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chaionthemoon · 5 months ago

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An Endless Existence

Prologue and Chapter 1

Opener: So to start off for those few of you that do read this fic or are even interested in it:

If you've previously read any White Diamond x Original Characters on AO3, you may be semi-familiar with a really old Fanfiction that I wrote back in 2018, and only had 6 chapters total (Title: Its my life!). When I wrote that I was barely in 9th grade of HS, I was writing on my old ass Ipad, and I was writing it right into AO3 rather than a separate document. Not only that, but it was my first ever fanfiction that I ever wrote, so I was writing with literally no experience at all.

Only recently have I gone back to the Fanfiction and have re-read it and wow… thats all I can say. Over the 6 years since publishing that story, I've matured (obviously) and Orange diamond’s story has changed EXTREMELY. I've always wanted to go back to the story and rewrite it, however back in 2022 when I started getting serious about writing and fanfiction, I orphaned the fanfiction, as I didnt want my new readers to read whatever I had wrote back when I was younger, especially since i've tried to hard to really change my writing direction, my approach and become more professional. I have an AO3 account that I publish frequently from, however I created this separate account to write whatever I want about my own original characters from fandoms and their stories, not because I am ashamed or anything, but because i've been detached from fandoms such as Steven Universe, The Arcana and ect. That I no longer feel comfortable publishing these Fics to my bigger account.

By rewriting this story, Im hoping to reclaim it for myself, as well as bring back my old childhood interest in Steven Universe. There will be some similarities between the two stories such as both stories will have similar characters, Similar ships and a few similar topics (Such as abuse within romantic relationships, power dynamics in relationships, manipulation, ect.), however will completely abandon many of the original concept of the story (Such as the arranged marriage, gemlings/the diamonds having biological kids, any ship with Pink Diamond, ect.) just because looking back at the fic, it just doesn't feel right to write about it, and I want to keep it semi-accurate to the show with adding just a few of my own twists (Such as there being Minor diamond that serve as “Apprentice’s” to the major diamonds (White, Yellow, Blue, and Pink), and there being a competition between the Minor diamonds to prove to the diamonds their worth to hopefully monitor a full colony (Not their own colon, but one of the diamonds colonies).

Im in college now, and in a major that requires me to write more often, so hopefully my grammar and writing is 1000% better than whatever I wrote 6 years ago. Feedback is always encouraged, and I hope you enjoy whatever dumpster fire this will be...

Maybe it was bad luck on Orange’s part, that she should have the misfortune of being the only gem to come from the cursed planet. After all, there had to be something terribly wrong with her or her gem if she was able to withstand such a merciless planet for years. If Orange had not been tested and checked relentlessly after coming to Homeworld to ensure her gems perfection and been cleared as a legitimate diamond, then she also would have been sure that she had a faulty gem.

She remembered the day she had formed, though it had been very long ago at this point. She couldn't see her hands in front of her, winds constantly whipped her face, the atmosphere weighing down on her and her gem, as if it would eventually shatter her. Tme did not exist, and Orange was constantly dissociating from what was real and what wasn't. What was this existence? And where was she? Would she forever be alone? All these questions circled her mind, and that would be her existence for the next few years until a scout ship would come across her and alert the diamonds of her existence.

By the time the Diamonds retrieved her, she had been sure that everything and everyone wasn't real. It couldn't be real. How could she go from being stranded in the middle of a planet with no vision, no noise but the wind, and no voices but her own, to then being surrounded by bright lights, loud mechanic noises, and a million questions from gems surrounding her. It made no sense, and wouldn't for the next few hundred years.

Looking back at it, How could Orange Diamond could have possibly have hoped for a peaceful existence when she was born in the middle of a storm? It just was not in her fate, she was the diamond of storms after all.

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Orange shook her head as she tried to dispel any thoughts on her life before coming to Homeworld. If she thought bout it for too long, she would start to disassociate again, and Yellow hated when she would have to repeat herself to Orange if she didn't hear her the first time. Orange really tried to be in some state of awareness, as to please yellow diamond, however it was difficult for her.

Orange still struggled with being able to understand what was happening around her, and how much of it was her mind playing tricks on her. Some part of her gem still believes that this is all a hallucination, and that Orange can’t possibly have the fortune of being able to directly serve such an authority as those in the Diamond Authority. But then there were moments were the light hit her eyes wrong, or when Canary nudged her with her foot to alert Orange of something, that would bring her back to reality.

“Orange.” Yellow diamonds voice rang out in the large room where the golden gem sat in her throne. Orange was still deep in her thoughts when she felt the small nudge from canary and immediately snapped back to the current reality. She knew that Yellow had called her name, and couldn't remember anything else but that, so she decided to go off of that,

“Yes, Yellow Diamond.” Orange answered back, as she stood up and knelt before Yellows chair. Orange kept her face down, looking at the floor.

“I want to discuss an important matter with you before its released to the other diamonds at the upcoming ball that we will be hosting.” Yellow Paused. Orange grew concerned at the break in between Yellows thought. Usually long pauses did not equal good news, at least not in Orange Diamonds experience. However, Orange was pleasantly surprised when the next words fell from Yellow’s mouth: “I want to officially name you as my apprentice. You've served me well these past few thousand years, and I trust no other minor gem more with my colonies than you.”

Orange let out a small gasp before quickly closing her mouth. She kept her face looking down, at her own foot. “I- Thank you my Diamond, this is such an honor. Im unsure what else to say…”

“Say nothing then. Just continue to do your job well.” Yellow responded shortly. “While you've been diligent in your work, you still have much to improve upon. Not yet the idea of perfection, but you are getting there…” her voice sounded as if she was considering it, considering Orange’s position, and how she was of some value to her. It was softer than her usual tone of voice, and Orange was grateful for it internally.

“Thank you, my diamond.” Orange took the compliment. Compliments from Yellow were far and few inbetween, with the only compliments Orange being able to recall being directed towards White Diamond.

“I warn you though. So far, the only diamond to take an apprentice has been White diamond, and even then, the idea is simply unprecedented and still being tested to see if it works. You will be presented to not only Pink and Blue diamond, but White herself. She will evaluate you, test you if need be, to see if you are fit to assume the role as my apprentice. Orange, I need you to impress White, and calm any concerns of hers.” Yellow urged “You have been a great help to me, and I would hate to lose a gem such as yourself all because you could not meet White Diamonds standards”

“I will try my best my Diamond.” Orange responded, her tone as monotone as she could muster it. There was still a slight quiver in her tone, shock still processing in her system and adjusting to the news.

When Orange returned to her work station, it took her a few moments to remember what she had been working on previously. Whenever her bouts of concentration were broken, she always struggled to regain the same energy she had had before being called upon. Despite being able to open up her screen to her previous mission, she remained unsuccessful in continuing her productivity. Too many thoughts and ideas stirred in her head. Too many questions, too many scenarios to the unknown. What if she couldn't meet white diamonds standards? Would she be shattered? That hardly seemed like the worst punishment to her. Would Yellow Diamond be Punished? That seemed much worst to Orange, and Orange chalked it up to her loyalty to Yellow.

Dissociating had its perks. It allowed for time to pass faster for Orange. It allowed for her to get her word done with little to no thought behind it, completing it at faster rates and with ease. It came as second nature to her, and when it came to nature, there was not much to think about. It also helped her to ignore the feeling of any worries, any questions, and simply just exist without being present. Unfortunately for Orange diamond, she was stuck in her mind for the remainder of the planets cycle, left to get nothing accomplished and be stuck in her own thoughts.

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After being dismissed by Yellow Diamond, Orange had headed back to the Minor Diamonds residency to stew on the new information that had been provided to her. She found herself seated in the main area of the palace, typing furiously on her screen, trying to catch up on the previous days work. Nearby, Crimson Diamond worked. Crimson and Orange had always been friendly towards one another, though their acquaintance had its limits. To start: Orange believed Crimson a gossip. Crimson usually associated herself with Moon and Teal diamond, two of Blue Diamonds personal minor diamonds, and therefore, anything Orange diamond said to Crimson, she was sure would get back to Moon and Teal, and then so on and so fourth until it reached Yellow Diamond, and then Orange would be punished for “gossiping” as well. Second was that Crimson was extremely childish in Oranges eyes. She held little reasoning, and debating with her was like debating with a pebble. There was no argument against her. And lastly, Orange firmly believed that because they were both so opposite of one another, their was no way there could be a genuine friendship between them.

However, that didn't stop Orange from trying to fish for information from Crimson. If there was one thing that Gossips were good with, it was having updated information. Though how good Crimsons information was remained to be determined.

“What do you think the diamonds are like?” Orange questioned out loud and then turned to look at Crimson. She quickly became aware of the silence, and how her words had pierced through it. Luckily, it was only her and Crimson in the area for now, though the confused look that crimson gave her when she looked up from her own work had Orange thinking that she should backtrack a bit. “I mean specifically Pink, Blue and White Diamond.” Orange added quickly.

“Well… Who do you want me to start with?” Crimson leaned in, and slowly closed her own tablet to converse with Orange. Perfect- this was what she needed.

“Lets start with White. What can you tell me about our ruler?” Orange asked as she set aside her own work as well. This could in terms, count as working, as this was researching for her next big event.

“White diamond is a perfectionist” Crimson spoke softly, though her words carried in the main room. Orange thought to Cullinan and Black Diamond. Both worked closely with White Diamond, although they never spoke of her, and the only things Orange had heard were rumors fueled by Crimson Diamond, who got said rumors from things Pink Diamond had said. “I heard she can control gems as her power-”

‘Thats impossible” Orange had countered “There has been no record of any other gem, let alone our queen White Diamond, having such powers-”

“And thats why she is the ruler of the universe and Diamond Authority, it is said that she is everything that we are not.” Crimson motioned around her to all of the Minor diamonds. “I don't doubt for one second that she could mind control gems and make them do her bidding. If that weren't the case, then why not go against her command?”

With no warning, a voice grunted out, her voice deep and disgruntled with every word she spoke out: “Watch it Crimson.” Both diamonds flinched when they heard Black Diamond’s call out. Black diamond was White diamonds personal apprentice, a Title that the rest of the Minor Diamonds could only dream of. She had a dark and demeaning aura to her, that made her not very approachable, much less, sociable. Orange couldn't recall ever having a proper conversation with her, and in some aspects she was rather glad about that. Black Diamond seemed to dim any room she walked into, sucking all of the light out of the space. It made almost any common gem weak, and cower from her.“To question White Diamonds authority is considered treason, even for a gem of your status and station.” Black growled out.

“Im sorry, You misunderstand though Black, I meant it rhetorically.” Crimson gave a sly smile, not affected by Black’s presence. “We follow White Diamond and her Authority because she has been nothing but merciless letting us exist and serve the diamond authority, despite us being less than an actual diamond. We follow her because she guides gemkind to do what is necessary…” It sounded rehearsed, like Crimson had prepared for this, and Orange almost bought the sincerity in her words, if only she hadn't been smiling while she spoke. There was something about Crimson that had always put the other diamonds at ease, weather it was her casual demeanor towards everything, or her cheerful personality, no one could stay mad at Crimson.

Black seemed to accept Crimsons words with nothing more than one more glare, and simply turned away and out of the room, leaving Crimson and Orange alone once more. The fact that Black had overheard them of all the times that she could have came, had to be one of the most unlucky coincidences that Orange had experienced. To fill in the awkwardness left in her wake, Orange Diamond cleared her throat and turned back to Crimson. “Well, whats Pink diamond like then? Perhaps you'll have more facts rather than rumors this time.”

“Pink? Well shes simply wonderful.” Orange chuckled now, and Crimson became defensive “Im not just saying that! Its true. She has a bad temper, though she has gotten way better about it recently after an unfortunate incident with one of her pearls. Whenever I'm with her, she treats me as if I'm not…lesser than…”

“Even though we are?” Orange countered, and Crimson groaned. “You get angry, but we all know its the truth. How bad is her anger though?” Orange goaded on, clearly seeing that Crimson was getting irritated with the intrusion on her diamonds information.

Crimson sat quietly for a second before answering. “She… well, she broke her own pearl recently.”

“Are you kidding?” Orange’s eyes widened at this revelation “You mean she shattered her?” She had not heard of this from yellow, but then again, yellow rarely spoke of the other diamonds and their personal issues with the minor diamonds. It was that lack of knowledge that divided the Minor diamonds from the diamond authority, and from one another.

“Well, not exactly… She’s broken but, not shattered. After she reformed, one of her eyes had a scar remain on it. White diamond took the poor pearl and replaced her with a new pearl, one of the basic ones.” Crimson shrugged, as if it was nothing of importance, and Orange found herself wondering if she was over exaggerating with how she found the whole situation ridiculous.

“Ah, well, that makes sense then. If she cant take care of a custom pearl, then why not just give her a generic pearl.” Orange sighed “Still though, the poor thing. She must have been terrified.” Crimson hummed in agreement, and then finally asked the question that was on her mind since the start of the conversation.

“What’s making you question about the other diamonds now? Is it because of the Ball that Yellow Diamond is hosting?” Crimson spoke.

“Well, yeah.” Orange says casually, or as casually as she could. She didn't want to appear too interested in it, otherwise she was afraid that Crimson would catch on.

“Why would that concern you though? Us Minor diamonds are not allowed to attend balls unless we are officially granted Apprentice titles.” Crimson questioned further, repeating the rehearsed rules that Orange was all too familiar with.

Orange knew she had to come up with something quickly, and so she opted to say “well, Im assisting Yellow with the ball and wanted to know the other diamonds better so that I know how to properly set up the ball. I want to exceed Yellow Diamonds expectations of me, and by having this chance, I hope to prove myself even more to her.” it was basic, but did the trick as Crimson lost interest in Orange Diamonds words.

“Oh-” Crimson propped her head on her hand and leaned on it “I was so hoping that there was something else on your mind-”

“Like what?” Orange shook her head incredulously and turned to Crimson again. There was no way that Crimson knew anything.

“Well, you've served under Yellow diamond for quiet a while. The third longest minor diamond to work for the diamond authority. Not only that, but Canary is quiet young, and stands no chance on your age and wisdom, so… I thought that Yellow Diamond would have made you her apprentice by now…”

“And what of you? Has Pink spoken about making you an apprentice?” Orange countered, and Crimson turned a bright red. It was almost comical how dark she became in a matter of seconds.

“Pink knows she doesn't need to talk to me about my position in her court because it is secured. My only competition being Daria, and Daria is barely one thousand years old. She barely figured out how to fly a dropship a few moons ago, much less having the knowledge on how to assist our diamond in conquering a planet. I've been working tirelessly though to assist Pink when the Diamonds graciously allow her the opportunity to prove herself to them.”

Orange nodded her head, not genuinely listening to Crimsons ramblings, however picked her head back up at the mention of Pink having a colony. “Do you believe that she is ready for a colony?” Orange asked, genuine in her question, and Crimson nodded.

“I firmly believe that she could be a great ruler, a great diamond, because she already is one. She just needs the chance to show it…” Orange pursed her lips, but accepted the answer.

“Ill… Ill let you know if I hear anything about it.” Orange said and excused herself from their conversation.

Talking with Crimson left her with a nagging feeling in the back of her mind. What crimson said could have some truth to it, or it could all be lies, told to Orange to make her look like a fool in front of the diamond authority. She supposed she wouldn't know until the Ball.

(This fic is also posted on AO3 under the name Chaionthemoon. Ao3 is more frequently and accurately updated rather than Tumblr, so to get the next chapter faster I recommend going there first)

#steven universe fanfic #steven universe #steven unvierse au #Steven universe diamonds #diamond authority #white diamond su #yellow diamond su #original character #white Diamond x OC #fanfic

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namodareads · 1 year ago

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me when. me wenw wehen . me when wen mont.en. wehen mtony . when monty writes about love

(pay for my tissues)

not only does monty write abt love, but it's so CAPTIVATING!!!!!!!!! everything in me is sooooooo tender and and and and soft and just 😭😭😭 this very much brings me back to the feelings i held onto during high school. like. how to explain this. the feelings that were so much and had nowhere to go but trickle out when i was hopeful, that would exist inside me and then those feelings would steep and leak out and would just make everything so painfully nostalgically sweet

It had been pure luck that Tooru and Hajime managed to synchronise their brief visit home in the first place. You think that they might’ve even conspired to match their flight times as close as humanly possible, just so they could find one another in the airport upon arrival.

^ LIKE. SMTH ABT THIS PARAGRAPH HAD ME TEARING UP ALREADY!!!! IT'S LIKE. LIKE. BEING PHYSICALLY APART FROM UR FRIENDS BUT ALWAYS STAYING CLOSE. THE INTIMACY OF THIS, WHICH, LIKE THE FACT THAT IT HAPPENED WAS LIKE A KISS FROM LADY LUCK!!!!!!!!!!! words r so hard but it's like. somehow lining up the lives of ppl u love and trust and care for so EFFORTLESSLY!!! thats what gets me !!!!

and when ur reading this, u can FEEL each character as if they were written in canon. idk the way u describe iwaizumi--like, the significance of him suggesting that trip, and then reader being the one to follow thru. idk thats my hq canon. godbless.

With both his and Tooru’s upcoming departures you had fully expected to be inundated with their company—savouring the remaining time you had left, never quite touching on the topic, still too tender for the three of you. It surprised you. A trip felt final. Another last hurrah. The tying of loose ends, to separate on a good note.

