#kenji has no single thought behind those eyes

[etrevil]

Giving me ruined family picture vibes

[alltheboysandgirlsiloved]

There are many reasons why I love the entire camp cretaceous series so much but while I was watching Choas Theory season 2, I was hit with yet another one!

JWCC and JWCT consistently develop the characters's psyche. They keep evolving and growing, nearly every single experience changes them a little bit in such a compelling and human way. What more important - those changes become entwined with the characters' personalities - not forgotten. And the show just. Keep. Doing. That. (spoilers for season 2 ahead).

First, we have Darius who lost his father pre-season 1 jwcc and this experience changed him for life. Although by now he has made peace with it - notice how he reacts to Kenji's joke about Daniel's death in the current timeline. His expression is completely different from the expressions of other characters because being half-orphan is one of the things that shaped him as a person. And the show doesn't forget about that.

We also have Ben who - as we all know - went through a severe trauma on Isla Nublar. Who's "glow-up" was essentially a trauma response. I said it before and I'll say it again - JWCT is handling him perfectly. He is the perfect blend of that shy little boy from jwcc season 1, the boy who survived in the jungle on his own, and the boy who understood that there's still space for him to keep changing. I love it so much when the show runners remind us that Ben used to be that shy, awkward boy, who was unsure how to handle emotions, but always tried to voice them out. I love that he is conflicted so often - that's just our Ben. Most of his battles have always been on an emotional level - and putting him in the situation with Brooklyn in season 2 just proved it once again.

We have Yas... Oh, I could talk about her for hours. A girl who openly acknowledged her trauma. A girl who went from being socially awkward to a woman who recognizes destructive patterns in others and sees her old self in them. A girl who learned how to be emotionally and socially smart and isn't afraid of using those skills - because she has always been capable!

Sammy... don't piss me off. That's my girl through and through. A girl who would do anything for her loved ones! Every single time when she spent time with Aminata in season 2 - we could finally see how she probably used to interact with her family. We also could see how - even tho the camp fam are her family - she misses her family still. That was such a powerful move - a move that reminded us what Sammy was capable of in jwcc season 1. A move that reminded us that she is willing to take those risks - which she wanted to do again in season 2 when she and Yas were separated.

Brooklyn is...- As I was watching season 2, I found myself growing more and more hungry for her screen time. I wanted to see her, hear her. I was cautious of her every word. Did she change? Yes. But she was always madly determined. Ever since the beginning of the jwcc - once she set her eyes on something it was hard for her to focus on other stuff. Remember the frozen flowers in jwcc? Remember her obsession with going "behind the scenes"? That's the same determination right now. She has never lost it, it only evolved into something more dangerous, and who could blame Brook for that? the world, in fact, is more dangerous than 13-year-old Brooklyn thought.

I left Kenji for the end. Because both season 1 of JWCT and season 2 blew my mind when it comes to his character. He is. perfect. Currently, in terms of character development, he is probably my favorite. His daredevil-like tendencies in season 2? shut up. his interactions with his father in season 1 and everything Daniel's death followed? This is peak character writing and I mean it. I have never expected the show to go that deep but god lord, I should have seen that one coming. Kenji who in jwcc learned how to love and appreciate people properly, lost so many of them in jwct? of course, it damaged him on levels that are hard to imagine. At the same time - his behavior isn't completely out of character - even Darius points out at some point that (in season 2) Kenji acts "beyond" the way he behaved in the past. The same trait but Kenji's out of control of it now. Genius.

JWCC and JWCT are shows that are brilliant. Shows that have a clear and very simple message: your relationships with others define you. if you see them eaten, it's going to scar you forever. if you lose them, their shadow will stay in your pocket for a long time.

[sinukiyo]

Hey. I hope you're doing okay. Loved reading Behind The Mask and they way you're handling Ami and Kenji's relationship. I have about two questions.

First: what inspired you to write Behind The Mask and how did it come to be. I can imagine how shocked you were when the story blew up on AO3.

Second: have you considered publishing on Wattpad or have a Wattpad account?

I really do love Beneath The Mask so much, and they way it tackles issues like celebrity and media culture, sexism, and the struggles of being a single parent, especially a single teen mum. And I can't wait to find out more about what happens next.

Hi! I’m doing great, thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying the story so far! It’s honestly been fun writing it.

I wrote the first chapter a day or two after watching Ultraman: Rising. While watching, I felt like there was a lot of potential for romance when it came to Ami and Kenji’s characters. In the beginning, Kenji did a good job at putting his walls up, wearing a mask for people to see when things were way different behind closed doors. The one character, outside those close to him who saw something different from what he showed the world was Ami.

This dynamic was what set off the idea of a romance between them. I just wasn’t sure where to begin. I had a whole list of ideas but ended up deciding on Behind the Mask.

After that, I needed to figure out the voice of the story. At this point, I thought about how the movie didn’t give me a lot to work with when it came to Ami. With Kenji, we get to see everything, from his childhood, to his daddy’s issues and how his mother’s disappearance affects him but it’s different with Ami. She’s seen as this calm, no-nonsense character with a discerning eye. She has a kid (I wondered where the father was) and she stays with her mom. This was the biggest reason why I decided to write the story from her POV only. I wanted to give her a voice.

I posted the first chapter while I was at work. Once I had the story in my head, I couldn’t let it go. You’re right. I was shocked when I saw how quickly it blew up, and honestly, that motivates me to continue every day!

Regarding your second question, I do have a Wattpad account. There are no stories on it. I considered posting Behind the Mask on there last week though but I haven’t decided yet, because I’m not sure how it’ll do on the platform? Maybe I will just because you asked😌

I like to send out messages through my writing. A good story for me is one I can enjoy and still take away a thing or two from. Ami going through all the issues you mentioned and coming out of them stronger is a huge big part of the story and I’m glad you see and appreciate that. I wish you all the best, super mom!🫶🏽

Thank you for the ask!

[tornadoyoungiron]

TRAINTOBER | Day 20 - Live Wire

Emily discovers that Tornado has an electric generator in her tender. Rumours spread that Tornado is a steam-electric hybrid. Hilarity ensues.

~~~

"Hey, is that Tornado stopped in that siding?" Emily's fireman called to her. 

Emily frowned and looked over to see the large express blue tender sitting on the siding, a large Peppercorn sitting in front of it.

"Yes, it's her," Emily clarified. "She's just waiting for our train to pass."

"Can we pull in behind her?" The fireman asked and the driver gave him a quizzical look. 

"She's the only engine here with an electric generator," he answered. "I need to charge my phone and I know her stroker."

Emily was confused. Tornado was a steam engine, not an electric engine. Why were they saying she had an electric generator? Surely she had misheard him.

The driver gave a frown but otherwise nodded and called to the signalman to change the points. 

"Emily?" The Peppercorn asked, confused as the Stirling Single pulled in behind her. "What are you doing?"

"Hey Tornado," Emily greeted her. "My uh, stoker needs to use your electric generator?"

"Oh yeah sure," Tornado waved it off like it was nothing. 

Emily was dumbfounded. Did Tornado really have an electric engine on board? Was she truly a steam engine if she was?

Tornado cleared her throat as her driver hopped back on board.

“It’s good to see you Emily but I need to get to the mining depot or the superintendent is going to throw a fit,” the Peppercorn mentioned and brought her out of her thoughts. 

“Oh right, talk to you later Tornado!” Emily called to the Peppercorn as she was on her way. The Peppercorn whistled at her in farewell.

All the while, Emily couldn’t help but glance at the Peppercorn as if trying to see if she looked any different to them. She looked completely normal, she looked like any other steam engine on the North Western. 

Emily was so confused.

~~~

“What’s that face for?” Spencer puffed as he saw the Single Stirling arrive at the platform in Knapford. “You look like your smokebox is in a right mess.”

Emily frowned but didn’t snap back at the Silver A4. Instead, she looked around the station and back at him.

“Uh, I passed Tornado on my way here,” Emily began and Spencer snorted, annoyed. Clearly no love for the Peppercorn from him. “My stoker says she has an electric generator.”

“Rubbish!” Spencer scoffed. “No such thing as an Electric-Steam engine!”

“I thought that too but my fireman left his phone with her,” Emily claimed. “Why would he do that if she didn’t have electric sockets on board?”

Spencer paused and looked thoughtful, thinking it over.

“I always knew there was something off about her, always talking to those new-fangled Azuma’s!” The A4 scoffed and Emily raised an eyebrow.

“Azuma’s?” 

“Electric engines like Kenji, they run the Flying Scotsman now,” Spencer explained. 

“I see.”

There was a heavy silence as the two engines considered the recent revelations.

~~~

“An electric engine?! PAH! Are you off your rocker?!” Gordon snorted at Spencer but the A4 just stared at him, his expression completely and utterly serious. “You are joking, right Spencer?”

“I am not, Emily told me,” Spencer reported. “Don’t believe me, go ask her.”

Gordon frowned but didn’t say anything, only humming thoughtfully as Spencer pulled away with his private coaches.

~~~

“Ooooo careful Bill! Don’t let the Tornado hit you with lightning!” the little yellow saddle tank sneered as Tornado pulled into the claypits.

Tornado rolled her eyes at him and his brother. She was used to these irritating little sods by now. 

