very first day she encountered him by chance in the library. 

In her dreams, they spent most of their time there, almost in the same way they did in real life. But while only weeks had passed by in reality, time flowed much faster here. She could tell that the season had changed from the clothes they wore to the coldness that kissed his cheek scarlet. There were never the same books lying between their hands, but she didn’t notice them at first, not as clearly as the changes in the air shared between them. 

They grew closer faster than they did in real life, fondness in the glances they covertly tossed to each other. Their voices were glazed more with adoration than mirth every time they laughed, and the smiles they shared were everlasting. Yuuta’s eyes lingered every time he had the chance to marvel at her features for a little while. Sometimes, they were lost in her darker hues. Sometimes, they remained longer than they should have on her lips, watching them move but not registering any words spoken. Sometimes, if she were lucky, she’d have the chance to gaze back into them, and he’d let her have a taste of the depth of the affection he held for her. And they’d let the moment pass just like that for a second or two, forcing time to slow down and their surroundings to reduce into a blur until they were the only two people left in the universe.

In one dream, when the serene evening rain tapped itself against the tall windows of her library, she saw Yuuta braving himself to touch her hand for the first time, just the slightest brush of his quivering fingertips against hers as they read from the same book, a touch so light it rivaled the softness of a zephyr’s kiss upon a baby’s strand. She could feel her face warming at the touch, a new sensation, but she didn’t hate it, not at all. If anything, it left her wanting more. The dream ended with them sharing secret smiles with themselves, innocent hearts kissed by the flame of first love.

Every night, this happens. And it’s like witnessing the beginning of a love story. Her love story. Though most of the time she feels like she’s inhabiting someone else’s body, it’s beginning to feel like…

I’m falling for him, too.

It’s a scary thought, but she puts no effort to stop it. After all, this is just a dream, isn’t it? I’m only falling for this version of him—the version that I, or rather, my mind, created. And that’s why he’s so perfect, right? Because that’s how I want him to be. It sounds like a perfect theory, and so she believes it wholeheartedly. 

Only on certain nights when exhaustion took a toll on her body did she manage to sleep without him visiting her mind, but that was simply because she wasn’t dreaming at all. It seems like she only has two options now: enter a dreamless sleep or fall into memory-like sequences that revolve around him and no one else.

Last night was no different.

She entered her dreamland, a burst of sunlight blinding her at once. She threw her stare down to avoid it, seeing her hands going in motion to accompany her moving legs. She could see the end of her plain, dark grey kimono swaying with every step, her feet covered in white socks that were split between her toes, matched by a pair of formal sandals made of rice straws. She was taking a stroll down one of the busiest streets of Tokyo—or at least, that was where she assumed they were. 

To say that the city appeared dissimilarly from the one she resided in now is an understatement—they were poles apart. The architectural design of the buildings embraced more of the historic European elements instead of the perfect blend of the traditional Japanese architecture and modernist designs they have now. The Western influence lay thickly in every aspect of life that she managed to identify in the short time she was there. From food, clothing, music, painting—everything was transformed by it. The city looked breathtaking and unsettling at the same time. 

She recalled seeing such scenery commemorated in one of the history books she studied in school. She was indeed in Tokyo—a couple of decades before it was bombed to the ground, turning the once beautiful city into nothing but dust and rubbles, drenched in the blood of more than a hundred thousand civilians during the Second World War.

 The thought made her blood curdle. 

“Are you all right?” 

Yuuta, appearing just as young as the first time she saw him in her dream, asked her worriedly. He was dressed in another set of Western clothing, looking exceptionally handsome in his white button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up, a black tie, and a matching dark vest that highlighted the shape of his broad chest and lean waist. The wind ruffled his hair as he walked beside her, perfecting it by adding a little boyish charm, a perfect company to the blush on his cheeks that emerged from the late spring’s sunlight heat. 

The one thing that was missing was his smile, his face twisted in concern as he eyed her closely. “You haven’t said anything in a while… Am I boring you?”

“No, of course not,” she heard herself say, stepping to the side of the road to speak with him in private. He bent his head down to listen to her properly, not wanting her voice to be drowned by the murmurs of the passing crowd. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just… I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?” He repeated, both in disbelief and amusement. “Why is it so hard for me to imagine that?”

“It’s true,” she pouted. “Unlike you with your sweet, extravagant life, I’ve never had the pleasure of being invited to a concert before. I don’t know what to do once I’m there. I don’t know what to say to your friends. I don’t even think I’m dressed correctly for the occasion—Why are you laughing at me?!”

“I’m not.” He clearly was, even when he was trying to swallow every bit of his laughter. “I’m sorry. I know this is a new experience for you, but really, there’s no need for you to feel so anxious. All you have to do is sit down beside me and enjoy the show. You don’t have to say anything to my friends if you don’t want to. We could also just avoid them entirely if you think that could put you at ease.”

“But… I thought you wanted to discuss something with them after the show.”

He hummed as he pretended to cogitate on it, secretly smiling to himself. “Well, I suppose I could meet new business partners every other day, but being with you? When you’re so adorably nervous like this?” His grin was as beguiling to marvel at as the blush that kissed the apples of his cheeks. “That doesn’t happen every day now, does it?”

Speaking of cheeks—she was pinching them. Hard. “We haven’t met in two weeks, and suddenly, you’re a man with words now, are you?” He whimpered in pain, sputtering out his apology until she released him with a sigh. “Am I at least wearing the right clothes?” She spun herself once, giving him the chance to examine the details. Though her long sleeves were up to trend, she couldn’t help but think that the motif and shade of her kimono were a little dull. Most ladies her age wore bright-colored ones with bold, graphic patterns as their ornaments. Their fabrics were always made from silk or satin, unlike hers which was cheaply produced from cotton. She would never have let such trivial things bother her if she didn’t have to stand next to him at such a fancy event. She cared more about his reputation than her own, not wanting him to be judged more than he already was for spending most of his spare time wandering around with a lower-class woman such as herself. “This is the best kimono I have, but I don’t know if it’s enough—”

“You’re perfect,” he answered without waiting for her to complete her line. “You’re always perfect.”

She cast her gaze somewhere else, ignoring the heat rising to her face. “Well, if you say so…” she murmured diffidently. “I just want to look equal to you. You look so handsome with your suit and everything and I don’t…” —her voice turned small— “want my presence to ruin that.”

His shoulders slumped forward as he witnessed her usual confidence waning away. With tenderness in his touch, he took her hand between his own. “We don’t have to go if you don’t feel like it.”

She shook her head. “You’ve paid a high price for my ticket, I couldn’t—”

“I don’t care,” he squeezed her hand. “All I want is to see you having the best time of your life. I thought—since you said you often played classical music on your piano—watching a live orchestra in person would gladden you. But if it only worries you like this, I’d rather just spend another hour with you in the library.” He gave her a smile, as soft as the brush of his thumb over her knuckles. “Let’s do whatever you want today. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

He made her heart sing in ways she thought it couldn’t. “No, I want to go,” she confirmed. “I’m sorry, I just… I guess I thought about it too much.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I think you look gorgeous as you are now, but if you’re still concerned about your outfit, why don’t we visit a shop real quick?”

“Huh? What are you—” She was tugged forward before she could finish, forced to hasten her steps to match his excited strides. “Yuuta—wait!” ***

Without taking a second to listen to her, he led her to the nearest gokufuya to find her a set of kimono that, in her opinion, would be better for the occasion.  They arrived with sweat coating their skins, their breathing ragged from all the running. “Can you dress her in the prettiest, most expensive kimono you have, please?” Yuuta promptly asked the owner with sparks in his eyes, taking her by surprise. 

A beautiful lady, maybe ten years above her age, who was dressed elegantly in a white kimono decorated in floral patterns, smiled understandingly at his request. “Of course. Could you please wait for a moment? I will prepare the changing room for you.”

“Yes, we’ll be waiting,” he replied.

Immediately after she walked away, leaving the two of them alone, she clutched her hand around his arm. “Yuuta, wait,” she warned him under her breath. “We should go. I don’t have any money.” Especially when you unnecessarily asked her for the most expensive one. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll pay.”

“Then, we really need to go,” she insisted, half-glowering at him. “What did I tell you about buying me expensive gifts? I don’t like it. It makes me feel guilty.”

“Well, fortunately for both of us,” he grinned, rather cheekily which was a rare look on his face. “I’m not buying you a gift. I’m renting it—ouch!”

She was pulling on his cheek again. “That’s the same!”