^ THIS PARAGRAPH MADE ME TEAR UP JUST READING IT WHEN I COPY-PASTED IT IN HERE (:AGONY:, BUT LIKE. THE GOOD KIND)!!!! ITS LIKE. this is smth i think many ppl have gone thru when they have friends that move away--it's exactly what i felt when i went on a trip w some hs friends before 1 of them moved across the country. it's a subject thats tender and raw and bittersweet because going on a trip to celebrate it, even quietly, makes the departure feel so much more real!!!! and seeing those emotions put into a fic.... ough.... be still my bleeding heart 🥺🥺🥹🥹

(and side note those MUSCLES.... bites lip.... 1 chomp pls iwaizumi)

and and . and 😭🥺😭🥺 and reader's relationship w the other 3. i will. CRY (<- already been crying) i love the casual intimacy i love the closeness and banter i LOVE the moment where oikawa kisses reader and it's like "ur heart doesnt flutter" bc its casual platonic intimacy and man i wish that were me. 😔😔😔 reader feels like their pal, their guy(gn), their precious friend!!! and they feel just as if not more precious to reader. u cant help but root for them thru this entire thing, holding ur breath with them, cheering them on, crying when they cry. like. GAH. all these emotions r so visceral

From the minute you met there’d always been something there. Maybe it was pheromonic, the way you know something is right the instant you find it; or maybe it was the chubby, six year old hands that plucked the cicada shell from your hair one summer morning. Presque vu, years spent waiting on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t escape you that this might be the last chance to do anything about it.

^ not me having to google presque vu but pluck more bugs from my hair and eat my heart iwaizumi!!!!! i wuld do anything 4 u !!!!!!! GAAAAAAARGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHRGAHHHH !!!!!!!!! and that last line rly makes u feel a sense of desperation and urgency!! coaxing urself to address this thing uve been feeling and!!! WEEPING AGAIN!!!

i want to be sandwiched in a car w them 😔 they r just 1 big happy family to me!!!! with ofc reader and iwaizumi being the only reasonable ppl around LMAO /j /lh

Heading west out of Tokyo toward the Chuo Expressway, it isn’t until a passenger window is opened and a gust billows into the car that you shake the final dregs of sleep. Tooru’s hair is whipping in the wind as Hajime reaches for the radio and switches channels, bass vibrating through the speakers.

^ speaking of which, i loved this part just bc of the way it makes u feel like ur in the car w them. like ur experiencing the roadtrip again thru a scrapbook or diary and it's just!!! shaking off the early morning rush and settling into the excitement of a roadtrip w ur friends..,,, EEEEEK!! imagining a movie montage w some pumpy upbeat music as they zoom on da freeway 😌😌😌

You watch his reflection in the rear view mirror, admiring the soft crinkles by his eyes. His mouth isn’t visible but you know he’s smiling. Issei bumps his knee into yours—again. Simultaneously, Tooru bends make quiet kissing noises against your ear. Swatting them isn’t justice enough, and threatening to throw them out of the moving vehicle only makes them snicker.

^ THIS MADE ME GIGGLE AND KICK MY FEET AJHDSFJHDSFJ idk ur friends knowing abt ur crush on someone is always the same LMFAO theyre little shits abt it but it comes from a place of love. they can see u admiring the person u like before u even notice what ur doing !!! embarassgin!! !! but i love them!!!

This is your Hajime, the one you’ve always known; only now there’s stubble lining his jaw.

^ THE CASUAL TOUCHING... I NEED IT

and the fact that theyve grown so much from summer and those cicaida shells but hes still reader's hajime!!!! AGONKNEEEEE!!!!!! /POS BC ITS LIKE THAT SAYING "even after everything its still u" ITS STILL HIM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA hes still hajime hes just got some facial hair 🥺🥺🥺 and the fact that he blushes so easily when reader compliments him. hehe. (talking to iwaizumi) i know what u are... (in love) 🫵🫵

AND THAT WHOLE SCENE ABT IWAIZUMI GETTING ON ONE KNEE AAAHRJRKHUAJDUASHHWHADJKFHSIDFRIUHDSJKFHR

AND READER BEING SO CLUELESS LMAOOOO for all their overthinking they are a little dummy /aff 😌😌😌😌 but the fact that they probs didnt think of it bc they hadnt considered that iwaizumi likes them back... 😔😔 feels bad man... good thing they got there eventually LMAO ✨💖💕 THEIR HEARTS WERE SO CLOSE IN THIS MOMENT BUT THEY DIDNT EVEN KNOW IT !!!!!! AGONKNEE!!!!!!!

AND!!!!!!! THE PIC THAT HANAMAKI GETS OF READER AND IWAIZUMI 🥺🥹🥺🥹🥺 AAAAAAARGHAHHGHHAAAAA!!!!!!! reader and their boys..... i miss them already (<- just finished reading) and like. idk. the way that reader is enjoying this time even tho theyre anxious abt the future when iwaizumi and oikawa leave... 😔😔😔 WEEPING AGAIN!!!!!!!

i did get a good laugh when oikawa used his charm on the receptionist LMFAOOO, using his good looks for justice. thank u great king 🫡🫡🫡 and its like. even tho oikawa got those updares for them the fact that they all basically sleep in a pile anyways. lmao. love them sm,,,

and the way they love reader too 🥺🥺 THEY WANT THE BEST FOR READER EVEN IF THEYRE PUSHY ABT IT AND THEY LISTEN TO READERS WORRIES AND TELL THEM 'ur bein silly abt this' IN A LOVING WAY... GAAAAAAHHH.... it makes me want 😔 i want to be in a dog pile w them. just maybe not at the very bottom bc they will crush me LMAO

^ on that note tho, i thot it was interesting how oikawa pushed reader a little more. bc he and oikawa are close bffs so like. idk ofc it makes sense that oikawa knows iwaizumi like the back of his hand (oh lala) and he's a little fiercer but no less loving in his encouragement of reader. i was preparing for him to psychoanalyze them over the chip section or smth LMAOOOO

“Tooru,” you say. He makes an inquisitive noise, his nose wrinkled as he rummages through the deep fried snacks. “Being rejected and watching you two leave again—I can’t do both”.

^ PAY FOR MY TISSUES, MONTEE

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!

BC LIKE. BC. BC BC BC OIKAWA AND IWAIZUMI LEAVING IS ALREADY HARD ENOUGH AND EVEN THO THEYRE HAVING FUN!!!! AS I SAID!!!!!!! ITS ALWAYS GOING TO BE IN A CORNER OF THEIR MINDS AND !!!!! AND MAYBE THEY FEEL A LIL TRAPPED, A LIL OVERWHELMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AGONKNEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! and !!! and theyre finally in a private-ish spot where they can talk abt it 🥺🥺🥺🥺 and that in of itself kinda makes it a lil more raw and scary!!

That while you were desperate to make it hospitable, desirable, to be a person Hajime could want, he had managed to blindly pivot around it his whole life.

^ pay for my tissues 2: electric boogerloo

i can only imagine that oikawa was just. mere moments from simply grabbing reader by the shoulders and shaking them n being like "OFC IWA-CHAN LOVES U HOW CAN HE NOT" sjdfhsdj clinging to ur leg montee HOLD ME HOLD ME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the love between these 5 idiots (/aff) is so plain and obvious and precious :((( i love them sm

also reader trying not to stare at iwaizumis chest lmao. felt. AND HIM FEEDING READER FROM HIS OWN CHOPSTICKS??? GOING 2 EAT MY FECKING HAND!!!! /POS

People found your group dynamic odd no matter how much you tried to articulate it to them. You think in the end, it boiled down to trust. To safety. They all loved you in their own, individual ways, as you loved them. Maybe that's how you'd managed to be so content with Hajime's friendship. It had been enough.

^ eatign my haend /pos i just ... i just i just i just..... it doesnt have to make sense to everyone else as long as it makes sense to each other, and thats what makes it so special!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺 GAHHHH

AND THEN. AND THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! there was only ONE FUTON!!!!!! (and its the one iwaizumi is in!!!!!!!!!!) AAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAA SHAKING THE BARS OF MY CAGE LET ME IN LET ME IN!!!!!!!!!!!!! IWAIZUMI U LITTLE SHIT I LOVE U IM GOING TO BITE U!!!!! U KNEW WHAT U WERE DOING!!!!!!!! WEEPING IM WEEPING IM CRYING !!! and thinking abt the similar times when they slept beside each other as children!!! but now its ... its more !!!!!!!!!! iwaizumi petting reader's back what if i chew my ankle off..., aaaaAAAAAAAAAA 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

ALL THE WAYS TO SAY 'I LOVE YOU'!!!!!

tears PISSING from my eyes dont look at me.

and then omg ofc,,, ofc,,, iwaizumi telling reader they look good!!!!! WEEPS... AND THE . THE !!! THE THIS!!!

“You two should go and find somewhere to sit,” Tooru insists, shaking his finger from Hajime to you, “We’ll go grab some more food and join you later”. Hajime levels him with a flat look. “All three of you are needed for that?” “Yes,” Tooru smiles back, an intensity to his expression. You shift your weight from left foot to right, waiting with bated breath.

^ oh my gah... OH MY GAH!!!!!!! i was holding my breath while this was happening bc i was like omgggg what if !! what if he POINTS IT OUT!!!! omg i WAS reader in this scene BEING SO ANXIOUS AAAAAA BC when u. when u like someone and ur friends know abt it and do stuff like this it can feel SO obvious. it can feel so awkward and obvious and scary... but thank god for iwaizumi being who he is LMAO...

(thru incoherent sobbing) AN D THN. THEN. AND THEN THE CONFESSION SCENE oh my GOD i burst into tears they were PISSING FROM ME EYES LIKE U WOULDNT BELIEVE!!!!!! READER U ARE SO BRAVE AND LOVABLE GAAAAAH !!! GAAAH..,, THEIR RAMBLING ... THEIR CONFESSION.... LAYING THEMSELVES OUT LIKE THAT PHEWWWWW ... PHEEEWWWWWWW...

and omg iwaizumi's silence RRAAAGAGHHHHHH DONT LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THAT SJDHFKDSJH !!!! but side note its so silly(/lh) to me that reader was thinking maybe iwaizumi was gonna be like "sorry i dont feel the same way" after he tried to suck their face off SDKJFHSKDJFHDSJK /LH /AFF LMAOOOO idk <333 smooching them. iwaizumi move aside or smh.

"I love you too. Not sure if there was ever a time that I didn’t,"

dont lOOK AT ME DONT NO ONE LOOK AT ME !!!!!!! im going to . EAT MY FOOT!!!!!!!!

and then they BANG and its TENDER and LOVING and FULFILLING EMOTIONALLY SPIRITUALLY PHYSICALLY GAAHHHHHHH . iwaizumi WOULD be good at eating thussy thats canon . these bitches r so in love and i love that 4 them,,, weeps.... and the fact that reader looked up the distance to california :(((( on god thats some loverboy(gn) shit /pos

monty ... i am holding yer face in me hands... kissing u on da cheek so tenderly ... i am so glad i finally had the time to read this and respond... weeps cries... i loved every second of it 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i always will 💖💕

AN OBSERVER OF LONGING ┊ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

synopsis: with a few days remaining, the five of you run from Tooru and Hajime's impending departure for a little longer—and tackle some unearthed feelings along the way.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, childhood best friends to lovers, romantic + sexual tension, mutual pining, a lot of casual physical affection, sharing a bed, angst + fluff, masturbation, festivals, alcohol consumption (everyone) + smoking (makki), yay love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (reader rec.)

wc: 18K

↳ written in three days while in my feels and on new medication: for the komorebi collab hosted by yours truly lmao ↰

Like most impulsive plans it stemmed from a tipsy throwaway comment. Ruddy cheeks, the warm, honey tinge of whiskey on his breath, Hajime’s lips came loose.

“We should go somewhere together,” he’d said, ensconced by the booth cushions. Your gaze met meaningfully across the table, half lidded and dopey. Even as Issei’s arm wrestled its way around his neck and jostled him, wrangled him closer with the promise of teasing, Hajime had not looked away from you.

“Oh! Let’s rent a little bus, like in the movies. That’s a cute idea,” Tooru enthused, inflection slurred by the warmth of his liquor. “Hajime, who knew you could be so cute?”

“Hajime has always been cute,” Issei drawled, eyes gleaming as his knuckles successfully rub back and forth over Hajime’s skull, even as the man squirms against it. “But you’re both leaving again soon. We can’t go far, or for long”.

“Now look. Poor ‘kawa,” Takahiro strummed his finger over Tooru’s puckered bottom lip, pink and plush as it bounces back. “Quick. Tell him he’s cuter before he starts crying”.

And the drink-addled idea passed. You, however, let the thought marinate in the morning that followed. Knowing that it was Hajime who suggested it felt significant. He’s the quiet sentimental type. With both his and Tooru’s upcoming departures you had fully expected to be inundated with their company—savouring the remaining time you had left, never quite touching on the topic, still too tender for the three of you. It surprised you. A trip felt final. Another last hurrah. The tying of loose ends, to separate on a good note.

Ultimately you decided to forward a link to an article detailing different overnight itineraries and festivals to the group chat with hopes of bringing it to fruition. Now you found yourself standing beside Hajime’s car under an early eventide in a pair of old sweatpants too long at the ankle and listening to them bicker, wondering why you ever got the ball rolling.

Phone, check. Keys, check. ID, check. Wallet, check. Overnight bag—

You glare down at the offending object propped on the ground beside your feet. A good twenty minutes of your frantic afternoon had been spent trying to zip the thing shut. Check.

“But Hajime, the otter cafe!”

Tooru yelps, and you glance up in time to watch as Iwaizumi jostles and loosens his grip, “No. We don’t have time. We’re sticking to the plan".

“Are those even ethical?” Issei wonders under his breath, bending at your side to lift the case and ignoring your weak protests. It’s handed off to Hajime with ease, and you allow yourself a brief appreciative glimpse of the muscle flexing under his fitted shirt.

You shake your head, full of mirth as you call to him, “Tooru”.

The sinking sun is crowning his head in a dewy flare. Tooru looks up from Hajime’s back and the halo slips, highlighting the hidden wispy strands of ginger by his temples. Balmed lips pouted, his brow arched in question.

“Stop fussing and sit with me”.

The curiosity smooths out and he looks increasingly pleased at the request. It lasts a few sweet moments, broken by the smug uptick of his mouth. Tooru grins, “Of course you want to sit next to me. I’m your favourite after all”.

Years of repetitive back and forth taught you that arguing that point was futile. With a fond eye roll, you reach across in his approach to pinch at his bicep. “Just get in the car before I change my mind,” you say.

You duck in to sit beside Tooru while he scrambles for the window seat. Hajime is angled toward you while he fiddles with the centre console, a muscled arm wrapped around the headrest, deliberately waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you do, he mouths the words, “Thank you”.

You’re shaken from your reverie when the car rocks on its axles. Issei throws himself into the far right passenger seat beside you with a heavy sigh. Broad shoulders push you closer into Tooru, thighs pressed together and feet parted awkwardly on either side of the rear suspension.

Takahiro excitedly clambers in the front with an energy drink in hand, uncapped, earning an indignant shout from Hajime when he slams the door with too much force.

“Oi—!”

You grin as he struggles to dodge Hajime’s successive smacks. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry, be nice!”

“I told you already, it's my dad’s car. That means no tracking dirt, no spilling anything, and no smoking inside. Capiche?”

“Aye-aye,” Issei drones, knuckles grazing your hip where he fastens his seatbelt. There is little space, yet it is oddly comforting. Tooru snorts, slumping until a head of unkempt brown hair rests heavily against your shoulder, tilting briefly to nuzzle your jaw.

The radio switches on automatically as the engine starts, an initial splutter tapering off into a gentle hum. You reciprocate Tooru’s affection and rub your cheek over his crown, inhaling the familiar scent of coconut milk shampoo. He takes your weight without complaint, and when Issei leans forward to receive a sip of Takahiro’s energy drink, your knees knock together.

Hakone was the chosen destination, thanks to a local festival taking place tomorrow. Of the five of you, Hajime is the best driver in terms of navigation and road knowledge. Issei is a close second. Both Tooru and Takahiro got their licences for the sake of convenience, but you doubt they could make their way around a clockwise roundabout without crying.

Takahiro whoops, his hand thudding in line with the beat on the car roof, “Road trip, baby!”

The scenery becomes less and less familiar, turning onto streets you do not recognise. Heading west out of Tokyo toward the Chuo Expressway, it isn’t until a passenger window is opened and a gust billows into the car that you shake the final dregs of sleep. Tooru’s hair is whipping in the wind as Hajime reaches for the radio and switches channels, bass vibrating through the speakers.

Reality sets in like a slow simmer and excitement buzzes under your skin as the giddiness swells. You lean forward, cheek squashed unflatteringly to the back of the driver's seat, and paw at Hajime’s arm.

“Turn it up, Haji”.

Above the road ahead is a large blue sign detailing directions to Lake Kawaguchi—a purposeful detour, for the sake of acting like tourists. There’s a spot with a perfect view of Mount Fuji. Despite having lived only a forty minute ride from Tokyo, you can’t say you’d ever thought to look at it outside of a postcard.

It’s nice to step into the shoes of another. View the country through a less acclimated lense. You’re taken through winding roads that thread between verdant mountains; entrenched by nature, only to be thrown out into the open as the foliage breaks.

Lake Kawaguchi greets you brightly, the sunset surface glittering across a vast horizon. You are yelling harmoniously with Takahiro as it comes into view. Issei’s phone is already pressed against the window, scenery rolling across the camera screen as he repeatedly taps his thumb to recalibrate the focus.