"Go away or I'll squash you!" She snapped at them, irritated.

Bill and Ben giggled in response, not at all phased by her threat. 

"Ooo I suppose you think that being electric powered makes you faster than us!" Bill taunted. 

"But you're still just as heavy as Gordon!" Ben shrieked his voice full of mirth. 

Tornado just humphed and pulled a sour look at them. They were both ridiculous and irritating and whatever stupid game they were playing she wanted no part in it. She continued on her way, not giving the both of them the time of day for a moment longer.

Wait, had they called her, ‘electric powered?’

Tornado frowned but said nothing, continuing to work her shift as if nothing had happened.

~~~

“So what’s it like being an electric-steam engine?” Stafford greeted Tornado as she had pulled into Knapford Yard that afternoon.

Tornado had only given the electric engine a quizzical glance before ignoring such a stupid question. It had to be a coincidence that twice in the same day someone had called her and electric engine.

“Yes Stafford I’m fine!” was all she responded with leaving the electric engine staring at her in bewilderment.

However once she saw James and Thomas sitting in the sheds waiting and watching her with a weirdly intense gaze she paused to glare at them. They quickly stopped staring at her and began whistling ‘innocently’.

Tornado just humphed and continued on her way, thoroughly annoyed.

These Sudrian Engines were a strange lot, that was for sure.

~~~

The strangeness continued throughout the rest of the day with Diesel making snide comments and even Green Arrow giving her strange looks. 

Green Arrow knew her better than anyone! Why was he acting like everyone else?

It made no sense!

The end of the day came and Tornado bustled her way back to Tidmouth sheds to find them full of engines who didn’t even call Tidmouth their home. 

“Why are you all treating me weird?!” Tornado shouted at the assembled engines as she blustered in.

“What do you mean? We haven’a been treatin’ yer weird!” Donald refuted.

“Yes you have! You’ve all been watching me and you’ve been making snide comments about me being electric!” Tornado snapped back. “Is this because I’ve befriended electric engines? Are you not all friends with Stafford? What makes me so different!”

“Er well, it’s just that-” Edward began trying his best to sound diplomatic. 

“Emily saw your stoker use your electric engine!” Thomas cut in and Tornado stared at him.

“Electric engine? I don’t have an electric engine you half wits!” The Young Iron scolded the engines present. “I’m a Steam Engine!”

“But, but my fireman used you to charge his phone!” Emily stammered sounding completely confused. 

Tornado then realised then began to chuckle. The engines gathered just stared at her.

“Wa’s so funny ay?” Douglas sniffed and Tornado just grinned at them.

“I have an electric generator in my tender that’s all! It doesn’t power my motion it’s just there to run my lights and what have you,” Tornado clarified. “You guys really believed I was an electric steam engine?!”

She laughed at them and they looked embarrassed and they turned to Emily who went red with embarrassment. 