But Yuuta, with his cheek swollen and everything, remained stubborn till the end, refusing to leave the shop until she, at the very least, tried to put one on herself. 

The shopkeeper, who introduced herself as Utahime Iori, instructed two young assistants—Miwa and Momo—to accommodate them with their needs. With a polite bow, they led them further into the shop, granting them some privacy from the other visitors. “Let’s just do it for fun,” Yuuta said. “If you don’t find anything that suits your taste, we can go with your old one, I promise.” Not wanting to argue with a nobleman in front of three pairs of curious eyes, she sighed and followed as he said, begrudgingly.

Only just for fun, she muttered inwardly.

And indeed it was. Never in her life had she had the opportunity to try on such luxurious clothing. From silk to satin. Blue, green, and golden. From geometric patterns to feather-like designs—she was trying on everything the two girls asked her to. 

Yuuta sat on the little couch provided in the same space, waiting with his suit jacket folded around his arm and his invisible tail wagging behind him, all in anticipation. She could feel his excitement reverberating even from the fitting room she was in. 

His eyes matched the brightest stars in the night sky each time she allowed him to take a look, gazing at her with admiration so intense, it lit her skin on fire. She always pulled the curtains closed before he could muster his comment, knowing that it would be the same every time.

You’re so beautiful.

Before she could try on the next piece, Utahime walked inside the fitting room with her own choice of kimono. “Let’s try this one next, shall we?” Her assistants nodded, ready to follow her direction, but the lady stopped them before they began. “I’ll assist her with this one myself,” she said, earning herself a polite bow from the two before they excused themselves out of the room.

Utahime stepped closer, causing her to grow nervous for some reason. The room suddenly felt like it’d shrunk three times smaller with the amount of tension brewing between them. In her eyes, Utahime exuded elegance that only belonged to the nobility. She found herself tense under her scrutinizing stare, her tongue tied inside her mouth.

“Raise your arms for me?” Utahime broke the silence, to which she answered with a nod. The lady began by unraveling the sash, experienced hands moving so swiftly yet refined. “Your partner is very adorable,” Utahime said to her surprise, with a slight giggle that she didn’t expect to flow so airily from her mouth. She disrobed the outer layer of her kimono, preparing her for the new one. “Must be nice to find love at such a young age.”

“W-we’re not lovers.”

“You’re not?”

“No, Ma’am.” Why am I talking about my love life with a stranger? She thought, mortified. She followed Utahime’s guidance, sliding her arms through the long sleeves of the kimono she’d chosen for her. “We’re just, umm… Friends.” And it was true. Yuuta showered her with endless compliments every second he had the chance to, but not once had ever asked her to be his lover. And maybe that’s for the best, she couldn’t help but wonder, crestfallen over her own thoughts. Because at the end of the day…

We never truly belong in the same world, do we? 

She expected confusion to settle on the lady’s face, but it never did. It was as if she had known the truth all along. “I don’t think any of you wishes to stay that way for long,” Utahime said softly.

The truth came down as a blessing and torture at the same time. She couldn’t speak for his sake, but she knew exactly why she hadn’t spoken a word about her feelings, even with them growing this close to each other. He was blue blood while hers ran red. When was the last time she heard of a nobleman marrying a lowborn in this country? Never.

So, they could trifle with each other’s heart all they want; they could even own it if they wanted to, but it wouldn’t matter. They would never be together. 

“I keep telling myself not to come clean about my feelings for him,” she confessed quietly. “And even if I wanted to tell him, I wouldn’t know how to… put my feelings into words. For once, I’m embarrassed,” she chuckled a little to mask her emotions. “But, most of all, I’m… scared.”

I’m scared that he’ll say the truth. That the difference in our status is indeed something he can’t look past.

She wondered if Utahime could read the conflict she was battling inside, but if she did, she didn’t speak on it. Instead, like a mother would do to her child, she soothed her with gentle words. “Well, sometimes love can be so grand that we find it difficult to put it into words,” Utahime started, her lips curved up in a delicate smile. “But it’s fine, isn’t it? There are many ways to profess our love even without moving our lips. And a thousand more for us to understand the love they bestow upon us.” A faraway gaze manifested in her eyes as if she was reminiscing a past love. “We can feel it in their touch. We can hear it in their tone. We can see it in their gaze. Love is love no matter how we convey it,” the lady finished. “Our job as women, should our hearts beat for them, is to accept it and return it just the same.”

Her gaze turned vacant as she let Utahime wrap her obi around her waist, recalling every little kindness, every little joy Yuuta had granted her in the last few months they had known each other. And with it, she braved herself to wonder.

Even if it was only for a short while, wouldn’t it still be wonderful to be in love with him? To be loved by him? They were still young, so young. It would take another three to five years before he was urged to marry and—

That’s enough, right?

Even if he was forced to leave me afterward… Even if it would only hurt us in the end… Wouldn’t it be better to love a little than to not love at all? 

I want to.

I want to love him.

I already am in love with him and I know he feels the same way.

Our job as women, should our hearts beat for them, is to accept it and return it just the same.

I just have to… accept it.

“What if I want to give him more…?” she unconsciously mumbled loud enough for Utahime to catch it. He’d done so much for me, things that I might never be able to repay. And if it’s love he wants from me, if I can give that to him to make him feel as happy as he’s made me, I want him to give him so much more than he asks for. I want to love him harder than the way he loves me.

Smiling to herself, the older woman tied the final string, turning her sash into a beautiful, voluminous bow. Utahime adjusted her body to face the standing mirror before her, lightly squeezing her shoulders as their eyes met in the reflection. “Then he’ll be the luckiest man on earth,” she answered near her ear, letting her take the time to absorb the view.

Out of all the kimonos she’d tried, this one captured her heart the most, enveloping her in such beauty and grace that she could barely recognize herself. 

Her body was swaddled by a pretty violet shade that resembled a blooming lilac. The floral patterns embroidered the silk in such an intricate way that once it was worn, it appeared as if her every curve was embraced tightly by an endless string of white roses. 

“You know what looks better on me than I do, Iori-san,” she said, still staring at her reflection in disbelief. Before this, Momo had helped her redo her hair to match her outfit, tying it up in a beautiful braid that showcased her neckline and accentuated her facial features. It looked perfect combined with this kimono. Now, she appeared like a different person, elegant from head to toe. “I didn’t think this look would suit me. I’ve never worn this color before, or these patterns.”

“Oh, it was all that gentleman’s idea,” Utahime answered with a polite smile, her fingers curling around the curtain. “Everything was, from the color down to the patterns—especially the patterns.” She pushed the blind open, showcasing her latest masterpiece to the one admirer who had waited so patiently for her. “So, go on and show him how stunning his choices look on you.”

With her heart climbing up her throat, she spun her head around to see Yuuta slowly standing from his seat, his eyes turning rounder at the sight of her. She watched him swallow his breath, searching for words to say as blood pooled quickly on his face.

“You look…” he mumbled out as if he was in a trance. “Breathtaking…”

And quite literally, it seemed, judging from how breathless he was. The two assistants peeking from the corner of the room giggled to themselves, exchanging murmurs behind their fingers. 

Utahime approached her from behind, explaining something only for her ears to hear. “These white roses in the kimono you’re wearing hold several meanings,” she said, guiding her straying eyes back to the reflection in the mirror. She hovered her lean fingers above two separate flowers joined to form an ornament below her neckline. “A single white rose like this portrays the beauty of love at first sight. While these two right here”—she glided her hand to her left side, stopping to caress the small two roses printed on the fabric just a little under her shoulder— “symbolize purity. All together, they represent eternal love.” 

It was all that gentleman’s idea, she recalled Utahime’s lines. From the color down to the patterns—especially the patterns.

She turned flustered, steam filling her brain, but before she could reply, Utahime excused herself with a bow, disappearing behind the sliding door with a knowing smile written on her lips.

Suddenly, there were only two of them in the world.

She grew self-conscious, fiddling with her fingers. Never in her life had she ever been gazed at so passionately, so romantically by a man before that it left her feeling faint. “I, umm, I think I’m going to take this one, but I promise I’ll pay you back for it,” she said, not knowing how to act honestly even when her heart was filled to the brim with gratitude. 

Yuuta was still staring, mesmerized by every detail: the curls of her hair teasing her neck, the way the fabric hugged her curves, how perfect this color looked on her skin—everything.

She raised her hand over her face, hiding behind it. “Stop looking at me like that,” she grew timorous. But instead of doing as she wished, he took the same hand and curled his fingers around them.