“I can hear you laughing at me,” he casts a suspicious look over his shoulder.

You grin, “You’re such an old man”.

“We’ll park just up here. There’s a good spot for pictures down by the bank,” Hajime says, the heel of his hand flat to the wheel as it turns left. “Not too far to walk. Pretty sure there’s a cafe just nearby, too”.

The car park is entirely deserted and unmonitored, surrounded by brush. No line markings or need for payment, just a part of the ground carved out and filled with gravel that crunches beneath the tires as it displaces. Cruising toward the far end of the lot, Hajime chooses the spot right by an old staircase that appears to lead down the bank.

He pulls the handbrake with a resounding click and shuts off the engine. Comfortable silence befalls you as the radio cuts out. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline, and as Issei popped open his car door, those first few notes bloomed into many more.

You climb out and step onto the uneven ground, the crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. You reach up and rub at them, running your palms over your cheeks in hopes of warmth. It isn’t cold—just refreshing. Cool enough to feel it in your sinuses when you breathe.

“Come on,” Tooru whines. He’s already stood by the railing, weight shifting restlessly between his feet. You smile at the bounce of his hair, frame outlined in darkening sunlight, breaking through the curls like a canopy.

An arm snakes loosely around your back and Hajime pulls you into his embrace. You fall in line with him, his pace purposefully slowed to remain at your side. He guides you forward, and once you’re close enough, the others begin to descend the staircase.

You hear Issei whistle. Glancing up from the final step, you’re met with a watercolour come to life. Open skies, there lay smudges of orange, red and pink. No telling up from down. The surface of the lake is completely still, reflecting a perfect mirror view of Mount Fuji.

“Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Hajime hums in agreement, awe bleeding into the sound. Tooru is crouched near the water, struck with wonder, idly swirling his fingertips over the surface as Takahiro and Issei station either side of him, the pair deep in thought.

Dragging your eyes from the picturesque view, you take in the emotion on Hajime’s face. People always claimed him to be intimidating—he could be, without question. But to you, Hajime was made up entirely of soft lines, deliberate kindness and telegraphed movements, as though he were a gentle giant, despite being the shortest of the four players.

He still carries some chub in his cheeks. You know, because you’re often inundated with the urge to pinch at it. This is your Hajime, the one you’ve always known; only now there’s stubble lining his jaw.

“It’s grown back again already,” you comment sotto voce, careful not to disturb the pensive atmosphere that has settled by the lakes edge. “You really are a big boy now”.

“It’s annoying”.

“Looks good though,” you muse. “Kinda rugged. I like it”.

His throat flexes as he swallows, hand coming up to itch his jawline, and you try not to stare. It’s always so easy to turn him pink. “You do?”

Too much, you think, poking the swell of his cheek in lieu of a response. It yields under the pressure, and as he smiles it takes on the appearance of a dimple.

Casual affection was second nature, now. You found yourself thankful for the excuse to touch, and knowing that he’ll be leaving soon has emboldened you somewhat. All those years ago you’d preemptively decided that crossing the threshold would lead to rejection, but the initial borders defining your relationship have long since blurred, and it’s hard not to wonder where you truly stand. If you got it right.

“Guys,” Takahiro demands your attention, hand cupped by his mouth with a lit cigarette held precariously between his fingers. The other is in the air waving his phone back and forth. “We’re here to marvel at the miracles of mother nature, not each other!”

You step out of Hajime’s embrace, disguising your reluctance.

Joining their lanky huddle rewards you with a chorus of cheers as Tooru latches on to your back and props his chin atop your shoulder. He flashes an effortless peace sign. The others attempt to fit themselves into the frame mirrored on Hanamaki’s phone screen, an iridescent crack running from one corner to the other, Mount Fuji’s blushing snowy peaks crowning your heads.

“You really gotta get that fixed,” you hear someone say. Their voice is muffled, as if they’d been talking with their lips closed, and one glimpse finds Issei trying resolutely to keep his posed smirk in place. Your own mouth flattens into a thin line to keep yourself from laughing.

The camera shutters.

You groan, “I wasn’t ready for that one”.

A few more are taken and sent to the group chat, eyes on you while you set a particularly sweet one as your wallpaper. Crowing with delight, you find yourself surrounded by bodies and squeezed in a firm group hug.

“Alright, alright,” you huff. The discomfort stems more from the insistent, cramping sensation in your stomach. Your smaller hands meet a hard, muscled abdomen, pushing fruitlessly. Neither man budges. If anything, your resistance only encourages them to coil tighter. “You’re all too heavy. Get off!”

They relent, but only at the sound of your gut rumbling. “Hungry?” Hajime asks. The sheathing sun reflects in his irises, burning bright, verdant green, as though he were part of spring itself; soft in apology.

“Food is that way,” Issei points out. “Looks like it’s open. Maybe”.

There’s a stout, cosy structure further along, tucked atop the edge of a hill and half hidden by a cradle of Japanese maple. If you squint you could make out the moving silhouettes inside.

Tooru cranes his neck, lips comically pursed as he looks toward the cafe. “It’s pretty romantic. If we have Hajime get on one knee out here for a picture, think they’ll give us a free meal?”

Hajime shoves him half heartedly and clicks his tongue, “Why me? Do it yourself”.

You watch as they share a long, unspoken moment, conversing without words. Tooru offers him a scathing look, one of total incredulity and that alone is enough to break the suspension. Hajime juts his chin in the opposite direction and turns his back, beginning a stiff march toward the cafe.

“What was that all about?”

“He’s so bullheaded,” Tooru muses, knuckles rapping gently to your skull as he passes. When you are offered nothing but a fond laugh in the face of your confusion, you stalk off after them.

Petulance has you speeding ahead of the group, further picking up the pace at the sound of hurried feet. The natural instinct to run nips at your heels. As the earth begins to incline upward and your strides broaden, there’s a burn in the back of your thighs that Takahiro seems to have no issue with, if his sudden sprint ahead has anything to say about it.

“Last one there has to pay!”

“Bastard,” Issei hollers from the back, refusing to run and carried by his heavy gait. “Just because you’re unemployed!”

Your lungs are burning with the exertion, laughter coming in short bursts. Issei remains in last, Tooru second, Hajime fourth. From the terrace, Takahiro pieces his thumb and forefinger together into the shape of a heart, nowhere close to apologetic. “Buy me something and I’ll give you a big wet kiss,” he returned in a singsong voice.

Issei lumbers through the gate, movements broad and slow. His brow arches, Takahiro immediately losing bravado. “You’d do that for free”.

“Get me out of here,” Hajime mutters. “Kill me”.

You take pity on him and herd them all through the doors, “Less flirting and more pastries, please”.

Inside is painted in rich deep browns. The fresh air weaves well with the aroma of freshly baked goods. You breathe it in, your hands dancing over shelves sparsely stocked with baskets of flatbread, loaves and cakes. While quaint, the ceilings are high, held up by large beams on which decorative lights and plants are carefully draped.

You feel slightly awkward and out of place in your shabby old sweatpants. A calming melody is playing overhead. Soft spoken voices belonging to the few employees and fewer patrons encourage you to lower your own into a whisper.

Hajime subtly leans down to listen as you say, “I think we should get our food to go”.

He hides his amusement against your shoulder and you accept the brief weight with a grin. Then you feel him nod in agreement.

Issei holds his hand out when you reach the counter. There are already multiple paper bags tucked under his arm. “Give me the goods before I change my mind,” he says, exasperation set plain on his face.

“Thank you Issei,” you recite like a child, pressing two sweet rolls shaped like a cornet into his palm. Hajime chooses comfort—curry bread. Shared on countless late night walks home; the memories stir something melancholic deep within your chest that you’d rather not examine right now.

Your initial concern about being out of place were not entirely unfounded. The employee behind the register greets your group kindly enough, and her smile is genuine, but you cannot ignore how her eyes seem to flicker back and forth to the disgruntled customers seated by the terrace.

If you had to guess, they were regulars. Retired elders that lived nearby and had the privilege to spend their evenings here. Though irritating, you are honest enough to admit that your gaggle of idiots would certainly fracture this place’s peaceful ambiance. So Issei pays, feigning nonchalance at the long, wet kiss Takahiro leaves on his cheek, and you trudge back to the car with food in hand.

Tooru ambles around to the front passenger seat, hip checking Takahiro toward the back where he previously sat. You knew he might do this at some point during the trip. Eating before a car ride made him prone to nausea, and since he was young he’d claimed sitting in the front helped. Anpan held between his teeth, Tooru peers at you through the headrests and smiles with his eyes, entirely too pleased.

Takahiro nudges your side as he clambers in. Lifting your hips, he buckles the seatbelt, and soon after you are half-draped over his lap to allow Issei to do the same. You glare at him as he wiggles his eyebrows, stopping short when he flashes you his phone. There’s a picture, this time of you and Hajime at the lake curled into each other; you’re cradled by his arms, and he by the mountainside, entirely in your own world.

You relent, “Send me it”.

“As I thought,” he mutters smugly.

The lake is rarely out of view. Heading south to Hakone, the road hugs the water for most of the journey. Tooru connects his carefully curated road trip playlist to the speakers and the car swells with an old city jpop song. You pick at your sweet rolls, barely humming along; choking on feelings left to fester in your throat, unacknowledged and unspoken.

You remember the day they told you their goals for the future. Plans to leave. Together, across from you, hands wrung in their laps. Grief filled your body like lead, and you recall thinking to yourself, half-hysterically, ‘How can I do this alone?’

That was a time in your life you couldn’t imagine a world without Tooru or Hajime in it. Day in, day out, seasons passed side by side. Three small stars converging on the same path. It never needed to be clarified—all plans were made with the tacit promise of being together. The unwillingness to part pulled even your families along and you were hard pressed to recall a first New Year shrine visit without their relatives present. Until they decided to leave.

It’s loneliness tinged with a smidgen of guilt. You’re not truly alone. Issei and Takahiro are some of your best friends, and they weren’t going anywhere far anytime soon. Still, you can’t help but brace for the ways your orbit will further unfurl in Hajime and Tooru’s absence when they return to their lives.

Hakone is a town tucked away in the shadow of Fuji-Hakone-Izu national park. Long, mountainous roads lead you toward an expanding vista. Faces sun drenched in varying hues of red maple, pink blossom and youthful green. The next hour and a half passes in the blink of an eye and the destination closes in. You angle your head, stretching across Takahiro’s lap and squinting up to make out the shape of ropeways cutting across the burgeoning sky. Tiny, far off carriers glide along the cables.

Something about it compels everyone to stop and take a breath. You lapse into pleasant silence. The car slows to cruise through the busy streets, music lowered into a faint buzz. It is larger than life.

While advertised as a quaint getaway from the chaotic, fast paced lifestyle of Tokyo, in actuality Hakone is made up of seven separate villages, each with its own distinct history. Lush hills crowned with cumulus clouds of smoke from the hot springs; young families standing beneath grand, crimson painted torii gates; vendors sheltered from the sun by conical straw hats tied beneath their chins with silk.

To get to Gora, you must first cut through Yumoto—a lively, compact area lined with shops and restaurants that have attracted an uncomfortable amount of foot traffic. Hajime drives with his body strung tight, knuckles losing colour as yet another tourist almost walks out in front of his car.

“Almost there, man,” Issei offers sympathetically.

Hajime grunts, “Don’t talk to me”.

Tooru is too preoccupied with taking pictures to notice his best friend's struggles. The small noises of awe only seem to push Hajime’s shoulders higher. You have to duck away from the rear view mirror and bite your inner cheek so as not to laugh.

Eventually, the place you’ll be staying at comes into view. You all release a collective sigh of relief. The modernised ryokan is much larger than most family run facilities. It sits conspicuously on the end of a private road, concealed by forest and threadbare canopy that casts shadows across the windshield as the car pulls in, sliding effortlessly into one of the empty spaces.

Four staff members adorning pastel yukata’s greet you by the wide genkan with a deep bow. The woman standing behind the reception desk mirrors them when she meets your eye. You’re offered a pair of new grey slippers and gently ushered out into the lobby with your outdoor shoes in hand while Hajime heads to check in.

When he rejoins the group his expression is distinctly uncomfortable and pinched in a way you recognise as embarrassment.

“There’s been a mix up with the room—suite, I guess,” Hajime admits. Hesitant, his gaze drags up from the floor to where you’re standing beside him. “I showed her the booking but no dice. We’re stuck with a tatami room and bathroom, but she promised there’d be enough futons to roll out”.

While it was last minute they’d all designated tasks to each other, and his task had been booking accommodations. Having expressed that he would make the effort to get you your own room for the sake of privacy and comfortability, despite your protests, you understood his immediate reaction. Letting people down—at least, his own arbitrary idea of it—never sat right with Hajime.

“Let me go talk to her, Iwa-chan. I might even charm her into giving us some extra amenities,” Tooru grins wolfishly, already fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater. Faint freckles scattered along his forearms, some newer from the summer months. Tendons flexing with determination, he takes the proffered print out and saunters toward the counter.

“I can be charming,” Hajime mutters childishly, shucking the cross bag higher up his shoulder. He frowns you. “Am I charming?”

You pat his cheek. His pride always rears over the most obscure things. “In your own way”.

Takahiro voices his amusement with a heavy clap to Hajime’s back. “Yeah, man. You appeal to people’s baser instincts. Makes me wanna get knocked up in a cave and nap while you’re out hunting for boar, or something”.

“Shut up, idiot”.

Tooru leaned his body against the counter, closed the distance and tilted his head, a coy sequence you’ve paid witness to a thousand times. You can imagine how he’s holding the receptionist's attention, speaking in low, dulcet tones that slide through her like warm butter.

“What a bastard,” Issei sighs. Hajime grunts his agreement, and you realise that the four of you are lined up, watching them unashamedly as if it were a piece of theatre.

“Alright, weirdos. Move it,” you prod insistently at Takahiro’s waist, snickering when he flinches away from your fingers. “Stop staring and get your bags together so we’re ready”.

“You sure are confident in him,” Issei smirks, picking up his luggage nonetheless. There’s a loud click as you extend your suitcase handle, pulling with force when it jams halfway.

“You’re not? It’s Tooru—” your voice abruptly halts at the heat of another, their hand encompassing your own. Hajime relinquishes your grip and readjusts the handle without fanfare. Flustered, you clear your throat, “He always pulls through for us. Though I still think this is all a bit unnecessary”.

“I, for one, am glad he’s with us and not against us,” Takahiro snorts, eyes flitting between the two as Tooru tips his head and laughs. The sound is trim, practised and forced to your own ears, yet manages to make the employee blush. “Kinda scary, isn’t he?”

Unfettered affection pulls at the corner of your mouth. You smile, turning away from them before they can see and tease you for it. Without a doubt, you had missed being with them more than you realised, and the giddiness was hard to temper.

When Tooru returns, it is with a self satisfied grin, a new set of keys and a slip of paper. “That her number?”

“Yep,” his lips pop as he flips it over between his fingers, flashing the numerical digits scrawled on the back before flippantly sticking it in his jacket pocket. “We now have a modern double, a tatami room and a private onsen. Don’t all thank me too quickly, now”.

Hajime accepts the keys with a begrudged sigh. “You should worry about texting and thanking her before we leave”.

“Stop trying to make me a better person,” Tooru sniffed, allowing himself to be herded toward the cramped lift. You trail closely behind, shaking your head.

The room is bigger than expected. Family sized, you’d say. Traditional with a modernised touch; the main tatami room that flowers in the moonlight as it floods in through the sliding lattice doors. Behind it comes the promising sound of running water and after setting all your shoes in the modest genkan—pointed outwards—Takahiro rushes to discover the private onsen.

Hung in a recessed alcove is a silk scroll inscribed with calligraphy. Staggered wall shelves frame a small flatscreen TV, neatly decorated with painted vases and incense. Tucked away in the corner is a closet full of freshly aired futons. The rice straw flooring yields softly under your feet as you explore.

Two other rooms are cordoned off, a smaller tatami room for the futons and one largely taken up by a double bed featuring a western style ensuite bathroom. Tourists must love this place, you think. It offers a palatable amount of Japanese culture, while simultaneously providing them with the simplistic comforts of their own.

Issei makes work of the futons, nudging the low table and cushions into a corner and dragging the blankets over to the other room. Lip worried between your teeth, you find yourself hovering uselessly with no task to attend to aside from unpacking, which you thought to be just as useless.

A hand snakes around your arm. Tooru’s, you soon recognise; impressively soft given his choice of career, lithe, and slightly balmy from a fruity smelling moisturiser his sister gifted him from her travels in South Korea. “Come on,” he insists without explanation, a dramatic weariness about him.

You are guided into the modern room and handed a travel sized torch identical to his own. You flinch away from the bright light as it abruptly begins to blink, but catch on quickly. ”Look everywhere you can think of”.

“What’re you guys doin’ in here?”

Ignoring Takahiro’s question, you bend to flash the torchlight into the plug sockets. As Tooru peeks into the vents—giving the theatrical whisper of “all clear” with every check—you circumvent around the bed, looking under the frame and the nearby closet.

“Makki, stop hovering like a ghost and check the bathroom for cameras. Actually, I’ll do it,” Tooru waves him off dismissively, sleuthing precariously into the small bathroom. “Gotta check the shower head. Can’t have my darling friends showing up on some dark web auction…”

Once Tooru is mollified that there are no hidden cameras the group allow themselves to settle. You are set up in the double room. It is the only door with a lock and a private bathroom, and you suspect that is why it was foisted onto you.