“Whoopsie,” was all she said and at that, the rest of the engines burst out into raucous laughter.

~~~

[soukokuwu]

Hi there, I really love your writing. Can you write a scenario where Dazai's black fem s/o who works at the ada and is encountered with a racist client who makes it pretty obvious that she doesn't want the s/o there because of her skin colour and s/o is feeling pretty down at it. Something similar recently happened to me so I kinda just wanna read some damn scenario about it, thanks.

HOME IS NOT A PLACE.      genre; pairing. fluff; dazai x reader      word count. 1,675      synopsis. dazai comforts you after an unnecessary hardship.      warning. brief discrimination      author notes. i’m so sorry to hear that happened to you (& i know i took very long with this, i apologise.) i’ve had similar discrimination inflicted upon me too so i hope you don’t have to experience it again & that you’re feeling better by now. <3

The nerves of some people.

A pair of chocolate beads observe silently, intensively, as the callous words spill out of thin, dry lips.

“I don’t want someone like her to serve me.”

Sip.

The old woman eyes you top to bottom.

“I demand someone else, someone... normal, at least.”

He catches the disdain in her voice. He’s sharp as a tack. Beside him the weretiger watches, cowering as he feels the ominous energy emanating from his superior. He’s seen Dazai angry, furious, but never like this. Never... silent. In this moment, the brunette is absolutely livid.

Dazai’s hands are placed on the table, balled tightly into fists. His eyes are trained on the client you’re trying to appease — she’s too wrapped up in her own head to notice him glaring. As he expects. People like that are often ignorant.

Normally he’d hate to get caught up in things like this, prefers to leave it to Kunikida, but the blonde isn’t around and it’s you she’s speaking to. He’s not going to keep mum when it comes to you. How dare someone insult his girlfriend for something that shouldn’t even matter?

Dazai loves you, he knows you’re way too nice to stand up for yourself, and Naomi is already killing herself trying to appease this witch. He notices the way your nervous fingers are fumbling with each other, the way you press your lips together to stop them from trembling, even the way your feet are tucked under the table brushing against each other. You’re scared, and your head is hung so low... you’re ashamed?

The line has been drawn a while ago. But now he absolutely can’t stay still. Not when it’s leaving you feeling so horrified.

He stands up, forcefully kicking the chair back against the wall with his knees as he does, and everyone in the room goes quiet.

All eyes are on him. His bangs are messy, covering his eyes, and lucky they are, because whatever expression lay under there it isn’t for everyone to see. Even the usually chirpy Kenji is stunned into silence, a wave of fear flashing across his features.

“Oh? Has the whiny granny finally shut up?” Dazai hums.

He’s fully aware that everyone in the room feels even more uncomfortable than before. As they should be; he doesn’t use this tone much, if at all, around them. It’s a tone most associated with who he used to be, a tone that incites a flashback to his port mafia days.

But in the midst of everything, you snap out of your seat and scurry off, your head in your hands. And Dazai watches as you run out of the office. Should he deal with the lady first? Or should he get to you? He doesn’t much know the ‘right’ ways of a relationship, but a nudge comes in from Naomi.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this,” Naomi assures him, a newly invigorated motivation after seeing his strong reaction.

Dazai mumbles a “thanks” before he excuses himself to find you — shooting one last warning glare at the old lady — and he knows just where you are.

Something cold is pressed against your cheek and you jolt. Dazai pulls it away with a chuckle and waves the cold can of juice in your face.

His features are much softer now than it was before, and you ease up a little when you realise he must be so worrried to have come up here to find you. When you take the can from him, he settles down quietly beside you and looks out at the view, and you two sit there wordlessly.

You are on the rooftop of the building right beside the ADA office. This is your hideout, a safe, convenient space for when you really need an escape from anything. And today is one of those days. Rare as they may be, you expect some people to react that way. Because sometimes humanity is flawed in the worst ways possible.

In an ideal world you wouldn’t be feeling this way. In an ideal world, everyone here would be able to accept you for who you are — not what you look like, not where you’re from. In an ideal world, you’d be free from the judgemental, free of the discrimination.

But this isn’t an ideal world. This is earth. This is life. What can you do but accept it? What else can you do other than tolerate what’s thrown at you? You think back to the harsh words spewed by the woman before — the one targeted at you because of your skin tone.

A rush of memories flood your mind.

Unwelcome looks from classmates. Sneers wherever you went in school. The way your name was associated with the sentences “why is she here?” and “she looks weird”. It was like sentencing you to be a social outcast over something you couldn’t control. You’d been forced to spend most of your schooling days alone, project groups being the bane of your existence. Where you thought it’d be an opportunity to make friends, it just gave the other kids additional chances at mocking you. The worst part was you couldn’t even talk to anyone about it. You had your doubts talking to school counsellors, they could easily be one of them. You didn’t even dream of telling your mother either, being a single mom was hard enough, you didn’t want to pile on more problems.

But it lightened up as you got older and people got more mature. Didn’t mean it stopped completely, though. You still had to welcome several unwanted glares and finger-pointing. But at least the name-calling stopped. And what you didn’t hear wouldn’t hurt you. It got better when you finally stepped out into the adult world. People were generally more accepting now, and you didn’t once feel left out in the ADA. They were all kind, for the most part, and never once did they discriminate against you. All they cared about was your work ethic, and they all generally accepted you for who you are. They didn’t give a damn what you looked like.

They accepted you for you, and that was the greatest gift they could have bestowed upon you. To the others it may have been nothing, but to you it meant everything.

There had never been a day where you were forced to confront your old fears. Until today. When that lady ever so subtly insulted you. It was like every doubt that ever crossed your mind since you were a kid came flooding back to you, the questions of whether you really belonged here, whether you should just give up and move away. But where? This is your home, for as long as you can remember.

“I love your eyes.”

Dazai’s sudden declaration stuns you, and you tilt your head towards him with a curious gaze. He isn’t teasing you, you knew that much. If he was, he would wear that wide, silly grin of his. No, this time his smile is… endearing, comforting.

“I love the way your smile reaches your eyes.”

A pair of hands reach out to cup your cheeks, and you can feel yourself getting nervous. He usually never speaks his feelings. Why is he doing this now?

“Look at me, belladonna,” he coaxes, and you listen. You’re met with earnest chocolate eyes, and you keep looking into them, even as they inch closer and closer towards you. He stops the moment the tip of his nose touches yours, and you feel your breath hitch at your throat.

“You are a beautiful person, my love,” he assures you, voice low and steady. His eyes are still staring straight into yours, and you can just make out his beautiful hair flowing in the breeze. “I’ve thought that ever since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

You chuckle, remembering the first day you stepped foot in the ADA office. Dazai had stumbled over all googly-eyed and took your hand, already confessing his future love with you. And he was right, because look at you now. And all the sounds muffle together as you continue gazing at your boyfriend as he lists down all the things he loves about you. From things as small as how your hands feel in his to the way he absolutely loves how he can be completely himself (or as much as he can be) around you.

“Shut up.”

Without even thinking, you find yourself tilting heavenward, pressing your lips onto his. It’s something he welcomes, by the way, his hands moving from your cheek to your neck and kissing you deeper.

You know exactly what he means by saying all of that. And you find it cute, how his way of comforting you is quite a roundabout, yet why does it still work? But you find the answer when you pull away, that first moment when you open your eyes — really open your eyes — and meet his. He’s right.

That lady’s opinion didn’t matter. It hurts, you know he’s not invalidating it, but he just knows talking about it further would just frustrate you more. Besides, he’s been with you long enough to know; if you want to, you would talk about it, and he would listen. As he always does. Even when it’s about things you considered trivial or stupid, he always gives you the time of day, always tries to make everything better.

He’s right — she doesn’t matter. To you, the one that matters most, is him. And you’re grinning silly just thinking of just how much he loves you, and how easily he makes you feel better with just his words. The lady and her biting remarks are well behind you now, as he envelops you in his arms, giving you an important confirmation: Dazai would always have your back, would always protect you.

Because you can have a myriad of doubts, but one thing is for sure.

Dazai is your home.

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @smoochi-dazai @animatedarchives

[livthelazywriter]

Quirkless Hero

Bakugou x f!reader

Y/n is quirkless. Has been and always will be(well kinda of that is), but that's never stop her from getting strong to be a hero. Walls that seem to be unbreakable appear in her life, but that doesn't stop her. Until a wall greater than she's ever faced shows up. She begins to question if she should just give being a hero or continue to move forward and still try. As she thinks about giving up, a certain ash blonde decides to help her break down this wall alongside her.

Prologue

Words: 1698

Have you ever come across a wall in your life that came out of nowhere,

"Come on sweetheart! It's time for your doctor's appointment!"

"Coming mom!" The little girl comes running through the house to the front door. She plops down on the ground and begins to put on her shoes.

Her mom looks down at her sternly, "Y/n, what have we talked about with running through the house?"

A pout formed on the little girl's lips. "That I could get hurt and need to stop doing it." She looked up at her mom from the ground, "Sorry mama."

A soft smile made its way to her mom's mouth, "Now hurry up and put your shoes on, don't want to be late do you?" Y/n eyes sparkled and quickly went back to putting on her shoes. When she was done, she hopped up and grabbed her mom's hand jumping up and down.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Her mom let out a small laugh, "Okay, okay. We're going, calm down."  Hana grabbed her purse and keys, walking out the door with Y/n still holding her hand.

And you feel like you don't know how to get past it.

"What? But, are you sure?"

The young doctor let out a sad sigh, "I'm afraid so." He turns to the x-ray on the wall. "She has the joint in her pinky toe. I'm sorry."

Quirkless. I'm quirkless.

Tears pricked in the small four-year-olds eyes. Now what? She can't be a hero like she wanted to anymore. She wasn't going to be able to stop villains alongside her cousin when she gets older as they both promised. All her dreams got crushed in an instant. How was she going to tell him they no longer could be hero's together?