There are many ways to profess our love even without moving our lips. And a thousand more for us to understand the love they bestow upon us.

Her eyes widened as he brought her hand closer to him. “Y-Yuuta—”

We can feel it in their touch. 

He placed a kiss on her skin, his lips caressing against the bumps of her knuckles. They were warm, warmer than she thought they’d be as his hand was always cold. The kiss was brief, but his lips remained close as he held her hand still, doing everything so softly as if she was made out of porcelain.

We can hear it in their tone. 

His voice was an instrument, and with it, he performed endless love songs with her name as his poem.

We can see it in their gaze.

Yuuta blinked his eyes open, and at first, she witnessed his affection, but underneath the tenderness of his gaze and the sweetness of his youthful face, laid the passion of a man, so burned with desire, it left her watching with bated breath. 

He wanted her carnally, desired her as much as he loved her.

“I always thought that you’d look gorgeous in this color, and I’m glad I was right,” he said, his hand slowly gliding to her wrist. The simple, innocent act felt so sinful as if he was undressing her, peeling her out of the kimono to satisfy his fantasy. It was so… thrilling. “But even if I had imagined it a thousand times before, nothing could ever come close to the way you look right now.” He drew his hand away, and she was so struck by it, she almost reached out to beg him for more. Yuuta slid his hand into the pocket of his trousers, retrieving the other gift he had prepared for her today. It was a hairpin—a kanzashi, they called it—in the shape of a yellow camellia flower. He placed it upon her hair, the perfect final touch to the perfect lady. He sighed, full of longing, his hand sliding down to her face. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his thumb skating over her lips. “The only woman I want to see for the rest of my life.”

She held her breath, her chin trapped between his fingers. He leaned close, or maybe she did, she couldn’t tell, so distracted by the words he spoke and the way he—

“I’m sorry to bother you,” one of the assistants, Miwa, who was sitting politely on her heels, slid the door open without knowing. “Utahime-sama would like to know if—Oh!” She squeaked at the sight of them, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as she clamped her mouth with both hands. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt!” She pressed her head to the ground, cold sweat dampening her face. “I was—We wanted to ask whether you’d like to try on something else—oh, Gods, I’m terribly sorry—” she continued to ramble on her own, completely shattering whatever magic laid between them before. 

Clearing her throat, she took a step away from him the same way he distanced himself, tossing her gaze anywhere but him. 

“W-we’d like to take this one please, thank you,” Yuuta said, face flushed.

“Yes, Okkotsu-sama—understood!” Giving another deep bow, she quickly excused herself, scuttering away while mumbling to herself, “What do I do what do I do what do I do I have no money Utahime-sama is going to send me back to the village what about my brother he’s still so young what are we going to eat what if we get eaten by a bear oh I’m going to die”

“She does not have one positive thought in her brain, does she?” She forced a chuckle out of her despite still finding the air heavy to breathe in. 

Yuuta stood soundlessly, still unable to meet her gaze, not even for a second. But that was fine. She wouldn’t have known what to do if he did. After all—

Suddenly, he called out her name, a little bit louder than he’d intended due to his nervousness. “Y-yes, Yuu?”

He took her hand, holding it tightly between his own. He locked their eyes together, causing her to gulp. “After the concert,” he said, his ears flaming red. “C-can we continue—”

Everything suddenly turned blank.

She blinked her eyes open, greeted by the sight of her ceilings.

When she was younger—many, many years ago—her mother used to splash water on her face to rip her apart from her sweetest dream, but it never, never felt this excruciating, this shocking, this infuriating to wake up before. What was he going to ask me? She mused, even when she still felt disoriented after the sudden change of reality. 

’Can we continue seeing each other?’

’Can we continue talking somewhere private?’ 

’Can we continue… where we left off?’  

What was it?!

Her heart raced at the thought. God, she hugged her knees to her chest, burying her face in them, this is worse than having my favorite show end in a cliffhanger. She almost groaned loudly out of frustration—she would’ve if Satoru hadn't been sleeping next to her.

Right. Satoru.

She whirled her head to the side, watching her boyfriend sprawling on the sheets, nearly taking most of the bed and hogging the blanket to himself. Next to him, a digital clock sat on the nightstand.

04.32 am. 

There’s still time before I have to go to work. If I fall asleep now… will I dream of him again? Will I find out the question he asked me? She immediately shook her head, throwing herself back to the bed. It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be thinking of him, not like that.

Satoru, she reminded herself as she lay on her side, her eyes slowly turning heavy as she continued to stare vacantly at the wall. I’m with Satoru. Yuuta is just a dream.

“Everything was just…” she mumbled, her lids drawing close like a curtain. “…a dream.”

A dream and nothing more.

***

Next chapter

[godbirdart]

watching america's election year unfold from a country whose politicians are constantly trying to copy america's homework in every worst possible way:

[ww2yaoi]

WEBGOTT: get him back!

for the @haguenauisforlovers day 3 prompt -> apologies

[herewegobebe]

Happy Onew Day 🥰🐰🥳💕✨

[artilite]

"Do you know something?"

[apoorhuman]

Mc: hey everybody!!!

The brothers: ....

Asmo: are... We seeing a ghost?

Satan: I don't think so, this is probably an illusion

Levi: what.. What if it's an hallucination?

Mammon: there's no way you idiot, what can even cause the hallucination?!

Beel: I believe tht this is a dream

Belphie: am I still half asleep?

Lucifer: excuse me, but who are you?

Mc: ARE YOU SERIOUS I HAVEN'T BEEN AWAY THAT LONG!!

[gotchibam]

Raboot ko-fi doodle for @lakefoundtheirexit!

I’m accepting pokemon ko-fi doodle requests here! ✨

[steveseddie]

laced

steddie | rating: e | wc: 8,6k | cw: none | tags: steve pov, getting together via lingerie, eddie in panties, blow jobs, anal fingering, thigh fucking, first kiss, yes in that order

for week 3 of @steddiesmuttyseptember using the prompt “lingerie” 

click here to read on ao3

Steve watches as Eddie struggles to squeeze ketchup on his food. He’s squeezing the bottle with both hands, cursing under his breath when nothing comes out despite the cap being open. 

“Fucking stupid useless piece of shit bottle!” 

Steve snorts from across the Munson’s kitchen table. “Y’know, Eds? Maybe it’s not the bottle. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying you shouldn’t put ketchup on your eggs.” 

Eddie narrows his eyes at him over the bottle. “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, eh Steve?”

He huffs. “I tried it, remember? You force-fed me eggs with ketchup two weeks ago,” Steve says in a bitchy tone and Eddie lets out a small tee-hee giggle at the reminder. “And it was fucking gross.”

With a shrug, Eddie says, “Maybe your palate isn’t sophisticated enough to appreciate such delicacies.”

“Not sophisticated-” Steve cuts himself off with a snort. “Dude, I ate caviar for the first time when I was six,” he snarks, kicking Eddie’s foot under the table. 

The snobby comment makes Eddie let out a loud and full-bellied laugh but Steve doesn’t get a chance to bask in the warm feeling that spreads through him whenever he makes Eddie laugh like that because, in that moment, ketchup squirts from the bottle that Eddie’s hands are still wrapped around and it lands directly on Steve’s chest, leaving a big red sauce stain on his pristine yellow polo. 

“Goddammit,” Steve curses, grabbing a handful of napkins and rubbing at the stain, but it’s pointless. 

He looks up and finds Eddie staring at him like a deer caught in headlights— wide-eyed and mouth open, the offending bottle still in his hands. 

“Um,” he clears his throat, smiling innocently, “whoops?” 

Steve groans, balls up the napkins and throws them at Eddie’s face.

It hits him square on the forehead, leaving a tiny red sauce stain in the space between his eyebrows. “Hey! It wasn’t my fault!” Eddie protests. Steve stares pointedly at the bottle he’s holding. “Okay, I didn’t mean to!”

“That’s not gonna make this stain disappear, Eds,” Steve says, “or change the fact that I have to be at work in twenty minutes!”

“Hey, maybe no one will notice?” Steve raises an eyebrow at him—really? Eddie visibly winces. “Yeah, okay, you can borrow something from me and I’ll throw that in the washer later.”

Steve throws his head back with a groan, pushing himself up from the table. “Great.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my clothes?” Eddie asks, affronted, but Steve has already started walking towards his room so his question goes unanswered.