Still you are conscious about the proximity, or lack thereof. Listening to them bicker and scuffle through the walls, their footfalls and voices passing beneath the crack in the bathroom doorway. Your fingers lingered on the turning lock for too long and in the end, you’d left it horizontal. The intense anticipation in your belly culminated into what you recognised as yearning—longing.

The shower can only be described as a transparent box. Aside from a few shallow shelves left to house the complementary body wash, you’re surrounded only by clear, frameless glass panels that do nothing to obscure the view of your naked body. Anyone could walk in at any time. Standing under the warm spray, pressure just right against your shoulders, even as the dense steam fogs up the glass your gaze still falls back to the door handle.

You run a washcloth over your skin and ignore the muted arousal that flares between your thighs. Sounds can be heard over the white noise, muffled by hollow mortar yet still clear enough that the sounds are coalesced into words.

“Get your shoes off my futon,” Hajime demands. Hand braced against wet tile as though to touch the baritone of his voice, the other passes innocently over your sex, and you shudder. Thoughts wander.

Tentative, you slide your fingers through your folds. Massage wet, loose circles around your clit. Eyes fall closed and you dip into your imagination. There’s a firm body behind you, cock grinding tantalisingly slow against your ass. Shaped around your back as though you were an extension of him. Your rhythm stutters when Hajime nuzzles below your ear. Tender kisses forge a path to your shoulder while his hands smooth across a resting stomach toward your chest.

Curtained by hot water as it patters away at the tension in your muscles, droplets slip into the seam of your lips and they part for breath. You lean on the tiled wall, seeking cool relief where the steam starts to overwhelm you, and slip abruptly on the condensation. With an undignified yelp, you quickly find your footing—though not without first knocking over the travel sized bottles of body wash.

Deafening silence follows. You inhale deeply, exhaling to steady your breathing. A hesitant knock to the door gives you pause. The handle remains mournfully upright.

“…You alive in there?”

Your face twists into a grimace as you attempt to recompose yourself. You clear your throat. “I’m fine, Hajime. Sorry. The only thing I’m dying of is embarrassment”.

His short laughter is warm and uninhibited. It rings true in your ears long after he’s gone. Turning away from the spray, your head tips forwards until it thumps against the glass. Shame prickling behind your eyes, you groan, “What the fuck is wrong with me”.

Surprisingly there are no teasing comments awaiting you when you leave the privacy of your room, dried and redressed. All the screen doors have been pulled open, connecting the main room to the spare tatami room where they’ve rolled out all the futons to create one large bed. Five, together. You smile but don’t mention it. Issei greets you with a lazy wave from his place amongst the blankets.

“Makki’s just havin’ a smoke,” his thumb points to the door leading out toward the private onsen. Through the lattice you can make out a blurred silhouette standing on the small veranda.

“The other two?”

“Headed downstairs to ask about the festival tomorrow, and dinner”.

“Are you looking forward to it?” you perk up, kneeling to sit cross legged on one of the beds.

Issei smirks at your enthusiasm and hums an affirmative. Your eyes are drawn to the subtle movements of his hands where they fiddle with the inseam of his jeans. “Yeah. Heard they’re lighting some bonfires”.

Your mouth parts with a sound of recognition. “On the mountainside, right?”

“That's the one,” he nods and bows forward to rest an elbow on his thigh. You straighten up as he pins you under an intense stare. “I can slip away with the guys, if you want. Tomorrow. It would be a good time for you to talk to him”.

Heat prickles over your face. Your pinch your cheek between your teeth, eyes instinctively darting to the hallway. You’re not sure whether it’s his consideration of you or your own piteous transparency that makes you want to cry. It has been this way for years; a tentative dance that never seemed to end. They all know. You wished you could still be ignorant of that.

“Do you…” you clear your throat as your voice cracks. Issei’s gaze softens and you feel naked. “Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?”

After a short, pensive silence, Issei exhales a long breath and lays his hands flat on the futon. He leans into the heel and pushes onto his knees to drop his body heavily beside yours.

You struggle against his weight as he slumps, flinging both arms around your waist. “Issei—!” an aborted yelp falls from your mouth when he hooks his chin over your shoulder and locks his jaw, pressing it into your back.

“Stop! That hurts, bastard!” you squawked, pushing down against the forearm cinched across your middle like a belt. They flex under your hands, not moving an inch. You can feel his cheeks lifting as he grins.

“Sure. When you stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he offers slyly, tightening his grip. You fall slack as the fight bleeds from your body. There’s a familiar burn behind your eyes, closely followed by a swell in your throat that the words can’t quite seem to get around. “And for the record, I do think it’s a good idea”.

“It’s a terrible idea,” you intone flatly, smile fraying at the edges. “He’s leaving again after this, Issei”.

Issei must hear the clear defeat in your voice because he gathers you against his chest to hug you properly. “I know,” he murmurs. You breathe in the light notes of amber lingering on his skin, his big hand splayed between your shoulders.

Then you feel the unmistakable press of a kiss to your crown. “You’re a coward,” your brows knit together as you glare up at him. It's just like Issei to make it sound like you’re fussing over nothing after you’ve spent years building it up in your head. His grin widens, crooked. “But you’re our coward, and we want to see you happy”.

You feel your irritation melt away at his sincerity. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth. The sweet atmosphere is swiftly soured as he adds, “So hurry up and fuck already”.

Takahiro’s return is poorly timed. Shutting the lattice door behind him, he strolls in with scent of tobacco following close behind, “Who’s fucking?”

A wave of embarrassment washes over you. It makes you go hot and cold in quick succession. Issei surrenders and rolls onto his back, cushioned by the futon as you push him away, loud cackles bouncing off the walls.

“Nobody is. Be quiet, the pair of you”.

“Is it about Hajime?” he continues, crouched before you with eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Takahiro jumps backwards with a snicker when you angle your hips to kick at him. The bitter smoky smell is much stronger around his fingers. He grabs your ankle to keep you still but Takahiro’s smug air dissipates in an instant, mouth falling open as you drag him down. “Hey—!”

Issei stays quiet with his arms tucked behind his head, happy to no longer be the target of your ire.

That is the scene Tooru and Hajime returned to only a minute later. Having rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, Makki had accidentally pushed you down into Issei, the three of you tumbling backwards in fits of laughter.

Spurred by the need to be included, Tooru took it upon himself to flop unceremoniously into the pile. Your pained yelp had caused quite a stir, the image of Hajime’s face twisted in worry playing on a loop in your mind.

You inhale deeply and grimace in discomfort. The air is humid here. You can feel it sticky in your lungs, right beneath the fresh bruise blooming across your rib. Tooru’s eyes flicker, caught in the movement as you rub at your sternum. The corners of his lips downturn.

“Sorry again,” he mumbles over the sound of gentle, trickling water from the nearby spring, knocking your elbows together. You’ve strayed toward the back of the group alongside him, his stride slowed to keep pace as you wandered around the low lit gardens to kill time before dinner. Flowers are few, evergreens abundant, stone lanterns guide you forward.

With a forgiving sigh you link your arms to keep him close. Tooru’s rigid posture relaxes as you nuzzle against his bicep. “Nobody died. It’s fine,” you laugh quietly.

“If it were up to Iwa-chan I might’ve”.

You roll your eyes. “I can handle a bit of roughhousing. Grew up with you, didn’t I?”

Tooru’s face is thrown into stark relief as moonlight filters through the canopy, and you watch his small smile scrunch up into a moue. “With my sister you mean,” he says, with a fondness betraying his expression. “What a beast”.

You have vague memories. Downy brunette hair fisted in a small hand. Eyes swollen with tears. A young boy sent to the corner to think about his actions. Tooru always started those fights, not that he would ever admit it. But you knew he was fighting for his older sister’s attention more than anything else at the time.

“Liar. She spoiled you all the time,” you tell him. “And you were as bad as each other”.

Tooru hums, the way he often does when he doesn’t believe you. Your paths converge, misstepping as he sways and you throw his too-innocent act a look of suspicion. “So,” he starts a beat later.

It’s apparent in his eyes. That gleam of curiosity, and hesitance. Bingo. Tooru barely moves as you return your weight to his side and almost veer him onto the grass in protest. “No,” you reply.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“No? Well if it’s not about me confessing to Hajime then please, do carry on”.

Tooru makes a petulant, frustrated noise. There’s an indent in his cheek where the inner flesh is pinched between his teeth. You roll your eyes, scuffing your shoe to the stone path. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to confess now,” you tell him quietly.

“You’re just scared,” Tooru returns under his breath. His expression is solemn now, as is his tone.

“And what if I am?” Your voice raises a bit, rousing the attention of the men up ahead. When they look back you muster a smile and give a reassuring wave. Your attention momentarily drawn to the huddle behind them by the bamboo gate. A small family shuffled by, heads bobbing with gratitude as the boys made room, when their toddler took notice of Takahiro and became appropriately delighted by him.

While the mother spilled panicked apologies and took her daughter's hand, the girl stood on the very tips of her purple jelly sandals and Takahiro bent to let her pat him on the head before departing. Tooru drops the topic with an offended hum as you abandon him to rejoin the group, examining the trim of his nails to feign disinterest, “She only liked you because your hair is pink”.

“Actually it’s strawberry blond,” Takahiro snarks, equally affronted and amused. “Just heavier on the strawberry”.

Their movements coalesce, blindly shuffling after one another back into the hotel lobby. “Should probably head back soon,” Hajime mutters as an afterthought, his gaze trailing wall to wall before landing on the clock hung above the main desk. “Should we buy some drinks and stuff for tonight?”

“I can get it,” you volunteer at the same time that Tooru interjects with, “We’ll go get it”.

You glare at him.

Hajime disapproves. At the very least he’s worried. It’s in the flex of his fingers, the set of his jaw, the earthen eyes narrowed at the pair of you. “Will you be okay together?”

“Yes, Iwa-chan. This isn’t an episode of ‘My First Errand’,” he reaffirms his grip on your arm, giving it a decisive squeeze. “It’s no problem, right? Right”.

“Right,” you say, the decision clearly made for you. You turn your attention from Tooru’s pointed smile back to Hajime and the others. “We’re good. Text us what you want and we’ll bring it up to the room”.

Murmured acquiescence ripples through the group, and Tooru ambles you out through the main entrance as you part ways. Your entwined shadows elongate, the wall mounted sconces leading a path to the small sundry nestled in the east side of the hotel.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“No”.

“Not even if I say please?”

“No,” Tooru chimes again, tugging you through the automatic doors. The cashier acknowledges your arrival with a quick smile and continues to restock the empty shelf in front of them.

The temperature drops as you turn onto the drinks aisle and Tooru opens the closest fridge while refusing to let go of you. “I just don’t understand why you’re not taking the chance,” he continues, frowning at the bottle labels. When he plucks the umeshu from the rack you know it’s for him. “I don’t want you to regret it”.

“They’re asking for beer and shochu,” you read tiredly from the phone in your free hand. The text chat bumps as another message comes through. “Uh… Issei wants dried calamari. We should get seaweed tempura, too”.

“Stop changing the subject”.

Annoyance sparks in your chest. “This is what we’re here to do,” you grumble, shoving your phone into your pocket and opening the adjacent fridge door with more force than necessary. You shiver at the gust of cool air.

An indolent sigh seeps from him. “C’mon. You have to know,” Tooru murmurs, moving closer to hook his chin over your shoulder. He softly knocks your heads together. “The chances of you being rejected are less than zero”.

“No, I don’t know that. And—even if that’s true, what then?” you shake your head, chewing your lip. “Like I told the others, it’s not a good idea”.

“Okay,” Tooru replies, standing upright and turning to saunter away. He draws out the word as he does whenever he concedes an argument he still thinks he has won. You stare at his retreating back with a bereft sense of defeat, now cold where your arms had been linked.

“Tooru,” you say. He makes an inquisitive noise, his nose wrinkled as he rummages through the deep fried snacks. “Being rejected and watching you two leave again—I can’t do both”.

Your voice cracks. That strikes a chord square in his chest; the sudden crestfallen expression is evidence enough. Tooru abandons the tempura shelf and tucks the bottles of liquor under his armpit while tucking you under the other. You're a mess, a cacophony of emotion threatening to spill out through your tightly closed eyes.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to push you”.

“I mean. You did,” you laugh thickly, and Tooru has the decency to appear sheepish. He rubs his hand down your side. “But it’s okay. I know you mean well, you all do”.

It’s enough to see that it comes from a place of love. The extent of your yearning has affected him just as much as anyone. Tooru watched consistently over the years while you stood in place and dug, and dug, and dug, for somewhere to put your feelings. That along the line it became a crater you couldn’t climb out from. That while you were desperate to make it hospitable, desirable, to be a person Hajime could want, he had managed to blindly pivot around it his whole life.

The electrical buzz emanating from the fridges is abnormally loud as Tooru, for a precious second, actually stalls to gather his next words. “Look. I’ve been thinking,” he says with a rather rehearsed air.

“That’s not good”.

“Don’t be mean. Hear me out,” he grins. “It was weird for Hajime to suggest a trip so last minute, don’t you think?”

You purse your lips thin with a contemplative hum, grabbing the snacks and shuffling along the aisle while he talks. You had thought it significant, that being the main reason you encouraged Hajime’s idea in the first place. “See, he’s a straightforward, honest guy. And he’s earnest. That’s why you think if he returned your feelings he would’ve said something, isn’t it?”

The cashier furtively looks you over as you wander closer to the counter and set them down. You offer a strained smile. “Hi, that’s everything. Tooru—what’s your point?”

Tooru pulls out his wallet and emphatically states, “My point is you’re wrong!” He hands over the money, “Oh, here. Keep the change. Thank you”. You take the carrier bag, wincing when the glass bottles clink together. “Anyway,” Tooru exhales a heavy breath, visible as he steps into the night air, “You’re underestimating his cowardice”.

Coward was not a descriptor you’d ever ascribe to Hajime. Yourself, sure. You shoot Tooru a sidelong glance, and he smiles at your clear scepticism. “Iwa-chan is bad at being selfish. He feels a certain responsibility toward the people he cares about. Did on our old team, and with the guys, and especially with you,” Tooru continues, a warmth to his tone. “He’s probably not thinking about his own feelings. He’s mostly worried about you, and yours”.

Your pace lags until you’ve come to a stop. Tooru does so a few steps ahead. “So he brought us here for what? To let me down gently?”

“Did you listen to a word I just said?” Tooru cocks his head, the moon crowning his head, light threading through his hair as his expression is shadowed. “I think he was always aware of what could change if he outright confessed. He needed to be sure, and he needed a reason, because his gorilla brain thinks it’ll ruin your whole relationship. That’s why we’re here,” you blink at his lithe fingers, waving in your face and wriggling. “It's an excuse. Because he wants to try!”

Eyes wide, caught in the place between awed disbelief and crippling anxiety, your fingers almost slip from under the bag handle. The trip being symbolic of Hajime’s resolve—could that make sense? You swallow against the lump in your throat. Memories of every recent there-and-gone-again touch and gentle look hold new meaning as they resurface. “He said that?”

“Well, no”.

And the lump in your throat, presumably your heart, drops straight into your stomach. You march past Tooru into the hotel lobby with a bitter laugh.

“Wait, would you—! You’re both so frustrating”.

“Me?” you whirl around to glare at him. People linger at the edge of your vision. Those prim, soft looking women that greeted you mere hours ago are gathered at the reception desk and pretending not to stare. Lowered into a broken rasp, you tell him, “What happened to not pushing? You aren’t being fair, Tooru”.

“This isn’t about fairness. You said you're scared,” Tooru says. Your eyes dipped low to avoid the surety in his gaze. “And that’s fine. I just want you to consider that maybe you’re not the only one who’s scared”.

His words register gradually, and they make you ache; similar to that of a bruise, as the implications become clearer, and your reply comes quietly—not whispered, with a voice that carries no strength. “Fine,” you lift your head, ball your fist tighter and the plastic handles dig into your palm. The tension smooths in Tooru’s brow. His eyes soften, squinting at the corners, and you realise you’ve begun to smile too. “I’ll keep it in mind. You’ve said your piece. What now?”

“Oh. Now we go back to the room before Hajime sends a search party, eat as much as we want and drink until we fall asleep,” Tooru says, casting a quick glance to your surroundings. He drapes arm around your shoulders haughtily, “Then at the festival tomorrow I’ll conveniently slip away with Makki and Mattsun to leave you and Hajime alone. Do with that what you will”.

You snort, feeling an unrestrained fondness for your friends, and will yourself not to cry. “You three already had this planned, didn’t you? Issei told me the same thing”.

“Confess, don’t confess. Either way, I think it’ll be good for you to talk alone,” he says resolutely. Tooru’s one armed embrace has the steadiness of home. You return it, hooking around his lower back, and walk together. His strides that much longer, and you feel a smidgen braver.

Returning to the room you’re greeted by the sight of three men crowded in the genkan pushing to get their shoes back on. As Tooru anticipated they were preparing to go out looking for you both. The smile on your face only grew at Hajime’s admonishments now you're considering the love behind them, Tooru’s words relaying through your memory.

If Takahiro and Issei exchange a look at the bounce in your step, well. You happily ignore it.

Yukatas had been laid out neatly for each of you to wear for dinner. Once you’ve changed you putter into the main room and settle on your knees, resting back on your calves. The tatami is comfortable underneath your shins. Set on the table is a lavish spread of food brought up to you by the ryokan staff.