-Time-skip-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Hana walked over to the front door and opened it. "Why hello Ejirou!"

"Hi, aunt Hana!" The small black-haired boy gave her a bright smile and an excited wave. The tall woman behind him chuckled.

"He's been excited to come over all day." She spoke in her son's defense as she watched him quickly take off his shoes so he could go find his cousin.

Hana let out a small laugh and moved aside for her sister to come in. "What can you say? Those two are two peas in a pod." Akari(this Kirishima's mom's name for the story) walked in to set down her things and to take off her shoes.

She then turned to her sister with a sad face, "She's really quirkless, huh?"

Hana let out a deep sigh, "She is," she looked at a picture of her daughter on the wall next to her, "and she's absolutely devastated." Akari walked over to her sister, pulling her into a side hug. She too looked at the picture on the wall. It was a recent one from this year. It was of Y/n and Ejirou from her fourth birthday party. They were sitting side by side hugging each other, smiling wildly.

But there's a small ray of hope, that maybe, just maybe, you can break it down.

Ejirou ran through the living room and into the hallway. He was just about to Y/n's room, when his uncle steps into the hallway out of the bathroom, causing the red-eyed boy to collide with him and fall over.

"Oops! Sorry, uncle Ren!" Kirishima exclaimed. He stood up from the ground and dusted himself off.

"It's alright kiddo! Just don't run next time." Ren reached down and ruffled his nephew's hair. "Are you going to go play with Y/n Ei?"

"Yep!" Ejirou replied with a big toothy smile.

Ren let out a sigh. "Try and cheer her up for me while you're in there, alright?"

The small boy looked at his uncle confused. "She's sad? Why?" Ren could tell that he was very concerned for his daughter from the look on the boy's face. He smiled.

'So he doesn't know yet'

"She's going to have to tell you herself, alright?"

"Okay! I'll go cheer her up!" He gave another smile and this time walked to his cousin's room. He reached for the doorknob and opened the door. All the lights in the room were off. He turned and stood on his tiptoes to turn the lights on. He noticed a big mound of blankets on Y/n's bed.

'There she is!'

He walked over to the mound of blankets. He pulled the top one off revealing a messy mop of h/c hair. He giggled.

"Hey, Y/n!"

The little girl emerged from her igloo of blankets and pushed them on the floor. Her hair was a mess as if she had just woke up from a nap. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She turned to her cousin with weary eyes.

"Hi, Ei." She spoke quietly. She didn't look at him, only her small hands in her lap. Ejirou climbed up on the bed and sat next to her. He looked at her concerned.

"Are you okay n/n(nickname)?"

Years bubbled in the girl's eyes. Her lip jutted out. She slowly turned her head to look at the Ejirou.

"I can't be a hero with you anymore!" She said with a slight sob. Ejirou looked at her with both a puzzled and worried face.

"W-why?" He tried to look at her in the eyes but her head was down with her eyes closed.

She let out a whisper, "Because I'm quirkless." She rubbed the tears from her cheeks and eyes then finally looked up into her cousin's bright red eyes. He had a determined look on his face.

"That's not true! I think you can still be a hero even if you're quirkless!" He hops off the bed and puts his hands on his hips, still having a determined look. "You and I will be the best heroes ever! And you will be the world's best quirkless hero!" He held out his hand with a wide smile, " So what do you say? Are you still going to be the best hero with me?"

The small h/c hairs girl looked at him with eyes. "You really think I can?"

"Yup!" Ejirou with lots of excitement. Y/n face scrunched as she thought for a second. She hopped off the bed with a determined smile grabbing her cousin's hands.

"I'll do it!"

Then slowly but surely, that wall begins to break down opening a path to your next obstacle.

(POV change)

Thud!

"I don't even know why you're here?" The boy who pushed you down towered over you. A glint of hate and disgust in his eyes. You looked up at him propping yourself on one elbow as you touched your left cheek. The cheek he punched right before he pushed on the hard tile floor of the school. It's only been a week and this jerk was bullying you. Why? Well, you were a quirkless girl at a school that was made for people who had quirks to become hero's that you so happen to attend, and in this boy's eyes, that wasn't right.

"You wanna know why I'm here?" You looked at him straight in the eyes as if you were challenging him(well, you sorta were). You slowly sat onto your bum. Then proceeded to stand up. Not daring to take your eyes off the boy in front of you. "I made a promise to someone important to me that we would be hero's together. That I would be the world's best quirkless hero. No one, not even you, is going to get in my way.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You won't survive a week as a pro before getting your quirkless butt killed." With that, he turned around and walked away.

You backed up to the wall and slid down. A heavy sigh left your mouth as you did so. You brought your knees up to your chest resting your head on them.

"So this is how-'

"Dang, it's already been a week and you got into a fight." A person that was walking towards you chuckled. You looked up and raised your brow at him.

"And you just let it happen?" You retorted with annoyance in your voice. You looked up at the boy now in front of you.

He let out another chuckle. "I could tell you had it handled ." He sat down beside you and crossed his legs.

You shot back a remark. "After what? Me getting pushed over?" You still had a glare on your face.

He looked down at his hands and breathed out. He turned back to you with a small smile. "I was going to help you after he did that," he paused looking you in the eyes still with a small, soft smile, "but once you got back up and looked at him dead in the eyes, I knew you had it covered."

You looked away, pink coming to your cheeks. "Thanks. I've never had a lot of people believe in me like that." You looked back at him with a smile. Your body relaxed and your legs now cross-legged like his. Your heartbeat picked up.

"Well, now you have some else who believes in you."

You both sat there for a second and looked at each other smiling. Both of each other's cheeks slightly pink. As you sat there you admired his features. He has short messy ash brown hair and vibrant green eyes. Under his left eye, he has a single, small freckle. His skin is clean and an ivory tone. It looked smooth and soft. Before you could continue to admire him, he released you from your trance.

"Hara Kenji." He held his hand out towards you still smiling.

"Oh uh, L/n F/n." You stuttered out grabbing his hand in return. "Nice to meet you."

He chuckled, "Nice to meet you too."

Next

[ren1327]

Seeing Stars Ch. 5

“Come in, come in!” Darius yelled into a radio and growled.

“Darius, calm down.” Brooklynn said softly from her desk, glancing up from her computer.

“How?” Darius asked. “Ben and Kenji…”

He closed his eyes.

“They’ll be okay.” Yaz said. “You know they will.”

They had holed up in the main bunker, four regular sized rooms available along with a few lockers filled with food, artillery and airtight with recycled air and enough running water for a week at most. After they had been attacked, they were cornered there, the other community bunkers having been unusable since many had leaks and no air purification.

“Why didn’t we all come here?” Brooklynn asked with a sigh.

“Your parents must have never thought to use them.” Sammy said, blowing a cloud of dust off a keyboard.

“Sammy.” Brooklynn said. “How are the security monitors?”

“Half are still dark. No way to get into contact without manually resetting the system.”

“Then we reset the system.” Yaz said and went to a locker.

She opened it to see a set of large heavy flashlights, flares and…

“Hello.” She hummed and pulled out a tranquilizer gun. She found a few darts, checking the expiration on the box. “Still good.”

“You can’t just stroll down the tunnel, Yaz—”

“I’ll go with her, Sammy.” Darius said, taking the second flashlight and a walkie talkie. “I know these tunnels as good as any Roth.”

Brooklynn winked. “He does, trust me.”

Sammy got up and hugged Yaz tight, Yaz pulling away to kiss her nose.

“I’ll be back soon with the boys. Make sure the rooms are locked up tight.” She said, handing Sammy the other walkie talkie.”

“You make sure you stay away from those…those things!” Sammy said and Yaz kissed her softly on the lips, the smaller woman humming softly as Yaz pressed her forehead to hers.

“I will.”

“I’m on channel 2.” Darius told Brooklynn, who nodded.

She quickly squeezed out the door, Darius behind her as she turned, watching it shut and hearing the lock click. Yaz banged on it twice, getting three back.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She said and Darius nodded.

Darius led her quickly through the darkened halls.

“Wow.” She said. “Grayson Roth really has an…imagination.”

Darius smiled. “It’s not a hundred percent sealed, if your claustrophobic.”

“I survived gyro-balls, Dude.” She said. “But why not seal it completely?”

“Because then we’d suffocate or starve to death. Grayson had all these fail safes just in case.”

“Out of pocket?”

“Spared no expense.” Darius said and peeked around the corner. “Okay…there’s a maintenance shaft down this way.”

“How do you know so much about this place?” Yaz asked. “I mean, you practically live here yourself, I know, your brother says so.”

“Have I mentioned how annoying it is that you two became gym buddies?”

“You think you guys could keep up?” She teased.

“Ben’s a fast runner. And Cole…” He sighed.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” She said softly. “About Cole.”

“He’s a good choice. For Kenji I mean.”

“All respect, I don’t think Kenji likes Cajun food.” Yaz said.

“And that means?” Darius asked as he pushed the door open for her and closed it behind them.

“It means, you want cute southern sweetie to court you instead.” Yaz said.

“I-I…” Darius blushed. “I…Kenji would be a better match.”

“Darius.” Yaz put a hand on his shoulder. “You and I know Kenji and Cole don’t want each other like that.”

“…I came back here to protect what was left of the dinosaurs…” Darius said. “I wanted to make a difference. But then, the Roths came, and Kenji’s dad and the island was, is…perfect. And then I met Cole and…I’m a beta, Yaz. And on top of that…I think I might be asexual.”

Yaz hugged her friend as he teared up, rubbing his back. “That doesn’t matter—”

“Alphas want pups! Alphas have ruts!” Darius said. “I’m too…too wrong—”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Yaz said, holding a finger to his chin. “You survived the island like we did, you helped us stay safe and showed how great a leader you are. I’m gonna say it, Darius. What we and your family have been saying forever.”

“No. Please—”

“Your Dad would be so proud of who you are. And I know, I know for a fact! You can do anything, I mean anything you set your heart on.” She said.

“I…”

“Besides. I’m pretty sure everyone knows Kenji and Ben are like…a thing.” Yaz said and Darius laughed.

“Yeah.” He said with a smile.

“Now—” She paused and looked up. “Whoa.”

Darius looked up himself to see a huge control panel.

“Just like a fuse box.” He said. “Just switch off and on and press the buttons.”

Yaz nodded and looked around the room, noticing another door that seemed to be sealed with a pin pad.

“What is this?” She asked. “Hey Darius?”

“Mmhm?” He asked as he started to carefully go down the board.

“When’s Cole and Brooklynn’s birthday?”

“June first and March eighth.” He called.

Yaz put the dates in the four pin lock and huffed when it beeped at her. She then put in Cole’s and Brooklynn’s birth years. Two more angry beeps after each told her she was wrong.

“How long have Grayson and Jasper been married?”

“Uh…Twenty seven years as if August.”

Yaz typed in 1994 and gasped as the door slid open halfway as the very mountain seemed to shutter and silence.

“Darius?”

“Hold on a sec.” He said.