Truth is there’s nothing wrong with Eddie’s clothes. Steve loves them. He loves how Eddie looks in them and he loves borrowing them— he loves seeing himself in Eddie’s clothes almost as much as he loves watching Eddie wear his. He just doesn’t love wearing them for work, his trademark skulls and devils always make the old ladies that visit Family Video clutch their pearls and give him nasty looks when he greets them.

But Steve can’t go a whole shift with a giant ketchup stain on his chest, so with a sigh, he heads to Eddie’s dresser where he knows he keeps his shirts and sets off to find the least offensive one for him to borrow. 

He’s rummaging through band tees and Hellfire shirts when his fingers brush against something soft and lacey.

“What the hell?” Steve mutters, his fist closing around the piece of clothing and pulling it out from the drawer to inspect it. He’s never seen Eddie wear anything this soft or delicate, he’s all cotton and denim and leather—

And red lace panties apparently.

Steve’s eyes nearly bulge out from his head when he stares down at his hand and the piece of lingerie he just pulled from Eddie’s dresser. 

Heat starts to build up in his cheeks the longer he holds them because here’s the thing: Steve knows Eddie is gay and he’s made it clear that he’s never been with a girl so these—the panties Steve is holding—can’t belong to anyone but him. 

Which, holy shit. 

Before he can stop himself, his brain conjures up the image of Eddie wearing these and Steve goes dizzy with how fast the blood that crept up to his cheeks rushes south, something hot and heavy settling on his lower stomach. 

Then the bedroom door swings open abruptly and Steve jumps, nearly dropping the panties in surprise.

Eddie saunters in. “Did His Majesty find a shirt worthy of his- oh.” 

He cuts himself off when he recognizes what Steve is holding in his hand, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly before he schools his features into something neutral. 

Meanwhile, Steve looks like he just got caught red-handed. Which, he literally just did. “I wasn’t, um- I was just looking for a shirt that won’t make Mrs. Donovan accuse me of being a satanist again.”

“What would she think if she knew you’re wearing that?” Eddie jokes and it’s only because Steve knows him so well that he notices the way his voice wavers slightly and his laugh comes out a little shaky. 

“I wouldn’t-” He holds his hands up, the panties still clutched between his fingers. He hands them over to Eddie like they’re burning him. “Uh, here.” 

Eddie takes them, raising an eyebrow at Steve’s jittery behavior. “Dude, relax, don’t act like you haven’t seen your fair share of panties, King Steve.”

And he has just not—

“Not in my male friend’s drawers.” 

Eddie visibly flinches, his mouth twisting like he tasted something sour. “Right,” he says, his voice clipped. 

Well, shit. 

Steve instantly tries to backtrack. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean- it’s just weird- fuck, not weird, that’s not- guys can own panties too- fuck conformity and all that shit, right? I mean, if they’re yours, um, are they? Yours?” 

Eddie narrows his eyes at him warily. “If I say yes, you promise not to be weird about it?” 

“Of course, man!” Steve says, his voice an octave higher than usual. Damn it.

“Very convincing, Steve,” Eddie says with a snort but he must believe him at least a little because he tugs some of his hair in front of his face and quietly admits, “Uh, yeah, they’re- They’re mine.”

He’s being uncharacteristically shy about this, unlike the time Steve asked about the handkerchief that hangs from his jeans or the handcuffs that he keeps on his headboard, then again they were high when that happened and Steve wasn’t being so painfully awkward. 

And okay, it’s not because he’s uncomfortable or anything- or well, not in the way Eddie thinks. More in the ‘his jeans feel suddenly tighter and he can’t wait until he can go home and jerk off’ way but he can’t tell Eddie that. 

So he tries to prove to Eddie he’s not weirded out some other way. 

“Well, they’re- they’re nice,” he says, hoping that his smile doesn’t look too strained. “I like the color.”

Eddie leers at him. “Oh-ho-ho, is Steve Harrington a red panties kind of guy?” 

And he’s not, not really. He doesn’t have a preference but given how the thought of Eddie in red panties is clearly doing it for him, maybe he is. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Eddie. 

He swallows a few times, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “Nah, not like you are,” he says, his voice coming out a little shaky around the joke, but at least it makes Eddie laugh and it diffuses the tension between them a little bit. 

“Fair enough.”

“So, um, where did you get them?”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Why? Looking for ideas for my birthday present?” He asks teasingly. Now that he knows Steve isn’t really weirded out, he seems intent on making him squirm as much as he can. “Women’s department at a shop in Indy. Told the woman at the register they were for my girlfriend,” he snorts, “you should’ve seen her, Stevie, she was scandalized.”

Steve chuckles at the thought of Eddie walking to the register and slapping the panties in front of some middle-aged woman, earning him the stink eye.

“Don’t know if she actually believed I have a girlfriend,” Eddie goes on, “she probably did. I think she would’ve sent me on my merry way if she knew they were for me. Maybe next time I’ll tell her they are just to ruffle her feathers.”

“Or to get banned from the store,” Steve replies with a chuckle. Then he asks, “Did you only go that one time?” 

Eddie nods. “Haven’t been to Indy in a while and I guess I could find some here but- it’s different. In the city no one knows who I am and no one cares, but here? They all know who the Freak is and that he doesn’t have a girlfriend so if they saw me buying panties? It’ll surely get the gossip mill going,” he says, tone slightly bitter. “That’s also why I don’t wear them often, y’know? First of all, they’re a bitch to wash, Stevie, I’m telling you, but also I try to be careful, it only takes one asshole jock deciding to pant me for everyone in Hawkins to find out Eddie Munson likes to wear women’s underwear.”

Steve nods in understanding. Meanwhile, his lizard brain wonders if Eddie’s ever worn them while hanging out with him. He forces his mind out of the gutter so he can reassure Eddie. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he says, “I won’t say anything.”

Eddie gives him a soft amused look. “I know that, sweetheart.” 

Steve, who nearly had his blush under control by now, can feel his cheeks pinking up again at the pet name. “Good, okay, um. Anyway, I should probably change and head out if I want to get to work on time.”

He blindly reaches into Eddie’s dresser, grabbing the first shirt he finds.  “Yup, that’ll do,” he says without even looking at it. “I’m just gonna- yeah.”

He starts walking backward towards the bathroom. Eddie waves goodbye at him, the panties still clutched in his fingers. Steve’s eyes zero in on them and stay there for a little too long, resulting in him being so unaware of his surroundings that he bumps against the wall on his way out of the room. 

Eddie watches all of this with curious eyes and Steve worries that he’ll see right through Steve’s blush and his nervous behavior. He holds Eddie’s borrowed shirt in front of his jeans as he exits the room just in case. 

In the bathroom, he changes into said shirt. The whole time, he can’t stop thinking about the damn panties, his face burning. 

He splashes water on it, trying to cool down. 

“Get it together, Harrington,” he tells his flushed reflection in the mirror. His eyes dart down and he can’t help but groan at the shirt he blindly grabbed from Eddie’s dresser. 

Not a skull and not a devil, but a metalhead from some band, raising both of his middle fingers and sticking his tongue out the way Eddie does when he throws up those damn devil horns of his. 

“Fucking great.”

He hopes fucking Mrs. Donovan doesn’t come into Family Video looking for a movie to rent today.

***

“Earth to Steve?” Robin waves her hands in front of Steve’s face. “Hello?”

When that doesn’t snap Steve out of his thoughts, Robin flicks his forehead. “Ow! What the hell, dude?” He slaps her hand away, straightening up from where he was leaning on the counter, pretending to sort out tapes while actually staring into space, thoughts of Eddie swirling around in his head. 

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for like ten minutes!”

“Oh,” he hangs a hand from his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, Robs.” 

She sighs then narrows her eyes at him. “Are you okay? You’re distracted today.” 

“I’m not!” 

“No? You just put Halloween in the romance pile, dingus,” she says, picking up the horror tape from said romance pile. 

“Uh, well, some might consider Mike Myers being obsessed with this Laurie chic romantic?” Steve jokes. 

Robin snorts but keeps staring at him with curious eyes. It reminds Steve of Eddie this morning and that reminds him of the panties which immediately has a blush creeping up on his face. Robin’s eyes narrow further until she’s basically squinting. It’s a good thing they can’t actually read each other’s thoughts the way they always joke about. That doesn’t mean Robin isn’t trying to do it with how hard she’s staring at him. 

“I’m fine, Robs,” Steve says, squirming under her stare. 

But just because she can’t read his mind doesn’t mean she can’t tell he’s lying. “Well, that’s convincing,” she snorts, “seriously, what’s happening in that big hairy head of yours?” 