The heat of another body radiates to your left. Hajime smiles when you look at him and your heart thunders. He’s unbearably handsome in his complimentary robe, a darker blue than your own, and he has it loose at the neck. You feel a headache coming on with the effort it takes not to ogle his chest.

To your right Takahiro’s navy coloured garb is worn equally loose, somehow managing to look dishevelled rather than natural. As though he had pulled it on haphazardly in his excitement to get to the food.

Tooru saunters into the room alongside Issei. His robe matches your own. It is drawn tight at the waist and closed at the collar, closely outlining his upper half. You are always startled by how broad Tooru truly is, given how lithe his movements are. He huffs when he notices the spots rather side of you are taken.

“Ready to eat?” Issei rumbles, sitting opposite at the low table looking nonplussed as ever. You can’t help noticing his belt is barely holding tension and could fall open at any time, both sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. It smells incredible,” you say. The dinner is beautiful, a healthy array of colour, covered in mouth watering glaze. Seasonal flowers and leaves and decoratively cut vegetables have been used as finishing touches on each dish, artistically expressing the end of the summer. Your stomach twists in hunger as both palms come together in synchrony, “Thank you for the food”.

You take your chopsticks and reach for the dish closest. Limbs cross over the table top. A familiar, homely scent of saffron, garlic and onion fills your senses. The gloaming moon watches you eat in the relaxed atmosphere. Soft sounds of satisfaction, the clang of cutlery. “S’good,” Hajime says. He catches you staring and lifts his chopsticks toward you, free hand cupped beneath it. “Want to try?”

It’s unnecessary in the best way. “Mmn,” you replied, leaning forward with an indulgent smile. You don’t trust yourself to speak, the spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to your body.

Could Hajime really return your feelings? Tooru certainly thinks so. Issei and Takahiro. Seemingly everyone that has been within twenty feet of you.

Tooru watches the interaction over his glass of umeshu, radiating a smugness that can only be interpreted as ‘I see you’. You don’t particularly enjoy being seen to the bottom of; it makes you want to shrink back. It’s the strange flicker of determination on Hajime’s face that keeps you from doing so.

You’re not the only one afraid to say something, a voice insists in the back of your head.

The food falls apart gently on your tongue. You give a pleasantly surprised hum, engrossed in the rich flavours, and you almost miss how Hajime preens. His mouth pulled into a small, boyish grin, unable to look you in the eye.

“Hey man, give me some,” Takahiro bemoans, his amusement on the precipice of teasing. You recline to allow Hajime to pass the dish across and instinctively know what will come next. “I see how it is. Not gonna feed me too? Favouritism at its finest—” With a flat glare he scoops a large chunk of rice and shovels it into Takahiro’s mouth mid sentence, and you hide a laugh behind your hand.

As the plates empty your imagination wanders. It’s a careful unravelling of doubt. You’ve navigated every one of your relationships with a certain level of trepidation, Hajime most of all. Taking a forward step only when certain it wouldn’t creak. Years of doing nothing, saying nothing, because it was the safe option. You had been prepared to spend your life in that unspoken purgatory if it meant keeping Hajime, and there had been comfort in that decision.

But now you have permission to hope and you don’t know what to do with it. You’re quieter than usual, though nobody points it out. If anything they seem relieved. Three of the four, atleast. Hajime won’t stop sending you worried glances. You wonder if he’s overthinking his actions, and your reactions, the way you’ve always done.

The main tatami room is fragrant with the remains of dinner. You’ve gathered some pillows, shared out the snacks and poured their drinks, five sups in and counting. The boys are bickering over which movie to watch. Sake heats you from the inside out, plucks you right from your entangled thoughts and back into the present with loose limbs and a looser tongue.

You speak loudly over them, “How about a comedy?” It’s the first one you can think of. “Tampopo?”

Issei, Takahiro and Hajime pause to consider. Tooru groans, already knowing he has lost the majority vote. “I wanted to watch ‘Before we vanish’,” he whines. “Sci-fi is better than comedy!”

“We always watch sci-fi,” Hajime remarks as he works the remote, switching the movie category to comedy and searching for ‘Tampopo’.

“There’s a drinking game for this one,” Takahiro adds. “I think you sip every time somebody says ‘ramen’”.

“If you want to be put on a waitlist for a new liver go ahead,” Issei says.

The room briefly fades to darkness, lighting up not a second layer as the studio logo spins onto the screen, emphasising the shadows of Hajime’s laughter lines. “We should drink every time there’s a weird food-porn montage instead,” he suggests, sinking back onto his elbows. Your traitorous mind immediately notes the few inches between your hands.

“Well I’ll be drinking in protest,” Tooru turns his nose up though his eyes betray him, fixed on the screen with obvious interest. “And I’m not sure I want to hear the word ‘porn’ from your mouth ever again”.

“Porn,” Hajime says. “Porn, porn, porn”.

“Quiet,” you hiss, focus absorbed by the opening scene. An odd pair of lovers, one delicate woman and her white-suited gangster, enter a movie theatre. Their entourage scurries behind them with champagne and a wicker basket of food, setting up a small table as though in a restaurant.

“Oh,” the dapper man’s voice bleeds through the speakers as he approaches the camera to break the fourth wall and harangue the viewer. “So you’re at a movie too. What are you eating?”

“Dried calamari,” Issei answers loftily. Takahiro snorts into his drink.

Scene to scene, you drink when prompted and settle into uninhibited contentment. Feet tucked up under your thighs, propped on a plush pillow. The heat from Hajime’s hand grazes your skin. Closer and closer until the simple stretch of your fingers would see them entwined.

The movie is funny. It is also unabashedly sensual and hedonistic, and heavy handed about its themes surrounding food. From oysters to noodles, including a scene involving the two lovers using their tongues to move an egg yolk between their mouths before it bursts, you're barraged with wet slurping sounds as the characters on screen eat, and eat, and eat.

“Hot,” Takahiro slurred, while Tooru cried, “What the hell are we watching?”

You drank twice for that one. Too tipsy to parse whether the hot flashes through your body were embarrassment or arousal or an intermingling of both. You’re overly conscious of Hajime’s movements and his closeness, so much so that the plot passes through one ear and out the other.

The dim lamplight from the ensuite room pools across the tatami, the door left ajar to luminate the spot where you’ve lined up the liquor bottles. You squint at the labels. Fuzzy. Laughter ripples through the group at the ongoing scene, an elderly woman being chased around a grocery store and hit with a fly swatter for seemingly—fingering the food?

You smile at the sound as you lift Tooru’s umeshu bottle to the light to measure the remains before pouring some into your glass. A hand circles your ankle, shifting back and forth to fit the peak into the gaps between his knuckles. The soft evocation of your name. Hajime is holding out his own empty cup with a half lidded gaze, the left side of his face thrown into stark relief by the TV screen.

Something hot flares through your chest, your perspective on his tactile habits shifted; the initial desire suffuses to the very tips of your fingers. Now you’re restless with it. He’s so handsome, you think. And he’s still looking at you.

You fill his drink too, and hope the alcohol will not steal these warm moments come morning.

Once the movie is over your sprawled out bodies eventually migrate toward the futons Issei prepared. You forgo the bed to crawl into the covers, to the surprise of no one, and let your eyes trail after Tooru. The flush across his nose has steadily deepened throughout the night. He flicks on the electric fan and kneels to roots through his luggage, pulling a compact from the front pocket with a triumphant noise.

“Comfortable over there?” Tooru circles the pad of his pinky into the balm and brings it to his mouth. The faint strawberry scent is enticing, preferable over the heady, bitter smell of beer. His brow quirks when you don’t reply.

“Want some?” he asks. Slowly, you nod, and he flashes a wry smile, setting down the pot before stretching to reach you. The motion draws you in, tipping your chin up. His fingers are soft on your cheek, splayed out and cradling your jaw.

Tooru kisses you. Your heart maintains a steady rhythm. It’s a friendly, chaste press of lips; you rub your own together as he pulls away not a second later, finding them smoother. Sweeter. The hints of strawberry linger right beneath your nose. Caught in your own world you fail to notice the other two men staring.

“Oh no,” Issei drawls. Turns off the light as he saunters in. He drapes himself across a prone, drunk Takahiro, tilting his head in Tooru’s direction. “My lips are so dry”.

The atmosphere sparks a little. Issei’s teasing, syrupy tone is like flint striking steel. A fond, syrupy sensation settles around your bones—or perhaps that was the alcohol easing the tension. Flirting came easily amongst the others because it was without expectation. The silly pet names and heavy handed affection; it’s all a playful toeing of the line. People found your group dynamic odd no matter how much you tried to articulate it to them. You think in the end, it boiled down to trust. To safety. They all loved you in their own, individual ways, as you loved them. Maybe that's how you'd managed to be so content with Hajime's friendship. It had been enough.

Tooru hums and sits cross legged on his futon. He settles back onto his hands, smiling hazily as Hajime kicks his foot in passing, “I’ve noticed”.

You can’t help appreciating how genuinely coy it is. Patently different to the way he behaves with strangers—not so forced. With his friends flirting is more about working for Tooru’s permission; it’s more fun that way.

Issei purses his lips expectantly. Tooru leans forward.

“You okay?”

You blink. Hajime lowers onto the futon beside yours. His yukata has fallen further open to display his firm chest. Not that you’re looking. You’ve been cordoned on the far end of the room together. Takahiro is too drunk to make any purposeful decision but it’s obvious—at least to you—that Tooru and Issei chose from the remaining futons to keep you and Hajime together.

“Sleepy,” you say, the lull to your voice earning a gentle smirk in response.

“Want any, Iwa-chan?” Hajime’s frowns at the interruption and looks over his shoulder, taking in the suggestive intermittent puckering of Tooru’s mouth. You think at this rate there’ll be no balm left.

“No thanks,” he says.

“Have it your way,” Tooru grumbles from his place beside Takahiro, right in the centre. Pale legs kick at his covers until they’re rumpled a certain way, apparently satisfying to him, and he wriggles down into the mattress. “Still think we should’ve watched ‘Before we vanish’. I’m going to have nightmares about oysters”.

Issei snorts. He turns on his side, laid at the furthest end from you. “But does ‘Before we vanish’ use an egg yolk to symbolise orgasm?” his hand makes a sweeping gesture in the shadows, “I don’t think so”.

“Tha’s cinema baby,” Takahiro slurs, mouth muffled against his pillow. A beat passes. You meet Hajime’s gaze. His lips are pressed thin, trembling. You hear a smothered wheezing sound coming from Tooru’s futon, and the stillness is abruptly broken by a unanimous fit of laughter.

“Shit,” your cheeks ache, your stomach is in knots as you pull the covers up over your persistent grin. The collective glee tapers. “I’ve,” Hajime starts after a deep breath, rubbing at his eyelids, “missed you idiots”.

Tooru sniffles at that. “Don’t make me cry,” he says, clearing the emotion cloying in his throat. You feel a pang of sympathy, overcome with it yourself. “I’ll wake up with swollen eyes and I forgot to bring gel masks”.

“Use a cold damp cloth or something”.

“Mattsun, you're so primitive”.

Eventually the murmuring between the boys settles into silence; the kind that makes the shadows in your room a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. The electric fan and the cicadas hum a cohesive song into the night.

Through the thick of it, you hear a new whisper. Hajime calls your name and there’s barely any voice behind it—uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace. The corner of a blanket pulled back to expose his torso.

Intention clear, you first glance at the sleeping figures over his shoulder. Tooru curled into a cocoon with his bedsheets tucked under his feet. Takahiro laid out on his belly, open mouthed and drooling. Issei on his side, arm bent beneath the pillow, breathing so shallow you’re tempted to pinch him awake.

Hajime waits while you think. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the trepid smile on his face. Emboldened, you crawl out of the futon and into his.

“Looked cold over there,” he reasons.

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years, Hajime is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. You guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest, legs overlapped. Made up of yourselves but also each other.

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as your nerves settle and anticipation thaws. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm.

It reminds you of when you were kids. The jagged shape of a tall, lego Godzilla had forced you to find home between him and Tooru more times than you could count. Everything had been so much bigger. Scarier. Still, those watercolour memories don’t quite hold a candle to this.

Hajime’s hand glides down your back in repetitive, methodical strokes. It makes you feel delicate, like something in you might fracture. You try to ease your breathing as he pulls you closer. The proximity isn’t anything new, but this is something else. Different. It always is, with him, only this time you don’t need to convince yourself otherwise.

Fingers twisting into the thin cotton of his yukata, you mumble, “Thanks, Haji”.

You feel his lips on your temple like hot wax. Your eyes flutter closed, and all at once you feel brave enough to say it, but the moment passes as his head drops against the pillow.

From the recesses of your memory rose the rehearsed speeches, the recipes for honmei chocolate, the imagined cliche scenarios that you left dog-eared in highschool. All the ways to say ‘I love you’.

Hajime has always expressed love in smaller ways. You’ve observed, over the years, his little habits. Easing small burdens. He’d take the clothes off his own back if it could make your journey smoother but wouldn’t ever dream of asking you to stray from it. That’s where you differed, and what you feared.

If he got cold feet you would need to be the brave one.

For all that you had doubted about the nature of Hajime’s feelings towards you over the years, you could have some faith in it now. The thought of him leaving again without hearing it from you—without knowing you were an option—doesn’t bear thinking about.

Vague and half-formed, you succumb to sleep on the end of a drowsy self imposed promise. Tomorrow, you’ll tell him.

Wading through a cottony haze, your consciousness sharpens in increments. Every physiological response in your body is shouting that it is far too soon to rise. You groan, tilt your head and let it loll against your arm; the other is flung outside of the covers, fingertips skimming the futon edge.

You’ve turned on your side in the night. Slowly, you realise a firm body has conformed to your back, knees nudged up behind your own, bending them toward your chest. The way you melt into their warmth and nudge against the cradle of their hips is instinctive. Then the shallow, steady breaths brushing the nape of your neck stutter on a sharp inhale and your eyes fly open, remembering where you are.

Hajime.

After a few seconds endured with bated breath you release the tension in your muscles. He’s asleep.

There’s stark relief. The initial terror in your chest ebbs. Careful as you go, you slip out from Hajime’s grip. A crease forms in his nose, frowning at your absence, and you stay to see how he reaches for you even subconsciously.

A long yawn forces your jaw open, tongue sitting like cotton as the last dregs of sleep fade. A quick look around the room tells you Takahiro is the only one up. The latticed door to the onsen is cracked open. You pull your yukata tighter to your chest to shield against the slight draft. Blood rushes down to your toes as you walk, prickling white noise filling both legs.

Bordering the onsen is a quaint patio area mimicking a traditional veranda. There’s a mosaic garden table and two matching folding chairs, one of which is occupied by a visibly hungover Takahiro.

“Anyone would think you had a night out,” you murmur, closing the door behind you. The air is cool again. Morning birdsong carries over from the trees. Takahiro peeks at you through his lashes, a permanent frown etched into his brow. A headache, if you had to guess. He’s slumped in the chair with long legs stretched outward, a cigarette nestled in the ‘V’ between his fingers, held up by a loose wrist like it alone was too heavy.

The tip glows red as he takes another drag and turns his head away to exhale the smoke into the dew laden air. “Never let me mix drinks again,” he rasps.

“You say that every time,” you cross your arms over your middle and sit down. The metal is cold under your thighs, felt through the thin fabric. “Sleep well, atleast?”

“Like the dead,” he flashes a conspicuous smile as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “You?”

A voice nonchalant in a way that betrays his interest. Subtle in his teasing. Despite already knowing he would’ve seen you and Hajime on his way to the veranda, the confirmation leaves you feeling hot.

“It was comfortable,” you reply stiffly, braced to defend yourself ad nauseam. Takahiro’s eyes softened in the rousing grey-blue daylight.

“Good,” he says.

“That’s all?”

“What, you want me to force the subject? Figured you've had enough of that already”.

“No,” you sigh, sinking into your chair. “…Thanks, Makki”.

Takahiro shrugs lightheartedly and stubs his cigarette out. There’s movement from inside the room. At that moment the door slides open, and Hajime pops his head through the narrow gap.

Your fingers twist hard around your obi. He looks sleep mussed where he’s sitting on the tatami, pushing the door further open to lean on the frame. There’s recognition and relief in his gaze as he glances from Takahiro to you. No indication he was awake before.

“Hey,” Takahiro says.

“Morning,” Hajime replies, sounding as though his throat is dry. A draft dances through and his face scrunches slightly at the nicotine smell. “I set an alarm for breakfast. They’ll be here in any minute”.

“The other two up?” you ask.

“Mostly,” Hajime nods in their general direction. “Tooru’s getting in the shower and Issei’s on the phone to his little brother”.

Takahiro takes a deep inhale and pushes his centremost knuckle to his forehead. “I’ll go help put away the futons,” he states with a groan. Hajime tucks his legs in to allow him through and swats at the hand that scrubs over his hair in passing.

He turns his attention to you. A crease from his pillow marks his cheek. “Have you been awake long?”

“About ten minutes,” you reply, staring hard at the dense garden and dwindling into silence caught somewhere on the knife’s edge between awkward and companionable. Running water streams from the wooden spout into the onsen, making the surface ripple. You latch onto the sound. “Shame we didn’t use the onsen”.

“We’re still here another night,” Hajime says placatingly. “Use it when we’re back from the festival if you want”.