There was a soft hum and they heard the walkie crackle.

“Yaz?” Sammy called. “Darius?”

“Hey, yeah.” Darius said from the dark. “You guys, okay?”

“Yeah, looks like all the monitors are booting back up and…yes! We have visual—”

“Sammy?” Yaz asked.

“Get out of there!” Brooklynn yelled as the lights came on, many little bodies screeching as the light reflected off their bulbous eyes.

“Darius!” Yaz yelled. “Get inside!”

Darius dove into the doorway as Yaz back up, swinging the tranq gun up as a troodon leapt at them, the door shutting behind it.

“Get behind me!” Yaz yelled and knocked a dart in the gun.

The troodon snarled and crouched, Darius ducking behind Yaz and grabbing a random blunt object.

Yaz shot at it and it flopped down.

“I don’t think it could see us.” Darius said as the creature huffed and laid still.

“Oh thank goodness.” She said and Darius grabbed a roll of electrical tape from the desk of…

“Simon Masrani?” He asked, looking at the name plate in his hand.

“What?” Yaz asked and Darius shoot his head.

“Uh, never mind.” He said and taped the dinosaur’s mouth shut, wrapping it’s eyes with a bandana he had wrapped around his arm.

“Get me that first aid kit?” He asked.

Yaz grabbed a kit from the wall and Darius used gauze, bandages and medical tape to wrap it’s claws up, then tie it’s legs together and arms to its body, Darius using more electric tape over the bandages.

“Smart.”

“Had to do this with some baby velociraptors.” He said, then looked back at the desk, noticing the computer booting up.

“What is this doing locked up?” he asked.

Yaz clicked the space bar and they saw the video system was still on.

“There’s two files.” Yaz said and clicked on one.

Simon Masrani looked at the camera, as if directly at them, his warm face smiling.

“Grayson. My friend. My brother. I must tell you that things…they are not good. I have just been informed that Brom’s widow is pregnant. She was a good wife to him, a good friend to us both. If not for her blessing, Brom and I would not have…We would not have had the time we had together. She allowed the man she married to be with the man he loved, and she did so out of love.”

“Whoa.” Yaz said.

“I loved Brom. In his last few years, I loved with all my heart and it is only just that his child be my rightful heir. That child ties you to me as well.” He looked at his hands. “Four families tied by a single baby.”

He chuckled and looked up at the camera.

“I don’t care if they are an alpha like I am, a beta like their mother or an omega like thier father.” He said. “I want you to make sure when their mother reveals the truth, that they are the one who holds power. I’m counting on you, my friend.”

The video ended and Yaz blinked.

“So…Masrani was having an affair with a married man?”

“A married omega man, who’s wife blessed the union of Masrani and her husband.” Darius supplied.

Yaz clicked on the second video and Masrani looked frantic, he was older, like…

“This looks like the day he died.” Darius said.

“My friend.” He said. “Today, a disaster has fallen over my park and I fear I could lose my life. I need you to make sure my son is taken care of. Make sure his mother is the only one to gain my fortune and do not tell him of his parentage. I was suppose to meet him today!”

He clutched his hair.

“I was going to…Please keep this video close. Show him this."

He looked at the camera, smiling.

“Son...My—”

*

Yaz sat on the desk.

“This changes everything.” She mumbled.

“I know.” Darius said.

“I don’t think he knows.”

“His mom was suppose to tell him.”

“But!” She huffed and paced. “We need to get back to everyone.”

She found a flash drive and saved the videos to them.

“Okay. Just in case. Ready?”

“For what?”

“To run, Darius. I’m getting to my future wife and showing Kenji this.”

Darius nodded and grabbed the walkie form his belt.

“Come in.” He said.

“Darius, what have you been doing?” Brooklynn asked.

“Get ready.” Darius said. “And turn the lights all the way up in the tunnels.”

“Okay.” There was a pause. “You’re clear. Go, go, go!”

Darius slammed the door open and he and Yaz ran.

Yaz ran behind Darius, watching him pound on the door.

The door opened and Darius fell in, Yaz running behind him as Ben shut the door.

“Ben?!” She yelled and hugged him.

“We just got here.” He said with a smile. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She looked to see Kenji on a sofa, sweating and panting.

“Kenji?”

“He was bitten.” Sammy said, wiping his head with a cool wet rag.

Ben walked over to him. “I was able to treat him using some tranquilizers and some antibiotics.”

“How did you know to do that?” Yaz asked.

“Ever hear of a Laura Sorkin?” Ben asked.

“Ooh, yeah.” Darius said. “Crazy scientist.”

Yaz took a breath and looked at the security monitors, noticing most were still under water.

“Okay, guys.” She said, placing the tranq gun down. “What now?”

[kunikiiida-kuuun]

Smile For Me (Kunikida x Reader)

When another melancholic sigh leaves your mouth unknowingly, Kunikida turns off the television and finally turns to you.

"Okay, what's on your mind?"

It takes you a whole minute to register that the TV was now just a blank screen and that Kunikida was looking at you expectantly. "Oh, I'm sorry! It's nothing really..." you bite your lip, trying to push away intruding thoughts.

You finally had Kunikida to yourself after a long week of tiring work and you shouldn't have been letting anything distract you from that. Nothing was better than relaxing with your boyfriend, just watching reruns of your favorite TV show, and cuddling on the couch. Yet, a few stressful thoughts had somehow made way into your head, making you feel uncharacteristically gloomy and broody. It was no surprise that Kunikida was able to tell immediately; he was oddly perceptive about other people's feelings and no detail seemed to escape his notice.

Kunikida takes your hand in his and gives you a resolute look, "Talk to me."

A smile passes over your lips at his concern, "Oh, Kunikida." You turn to face him and cup his face gently, "It's nothing to worry about, I promise."

You struggle a bit with your words, trying to put everything lightly so you don't cause Kunikida to worry. He was a big worrywart as it is and you didn't need him to be worrying over your mundane problems. At the same time, you didn't want to push him away. "It's nothing in particular... just one thought leads to another and...”

You let your hands fall to your lap and avert your gaze to look at the floor, “It’s just some things from past that I should be long over with. Sometimes they just come back to drag you down, you know?"

"I don't know if that makes any sense." You laugh airily but a sad smile lingers on your face.

He gives you an understanding look, but he was troubled that you were feeling that way. He was no stranger to those feelings himself, when on so many days, the ghosts and silhouettes of the past lurked on his mind and refused to leave. When it becomes too painful to continue, where his will to do anything crumbles, the desire to just throw everything away and give up threatens to triumph over his ideals. To cast it away as redundant and meaningless as the world had shown it to be countless number of times. On those days, you had been there for him like a beacon, constantly smiling for him and showing that you would be there for him. And he wanted to do the same.

"Let's go have some beef bowls!"

You frown at Kunikida’s sudden remark, "What- we just ate-" and that's when it strikes you- he was impersonating Kenji.

Toothy grins turn to loud and boisterous laughter as he makes shockingly accurate impressions of all the agency members, Atsushi and Tanizaki's extra nervous retorts, Kenji's cheerful stories of his hometown, Ranpo's carefree and haughty declarations, Yosano's veiled coos as she's healing a patient.

But what takes the stage away is the impressions of his lazy yet reliable partner Dazai, having spent a lot of his time with him on work requests. He imitates his partner's voice perfectly, all his dramatics packed heavily in all the lines.

"There is a man hanging on the tree in my backyard. Is he someone from your office?" he makes an impeccable voice of an old man, all with a straight face.

"Please pay your bills! Your tab has piled up for over nine months now!" he says in a low-pitched feminine voice.

He continues imitating the voices of all people who called in at the agency, with a complaint regarding Dazai's suicide attempts, each more whimsical than the other. You're not sure if those are really the complaints he had to hear or he was exaggerating a little but it's hard to tell since this was about Dazai after all.

Nevertheless, you're clutching your stomach by the end of it, doubling over with unashamed laughter. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed so hard.

You wipe away the tears that had gathered at the corners of your eyes from all the laughter, "What was all that?" You grin cheekily at him, now unable to wipe the smile off your face, all signs of your worry long dissipated.

You scoot closer to him and nudge him playfully on his side, "I didn't know my boyfriend could be such a jokester. Were you trying to cheer me up?"

Kunikida pushes his glasses up his nose and asks stoically as if he hadn't been doing anything out of ordinary, "Did it work?"

You lean forward and place a soft kiss on his cheek. "It did. Thank you, Kunikida."

His facade temporarily breaks as he flushes slightly and clears his throat, raising his notebook to his face, "In case it wasn't enough, my notebook has a list of thirty-eight other things that I can do that could cheer you up."

You raise a brow, smiling mischievously as your fingers toy with the ribbon of his collar, "Oh? That's quite a number. Are you sure there are that many things you can do single-handedly that can cheer me up?

"Is that supposed to be a challenge?" he's narrowing his eyes, lips curled in a slight smirk; you know he’s playing along with you.

"I don't know." You trace circles on the back of his hand, "What do you think, Detective Kunikida?" you smirk back at him coyly.

With a swift motion of his hands, he pulls you over his lap and draws you close. He gives you a long intense look, his green-grey eyes shining behind his glasses and you are inwardly swooning at how gorgeous he looks.

He whispers in a low voice against your ear, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

[seijch]

futakuchi kenji + gender neutral!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

superhero au, action/fluff with a bit of angst

content warning !! (nongraphic) descriptions of violence, mention of alcohol

14.2k

recommended listening

BY DAY, you attend classes and sling drinks at the campus cafe. By night, you’re known as the Harbinger, an individual with the Gift of shadow and darkness. Your two jobs have never had any reason to collide...not until the appearance of a fellow Gifted by the name of Ace, anyway.

"Your next job is an assassination," says the informant. He's tall, with blond hair going a little unruly in the wind. The real attention grabber, though, is the unblinking third eye that rests on his forehead. You feel his fingers probing at your brain, prying it open to tell you everything you need to know about your next target. This was a commonplace interaction between you; there were eyes and ears everywhere. The landscape of your mind was the safest place for secrets and information.

This time, it's some bigshot CEO allied with the Seijoh Conglomerate. He's trying to curry favor with the much smaller Johzenji Incorporated.

Negotiations are on Saturday, Three-Eyes (you'd never learned his name, not even his alias, and he'd never provided one) tells you. I've given you the location. You should know how to get there.

"Got it," you reply as his grip on your brain recedes. "Anything else?" The young man shrugs.

"The usual. Fly high. Don't fuck up. It'll look bad on all of Karasuno if you did." With that, his figure goes blurry and blips out of sight. Left standing alone at the rendezvous point, you sigh and slip into the darkness, riding the shadows all the way home.

 "Let me guess," Futakuchi says, shifting his gaze from his notepad to you, "a carbonara, extra cheese?"