Well, Robin, turns out that our friend Eddie, who I have a raging gay crush on, happens to own a pair of red lace panties and now I can’t stop thinking about him wearing them! 

Steve scrunches up his nose. “You don’t wanna know, Robs.” 

His words don’t stop her from pushing. “Does it have anything to do with that awful thing you’re wearing? Seriously, Steve, the woman that was just here crossed herself and walked out as soon as she saw you.” 

Steve looks down at the shirt, lips pursed. “I had to borrow this from Eddie-”

“Obviously.” 

“-because he fucking squirted me with ketchup this morning.” 

Robin scrunches up her nose. “Gross, dude, don’t say it like that, ew!” 

Steve sniggers, bonking her head with one of the tapes. He really should go back to sorting them out and actually doing his job. “It’s not my fault he doesn’t own anything remotely normal.” 

Robin snorts. “Yeah, love the guy but his taste in clothes is bad with a capital B.”

At least his taste in panties is good, Steve thinks, then bites his tongue so hard he visibly winces. 

Robin notices but luckily misinterprets it as Steve being offended on Eddie’s behalf. “You know I’m right! Just because you have a crush on him and drool over his chains and ripped jeans and cropped shirts on a daily basis doesn’t mean I’m not!”

“Hey!” Steve protests weakly. “I don’t drool.”

“Hm, yes you do and it’s embarrassing,” she says, ignoring Steve’s string of offended noises, “Speaking of Eddie! When are you going to tell him?” 

“Tell him what?” 

“That you want to boink him.” 

“Boink?” Steve echoes, pulling a face. “No one fucking calls it that!” 

Robin shrugs. “Whatever, so when?”

“I was thinking- never,” he says and Robin dramatically collapses on the counter, a few tapes toppling to the floor when she knocks them over with her bony elbows. He knows what comes next— they’ve been having this discussion since Steve confessed that he liked boys and that he liked Eddie a few weeks ago. She’ll insist that Steve should tell him, Steve will say no, she’ll ask why and it will spiral into her trying to convince Steve of all the reasons why he should. He doesn’t want to get into that right now, not after this morning. There’s only so much he can take so he doesn’t give her the chance to kickstart the argument, throwing her own question back at her, “When are you gonna tell Vickie?” 

She jerks her head upright to glare at him. Steve just shrugs. 

“Speaking of Vickie,” she says and Steve snorts at the way she blatantly ignores his question. “Her birthday is coming up and I want to get her something nice so I need you to take me to Indy this weekend.”

“And why would I do that?” Steve asks in a bitchy tone that they both know is only for show. 

“Because you’re my best friend and my platonic soulmate and we’re bonded for life and you love me,” she says, batting her eyelashes at him, her hands held together in front of her in a pleading gesture. 

Steve snorts. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll take you.”

She throws her arms up in celebration, a few more tapes toppling to the floor. Her nose scrunches up and she disappears behind the counter to pick them up. 

When she pops back up, she waggles her eyebrows at Steve. “Maybe you can find something for Eddie too,” she says teasingly. 

Eddie’s words from earlier, when Steve asked where he got the lingerie, ring in Steve’s ears— Why? Looking for ideas for my birthday present?

It makes the back of his neck feel like it’s one fire, and before Robin can ask what that’s about, he leans down to pick the tapes that fell on his side of the counter. “Hm, yeah, uh- maybe.” 

Luckily Robin districts herself listing some of the things that Vickie might like and she doesn’t notice how strangled Steve’s voice comes out at the thought of getting Eddie some new panties. 

Not that Steve will do it. He won’t obviously. 

Who fucking does that? 

***

Turns out Steve fucking does that. 

He slips away while Robin is roaming around a bookstore in Indy— looking for some fantasy novel that she heard Vickie talk about. She barely listens to him when he says he’s going to find the bathroom, waving him off as she rattles whatever detail she can remember about the book to the frazzled teen working at the bookstore with the hope that she’ll know exactly what book Robin is talking about. 

Steve does go looking for the bathroom but on his way back he walks past a window displaying lingerie. He pauses in front of it and his mouth goes dry as he pictures Eddie wearing the different sets of panties on display.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s walking into the store and picking the ones that caught his attention the most— a pair of black lace panties with a cute little pink bow. 

The lady at the register raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him when he hands those over but luckily she doesn’t say anything. Most likely she thinks Steve is getting something for his girlfriend, but even if there’s no way for her to know that he’s actually buying them for his metalhead friend who Steve has a raging crush on, he still feels a blush creeping up his neck when she asks if he wants her to put it in a gift bag.

Steve says yes only to realize he will have to run to the car to drop it off before meeting up with Robin again, lest she sees it and starts questioning Steve about it, but at least when he gives it to Eddie it will look pretty. 

Much like Eddie will in those panties. 

The thought makes his blush spread to his ears and with a mumbled “thank you” he grabs the bag and runs out of there. 

***

It’s not until a week later that Steve finally decides to give Eddie his gift. Mostly because he knows he can’t keep the bag hidden under his bed forever, it’s only a matter of time before Robin, one of the kids, or Eddie himself finds it and that’s something he doesn’t want to have to explain.

Not that he knows how he’ll explain to Eddie that he got him a pair of panties but whatever.

He’s still trying to figure that one out when he parks the Beemer in front of Eddie’s trailer. Wayne’s truck isn’t there, having already left for work, which Steve was counting on. There’s no way he’s doing this in front of Eddie’s uncle, he would die of embarrassment before Eddie even sees the gift. But even knowing that Wayne isn’t there does little to appease Steve’s nerves and he needs to take a few deep breaths before he exits the car, pink gift bag in hand. 

“It’s just a gift,” Steve mutters to himself as he walks up the steps. “A friendly gift, you got Eddie something he likes, he’s not going to read into it.”

With a shaky hand, he knocks on the door.

“He doesn’t know you haven’t stopped thinking about the panties for a whole fucking week,” he goes on, running his free hand through his hair as he hears footsteps approaching through the thin walls of the trailer.  “Or that you jerked off to the thought of him wearing them or that you wish you could see him in the ones you got for him!” He shakes his head with a nervous chuckle. “There’s no fucking need to make this weird, okay? Okay.”

The door swings open and Steve’s jaw snaps shut as Eddie’s head pops into view. “Stevie!” He says, his face breaking into a beaming smile that makes Steve’s heart stutter. “Hey!” 

“H-hi, Eds,” he says, wiggling his fingers. He keeps his other hand behind his back, holding the bag out of view.

Eddie leans against the door frame, cocking his head. “What brings you here, buddy?” 

“Um, well. I got you something.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. “A gift?” He gasps, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. He pokes his chest. “For moi?” 

When Steve nods, Eddie makes grabby hands at him. “Gimme!” 

“Um, can I come in first?” 

“Well, duh!” Eddie says, stepping aside and sweeping his arm over the entrance with a flourish. 

Steve steps in, and despite knowing Wayne is gone for the night, he starts walking towards Eddie’s room. It feels weird to give this gift to Eddie in the living room, considering what it is. 

Because giving your friend a new set of panties because you haven’t stopped thinking about the ones he already owns is any less weird if you do it in the bedroom, Steve’s brain supplies. 

Fuck, is he really doing this? 

“Soooo,” Eddie says, hooking his chin on Steve’s shoulder, trying to peek at the bag in his hands. “Whatcha got for me, Stevie?”

Yeah, he is. There’s no turning back now. 

“Here,” Steve says, handing over the pink bag with shaky hands. Eddie snatches it greedily, momentarily distracted by the pink bow decorating it before he sticks his hand inside.

Steve holds his breath but resists the urge to shut his eyes, not wanting to miss Eddie’s reaction. That way he’ll be ready if Eddie looks like he wants to punch Steve or kick him out. 

But when Eddie’s fingers brush the soft material and his expression changes, Steve doesn’t know what to brace himself for. 

Eddie’s eyes are wide as he drags his hand out, black lace panties clutched in his fingers, and he gasps audibly when he sees them, letting the bag fall at his feet. 

“S-Steve?” He asks, only slightly above a whisper. He’s not looking at Steve but staring down at the panties instead— a blush rapidly creeping on his cheeks. 

Steve doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad and it makes him nervous. “I- I went shopping in Indy and I saw those and I thought- I thought I’d get them for you.”