You nod, adjusting your yukata without reason. The simple need for distraction. “Maybe,” your mind can’t help veering toward the worst case scenario. What would’ve changed by that time, tonight? What would you say, and how, if anything at all? The thought makes your stomach twist. You’re not sure you could recover if he reacted poorly.

Blinking out of your reverie, you realise that Hajime had been talking. Heat prickles under your skin. “Sorry,” you grin awkwardly, and it feels brittle on your face. “Got lost in my thoughts”.

“About what?”

You wet your lips, like that could soften the blow. “I’m going to miss you,” you tell him. His expression falls. “Both of you,” you add hastily, which does little to reassure him. “When’s your flight again?”

Hajime’s mouth thins, eyes dipping low. “Late tomorrow night. Or early I guess,” he answers. His shoulders shake and he laughs ruefully, “I’ll miss you too, y’know. Not sure you realise how much,” like it was a matter of fact. The earth would go around the sun and Hajime would miss you.

“Like a hole in my head,” you murmur, so quiet you’re not certain he heard you. Then, slightly louder, “Are you excited to get back to California?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m excited to leave. Got a lot of interesting stuff coming up this semester, though,” he perks up when you gesture, encouraging him to continue. Inwardly, selfishly, you only want to hear him speak a little longer. “One thing I’ve really wanted to do is biomechanical testing. We use it for detailed analysis of our players movement. So…”

The air stifles as the sun rises and drapes across the private veranda, warming the wood panels beneath your feed. Once breakfast has been laid out—and you’ve been bid an enthusiastic ‘good morning’ by the staff—you gravitate toward the same seating arrangement as the night prior.

It’s nothing short of a buffet. A traditional Japanese-style breakfast, hot rice and miso soup, grilled fish, dried seaweed and shellfish boiled in soy sauce and sugar, all served across four hand-woven bamboo trays. There are western elements to the spread, including coffee and bread, which Tooru happily reaches for.

“A person like you should really avoid stimulants,” Hajime muttered as he came to sit at the table.

Tooru startled, hands poised over the steaming coffee pot. He pouted, “A person like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Paranoid, is what I mean”.

“If you're so concerned about my overactive limbic system maybe try being nicer to me!”

The morning crawls onward with an atmosphere of trepidation. As if waiting for the other shoe to drop. You squirrel away in the ensuite bathroom again to get dressed, taking longer than necessary. Condensation from Tooru’s hot shower sticks to the tile and the mirror’s surface. The reflection is foggy, your figure like a smudge. You regret not bringing a kimono for the festival—knowing you’ll be surrounded by all that beauty and colour and you worry you’ll look dull in comparison.

Regardless, you smooth out any lingering creases in your outfit. Dull or otherwise it flatters your silhouette nicely.

“Oh”.

You step out just as Takahiro angles his mouth to exhale. Smoke plumes out the open door in delicate wisps, swept away by a humid gust of wind. “Shit—sorry,” he mutters, a little flustered as he scrambles to shield you from the smoke, eyes roving over your form.

“You okay?” you ask, unsure if you should be amused or insecure.

He stubs his cigarette out into the ashtray balanced on the side and wipes his hands on his jeans with such speed you worried it might create static. Then, suddenly, he’s across the room with his thumb sinking into the swell of your left cheek, tobacco fingertips framing the right; he pushes them together until your mouth is puckered. There’s nothing sweet about it. Rather, it looks like he wants to squeeze you like a clementine.

“You’re all glowy. And determined,” the crease in his brow deepens, and he adds pressure to his fingers until you’re squirming, flustered. “And you look cute”. Issei emerges from the garden at that moment. Hand up his dark turtleneck shirt, scratching idly at the hair on his belly.

A deep groan rumbles in his throat. “What are you two doing?”

“I think it’s finally happening”.

Drawn to Hanamaki’s incredulous outburst, Issei stares at your confused, squashed face as it is turned in his direction. His mouth parts and he squints, as though he were searching for the right words.

What the fuck, you think.

“What the fuck,” he says, as if plucking the thought from the air.

“Right?”

They sidle either side of you. Tall and looming, their overbearing presence has anticipation swooping in your belly. Issei smells it like blood in the water and hooks two fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Well look at that,” he teases, bending forward until your eyes cross. “Wonder who you’re getting all dressed up for. Us?”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, though it comes out muffled and terribly nasal. Takahiro laughs, and his thumb skips over your rabbit-footed pulse as his hand slides down the column of your throat and away.

“Oi. In all seriousness you do look good,” Issei smiles. His kind eyes squint with it. They’ve made a clear effort themselves. That’s part of the fun.

A voice floats in from the genkan, “Who are we talking about?” Tooru looks up from his phone and he beams. “Oh! You look cute,” he says, tone light and pleasant. “Hajime will like it”.

“Your reactions are worrying me a bit,” you reply dryly in favour of ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Anyone would think I usually look awful”.

“No,” their three voices overlap as they protest. “You never look awful,” Tooru says, shaking you gently by the shoulders. Then he stops to consider his words. “Well. Maybe that time we thought you had strep throat”.

“What Oikawa wants to say is,” Takahiro cuts in with a flat glare in the other’s direction, “We’re here to support you today, and stuff. That’s all”.

“And stuff,” you repeat, a fond smile coming unbidden to your lips. The surge of affection has you trying to stretch your arms around three big bodies. “You’re being overbearing. But thank you”.

Their arms come up to wrap around your lower back and reciprocate. You are corralled into a long, strong hug, compressed from every direction. They release you when Hajime returns. He is visibly stupefied at the scene, brow knit as he fiddles with the collar of his dark denim jacket.

Your spine straightens, taking an unnecessarily deep breath. “Hi Hajime,” you say. It feels so different now, now there's all that premeditated intent behind it. Like ‘IloveyouHajime’ bunched into a single word.

“Hi. You look…” Hajime's throat bobs. “Good. You look good”.

You glance at the boys and chew the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress your grin, “So I’ve heard”.

The sun is at its highest point when you leave the ryokan together. You are swallowed up by gold beneath the gingko trees flanking the road, a mosaic of dappled light filtering through the partial canopy and intermixed with the softly shaded ground.

Foot traffic grew dense on the main street, teeming with life. “Stick close,” Hajime murmured next to your ear. You suppressed a shudder and took his arm so as not to stray far. The crowd herds your group closer to the heart of the festival. Sound assailed you from every direction. Thousands of lanterns have been strung up, forming a blushing canopy over the yagura, a makeshift stage housing performers and musicians, handsome taiko drummers setting the pace for participants to gather around it and dance along in circles.

There’s a sense of harmony, pigments blended into one another. Families are swathed in beautiful kimonos and silks, jinbei and traditionally woven hats. Your group stood out for their height alone—Mattsun especially, the tallest of the four men. People part to let you through, and children look skyward with awed eyes, jumping in place to see how high they could get.

The current pushes you towards the stalls, where an amalgamation of savoury scents pervade the air. Sweet, crisp okonomiyaki sauce, intense pickled ginger, charcoal smoked meats. Hunger knots in your stomach. Hajime looks over the heads of people and spots some vendors.

“Guys,” he raises his voice and drops his arm around your back with firm reassurance. The others pause, colliding with the moving bodies around them. “Food first. Then we can go to the games”.

You’re suitably satiated after takoyaki. The folded boat-shape container they’d handed over to you is warm in the already throbbing heat. It burns at the nape of your neck; the sun and the many stares of those around you. Takahiro, Issei and Tooru, too, keep flicking their eyes over, as if waiting for something to happen, or some kind of sign.

Music plays over the din. A quick-tempo showy melody, like one would hear at a circus. Takahiro points at the ring toss stall. “Hey, ‘kawa. Win me something,” he says.

“Win it yourself!”

“Don’t be like that babe,” Takahiro laments dramatically, his movements becoming languid and sloppy as he drapes himself around Tooru’s shoulders with his mouth curled into a smarmy grin. “You’re so much better at tossing than me”.

At your back, Hajime shakes with restrained amusement. Issei catches your eye and shakes his head while Tooru sniffs primly, attempting to scrunch his own smirk into a displeased pout, and relents. “Fine,” he says. “But one of you needs to win me a mask at the rifle-shooting game”.

“I don’t need to do anything,” Issei replies dryly as they start toward the ring toss game with startling synchrony. You glance at Hajime’s face, at another tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile, and feel the limitless joy of being together ballooning inside you.

“Did you want anything?” he asks as you walk.

Giddy, you cling closer. Part of your brain is stuck on the thought that anyone on the outside looking in would probably assume you were a couple. “If you’re feeling generous,” you exaggerate the flutter of your eyelashes, making Hajime snort.

Hours slip through your fingers like sand. In no time at all the sky began to darken. There’s a bubbling anticipation in your chest the later it gets. You lift your head to be met with the ochre of evening, azure blending into vivid orange at the horizon.

Issei tips his head back to take in the sky. “Fireworks are starting soon,” he announces. Tooru’s eyes flicker to you. The tangible sense of finality that had permeated the afternoon comes to a long awaited fulcrum. You’re tempted to linger amongst the stalls, simply to vy for extra time.

“You two should go and find somewhere to sit,” Tooru insists, shaking his finger from Hajime to you, “We’ll go grab some more food and join you later”.

Hajime levels him with a flat look. “All three of you are needed for that?”

“Yes,” Tooru smiles back, an intensity to his expression. You shift your weight from left foot to right, waiting with bated breath.

After a moment of anticipatory silence, Hajime exhales his acquiescence and turns to you. “Come on then. Let’s find a spot”.

You’re pulled along with him, casting a lasting glance toward your friends and their encouraging gestures as you go. He leads two steps ahead, shoulders drawn to his ears, which are now notably pink. The fingers around your forearm are clammy and loose enough that you could break free. Instead, you overturn your wrist and slide up into his palm, aligning your hands to properly hold him. You squeeze three times, and the rigidity in his posture lessens.

Hajime leads you away from the crowded centre toward the river bank as the display starts in an explosive burst. Couples and families have dispersed there to watch the fireworks. When he manoeuvres himself to his knees you bend to sit beside him, the soft blades of grass flattened under your weight.

The fireworks go on for close to half an hour, great pulsing strobes, fiery dandelions and starbursts of light brightening both the sky and the water. You hear nothing over the noise, not even your own breathing. A streak of gold shoots up, few becoming many, fizzling into pinpricks of light mimicking fireflies.

You wonder after it ends, "Are the Californian displays better?"

Hajime binks at you, registering the question. He makes a contemplative sound. "Bigger, yeah. Especially on the fourth of July," he brings your joined hands over his lap and you stare as he absentmindedly strokes the back of your knuckles. "Wouldn't say that makes it better. Better depends on the company".

You mumble your agreement, "Think the others missed it?"

"Would be pretty hard to miss," he smirks softly, falling into a comfortable silence. Childlike laughter chimes around you, sparklers of every colour glowing etching names and shapes into the darkness. “They’ll be around here somewhere”.

You lift your gaze, staring at his profile. Your eyes traced the line of his jaw up to the delicate shell of his ear. “Hey,” you mumble, drawing his attention away from the surroundings. Speckles of light reflect in his irises as he turns to face you, cheekbones burnished with a soft red afterglow. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something”.

His brow arches in lieu of a response. Every movement he made you mirrored without meaning to. Quieter than before, you start, “I…” and as fast as it comes your resolve withers. Stretches and thins into weak, fibrous threads.

“What’s wrong? Is it that bad?” he tries for a grin. Hajime puts on a brave face for you, he always does. But you can hear the genuine concern in this voice, and it spurs you on.

"Just don't want you to think I'm being selfish".

“You can be selfish sometimes," Hajime argues.

“Even with you?”

“Especially with me”.

You scrunch your eyes shut.

Hajime frowns and rushes to wipe the stray tear with his thumb, swiping right through it like spider silk. "Take your time," he murmurs, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Your heart beats, a desperate rattling behind your ribs. Trembling hands, damp skin. The swoop in your stomach that makes you feel as though your body is precariously balanced on a cliff's edge. This could be everything you’ve ever wanted. This is it.

A slow burn has to catch fire eventually.

So you reach inside and twist the spigot of your heart. A trickle becomes a flood fit to burst. It’s all encompassing, like love and heartbreak at the same time. You look at him and blurt, tremulously, “I’m in love with you,” then wince for having said it, as if you hadn’t really meant to.

“I have been for as long as I can remember. You’re my best friend and I was scared to say it and…” you continued, voice all in a rush, with the pained expression of someone who hadn’t meant to say that either, “I still am. Scared, that is. I'm sorry it took this long. My feelings for you were always at odds with my fear of losing you. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish. I know we don’t have much time left until you leave, and this could make everything weird, but you deserve to know that you're loved. That I love you. And—really, Hajime, if you could just stop me whenever you feel like it that would be great,” you snapped your mouth shut, white hot with embarrassment.

Hajime remained motionless, jaw slack and muscles wire-tight with tension for a long, sickening moment. The sting has you backing off, away, trying to think of something to explain, some excuse—

—Hajime surged forward and kissed you.

It is not like you imagined. There's nothing slow about it, no hesitance nor gentility. Hajime kissed as if trying to press the full weight of his want upon you. As if gravity were a mere suggestion. You suck in a sharp, surprised breath. Relaxing into it your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders to pull him impossibly close, drinking in his soft shudder when you brush the nape of his neck, making all the little hairs there stand endwise.

Hajime's lips are smoother than they look. His hands roam over your hips, kneading the soft parts of your body, and you give way to indulgence. You tilt to kiss his shallow cupid's bow, down to the corner of his mouth. Teeth nibble at your lower lip, the tip of his tongue hatching hundreds of butterflies in your stomach as he traces the seam with promise.

Another loud bang startles you out of the kiss. Laughter and whispers. You sharpen to the surroundings, noting the distant acrid smell of smoke. Rather than release you, Hajime wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his nose into the hollow where your jaw and neck met. Faint stubble tickles your throat. Your heartbeat clamours in your ears, the blood in your body blush rushing to your head.

"Sorry," you hear him say. His lips drift across your skin as he speaks. The apology fills you with immediate dread. "Should've asked before I did that," he continued quietly.

"Fuck. Is that all?" you slump in his grip with a quiet, wet laugh. "You scared me".

Hajime rears back to look at you, enough room to share a shallow exhale. His palm, large and rough, rose to cradle your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours. You feel like you’ve eaten the sun, brimming with inexpressible tenderness.

"Sorry," he repeats, understanding washing over his expression and a sheepish, fond smile playing on his lips. Pinker than before, not cold bitten, but kiss bitten. "Waited to do that for a long time," his eyes soften in the shadows, half lidded as they flit across your features.

"You have?"

"Used to think you would be my first kiss. First everything, really," Hajime's smiles broadens at your uncertainty, awed and dumbfounded, as he maps out the curve of your jaw with his thumb. Light over your fluttering pulse point. His hand drops and the heat lingers on your neck. He swallows, a sobering moment. "I love you too. Not sure if there was ever a time that I didn’t," he pauses then, looking out toward the orange glow flickering through the treeline, expression unguarded and open. “I kept trying to find opportunities to tell you. I didn't know how. Thought it wouldn't be...”

"Fair?" you finish for him. Of course.

The bonfire has been lit. Cheers can be heard across the river. Your thoughts splinter, stuck in the present while wondering if the others found their way, or if they were hidden somewhere, watching it all unfold. The mental image of them crouched in a random bush together makes you snort, and Hajime's brow pinches.

"Just," you rush to explain, grasping his forearm. You're halfway into his lap. When had that happened? "I imagined the guys hiding somewhere trying to spy on us. S'stupid".

An impish grin graced Hajime's face, ducking his chin as though to hide it. "I wouldn't put it past them," he says. And it hits you that—Hajime has always looked at you like this. Has been saying he loved you, for a long time.

You dither, your skin suddenly cool, and your palms clammy. "Hajime," you say at the same time as he begins to speak.

"Oh—you can—"

"No, you".

"I was going to say we should head back," his voice is infused with fond exasperation, gaze dipping to your union. He clears his throat, "For some privacy. I can't touch you the way I want to, out here".

“Right, right,” you nod slowly through the rush of adrenaline. It prickles in your fingers, the skin on your arms pebbling as Hajime eases you to your feet and a strong arm snakes around your waist. His lips brush your cheek.

“This okay?”

Melting into the crook of his elbow like it was a space carved just for you, you return a kiss to his jaw and tell him, “You don’t need to ask”.

“Noted,” he says roughly.

The walk to the ryokan is a blur. You hardly remember the faces of those you passed. The dancers had been bright in your periphery, their movements reduced to streaks of colour, and every beat of the taiko drum thundered in your chest.

The quick text you sent to the group chat receives an overwhelming litany of winking emoticons and exclamation marks. Inwardly you hope Hajime doesn’t read them until after—whatever it is you’re heading back to do. Hajime notices. “What’re they saying?”

“That, uh,” the phone screen dims as you lock it and shove it deep into your pocket. Your legs keep moving. “They promised not to be back for a while,” you shared a meaningful look and wet your lips at the ideas flitting through your mind. The taste of him lingers. Takoyaki, toothpaste and lip balm.

Together you stumble through the lobby to your room. Hajime remains close at your heel; not once do his hands leave your waist, steadying your movements. You feel drunk. Exhilarated and swept up in the newness of it, as if in a free fall. The keycard almost slips from your trembling fingers as the door beeps open. You step into the shadowed genkan and swivel to take his face into your hands. Another beep as the door closes. You press yourself to Hajime’s front and kiss him. Natural as anything.