"You know it." Say what you will about the simple dish, but it's been your favorite ever since the restaurant opened down the street before your first semester of university two years ago. Your eyes trace the brick walls of the small establishment, flit over Futakuchi's back as he enters the kitchen.

Due to its proximity to campus (and more recently, your apartment), you've been a regular patron since its opening. Despite this, though, it was your friendship with Futakuchi (and his employee discount) that kept a broke college student like you coming back for more.

(It started with an economics class you'd both taken in your first semester to raise your respective GPAs. You knew vaguely of each other, never having any reason to interact.

It continued the next semester with a group project for your communications class, once again shared with one Futakuchi Kenji. "Do you want to work together?" had spilled from your lips before you could think it through. You weren't friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was just the only one in the class you felt familiar enough with to ask.

"Sure," he responded. "Let's meet at the cafe close to the quad.")

"Here you go," Futakuchi says, taking you back to the present. "Without you, I'm sure this old place would've gone under months ago," he chuckles, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. He's thanking you, in his own roundabout way.

As always, you play along. "Aw, you'd miss me if I stopped showing up, wouldn't you?" He narrows his eyes at the grin you throw his way. You're sure he's about to hurl some sort of curse your way when an elderly couple walks past.

Schooling his features into something more refined, he gives you (and them) the smile of a saint. "Oh, please," he grits under his breath, "I give you three days tops before you come running back." You're left gaping at him like a fish, scrambling for a response, but nothing comes. His grin widens: he's won this one.

(After weeks' worth of research and countless cups of coffee consumed between you, the project was complete. You'd learned a lot about him — he was an electrical engineering major, played volleyball in high school, thought that Disney's Tangled was nothing short of a cinematic masterpiece — and the easy camaraderie you two had fallen into made your heart skip a beat.

Not that you'd ever admit it to him. He didn't need his ego to grow even bigger, lest his head get too swollen to keep upright. Whenever he walked into the cafe, the very same one you had your first meeting as partners at, to order his stupid chai tea latte, you would be forced to give it to him with a bright smile and held tongue.

You might've swallowed your feelings, but they've always been there, like a flower that had not yet met the right conditions to bloom.)

Saturday comes quickly. The venue is the most opulent hotel in the city, the crown jewel of the entertainment district. The whole place reeks of cigarette smoke, a result of the casino located on the first floor. You wrinkle your nose at the smell, darting between shadows to reach the room you're looking for.

Three-Eyes needs to work on his navigational skills, you think. The penthouse suite could've been better reached by taking to the skies and landing on the roof. (Plus, you've always liked the feeling of twisting the thin, watery darkness into wings with which to take flight.) You chalk it up to needing to exercise the utmost caution, and for good reason: there are two armed guards stationed at the door. No way around it.

From around the corner, you send your shadow to strangle one of the guards, sinking incorporeal fingers into his throat. He gargles as his body falls, and you curse as it thuds on the marble floor. The other guard's on full alert now, his gun locked and loaded. He tries to move, to look for the assailant, but he can't: you've pinned his shadow where it stands.

Inky black tendrils make their way to the guard, his eyes widening. You wonder, dimly, what he must think. The thoughts people have before their lives end at your hands has always been a point of speculation for you.

Not that you ever give them much time to think; it's a small mercy, to kill someone swiftly. You may be a criminal, but you’re far from a sadist.

You crack the door open, catch a glimpse of the scene inside.

The target's running his mouth, his glass of red wine coming close to spilling with each flourish of his hands. They're decorated with gaudy rings, each outfitted with a flashy gem. A small staffing of guards watches the scene, all stone-faced and no doubt better trained than the goons you took out less than two minutes ago.

The room's nice, furnishing sleek and minimalist. It's also well-lit, bringing a frown to your face. You were at your most effective when it was dark as pitch, but the cogs turn in your head as you formulate a plan.

What intrigues you the most, however, is the young man standing behind your target. His mask covers his eyes, as though he were attending a masquerade ball and not overseeing a critical business deal. It's outfitted with...card suits. One side the spade, the other the heart, with the club and diamond in the middle. His stance is relaxed, bored, even. You're not sure who he is; Three-Eyes didn't tell you about this. He must be a new addition, you think. He's not armed. Is he Gifted, like you?

Doesn't matter. The modern chandelier above does well to light the room, but you find purchase in the shadow of a stool on the kitchen island. You leap into it, molding yourself to the darkness as you lie in wait.

"Those are the terms and conditions of our deal," the CEO from Seijoh finishes, lacing his fingers together as he leans back in his chair. "Do you have any questions?" The Johzenji representative opens his mouth, but you're only half aware of his response.

Fact: When you're assuming the form of another shadow, you can't send your own to do your bidding.

Fact: Making this quick and easy isn't possible.

Fact: Confrontation is inevitable.

Fact: You have a bad feeling about the man in the mask.

That being said, you wouldn't have gotten this far in Karasuno if you were afraid to get your hands dirty, whether you liked it or not.

In a single instant, you emerge from hiding and trap the masked man's shadow before he can spring into action. All eyes are on you, but before the CEO can sputter commands, you send an appendage of darkness to pierce his chest. He gurgles, blood spilling from his mouth, before he slumps into the chair. The red wine spills all over the plush carpet, seeping in to stain.

The guards launch into action, forming a protective circle around the Johzenji representative. They're all aiming for you.

Perfect.

Before they open fire, you lock yourself in a barrier. The shots, as you predicted, ricochet and knock out some of the lights from the chandelier. Once the roar of gunfire ceases, you force the barrier outward to skewer your attackers.

They choke, last cries strained as their bodies fall to the ground. You scan the room, all shattered glass and bleeding bodies. Well. I should clean this up a little before I leave. You don’t dwell on the thought for too long, though; there’s still one person left on the floor.

The masked man's stayed perfectly still and silent throughout this whole encounter. (Of course he would; he wouldn't be able to move, even if he tried.) "You're good," he remarks as you close in on him. "It's just a shame," he tuts, sidestepping—sidestepping?—your attack, "that I'm better." He's broken from your hold, somehow, and is out the window (when did it open?) before you can get a hold of him.

"Don't take it personally," he calls after you. "You were just unlucky." You curse under your breath; Three-Eyes is not gonna like this. You shackle the Johzenji representative to the ground, looking down at him as he quivers in fear.

"Well then," you sigh, cutting your losses, "why don't you tell me all about this deal Johzenji is making with Seijoh, hm?"

There was a young man with the Seijoh CEO, you tell Three-Eyes, though you know he's long since sifted through your memories of last night to know. I don't know if he was Gifted or not.

We have no record of him. When we meet tomorrow, I'll give you a supplement that will let you temporarily see who around you is Gifted. Take it before your next mission.

You make the mistake of letting your mind wander, and curse his stupid psychic Gift when he adds, tone bone-dry, No, not a suppository. Supplements are taken orally. He releases his hold on you and you swear you see him shake his head at your train of thought.

(Really, it's not your fault the two words were so closely related; as much as you've given to this second job of yours, you weren't ready to insert anything odd into your most personal crevices.)

"Meet in the usual place tomorrow. I'll also be giving you the details of your next mission." That's all he says before teleporting away. You glance at your phone, color rushing out of your face in record time.

"Fuck!" You fling open the service door of the campus cafe, retying your apron as you rush in. Cramming the cash from Three-Eyes into your bag, you rejoin your boss on the floor. He's chewing you out, and just as well: you've extended your fifteen-minute break to something akin to a twenty-five.

You're only half listening. Instead, you're replaying the events of last night, the man in the mask the only thing on your mind.

No one’s ever broken free before. You’re staring at your hands, clenching and unclenching them in the motion to trap a shadow. How did he do it?

"You in for a long night?" you ask Futakuchi, setting his chai latte on the table. He's come during dinner hours, rendering the cafe mostly empty.

"Yeah. The professors in my department have been working us to the bone." He stops to take a sip, nodding in appreciation. "I mean, I get it. Top five engineering school and all. But shit," he huffs as you wipe down a nearby table, "I feel like I can't catch my breath." You clean the store as he rolls his shoulders, a brief break before his fingers fly over the keys of his laptop. It's companionable, the lo-fi tunes from the speakers the only real sound.

(You were no stranger to all-nighters with Futakuchi by your side. In fact, that was the only way your project could have ever reached completion.

"College is not what I expected it to be," he'd groaned one night, the two of you holed up in a corner of the library. It was getting late: you're sure the staff was going to kick you out any second now. You looked up from your laptop to see him with his head in his hands, tablet pen still between his fingers.

In truth, you'd also been hoping for more of an opportunity to let loose. This was supposed to be the time of your life, the transitory period between what remained of your youth and true adulthood. Instead, you'd spent all your time at work, in lecture, or working with Futakuchi on this damn presentation.

None of those things were inherently bad, but they certainly weren't in line with the more...entertaining college lifestyle you'd envisioned yourself leading. To sympathize, you'd told him as much, garnering a laugh as he agreed with you.

"Well,“ he’d looked at you then, eyes hooded with drowsiness, “at least we're in it together."

Your heart leaped to your throat, and you fumbled over your reply. "Who said I was going to stick around?" It sounded less like a verbal jab and more of a stab in the dark.

"And here I thought you enjoyed the mutually beneficial relationship we had," he lamented, a hand on his chest in mock hurt. "Never again will I let you use my employee discount." You'd kicked his shin under the table and told him to get back to work.

When you'd gotten home that night, those seven words had kept you awake, tossing and turning. You were brought together out of necessity, after all; who's to say that he'd stick around once the shackles of obligation were broken?)

The amount of light pollution in the city has never done your powers good, rendering the sky almost starless, but you'll be damned if it doesn't look amazing from above. You land at the top of the old clock tower, the building standing only because of its history. It's a relic in a city bustling with modernity, and you find solace in the low ticks and tocks as the seconds pass into minutes. 