Eddie’s big eyes blink up at him. “You thought you’d get me lingerie-”

His voice doesn’t betray anything except shock and Steve fidgets, hanging a hand from his neck. “Uh yeah? I’m sorry if that’s like, weird- fuck it’s weird, isn’t it? It’s just that I haven’t really stopped thinking about last week-”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. 

Panicking, Steve starts rambling, hands on his hips as he paces back and forth. “You know, thinking about how you said you didn’t get the chance to- to buy these things here so I thought I’d get you those. They’re uh pretty, I thought you’d look-” Eddie’s eyes go impossibly wider at that. “Shit, not that I’ve thought about you wearing lingerie! Just- they’re nice! You’d look good in black, they’ll match your tattoos and they’ll look good with your skin and- and- fuck, okay, shit, maybe I thought about it- About you wearing those and- and the other ones. It’s- shit, it’s actually all I can think about,” he admits with a breathy chuckle. Eddie makes some sort of strangled noise. “Fuck, I’m gonna shut up now.” 

Steve stares anxiously at Eddie, but he doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, wide-eyed and slacked-jawed. 

Steve can’t help but squirm. “Can you- can you say something, Eddie, please?”

“You-” Eddie starts but has to stop to clear his throat when his voice comes out an octave higher. “You thought about me wearing panties?” 

Steve hangs his head between his shoulders with a sigh. “Y-yeah,” he admits, “a lot.”

Eddie’s sharp inhale is followed by a muttered string of curses. “Shit, shit, shit. Holy shit.”

“Eddie, I’m sorry-”

“Did you-” Eddie pauses to lick his lips. “Did you do something about it?” He asks, gesturing vaguely but Steve knows what he means. 

He whines, covering his face with his hands. “Yeah, I did. Fuck, Eddie, I’m so sorry.” 

“Jesus H. Christ, Steve-”

“I know, I’m a terrible friend-”

“What? Dude, I’m not mad.”

Steve peeks at him through his fingers. “You’re- not?”

A laugh rushes from Eddie’s lips— hilarity mixed with disbelief. “Fuck no, sweetheart,” he says and Steve’s heart stutters in his chest at the pet name. “I thought you were weirded out last week! And then you show up here with lingerie for me and I thought that’s exactly what Steve Harrington would do to prove he’s not weirded out by his friend owning panties, y’know? But this? You- thinking about me like that? Fuck, Steve, I don’t think I’m reading this wrong but if I am don’t punch me for this but- do you want to see?” 

“See what?” Steve asks dumbly.

“See me in these,” Eddie says, holding the panties up as he moves closer. He pitches his voice lower when he asks, “Do you wanna see me in these panties you got for me, sweetheart?” 

“Eddie-” Steve whines. Only in his wildest dreams did he expect Eddie to offer to show him. “Fuck yeah, I do.” 

Eddie’s mouth curls into a devilish grin. “Sit down, baby, I’ll be right back.” 

Steve falls back on the bed like a puppet whose strings were cut and watches Eddie skip to the bathroom, looking at Steve over his shoulder like he can’t believe this is really happening. 

Steve can’t believe it himself.

He sits there, waiting for Eddie, hands shaking with anticipation, warmth pooling at his stomach knowing what he’s about to see. 

He takes a few deep, calming breaths and it’s in the middle of one of those that Eddie walks back into the room and all of Steve’s air leaves him in a whoosh. 

All Steve can do is whisper out a strangled, “Fuck.” 

Eddie leans on the doorway, playing with the hem of his Black Sabbath shirt, which ends just before his waist, giving Steve a perfect view of the lace black panties stretching over Eddie’s dick, the elastic digging into his hips.

“What do you think, Stevie?” Eddie asks coyly, lifting his shirt a little further up, allowing Steve’s gaze to travel over Eddie’s happy trail right to where it disappears enticingly under that little pink bow. 

“Eddie, fuck, you look beautiful,” Steve says, breathlessly. 

“Yeah?” Eddie bites his lip, walking towards the bed, the dark lace shifting over his dick. Steve can’t take his eyes off of it, especially when he ends up at eye level with it as Eddie moves closer. “You like them?”

He gulps audibly. “Fuck yeah, I do,” he says, squirming on the bed as his dick starts to fill up, pushing uncomfortably against his zipper. He grips the bed sheets that he’s sitting on, fighting the urge to reach out and touch. 

“I like them too,” Eddie admits, his finger tracing the delicate lace pattern. Steve’s fingers itch to do the same. “They feel nice.”

“Can I-” Steve starts before he realizes what he’s saying and shuts up. 

Eddie’s eyes twinkle. “Can you what, sweetheart?”

“Touch,” Steve says, “can I touch you, Eddie?”

Eddie nods eagerly, letting his hands fall to his sides and out of the way so Steve can touch him wherever he wants. 

First, Steve puts his hands on Eddie’s hips, his thumbs toying with the waistband of his panties. “You’re right,” Steve pants, “they feel nice.”

“Mhm, you- uh, you can touch more, if you want. I like feeling your hands on me.”

“God, Eddie-” He moves his hands, stroking Eddie’s sides, under his shirt. “Can you take this off?” 

Eddie’s response is to pull his shirt over his head, leaving him in nothing but the panties. Steve can’t stop himself from moving his hands over Eddie’s chest— tracing his tattoos and his scars, playing with his guitar pick necklace, following the trail of hair until he reaches the waistband of the panties and then dipping his fingers past the elastic just enough to tease him.

All the while Eddie is squirming under his touch, small breathless noises slipping past his lips with every brush of Steve’s fingers. 

Under the panties, his cock is fully hard now, the lace stretching obscenely over his length. Slowly, so Eddie can stop him if he wants to, Steve moves his hand lower. Eddie holds his breath, watching with rapt attention as Steve’s fingers ghost over his dick, barely touching. 

He whines, hips bucking forward. “Steve-”

The sound goes straight to Steve’s dick, fully hard now and still trapped in his jeans, but like hell if he’s going to stop paying attention to Eddie to relieve the pressure building inside him. It can wait— for now, he cups Eddie’s dick over his panties and squeezes. 

Eddie makes a broken, surprised noise, his hands flying to his own hair and pulling at it just to have something to hold on to as Steve works his hand over his length repeatedly, stroking him. “Fuck, Steve, baby-” Eddie sobs, bucking his hips towards the insistent movement of Steve’s hand.

Steve glances up at him, hand still moving, and meets Eddie’s eyes. They’re nearly black and his lips are parted and red from Eddie biting them and there’s a flush spreading from his cheeks all the way down to his chest. “God, Eddie, you’re gorgeous, did you know that?” He says, awed. Eddie makes a weak noise in the back of his throat. “So fucking pretty for me.” 

The praise makes Eddie’s dick twitch, the tip leaking and leaving a damp spot on the panties. 

Steve’s mouth waters. “Eddie-” He wants to lean in and taste him, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it. 

Luckily he doesn’t have to, Eddie sees right through him. “Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie says, one of his hands moving to brush some of Steve’s hair away from his face. “Whatever you want.” 

Once he’s given permission, Steve licks his lips and then he leans in, licking Eddie’s dick from base to tip, leaving a trail of spit over the black lace. 

Eddie moans out, obscenely loud. Steve needs to hear that noise again, so he repeats what he did over and over. 

“Holy shit, oh my god-” Eddie’s words trail off into a whine when Steve licks directly at the tip of his cock where it’s peeking out from the panties. Tasting Eddie for the first time has Steve shoving a hand between his own legs and squeezing his dick, desperate for some friction. 

He gives a few more tentative kitten licks to the tip before fully wrapping his lips around the head and sucking. 

“Motherfu- ah! Steve!” Eddie cries out, his knees buckling and Steve has to grab his hips to keep him on his feet. 

“You okay?” Steve asks, letting Eddie’s dick fall from his lips, going back to the kitten licks and soft kisses to the tip. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” Eddie says, breath stuttering from Steve’s mouth on him. “Or maybe- ah, maybe I already died and I’m in heaven.”

Steve snorts, but he blushes at the praise. 

Eddie runs his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. “You’d make a pretty angel, Stevie, though what you’re doing to me right now is downright sinful.”

“Hm, do you want me to stop?” Steve asks, eyelashes fluttering. 

“Fuck, no.” 

“Good, because I don’t want to. I want to make you come,” he admits, looking at Eddie with hungry eyes. 

“I- yeah, that’s not going to be a hard goal to achieve, Steve,” Eddie exhales on a chuckle. 