Hajime leads you deeper into the room. The tatami yields under your feet. He sighs blissfully as your tongue swipes along the seam of his mouth, opening up for you and coaxing you in. It’s languid and without demand. The soft, wet sound makes your skin hot. You shudder as he sucks on your tongue, letting go to take the flesh of your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Need you. On the bed,” you murmur, threading your fingers into his cropped hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Starting at the crown, you make your way down the back of his head to the nape of his neck where you found him to be sensitive. He shudders, goosebumps spreading over his skin, and arousal seeps through your core.

“Anything you want,” he breathes. A frisson of anticipation zips up your spine when he steps forward to crowd you against the bedroom door, fumbling at the handle. It swings open and your stomach tightens at the abrupt inertia, stumbling onto the bed together with an oomph.

Hajime rises onto his forearms, flicks on the lamplight before bracing either side of your head. His nose bumps yours, a warm puff of air against your mouth as he bends his knees, slotting your hips together. You kiss him again. It’s more of a press of mouths, because you can’t stop smiling, and neither can he.

The outline of his cock is pressed hot against you. You hook your heels into his lower back and breathe his name into his mouth. Flint sparks in your belly as he instinctively ruts forward, rising frantically to meet him. Lips part above your own in a shaky groan, quivering as he deepens the kiss.

There’s tension buzzing under your skin, the restless, pleasant kind that diffuses into every fibre of muscle and leaves you shaking. A soft hitch of breath. You rock your hips in search of relief, feeling his cock hard in the tight confines of his jeans. “More,” your voice dwindles into a weak moan.

“Slow down,” he calls to you, gentle and placating in a way that makes your eyes sting. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” and you wish that were true.

The rustle of fabric as you undress is inordinately loud in the intimate atmosphere he draws you into. Hajime’s eyes deign to stray from you as he shucks his jacket off and pulls his shirt over his head. The blush on his chest looks like the aftershock of a shot of sake; colour that seeps through his body and stains his skin. He’s gorgeous in the warm dim light, emphasising the shadows of his pecs and the downy hair on his navel. You trace a finger through it and preen at how his abdomen clenches.

A rough hand slips behind your knee, not quite prying them apart. Hajime thumb strokes the skin there. “Can I taste you?”

Desire tugs at the base of your spine, heart racing. You’re wet. You can feel the cool kiss of air between your thighs. With a surge of want they fall open to him. The quiet hitched breath doesn’t escape you as he looks at you.

Palms smooth down the backs of your thighs. They ache and stretch to accommodate him. Hajime descends, forging a languorous path of wet kisses on his way. Your stomach twists in anticipation when he blows lightly over your pussy, bringing your legs up to straddle his head, kneading the soft flesh there.

Hajime’s eyes can’t find a place to call home. Flitting from your sex to your chest to your face, mouth hovering just above where you want him. Even so you find yourself wanting to kiss him again. Wanting for more hands, more mouths, more time to learn him with.

“You’re beautiful,” he rasps, pressing praise into the delicate skin there. It’s the expression on his face that makes you throb. The intense, unabashed want. You’ve never seen him look like that. “You’ll tell me what you like, yeah?”

You concede with a barely audible mumble, unable to trust your voice. The corner of Hajime’s mouth quirks into a smirk. Then his thumbs are tucking into the innermost creases of your thighs, gently spreading your folds. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit before licking a broad stroke through your folds.

Forcing his eyes open, Hajime clutches at the fat around your hips. He laps at your pussy, alternating between slow and fast, firm and languid, finding a rhythm that plays your body until your hips are rolling against his face. You cling to the bedsheets, head dropping back into the pillows. “Like that. Hajime,” you gasp as flickers back and forth over your clit, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Fuck. Don’t stop—!”

You hear his deep inhale, and his eyes scrunch shut with a long groan as he keeps pace. It sends an echo of pleasure through you—makes you clench around nothing, an innate plea from your body. He kisses your pussy, open mouthed, sweet and precise. Heat gathers in your belly like a solar flare. The pressure has you bursting at the seams.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you say, voice caught in your throat. Your thighs wrap around his head, toes curling. He doesn’t push, or adjust his pace, or let his enthusiasm get the better of him. A broken moan spills from your lips, pelvis undulating with each wave. Hajime maintains the rhythm—exactly as you need it, right as your spine arches into the sheets, and your orgasm ripples through you.

Your breathing begins to steady. Your legs fall slack, hung limp over Hajime’s shoulders. He hums, a satisfied little noise, and rests his cheek against your inner thigh as his tongue slides lazily through your folds. You take in the arousal and spit coating his cheeks, half lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, and feel a surge of affection.

Your fingertips graze his temple. His eyes flutter at the tender touch, and Hajime tips into it, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Good?” he asks, smiling.

“Good?” you repeat with disbelief. You grab at his shoulders to coax him back up, pleased when he goes willingly. You readjust as he buries his arms under you and gathers you close to his chest, kissing the corner of your lips. You turn and murmur into his mouth, “You’re a little too good at that”.

Hajime laughs, lolling his forehead to yours. “Just good at following instructions,” his voice goes tight at the pressure against his cock, your hips raised to feel him through his briefs. “Fuck”.

“If you want to,” you tease dazedly. He nips at your lip in retaliation.

“Don’t feel like we have to,” Hajime reassures after a beat, hand coming to rest on your waist. He strokes up and down your flank. “I don’t have any condoms. And I know this has been pretty fast”.

You consider him closely, love suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. It spurs you to admit things you wouldn’t have otherwise. “I’m clean. We can stop if you want to,” you kiss his cheek, “But I’ve waited enough. I want you,” you kiss the bridge of his nose, “Wanna know what you feel like inside me,” you kiss his slack mouth, tasting yourself. “Want you to know what I feel like when I cum, so you can think about it when we’re apart—”

Hajime pins you to the bed like a butterfly, his jaw set tight. His eyes are dark, gone is the colour of nascent spring. You feel swallowed up by him. “Keep talking and you’re going to make me cum,” he rumbles, reaching to push down his briefs.

“I don’t care if you cum as soon as you put it in,” you squirm, tucking your chin to watch the moment his cock slips free. He sits in his palm and wraps his fingers firmly around the base, leaning deeper into the cradle of your hips, legs splayed overtop his firm thighs.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hajime replies dryly, dipping to kiss you again. You’ve lost count of how many. He positions his arm above you by the headboard and the hot weight of his cock settles on your sex. You share a soft sigh as he guides the tip through your folds, the underside nudging against your clit.

“You know what I mean,” your focus is torn between talking and angling your hips to take more of him. “Doesn’t have to be mind blowing I just—want to be with you,” you mumble, quiet like an admission, and Hajime’s concentration comes apart at the seams.

The air is stolen from your lungs as the tip slips in. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, seeking—something. Leverage. A tether. Chest to chest, Hajime presses you deeper into the mattress as his cock sinks into you. Slow, attentive to your shifting expression while you adjust to the stretch.

And when he bottoms out you feel full. He’s thick. it has a sense of contentment spreading throughout your body. Eventually, “You can move, big guy”.

Hajime gives a gasping breath, groaning your name on the next. The rough timbre of his voice makes you pulse around him. The corded muscles in his arms flex as he shifts. There’s a dull sting while he pulls out, and a startling emptiness, immediately sated as he rocks his hips forward. You arch upward, angling your hips to take him deeper, and his eyes screw shut, lips parted in a silent moan.

Hajime fucks you with slow, deliberate thrusts, gradually building a rhythm, finding a pace that you respond to. You can hardly bear to look away from him. Flushed pink with exertion, the light lovingly kissing the left side of his face, mouth swollen and red. He’s murmuring little incantations of praise that you strain to hear over the sharp slap of skin, every thrust plucking another breathless sound from your throat.

And he’s looking right back, almost reverential. A desperate pinch to his brow. You dig your heels in, nails biting at his back. It’s all you can do to hold on. His kisses grow clumsy as his attention wanes, reaching a spit-wet hand down to play with your clit as he pistons his hips.

“M’close,” he grunts like it pains him to admit.

Your ears are ringing. The sticky, wet echo reverberates around the room as Hajime fucks you. His strokes press impossibly deeper and you choke on a moan, feeling him in your throat. His fingers rub faster over your swollen clit. Pleasure spreads through your belly, blood rushing between your thighs.

“Please,” you cradle his cheek, hot against your palm. He takes it in his free hand, interlocking your fingers against the bedsheets. The intimacy has your mind going numb. You’ve become a knot of a person. That new vulnerability, the love he’s immolating you with, is what knocks you toward the edge. “Hajime,” you cling to him desperately. “Hajime”.

“Fuck. I’m cumming, I’m—” Hajime buries his face into the crook of your neck, intermittently squeezing your hand. His thrusts are harder, sloppy. He shudders to a stop, his orgasm carving him straight down the middle with a drawn out moan.

The tension seeps from him all at once. You laugh breathlessly at his collapse, the weight both comfortable and bruising. His pelvis is nestled perfectly against your clit, and every twitch creates another wave of pleasure. You undulate your hips to chase the friction.

The only indication that Hajime notices is the smile curling against your throat. He lets his lips drift across your pulse, folding his arms around yours until the world and it’s axis are just that—Hajime. Without needing to ask, he stays close and circles his hips even as his cock softens inside you, tipping you over the precipice.

Time is difficult to measure while swaddled in your intimate little bubble. You’re not sure how long you spend simply holding one another, commiting how the other feels to memory. Hajime kisses your forehead. “Love you,” he says.

“Love you,” you croak back unattractively. He flinches at the sound, and props himself up to search your face.

Eyes wide and earnest he asks, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m alright. Just processing everything,” you reply, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. Hajime doesn’t look convinced.

“Tell me,” he gently encourages. There’s an anxious edge to his tone that you want rid of.

“Besides the fact that I had sex with the guy I’ve been in love with since middle school and everyone is going to know when they get back?” you laugh, making Hajime’s mouth curl as he carefully manoeuvres you both onto your sides. Better. “I’m just scared about what this means for us, I guess. Are we—you know, together now? Doing the long distance thing?”

Giving a thoughtful hum, he hooks your knee over his hip. Whether it’s to put off the mess a little longer or keep you close, you’re not going to complain. “I want to be with you,” he says.

“Even though we’ll be…” you squint as you think and reach inward for the specific number “…five thousand three hundred and fourteen miles apart?”

“You looked that up?” Hajime’s smile widens, dopey and fond in a way that makes your heart ache. “But yeah. We’ll take it one step at a time”.

“Then what’s the next step?”

“Next?” he says. Another tender kiss to your temple, a deep, pensive inhale. “Next, we use the onsen”.

You can’t be sure how long you stand there, sluggish and unblinking, fixated on the distant threads of grey cutting across an otherwise dark sky. It felt dissonant to the torrential downpour in your chest.

A warm body comes up behind you. Issei rests his chin on your crown, rubbing it back and forth as Takahiro knocks your elbows together, “Ready to go?”

No, you think. After a few beats of silence you phone buzzes in your hand and you scramble to check it. The background is the picture Takahiro took of you and Hajime by the lake, in a world of your own. A notification bar cuts across the screen.

Hajime (03:34): I love you. I’ll call when I land.

You swallow that thought and uproot yourself, “Yeah. Yeah I think so”.

#writer: shibaraki #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu fic #<- omg the first on this blog... everyone cheers #lying in me bed sniffling

1K notes · View notes

syalmazhafira17 · 4 years ago

Text

Ever Since New York

A/N: Hello! This is my first HS fanfiction for the Playlist Fic Challenge hosted by @harrystylescherry. I didn’t specified any Harry era, you could imagine any Harry era you want to! I think this is also a reader insert fanfic, but well, hopefully it does. The pronoun I use here is she/her. I know this is not the real meaning of the song, but the actual meaning of the song triggered me myself, I didn't like to write about it, I'm sorry. If there’s any mistakes, please let me know because English wasn’t my first language. And if you’d like to give me reviews or talk to me, you could absolutely do it! Happy reading! XOXO, Syalma

Word Count: 5.1k

TW: car accident

“I’ve been praying ever since New York” – Ever Since New York

Things started in a place. And for Harry, it was New York.

New York City might not be the most romantic city in general public, but for the Harry Edward Styles, the city is a gift for him. The sweetest memory started here, in the city. When every now and then the city was always busy, but he found comfort in the middle of it. Something he previously never thought to find about in this city.

///

He was just shuffling through the crowd in Times Square. It was at night in the busy hour. He was wrapped in a thick jacket and sunglasses, and everything was so packed, even people, and anyone barely notices him. Which he was thankful about, because it was already a tiring day for him in the studio. It’s already late in his opinion and all he wants is jump on his bed right away. Or maybe a cuddle, even, only if he has someone to cuddle.

The thought stuck in his head, and that night, God given him what he wishes quietly. He bumped into a girl in the Metro. The girl turned around, rising her eyebrow in confusion. When she saw him, she started to freak out. Her head already in a negative view. She step aside a little, giving a space between him and her. He wanted to mumble an apology, before realizing the girl already stepping away from him.

She looks like she’s a college student, he thought. And before he knew it, she snapped her eyes at him alarmingly. He knew she can’t see his eyes staring at her like a lost puppy found its owner, but it surely already makes way to her instinct.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and turned away, locking his eyes at the ceiling of the Metro track.

He didn’t know, that ever since that day, she will be stuck in his daydreams, and out of the blue, making way to his songs and writings.

Ever since the metro, she’s all he thinks about.

///

Their faith tied together again. It’s lunch time and they both met again in the restaurant.

She was looking around the place to find one single unoccupied chair. Her eyes fell on two, one in front of a smoking men and one in front of the curly-headed men. She hates the smoke, and for the sake of it, she makes her way through the table.

“Hello, I’m so sorry to disturb your lunch, may I sit here by any chance?” she asked. The men turned around. He looks right back at her, with bright green eyes and hazelnut curls on top of his head. A moment of silence as Harry regains back his memory of the Metro girl he bumped into.

“I’m so sorry, if you didn’t want to. I’ll find another seat,” she brought her tray away, walking to the opposite direction from the table.

“Hey, um, I didn’t mean to. You can- you can seat here,” he nodded, chewing his lips. He has been thinking about her for some times, once he already got the girl, he messed it up by just looking at her.

“Oh— thank you so much!” she smiled brightly as she turns back to the table and set down her food tray.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, before he speaks up after a war with his gut.

But she did it first.

“I’m sorry, but you look familiar, have I met you before?” she asked.

His mind glued at her until he forget to answer it until she cleared her throat in a code to snap him back to reality.

“Eh, sorry, sorry. Yeah, we’ve met before. In the Metro, the men bumping at you at busy hour,” he scratches the back of his neck, like he always do when he was nervous.

“New York is really a city of possibility. Who knows I bumped into Harry Styles on a Metro?” she laughed. Harry’s smile makes its way back to his face. There’s something about this girl he was very fond of.

“You know…me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Of course I do. Like everyone else. I’ve been a fan,” she nodded.

“You didn’t, don’t get me wrong, look like one,” he stared at her. He wanted to hear her way of saying ‘I do’ in front of their families and kissed in front of everyone. With him.

“Well, I am. Not all fangirl looks like they are a fan, aren’t we? But yeah, I’m a fan. Dying to get a quick snap of you, but I figured you will quickly find my phone’s camera lens as soon as I snap it, considering your sixth sense of it and me sitting only separated by a table, so that might not be a good idea. And yeah, maybe I look calm outside, don’t be tricked by it. I freaked out inside,” she laughed. There’s something about the way she talks that makes him mesmerized by it. He gulped down.

“Do you want a snap?” he offers. Her eyes look back at him in shock. She slowly nodded. She offers her phone, but he already pulled out his.

He snap their picture quickly before he sends it.

“Do you have an Apple product phone? So, it will airdrop?” he asked.

“Eh, no, I have an Android, but I have my iPad with me. Give me a sec,” she pulled out a device from her backpack. She turned it on and Harry sends the picture to it. He glances at the name of her device. y/n’s iPad. y/n. A name he will remembers.

Looking at him glancing at the name of her iPad, she suddenly realized.

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m y/n,” she offered her hand.

“Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Harry,” he giggled.

“Hi Harry,” she said, in a soft tone, that makes him wanted to listen to it for the rest of his life. They both laughed and continued their food.

Ever since the restaurant, he wonders if their faith will collide once again.

///

“Hello, um, no, that’s…probably not a good tone, you have to use the perfect charming tone. Not too low, not too high, not too fast, not too slow. Hey. That’s too informal,” he chippers in front of his bathroom’s mirror.

He didn’t know how much luck he could get right now. He got her phone number, for some weird connection only God knows exist. She was one of his mates’ old friend. Her contact was buried beneath his’ phone for ages and he managed to pull that out of his contact and have the courage to save the number in his phone and gave the girl he met by coincidence a call in one fine Saturday night. And managed to croak out a question in the middle of his nervous state on that simple call.

And fast forward a week, here he is standing in front of the mirror, practicing his line over and over while his nervousness ripping him off little by little. He doesn’t know how he have this whole luck of her.

His phone suddenly rang, snapping him out of his thought and sprinting to his phone as quick as possible. He pulls up the green button after glancing at the caller’s ID.

“Hey, Harry,” she greeted. Her voice ran down his spine and gave him a comfort he never felt before with anyone else.

“Hello,” he said. A dead silence for a moment before she continued speaking.

“Um, I don’t know if I disturb you, I’m so sorry if I do, but I’ve been waiting for about 45 minutes, and I wonder if you will go on the date or cancel it? Because if you want to cancel it, then it’s okay. I’m just checking.”