You watch cars race by, blips of color moving in the cityscape. You'd met with Three-Eyes earlier to receive the supplement (he'd reminded you once more to take it orally) and the location of your next mission. Your head still buzzes when you shake it, his influence not so easily forgotten.

Your wings drip with liquid shadow; when you'd first come into your Gift, you had been surprised at the almost milky texture of the dark. You're stretching them out, practicing your control, when you're interrupted.

"Huh," he says. "I wasn't expecting to see you here." Before he finishes his sentence, you've bound him from the neck down in an uncomfortable sort of straitjacket. You tighten your hold; he's not getting away this time.

"Good evening to you too," he grins. "How rude of myself to not even properly introduce myself," he barrels on before you can get a word in edgewise. "They call me Ace." His voice is casual, like he's meeting with a friend and not tied up in front of someone who wants to kill him.

You've turned the wings at your back into razor-sharp edges that itch to skewer his poor body. One of them grazes his Adam's apple, and he tilts his head up in defiance, looking down on you. "So you're Gifted?" It's barely a question, but one you figure you should ask regardless. As much as you’d love to skip to the part where he lies motionless on the floor, the idea of never scratching that itch, never getting the answers you’ve been wanting since you first met leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

"What do you think?" he asks, placid smile pasted on his lips. In the blink of an eye, he's wriggled out of your binding—how? "Pretty good, if I do say so myself," he preens at his accomplishment. You make to end him once and for all, answers be damned, but he dodges every spike that comes his way. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth in disapproval, leaping out of the way of a particularly nasty advance that pierces the floor. "I introduce myself, act nothing but cordial, and this is the thanks I get?" He lets loose a long-suffering sigh that only pisses you off.

"Not like it matters. I already know who you are." You try to close the distance, but he's quick to widen the gap. "The Harbinger...did you come up with that one yourself? It's a nice name, for sure. A bit vague, if anything, but oh so frightening." He's overcome with fake emotion, the end of his sentence condescending. He has the nerve to talk down to you, and you return it by pinning his shadow before he can run away again.

You're almost there. He's within reach, but your foot gets stuck in the hole you'd made trying to get to him. You curse, the sound guttural as it comes from the back of your throat. "Darn," he simpers, throwing in a pitying snap as you yank your foot out. "You almost got me there too. Unfortunately for you," he shrugs, once again free from your grip on his shadow, "I'm getting bored. Do better.” If being such an insufferable asshole was a real Gift, you’re sure Ace would be among the first to manifest it.

"Well,” he says, voice closing the door on the interaction, “'til next time, Harbinger." Before you can even try to get to him again, he's gotten a running start. Your eyes widen as he jumps from what must be a terminal height to the nearest building—and lands it.

Ace? Three-Eyes asks, once again in your head. Do you know what his Gift is? He's rewatching your encounter with him, and you ignore his snide comments about how easily he managed to wipe the floor with you.

No clue. He didn't attack me. The admission causes Three-Eyes' eyebrows to raise as he plays the encounter over again, looking at it through a new lens. Frankly, you're getting tired of seeing your ass get kicked. Definitely a slippery bastard. He's probably working for Seijoh.

We'll send an agent to do recon on their Gifted. This could just be an independent. Seijoh was fond of attracting Gifted to their cause, promising wealth in exchange for power. Three-Eyes seems satisfied with what he's seen, and you shiver as he returns your mind to you. No matter how many times he does it, you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling.

"At any rate," he throws over his shoulder, "don't fuck up tonight."

Seijoh is awfully fond of glitz and glamor, and it shows: the charity banquet is decorated to the nines. A part of you longs to participate, but you're here to gather information, to play the part of the fly on the wall. The waitstaff glides across the floor in a dance of service, offering champagne and hors d'oeurves alike to the chattering elite.

Take the tablet thirty minutes before you enter, Three-Eyes had told you. Once it kicks in, any Gifted should glow orange at the edges. A memory through the eyes of a stranger had entered your mind then, and in it you saw Three-Eyes outlined in neon orange, the edges softly blurred.

Sneaking in is much easier this time, a shadow creeping far enough past the door that you can slip in without a hitch. You're prepared to assess whatever shady deals Seijoh is setting up this time, but you see a man near the door stiffen. He's glowing orange at the edges, and you swallow. The man is big, with a shock of white hair. Leaning against the wall next to him is Ace, the orange outline bleeding in the space between the two Gifted.

"Harbinger," the unfamiliar face says, voice deep. You blanch, holding your breath as he turns to face you. He's fast for his size, head whipping in the direction you move to, taking the form of a different shadow. The guard detail tonight, armed to the teeth, focuses their aim where you hide.

This is bad. Gunfire claws against your ears, and you leap out of the shadow to put up a barrier before they tear you apart. Glass shatters. A lightbulb goes off in your head, feeling deja vu tug at the corners of your brain. You break into a sprint.

The security detail picks up on your plan, aiming one step ahead of you as you run to the now broken window. From the corner of your eye, you see one such bullet speeding towards you.

It feels like the world around you slows down, like you can see each detail of the dusky yellow metal as it hurtles to the point of impact. 

This is it, isn’t it?

The bullet will lodge itself (or worse, pass through) your midsection. This opulent room will be where you meet your end. They’ll clean up your body, mop up the blood. The cleaning staff is going to have their work cut out for them, you think.

You wonder if time slows for each of your victims before you take them out. You regret not being quicker about it; you thought you were doing them a service, but this? This is nothing but agony.

All you can do is keep moving. Your feet are heavy as one moves in front of the other.

The world returns to its normal pace.

Your momentum carries you forward. The bullet is off by what must be millimetres, grazing your back. You leap out of the window.

The last thing you see as you fly away is Ace's eyes on yours, heart hammering against your ribcage.

Three-Eyes has never been the most expressive nor the most emotional, so to feel the fury rolling off him in waves stuns you silent. "You failed the mission?" he asks. It's a rhetorical question, of course; he's seen your memories. Multiple times. "You had a job to do, and you...what?" His voice stays even, but the eye that rests at the center of his forehead trembles slightly.

He exhales. His third eye stills once again.

"Look," he reasons. "I know you're pretty new around here, but the higher-ups demand results. You cannot fail. Keep that in mind next time we meet."

Your informant leaves after that, phasing out of your sight. Your failure probably reflects poorly on him, too; you've never met the higher-ups, the head honchos of Karasuno, but you figure they must be forces of nature. Shame washes over you as you return home.

For the first time since you joined Karasuno, you don't return home with an envelope of cash.

“I feel like I’m seeing more of you these days.” Futakuchi sighs when you call him out, raising his hands in surrender.

“There’s a paper due at the end of the month. My GPA can’t take it if I fall behind, so I asked them to cut my hours at the restaurant.” He’s had impeccable grades since the day you met, but you figure they weren’t entirely borne of natural aptitude. You, on the other hand, have been taking on more shifts in an attempt to offset the cost of failing your last mission.

One paycheck from Karasuno was almost twice as much as you made at your day job. You close your eyes, see rent’s due date glaring at you. Three-Eyes was right. There can’t be any more fuck ups; you literally cannot afford it.

“Well,” you hand him his latte (he’d only admitted it once, but you were the one who made his order the best), “you’ve come to the right place.”

It's been getting colder recently. The chilly night air nips at your skin, sends goosebumps up your arms.

"I get it, this is a nice lookout spot," Ace says, jolting you out of your reverie. "But really? Once was bad enough. Imagine if I found you here while I was on the clock." You don't immediately move to kill him, so he stands a respectable distance away.

"On the clock? For Seijoh?"

"Who's to say?" he deflects.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It can mean whatever you want it to. Just because I'm seen with Seijoh doesn't have to mean I'm working with them." He says that, but his presence alongside some of Seijoh's bigwigs begs to differ. "At the end of the day, I'm just some guy with a mask on, right?"

"No."

He laughs, incredulous. "No? Are you denying it?" He taps his mask, the ornamentation of the spade shifting beneath his touch. "The evidence is right there, isn't it?"

"I meant that you're not just some guy." When you swallow, it's heavy. You've started having nightmares about that day, ones where you don't make it out alive. You were so sure the bullet would connect...until it didn't hit at all.

More than anything, you remember the look he gave you as you ran away. It's that gaze that makes an appearance behind your eyelids every night. You've given up on trying to piece it together by now.

"Aww." Ace tilts his head, pursing his lips in sarcastic affection. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" You (once again) start to wish you'd killed him where he stood.

Instead, you say, "What did you do?" He gives you yet another look you can't decipher, another thing to mull over alone in your room under cover of darkness.

"Who knows?" he shrugs, avoiding a straight answer once again. "Maybe you just got lucky. Why do you assume I had something to do with it?"

(He has a point; all you have to go off of is a look and a feeling. You hate that he's right.)

The only noise at this point is the steady tick-tock of the clock tower and the breeze passing by, a gentle tap on your shoulder, a kiss on your cheek. You don't respond, soaking in his words. He could be lying. He could also be telling the truth.

You're not sure which you'd like to hear more.

"You said you were off the clock," you say after the silence has set in long enough to change the topic. He nods, gaze focused on the few cars on the road below. "I take it whatever...arrangement you have with Seijoh isn't permanent."

"Is work all you talk about? Man, I hope you're not this much of a stick in the mud behind the mask."

That hits a nerve. "I'll have you know I am very pleasant beneath the mask," you defend. He smirks, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Harbinger."

“Okay, be honest,” you begin, shutting the menu with a snap (as if you even read it). “Am I...uptight?”

Kenji inhales sharply, taking your menu with careful fingers. You’re well aware you’ve just dropped him in a minefield, but you watch him squirm with serious eyes. Ace’s words from the night before ring in your ears, and you’re itching to prove him wrong.

Poorly equipped to answer the question at hand, Kenji instead asks, “...You sure you want me to be honest?” He yelps when you aim to whack him with a roll of complimentary bread. “You were the one who asked!”

“You’re supposed to be a good friend!” you hiss between bites of another dinner roll.

“You asked me to be honest! What was I supposed to do?” he sputters. “Lie?” Kenji confiscates the roll of bread, uttering a mocking hum when you whine.