“Come here,” Steve says, grabbing two handfuls of Eddie’s lace-covered ass and bringing him forward so he can get his mouth back on him. It might not be a proper blowjob but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He clearly enjoys the way Steve sucks at the tip, presses his tongue against the slit, mouthes at the rest of his dick over the panties. His hands eventually find Steve’s hair and he runs his fingers through the messy strands, encouragingly.

After a while, Eddie’s legs start to shake and Steve knows he won’t be able to hold himself up much longer, so with a final sloppy kiss to the head of his dick, he pushes Eddie back and stands up, disentangling Eddie’s fingers from his hair. 

Eddie whines, hips stuttering and chasing after Steve’s mouth, but Steve doesn’t let him despair for long. 

“Get on the bed,” he says, “I want you spread out on the bed for me.” 

“Fuck, okay.” 

He quickly does as he’s told, lying on his back on the bed. Steve’s hand darts between his legs again, cupping himself at the sight in front of him.

Eddie’s eyes follow his hand. “Think you should lose those jeans, big boy. The shirt too,” he suggests, “it’s only fair, considering I only have these panties on.” 

And that’s some solid logic right there who is Steve to argue?

With one swift movement, he shrugs off his shirt, feeling Eddie’s eyes on him. Then he makes quick work of his button and zipper, letting his jeans pool at his ankles before stepping out of them. 

“Oh,” Eddie gasps, and when Steve looks up, he finds him staring a hole into Steve’s boxers.

“What?”

“Nothing, just- you’re actually into this,” he says, gesturing at Steve’s crotch, the outline of his hard dick painstakingly obvious.  “Into me.”

Steve snorts. “And you’re realizing that just now?”

“Dude, I told myself so many times there was no way-”

“Please don’t call me dude while I can still taste your dick in my mouth, Eddie,” Steve says, scrunching up his nose.

But Eddie ignores him and goes on, “-no way this could ever happen, it’s kinda hard to believe it.”

“Well, it is and I’ll prove it to you,” Steve says, climbing onto the bed and settling between Eddie’s legs. Now that he knows he’s allowed, he wastes no time going for what he wants, which is mouthing sloppily at Eddie’s dick, coating his panties with spit. 

It makes Eddie squirm violently on the bed, gripping the bedsheets and letting out so many moans and curses. 

When he pulls back to breathe, Steve can’t help but groan when he sees that the lace panties are basically see-through now from Steve’s spit and Eddie’s precum. “I think we might ruin your panties.”

Eddie snorts weakly. “I quite literally do not give a shit,” he says, waving a dismissive hand at Steve. “But you can take them off if you wanna.”

“No,” Steve says right away. He traces the lacey pattern with a featherlight touch. “I don’t, I like you in these.” 

Eddie lets out a low groan. “Oh, fuck me.”

Steve’s finger freezes as he considers Eddie’s words. “Can I?”

“Huh?”

“Can I fuck you? Can I use my fingers?”

Eddie gapes at him. “You want to?” When Steve nods eagerly, he lets out a whoosh of air. “Holy shit, yeah, of course you can. There’s, uh, lube in the nightstand.”

That’s all Steve needs to scramble to the bedside table and grab the bottle of lube. He wastes no time coating his fingers, eager to get them inside Eddie but not wanting to rush and risk hurting him. 

He considers taking the panties off for better access but there’s no need because Eddie drags his legs up until his knees are bent, his feet flat against the mattress, and then he snakes a hand between his legs, grabs hold of the panties and moves them to one side, exposing his hole. 

“Oh my God,” Steve gasps, going dizzy with arousal. 

“Steve,” Eddie whines when he doesn’t move. It snaps Steve out of it and he rubs his fingers together, warming up the lube, before he brings one finger to Eddie’s entrance so he can rub at the puckered skin before pushing it in. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Steve-”

Eddie takes Steve’s first finger greedily and asks for a second one after Steve fucks him with it only a handful of times. Steve happily gives him a second finger and when he asks for a third, Steve gives him that too. He curls his fingers in a way that has Eddie jolting from pleasure and letting out the neediest of whines. Aiming for that spot, Steve fucks him with those three fingers until Eddie’s back is arching from the bed, an incessant string of praises and curses falling from his lips.

“God, Steve, so good, sweetheart, fucking me so good, fuck, I’m close-”

Steve drinks in every word, feels them go straight to his own dick, his lower belly simmering with arousal. His brain is foggy, but he does his best to pay attention to every detail of how Eddie moves and sounds, committing them to memory for when he’s alone. 

There’s one thing he wants to see more than anything— Eddie coming for him. So he speeds up his pace, feeling the elastic of the panties dig into his wrist on every thrust. And because he can’t help himself, he also lowers his face so it’s lined up with Eddie’s dick, putting his mouth on him again, sucking enthusiastically at the head. 

“Jesus, fuck! Stevie, oh God,” Eddie pants, nearly jumping off the bed when Steve adds his mouth back to the mix. He thrashes around on the bed as Steve finds a ruthless rhythm between his fingers and his mouth. 

He keeps his eyes open and on Eddie, sensing how close he is and not wanting to miss any of it. 

When Steve purposefully times a particular hard suck with his fingers hitting that spot inside him, it finally happens. 

With a loud, strangled moan, Eddie comes. Hard. Steve has to pull off so he doesn’t choke and he only manages to swallow some of his cum, the last few spurts mixed with his spit dripping from his mouth and all over Eddie’s spent dick and the panties stretching over it. It’s fucking filthy and Steve has to sit back on his heels and squeeze his dick so he doesn’t come untouched.

His other hand is still inside Eddie, three fingers deep, and he can’t resist rubbing the pad of his thumb over Eddie’s hole where it’s stretched around Steve. The touch makes Eddie squirm and mewl, his dick giving a pathetic twitch.

Slowly, Steve withdraws his fingers and the elastic of the panties snaps back into place. Eddie lets out a soft whine at that.

Steve takes a moment to admire Eddie. 

He’s a fucking mess— his hair fanned out against the bed, a flush spreading down to his chest, cum and spit and lube coating his panties. Steve feels the urge to mess him up even more. He wants to jerk himself off and come all over Eddie. At this point, it’ll take two or three strokes at best. 

“Hey, uh,” Steve clears his throat, his voice rough from sucking Eddie off. “I’ve got some bad news.”

“Hm?” Even if Eddie acknowledges Steve he still seems out of it, it takes a few seconds for his cloudy eyes to find and focus on him. “What’s that?”

“Your panties are definitely ruined,” Steve announces regretfully. 

Eddie snorts weakly. “So am I,” he says, a sort of disbelieving laugh tumbling from his lips. “Jesus fucking Christ, Steve.”

Steve lets out a pleased chuckle, warmth spreading through him at Eddie’s awed tone.

“Gimme a moment and I’ll return the favor, m’kay, sweetheart?” He tells Steve, smiling lazily.

It’s silly but Steve feels himself blush at the endearment. “Oh, you- uh, you don’t have to-”

Eddie scoffs. “You don’t have to, he says. Steve, I want to.”

A small needy noise slips past Steve’s lips. “What do you want?”

“Nu-uh, Stevie, it’s your turn. This is about what you want."

Steve gulps as he goes over every thought he’s had about Eddie since he realized he was into him, especially in the last week. “I- fuck, honestly? I really want to fuck you,” he says, watching Eddie’s eyes visibly darken at his words. “But I don’t think I’ll last long enough to make it good,” he admits sheepishly. 

Eddie whispers a breathy, “Fuck.” He shakes his head in disbelief like he still can’t wrap his head around Steve being so turned on without either of them even touching his dick. “I- we can save that for next time.” 

Steve’s breath catches— next time? Holy shit.

Eddie’s head lolls to the side. He looks at Steve with hazy eyes. “You could- uh, you could fuck my thighs,” he suggests almost shyly. “Y’know, if you want.”

Boy does he ever. “Eds,” Steve says, voice thick with lust. “Hell yeah, I want.”

Eddie flashes him a pleased grin, and then with renewed energy, he rolls over, settling on his hands and knees on the bed. Steve groans at the sight of Eddie’s ass framed by black lace. 

“Like what you see?” Eddie asks, smirking at Steve over his shoulder and fucking- shaking his ass. 

“You have no idea,” Steve breathes out. 

“I have some idea,” Eddie says cheekily, staring pointedly at Steve’s crotch where his dick is tenting his boxers obscenely. “C’mon, let me see you, big boy.” 

Feeling Eddie’s eyes on him, Steve grabs the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down, his dick slapping against his stomach, hard as a rock.