Harry looking up at the clock on the wall. The clock showed him the time that felt like a slap at his face. And her soft voice asking him in concern make him regret his own feeling. He was supposed to be where she is now an hour ago, he planned on coming earlier than her to make a good impression, but now he’s late, like really late. There will be no way she’s going to forgive him nor agree to go on the second date with him.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, I– I just lost track of time, I’ll be there in a sec,” he stuttered. He push his phone to his pocket, ran to his keys, and flung himself to his Range Rover and hit the road as fast as the law allowed him to sped up.

He arrived in the span of 15 minutes from her phone call, panting and sweating, as well as nervous and panicking, scared to look at her face once she pulled up to the passenger’s side of his car. She raised an eyebrow before touching his bicep softly to distract him from his thoughts.

“Harry?” she asked. “Are you alright?”

“Uh- yeah, I’m okay,” he nodded quickly.

“You look pale and sweating,” she examined his face.

“I’m great, that’s just…my natural features,” he tumbled over his words. “Shall we go?”

“It’s okay if you’re not feeling good, I could just go home,” she looks at him with a concerned face.

There will be no way he will let her let out of his grasp. He was already in the edge of not getting her by forgetting the time, he won’t let her go home alone this time.

“I’m perfectly fine, we’ll go to one of my favorite restaurant,” he stated, the thought simply giving him a new pump of confidence.

“Oh, alright, we’ll go then,” she relaxed to the seat and buckled herself. He drives through the night glow of New York with Brooklyn Bridge and Miss. Liberty watching him. Watching quietly as Harry Styles trying his best to get the girl he dreamed of by picking up the rest of the pieces left about him in her that he already broke. And this city being the quiet paparazzi recording every step of him got the love of his life.

Ever since the date, he knew he will do anything to be with her.

///

He shifted in his sleep, making himself a little more comfortable, while scooting further to her arms. She wrapped her arms around his wide form graciously, mumbling something before inhaling his scent to soothe herself to go back to sleep.

They tangled together in her bed, sheets crumpling beneath their bodies. They didn’t need it anymore; each other’s warm presence was more than enough to keep them safe and sound in the summer night.

They have been official for a couple months now, 7 months to be precise, after him, being a nervous wreck having the courage to ask her to be his and his only. He was nervous, sweat covering his palm, and his voice trembling as he asks her. He doesn’t know how he did it, but he did end up driving home with her hand in his and a thin layer of her lipstick left on his lips. And when he got back to his own place, he screamed from the balcony to the busy road beneath, doesn’t even spare a glance at pedestrians looking up at him weirdly, or the fans started to clicking their cameras up secretly, or paparazzi recording him. In his mind, the world was just him and her.

His eyes flicker open, looking up to her, who sleeps peacefully. He stays there and just watching her breathing rhythm. He loves it when she got into peace like this, with no crease between her brows or an upset face painted on her beautiful face.

“Are you going to creepy stare at me forever or tell me what time it is?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

“Both, it’s around 1 in the morning darling,” he said sweetly, kissing her shoulder.

“Great! Now tell me everything you wanted to ramble on,” she said jokingly.

He knows she was joking, but he did anyways. He spoke up.

“I want babies, to cuddle! To squish their little chubby cheeks. How cute would that be? They will have green eyes and curly hair like I do, and they’ll have tiny smile that looks like yours! And we’ll squish their tiny faces and kiss them and we’ll spoil them with so much love and—and—and—Gucci!” he giggled after the word came out. Of course, Harry’s staple, Gucci, will be on the list of his babies.

“And we’ll put them in bear onesies I saw on Pinterest the other day! And we’ll paint the walls soft yellow, and we’ll get to cuddle them in our arms at night, and they will squirm in our arms, and when they wake up hungry in the middle of the night, I’ll come to them so you’ll sleep. And I can stop my work while they were little, could almost be packed in the suitcase I brought on tour! And when they got old enough, we’ll go around the world and they’ll meet a lot of people, will see the world in real life. And then…they’ll grow up,” he ended his ramble about babies in a sad face, realizing babies could grow up too, and they will not be so little anymore.

“And then, you’ll make more,” she ended the whole story for him.

“You? Why not— oh yeah, I’m sorry,” he looked down like a sad kitten. “We never talk about this before.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. We’ll be a little family, with babies like you want, yeah? Their little faces and cheeks, want to squish and kiss them already,” she fixed her words. He looked up at her again excitedly.

“And we’ll have kittens! Cute little fur balls in the couch!” he continued on.

He continues to talk about kittens. How cute they were, how many will they have, and how he will fed them.

“I love cats lots, but not as much as I love—” his eyes widen after he realized what he just said.

“I love…?” she didn’t have a single clue what he was about to say. And he was thankful for it. “Babies?” she guesses.

“No,” he shook his head.

“So…what?” she furrowed her eyebrows. “Working in the bakery?”

“You, I love you,” he finally decided to risk it all and said the three words that have been stuck in his mouth for the past months.

“I…Harry,” she said sternly.

“Yes?” he looked up at her like a scared kitten.

“Are you sure about those words?”

“With my whole heart, darling.”

“Like sure, sure?”

He nodded quietly.

“I love you, too,” she whispers right to his ears and kissed his pink lips.

His cheek and his nose flushed red. He couldn’t believe that he just did it.

Ever since that night, he knows he wants to spend evermore with her.

///

He was in LA again. Not staying in New York. It’s the fifth time he did it, with no preparation call, but just a quick text once he arrived. Leaving her confused for a moment before processing her boyfriend’s quick news. She was already living in his New York apartment he purchased for both of them, but he was barely there. At bright days, he spent it with his guitars, music, and studios, and at night he conquers the music industry concert. At weekends, he was busy to move around the world, too busy to text his girlfriend about his plan and whereabouts.

Today, she had enough of it. She stormed out of her class with angry fingers pressing the buttons of his number. Those all because he already sent the text ‘In LA babe, don’t wait x’. But who wants to wait for a week before he came back to NY, gave her a proper talk about his plan, and if he remembered about him having a girlfriend, plan on a date afterwards?

First call, doesn’t get answered. Second call, to voicemail after a few ringing. Third call, straight up to voicemail.

She grumbled beneath her breath, cursing, before trying again. On the last ring, he finally picks up.

“Hello, babe, have you gotten my text?” he asked.

“No, you come home tonight, or I’ll leave,” she said sternly. She doesn’t want to look scary by the people she met in the hallway, but her eyes says otherwise. But she didn’t care much. She cares about the fact that her lover just left her with a short text.

“Hey? What’s wrong with you?” his voice turned from bouncy and happy to a stern confused one.

“You’re the one that needed to be asked that way,” she scolded.

“Darling, I’m not going to be in the joke right now, I have some big stuff to do,” he frowned.

“OH, your girlfriend you just left in New York wasn’t a big stuff? Okay, don’t expect me to wait a week alone in that bloody apartment,” she huffed before hanging up as quick as possible, making sure she did it as he speak up explaining his problem.

He cursed underneath his breath when the call line got cut off. Jeff, reading his face, looked over.

“You okay, Harry?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just…y/n acting up,” he mumbled.

Jeff didn’t answer, he just nodded before speaking to someone on the other end of his own phone call. While Harry tried his best to not thinking about his upset (and alone) lover back in New York, he just…failed miserably. At the time the clock strikes midnight, he gave up to his feelings and book a ticket back to New York.

He got into the plane at 3 AM, bouncy and a nervous wreck. He was scared of what might y/n does. Breaking up? Almost a bit dramatic, but doesn’t make it zero possibility. Mad at him? She does now. No need to wonder. Leave the house? She probably plan to right now. Driving at midnight and blasting sad songs in her car? Not Harry’s type, but hey, y/n is y/n. She could be doing that at this very moment. Getting drunk in a dive bar with her college friends? She was barely past drinking age, and she doesn’t like alcohol much, but everyone seeks comfort when they fight with their significant others right? Stress eating on McDonald’s drive thru or eating a tub of ice cream, crying over a random TV Show? It’s nothing bad compared to other possibilities, but he doesn’t want to know it was because of him. Because in each possibility, he imagined her crying and mad at the same time.

And when he dropped his bag at their apartment, the first view he saw wasn’t a crying y/n, an empty house, a drunk version of his girl, or a girl crying with an ice cream tub or McDonald’s packaging. Instead, she curled up into a ball in the sofa, must have been fallen asleep at some point at night, blanket messily covering her figures, and the TV playing a random bad TV Show. He went immediately soft by the sight in front of him, but he quickly remembered about his problem.

He didn’t want to wake her up and as bad as he wanted to curl up in the sofa and scooping her in his chest (because he know she won’t even think twice to push away whoever cuddle her without her knowing) so he went to the bathroom and cleaning up himself a little before moving to kitchen and made some coffee.

She woke up 30 minutes later, squinting at the light before fully aware of other people existence in the apartment. Her hazy mind translates it as a stranger, but once he dropped a pan and cursing, she knew it was Harry.

She pushed her feet against the carpet and walked towards the kitchen.

“Oh sorry, sweetheart, did I wake you?” he asked.

“Care to come home, Styles?” she didn’t even bother to say hi or answer his question.

“Love…I’m sorry,” he plead.

“No, no, that’s okay. I’m pretty fine alone here, with no company, and with my non-existence physically boyfriend,” she said sarcastically. “He was busy being a company to everyone until he forgot to be a company for his own girlfriend.”

“I wasn’t…I’m sorry, can’t you forgive me? I texted you, I let you know where I am,” he argued.

“That’s okay if you don’t,” she said before taking out her cup and filled it with water carelessly. “I’ve had enough of you anyway.”

It hits Harry harder than he thought it intended to be, so he grabbed her wrist and forced her to look at him, even with a disgusted expression.

And that night, they ended up cuddling on the couch and watching The Notebook with a huge tub of Haagen-Dazs in the middle of them. Half finished, with two scoops stuck out.

Ever since that day, he knew and promised he didn’t want to hurt her in anyway.

///

“Are you Mr. Harry…?” someone at the other end of his phone called.

“Who are you? What are you doing with her phone?” he asked aggressively. He felt sick since he woke up this morning, all he wanted was her to cuddle up against his chest.

“I’m Doctor Alex, and I’m from Brooklyn Hospital Center, are you Harry, sir?” he asked once more.

“What happened to her?” his heart sinks. He didn’t even confirm his name.

“I need you to calm down, sir,” the doctor finally gave up, assuming by himself who he was talking to was really the Harry in the girl’s emergency contact.

“What happened to my y/n?” he asked, rushing out of his bed, threw the comforter off his body.

“I’m sorry to inform you this, but you are the emergency contact in this phone. The girl, the owner of this phone, has been in an effective car crash. No relatives or friends with her during the accident,” the doctor explained briefly. “She’s in coma.”

Harry didn’t answer. His heart sinks, his soul felt like just left his body, his stomach dropped, he froze in place, he couldn’t believe the news, he didn’t want to. He wanted to wake up. Maybe this is just a bad dream, and when he woke up he still has her safely tucked in his arm, and smiling at him. And she will kiss his stubble as he stirs from sleeping, and they will stay like that for 15 minutes before the band called him and yelling from the other line about ‘discipline’ and ‘you lovebirds should’ve kept a clock to see the time’.

He hung up his phone as quick as he could and threw himself to his car.

He drove through New York City street in full speed. He doesn’t care about the laws he broke, how many tickets he will get once a police officer caught him. His mind got clouded by the doctor’s words. This time, Brooklyn Bridge and Lady Liberty watch him, not aiming for a girl’s love, but to aim a hope she will be his forever, not with a tie of marriage, but…he doesn’t even want to think about it anymore.

He parked his car messily and sprint to the front table.

“I’m Harry. Harry Styles. I’m…the girl in the car crash, I want to see her,” his mind can’t even form a perfect sentence.

“Sorry sir, who are you to her?” she asked.

“I’m her…her…boy-husband!” he almost yelled. The nurse knew he wasn’t even her fiancé, but from the panic in his voice, trembling frame, and a mess he is, she finally let him.

When he met her, she was inside a glass room, he wasn’t even get to be in the same room as her. He just watched her breathing heavily with an oxygen tank, the only thing that kept him believing she is alive is the beeping loud noise of machines stuck on her body. She looks miserable, bruises all over her body, casts on her arm, bandages, she looks so…fragile. He just wanted to scoop her up into a hug and kiss her, tell her she’s going to be okay, they’re going to have babies like they always dreamed of. They will have their first house, they will watch their babies grew up as much as he hated the fact that babies will get older one day, they will be old people in their 70s, but she will be the most beautiful girl he has ever seen in her 20s. But he can’t right now, and he felt helpless.

It has been almost 7 hours since he arrived and he doesn’t even spend a second take his eyes off of his girl. Nothing progresses much, but he knew she has to survive. So they could pursue their dreams together, just like they always talk about. At this point, all he wanted was for her to flicker her eyes open and look at him. And he will do the rest, he will pick her up whenever she wanted, he will kiss her, he will give her all the affection he has, he will give her all the love he has even until his heart bleed, he will hold her so tight so she will be always safe no matter the circumstances. He will do anything for her to just open her pretty eyes and look at him.

“If you aren’t going to eat something, you won’t be able to take care of her, um, later,” one of the nurses tap his shoulder. The crack of her end of sentence made Harry gulp down a lump in his throat. She knew her condition better than him. And he knew it, the crack on her word of ‘later’ doesn’t got missed by him. He nodded, the nurse’s words are true, she needed him to be okay.

So he took his time to go to the bathroom and wash his face, looking at the tiredness in his eyes, and he took some time to grab something from the cafeteria, a weird looking bread, looks like have been behind the glass display for ages, but he couldn’t care less. He shoves the bread to his mouth while running to get to her place.

“Sir, are you Harry?” a doctor rushing to his side. Suddenly he felt so empty. The panic in the doctor’s voice, his pale face, Harry doesn’t want to imagine what had happened to his girl.

“You might want to talk to her, she is going to be rolled to the operation room,” the doctor said.

Suddenly Harry felt weak in his knees. The bread feels like its going to threw itself out. He took masks and some weird gown the nurse handed him, and he rushed to her side. The beeping noises louder now he’s inside the room, but the only sound he could hear right now is her troubled heavy small breathing.

“Hi, darling,” he walked towards her with shaky limbs. “They- they said I could talk to you right now, I have weird feelings about it, but you are going to be fine. I- I will propose and we’ll have cute babies like we always talk about. I won’t leave your side again. We- we’ll have our happy ending.”

He kissed her cold fingers. It’s like the world were just the two of them again. No one around her. No weird beeping noise from the computer. No Harry Styles the popstar or y/n y/l/n the college girl. Suddenly they are just Harry and y/n again. Just both of them. In the room. y/n fighting for her life, and Harry, as helpless as he look like, helping her subconsciously.

“y/n, sweetheart, I don’t know if you could hear it, but I’ll be with you. I’ll be here, I’ll be by your side, you don’t have to be afraid, because your Harry will be here, honey. No matter how deep you fall, how hard the challenges, how hurt I will got, I’ll always be there for you. Your Harry will protect you, if it’s cold or hot, if it’s dark or bright, I’ll be by your side, kiss every single tears and cuts it will cause, and you don’t have to be afraid nor alone anymore. Because your Harry will be there for you. Always.”

And then he rolled out of the room. Out of Harry’s grasp, no matter how hard he tried to keep her close. She had gone to the room where her life will be on the thin border.

And Harry, with tired eyes and shaky breath, ran to the empty room outside the glass room and cried. Cried like he never did before. Cried until his tears dried. He dropped to his trembling knees.

“God, I-I know I barely talk to You. But this time…I beg You, please don’t let her taken away from me. I know she will be in no more pain, but I’m too selfish for it, I can’t live without her. I can’t function properly without her. I know I didn’t treat her the best before, but give me a second chance to take care of her. To smell her scent again, to kiss her hairline, brush her hair, give her all I could give, give her all the comfort she needed, give her all my love until my heart bleed. Just…give me one more chance, and I will treat her better,” his shaky voice somehow formed a proper sentence. His cheek wet with stained tears. His breath hitched. His chest felt heavy. He doesn’t even know who he is, when his girl still in the room. “Let me take one more chance to call her mine,” he let out a hitched scream.

After a long waiting and more tears spilled, when the clock told him it was 9 PM, she rolled out of the operating room. He jolted up. Indistinct chatter makes his head felt dizzy. But his main focus was her on the bed.

“Is she okay? What happened?” he could hear his voice yelling those to the medical workers, but he doesn’t even remember saying that.

“Sir, you need to calm down,” a voice called.

“No, no, I don’t need to calm down. I need to know if she’s okay!” he screamed.

“Sir, you have to,” the voice called again.

“Tell me what happened to her, tell me if she’s okay!” he yelled once more.

“Sir, take a deep breath and you’ll get to meet her,” the sentence made him stopped and slowly turned around. His eyes begging for explanation.

“Tell me how she is,” he whispered brokenly.

“She’s…you might want to see her, she might want you to talk to her,” the lady doesn’t even told him how she’s doing. And he knew it. He has only a few percent chance to have her wrapped back in his arms. And only God will gave him it.

The lady (soon he realized she is a nurse), lead him into a room. Not a glass room like she used to be placed, but a more private room, but it doesn’t make him feel any better because she was limp on the bed.

He walked in with shaking legs. The door closed behind him, and his knees gave up. He dropped to the cold floor of the hospital and cried for God knows how many times he had cried. His voice cracked. “Give me one more chance to love her again.”

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