Eddie noticeably swallows, cursing under his breath. “Shit, yeah, big boy is right.”

Steve smirks, wrapping his hand around his dick and giving it a few slow strokes. Eddie whines, fingers digging roughly on the bedsheets. Steve wonders if he’s thinking about replacing Steve’s hand with his or if he’d rather use his mouth. Next time— the words ring in Steve’s ears but he forces himself to focus on what he’s supposed to be doing now. 

“Can I-” He trails off, gesturing at Eddie’s ass. Eddie nods eagerly. 

Steve situates himself behind him, skin buzzing with arousal and anticipation. The back of Eddie’s thighs glisten with lube from Steve messily fingering him earlier, as well as the skin between his cheeks. Eyes glued to Eddie’s ass, Steve blindly reaches for the lube and spreads a fair amount over his dick before he grabs Eddie’s hips and lines it up with the space between his thighs. 

“Ready?”

“Yeah, fuck my thighs, baby,” Eddie pants, hanging his head between his arms. 

And Steve can’t hold himself back anymore, almost shaking with the need to come, so he finally slips his dick between Eddie’s thighs, moaning at how soft and warm and good it feels. 

Steve whispers out a strangled, “Shit.”

He pauses for a moment, his hips flush against Eddie’s ass and the back of his thighs. He’s worried he’ll come too soon, just from how hot this is, so he takes deep slow breaths to calm himself down— in and out while his fingers trace the lacey outline of the panties, marvelling at the stark contrast between the dark fabric and Eddie’s pale skin, the way it matches the dragon tattoo on Eddie’s lower back. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Steve mutters before gripping Eddie’s hips with both hands again, keeping him in place as he pulls his own hips back until just the head of his dick is peeking between Eddie’s legs and then pushes forward again.

He sets a slow but steady rhythm after that, rocking his hips back and forth. It’s so good and Steve feels his dick steadily leaking precum, which along with the lube he coated himself with earlier, is making his cock slide more smoothly against the inside of Eddie’s thighs. 

“Fuck, Eddie, you feel so good,” he groans, his fingers gripping Eddie’s hips harder and pulling him back to him so he meets Steve’s thrusts. 

Eddie catches on, pushing back on his own at the same time he squeezes his thighs together. 

“Oh, fuck,” Steve moans brokenly, his hips stuttering. “Keep doing that, Eddie, please.” 

“As your Majesty commands,” Eddie says dorkily even if it comes out slightly strangled. 

Steve doesn’t get to call him out on it because then he’s pressing his legs tightly around Steve’s cock, making it impossible to string words together, only high-pitched whines and needy whimpers leaving Steve’s lips. 

“I swear to God,” Eddie pants, “I’m gonna come again just from those fucking- sounds you keep making.” 

Steve groans loudly and hears Eddie let out a string of curses before he leans his weight on one hand so the other one can reach between his legs. Curious, Steve moves to bend over Eddie’s back, his arms wrapping around him, his chin pressing against the back of Eddie’s neck.

“H-hey,” Eddie says shakily, turning his head so he can smile at Steve far too sweet for what they’re doing right now. 

“Hey,” Steve says back, kissing Eddie’s shoulder and laughing at the way Eddie yelps and jumps when Steve’s hand snakes under him to find that he’s hard again. “Let me.”

“Wait- fuck, it’s your- your turn-” But Eddie’s protest dies on his lips when Steve replaces his hand on his dick.

“My turn to pick what I want, yeah. And I want you to come again, Eds, with me this time. I’m close, babe,” Steve whispers against his ear as he starts rolling his hips again, fucking into Eddie’s thighs and stroking him at the same time. 

Eddie lets out a strangled, “Fuck, sweetheart,” which Steve choruses with his own breathless curse, lips pressed against the nape of Eddie’s neck. 

“God, Eddie, you feel amazing,” Steve moans, moving faster, both his hips and his hand on Eddie’s dick, his thumb smearing precum around the sensitive head. 

“Gonna- fuck, Steve- gonna feel so much better when you fuck me,” Eddie says, panting heavily. 

“God, shut up-” Steve whimpers when Eddie’s words send shocks of pleasure through his body in an almost painful way.

“Gonna ruin me even more then, sweetheart,” Eddie says, decidedly ignoring Steve and not shutting up. “Mark me up inside too, it’d be so easy to just, fuck- just move the panties to the side and slide in- ah, Steve-” 

The rest of Eddie’s words die in his throat as pleasure builds up almost unbearably for the two of them. The only sounds that can be heard after that are the slapping of skin against skin as Steve continues to fuck Eddie’s thighs and the string of whines and choked-up noises spilling from both of their lips. 

Eddie’s words echo in Steve’s mind— next time and when you fuck me and move the panties to the side and mark me up inside. It’s the last one that tips him over the edge or rather knowing that when he comes he’s going to mess Eddie up even more, ruin him. 

With a cry of Eddie’s name, Steve comes, his eyes slipping shut as he pushes his cock between his legs one more time and spills between them. 

A small whimpery, “fuck,” falls from Eddie’s lips as Steve’s cum drips down the inside of his thighs. It takes Steve jerking him once, twice for Eddie to start shaking as his own orgasm washes over him, coming all over the sheets.

Their arms and legs can’t possibly hold them up after that and they both flop gracelessly onto the very dirty mattress, their bodies sticking together with sweat and cum. It’s gross and disgusting— and also kind of perfect. 

“God,” Eddie says with a laugh, his face smushed against the bed. 

“Yup,” Steve agrees, draped over Eddie’s spine.

“No, like- I think I saw God. I died and I saw God and she said ‘it’s not your time yet, my child, you still need to be fucked by Steve Harrington’ and sent me back.”

Steve snorts at Eddie’s nonsense. “Well, we can’t afford to disappoint God,” he plays along.

“Hm, nope, but she’ll understand that I need some time to recover,” Eddie says, pulling a face, “And a shower, I’m sticky.”

“We both are.”

“Hm, wanna shower together?” Eddie asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Steve chuckles softly even if the idea sounds enticing. “I thought you said you needed time to recover.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t blow you in the shower,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Christ,” Steve mutters. “As much as I want that, Eds, I don’t think I have another round in me.”

With a little royal twist of his hand, he says, “As His Majesty wishes.”

“Dork,” Steve says fondly. “Um, I do want something though.”

“Hm, what’s that? I told you, Stevie, anything you want.”

Steve keeps his voice only slightly above a whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

As soon as the words are out, Eddie cranes his neck trying to look at Steve and when that doesn’t work, he wiggles under his weight until he can roll over and Steve is lying on top of him. It’s even more gross this way, their fronts pressed together and Eddie’s ass resting on top of the wet spot on the bed, but Steve doesn’t care about any of that. He just wants to know what Eddie’s answer will be. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a bewildered smile. “Of course you can.”

With a smile of his own, Steve props himself up on his arms so his face is hovering over Eddie’s and he can take it in for a minute— the blush high in his cheeks, the way his eyes sparkle with excitement, the way he licks his lips in anticipation. 

And then he can’t wait any longer, he swoops down and presses their lips together. 

After everything they did today Steve can’t believe that this— his lips sliding against Eddie’s, the slightest hint of tongue, the way they’re both smiling into the kiss— is what has his insides melting into a puddle of goo. Then again, everything else could be excused as a ‘heat of the moment’ kind of thing, but not this. 

“Hm, if I knew guys in panties did it for you, Stevie, I would’ve left mine lying around somewhere for you to find much sooner,” Eddie says once the kiss slows down naturally and they’re just resting their foreheads together and breathing each other’s air. 

Steve chuckles. “It’s not just about the panties though, it’s, uh, it’s about you. I’d still be into you if I’d found Weird Al boxers in your dresser instead.”

Eddie cackles, his arms wrapping around Steve and trapping him against his chest. They really should clean up before they’re stuck together permanently. “I can’t say I own those but for you, Stevie, I’ll find some.”

“I think I’d prefer if you bought more panties,” Steve teases, his finger playing with the little pink bow just below Eddie’s navel.

“Whatever you want,” Eddie says once again. “I mean it.”

“What if I want you to be my boyfriend?” Steve asks a little shyly. 

Eddie plants a sloppy kiss on Steve’s forehead. “Done.”

***

Next time Steve buys panties for Eddie— to make up for the ones he ruined— he brings him along and lets him pick. 

“Whatever you want, Eds,” Steve tells him, echoing his words.

Steve knows he’ll like seeing Eddie in anything he picks— 

And he’ll like it even more when he can take it off of him.