“Yes!” He doesn’t bother replying, muttering under his breath as he takes your order—and your makeshift weapon—to the kitchen.

You'd think that a business conglomerate with its fingers deep in the city's underbelly would do a better job at hiding confidential files. You guess Seijoh's got bigger fish to fry. Not that you're complaining, of course; this only makes your job easier.

(We've done extensive recon on this location, Three-Eyes had informed you. He was still tense with the knowledge of your last fuck-up, but you were given a mission regardless. It's where they keep their records of the Gifted in their system, hired or not.)

The job, for once, is simple. Get in. Collect the files Three-Eyes had drilled into your brain. Get the fuck out.

(Just watch out. They have this guy running point on their security. In your memory was the image of a man, hair dyed blond save for the twin black stripes running parallel lines around his head.

He...kinda looks like a bumblebee, you'd thought, hoping to draw a laugh from your informant. It didn't work. His jaw had hardened, and his eyes—unfortunately, not the third one—had rolled.

They call him the Mad Dog. If you see him, do not engage. His Gift—if you can call it that—is the ability to break bones and pop blood vessels with a single touch. Okay, yikes. You'd breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of examples Three-Eyes had given; he was often very thorough, but you were grateful he'd refrained from providing a visual this time.)

To his credit, Three-Eyes' navigation skills are getting better. Getting to the archives poses no problem, the office completely dark. If you got into a fight, you were almost certain you’d come out on top.

The only catch is the dozens of the drawers you'll have to open to find the files you're looking for. With a sigh, you fish out the small flashlight given to you by Three-Eyes the last time you were tasked with recon.

(I should also warn you, Three-Eyes said, that you might be terminated if you fail this mission. We won't kill you or anything like that, he'd assured you when you'd flinched. At least, I don't think so. But your memories of this time will be erased entirely from your mind.

His gaze was devoid of any levity, any mercy. I can put things in your head no problem, but I make no promises to be gentle if I have to take them away.)

You're thumbing through the files of the independents Seijoh has hired when you see not one, but two faces you recognize.

The first is the large man with the white hair that had managed to sniff you out from the shadows. His real name is redacted, the same as every other report, but you catch a glimpse of his designation. Bloodhound Unit 1-A. Fitting. You'd already collected the files of other members of Seijoh's bloodhounds; this was the last one on your list.

They all possessed similar enough Gifts, in the end: the ability to locate Gifted whenever they used their powers.

The second file you recognize is Ace, pictured in all his masked glory with a shit-eating grin. You stop to read this one; it’s not every day you learn the ins and outs of the biggest pain in your ass to date.

Gifted #1110 has the ability to manipulate the probability of events (moderate effect), the classification reads. This makes him uniquely suited to an escort position for negotiations with other companies.

That explains why you've only seen him around officials. You trace your encounters back to the beginning, to all his comments about luck. He'd escaped you because he'd willed it, forced the hands of fate in his favor.

This casts the events of your last mission under a different light: he let you live.

Why?

You take both reports, the last two files needed, and make your escape.

It’s midnight. The clock tower rings out behind you to welcome the new hour, but you’re not paying much attention. Bouncing around in your mind like an old computer’s screensaver is the project due at the end of the month and the need to confront Ace about what exactly happened the night of your last mission.

You're about to call it a night and leave the clock tower when he appears. "Why is it that every time I come here to think, you show up?"

"I wasn't aware you were capable of cognizant thought," you fire back.

"Wow. Okay. Low blow." You manage an indignant laugh from him. "And especially rich, might I add, considering I'm the one who's come out on top every time we've crossed paths."

You don’t bother beating around the bush; you’ve waited too long to engage in his verbal sparring matches. "You really are a lucky bastard, aren't you?" It's not a question. He grins in response, as if you’ve passed a test.

"Took you long enough to notice. I was beginning to worry I'd have to spell it out for you."

Your meetings at the clock tower become routine. Ace shows up at midnight, you notice, fond of startling you as the tower rings.

("Are you stalking me or something?" you'd asked at the start. "Is your friend with the white hair sniffing me out so you can work up the courage to ask me out on a proper date?"

He laughed at that longer than was really appropriate, long enough for you to wonder what could possibly be so bad about posing yourself as a dating prospect. Second occupation aside, you were a catch and a half, and you were about to let him know when he caught his breath enough to reply. "Don't flatter yourself, Harbinger," he wheezed. "If anything," he'd sniffed, now nonchalant, "I should be asking you that question."

"What was it you just said?" You tapped your chin, coming to a realization, "Oh. Don't flatter yourself," you replied flatly. At this point, he was standing next to you. You'd turned to look at him, then. Not to look in the way you'd done several times before, but to really look at your...enemy?

You didn't know what to call him. Live saver might have been accurate, but you would rather have taken the bullet than call him that to his face. You weren't friends, nor were you enemies—not right now, anyway.

You didn't know what to make of this in-between you've found yourselves in, this space between hate and friendship.)

To throw a wrench into things even further, you find that he looks...handsome in the low light. You add the thought to the growing list of things you'd be quicker to take to your grave than admit to him.

(There was truth to the statement, though. You couldn't make out all of his face, of course, but the slicked back hair paired with a strong jaw looked promising enough. It's not like he was spindly either, body all lean muscle. You'd been staring for much longer than was considered socially acceptable, and he'd noticed. "Like what you see?"

"Not at all," you'd lied.

The worst part had been the fact that checking Ace out—sizing him up—wasn't on your list of regrets. What it was on was your laundry list of things regarding Ace that you couldn't wrap your head around.)

You learn things about him, things you'd sooner learn about a normal person instead of someone you seek to kill half the time.

He likes dogs.

(“I had one back in junior high. When I move out of the city and into a real house, I think I’ll adopt one of the same breed.” He’d shuddered before continuing. “I could never get one of those small dogs, though. All bark and no bite.”

“I think they’re a perfect fit for you,” you told him.

“Oh, ha ha. Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one on a losing streak.”)

He spends an inordinate amount of money on candy.

("You should see my pantry," he laughed. "I used to really like those like…” he was talking with his hands, gesturing in the air, “sour gummy worms back in high school. I guess the habit of buying them never wore off."

"I’m surprised you don’t have cavities."

"Please. My dentist loves me.")

He refuses to admit to crying when Mufasa died in The Lion King.

("So what if I was five?" he'd huffed, crossing his arms. "That's no excuse.")

It's humanizing.

It's concerning.

Now, when you look at Ace, you no longer see an unexpected roadblock, the joker being put into play. You begin to agree with what he told you weeks ago: he really was just some guy in a mask.

You begin to wonder when you became so quick to agree with him.

Your fork twirls around the pasta, you and Kenji sitting cross-legged on your carpet as a Marvel movie plays.

You'd been the one to suggest a celebration, having made it out of midterms alive. He'd agreed, bringing over some of your favorites from the restaurant after his shift.

The movie is good (though Kenji's uncanny ability to chime in during emotional scenes makes your eye twitch, just a little), the food even better. Before you know it, both of you are blinking bleary eyes awake in the morning light.

"What time is it?" you mutter, hand slapping the surface of the coffee table you'd fallen asleep on in an attempt to find your phone. Kenji rolls his head around in a circle, trying to ease the crick in his neck.

"Too early. Maybe around eight," he yawns, trying to once again make himself comfortable on the couch and go back to sleep.

You, on the other hand, have never been more awake in your life. When you find your phone, you find that he's right—it's almost eight. Your shift starts at nine. At this time of day, it takes half an hour to get to work.

"Shit," you curse, forcing your half-asleep body to move and do as much damage control as you can manage. "I have work in an hour. You can leave now if you want, but you gotta be out when I am."

"Nah, I'll give you a ride. My place is in that direction anyway." There's something about the way he says it, his voice a touch deeper with the morning and the way it rolls off his tongue like he's said it a million times, that makes your heart clench. There's not enough time to dwell on it, so you let him stay while you get ready for the day.

(Somewhere, deep in the pit of your stomach, that same seed of infatuation you'd swallowed months ago threatens to sprout.)

The name Ace, as it turns out, is one he came up with himself.

"You really couldn't have come up with anything better?" you ask. "It's a nice name. A bit vague, sure," you parrot the words from your first meeting as Ace narrows his eyes at you, unimpressed, "but oh so frightening." Emboldened by his confession and greedy in the light of your victory, you tilt his chin to meet your gaze head on.

The touch is electrifying, like a spark igniting for the first time in a brilliant flame. You force it to fizzle out as quick as it came, hand drawing back in shock.

These midnight meetings have changed your dynamic with Ace. It's delicate, like a house of cards that stacks higher and higher with each encounter. You worry that the slightest deviation from what's been established might send the whole thing crashing down.

"The people at Karasuno were the ones who named me," you fumble, trying to defuse the tension. "They saw me flying when I was still learning what I was and offered to take me in."

Almost a year ago, you'd been discovered by two boys. It was embarrassing, in hindsight: you crashed into the taller one, leading to the other doubled over in laughter.

You learned that their names were Kageyama and Hinata, and they were pretty new to this whole Gifted thing, too. You haven’t seen much of them recently; once you three “graduated,” for lack of a better term, into full-time operatives, you often found yourself flying solo.

"So what?" Ace asks. "You just joined a criminal organization?"

"I didn't know it was Karasuno at first," you snap. "Not until it was too late. But I'm here now. Money is money."

"You could've just..." he lets the words hang in the air, trying to find the best response. "I don't know." Instead, he asks a different question: "Would you have joined Seijoh or done something else if not for Karasuno?"

"What difference does it make?" you ask. "When you break it down, we're the same. Our Gift manifested, so we joined the first organization willing to pay us enough in exchange for being the ones to do their dirty work. Besides," you huff, head tilted to try and find any hint of starlight in the night sky, "I'd be doing exactly what I do now if I was with Seijoh."

"...You don't sound very pleased about that."

"Yeah?" Your laugh is humorless as you chew on your bottom lip. "I wouldn't be doing this at all if I could afford it. This all started because I wanted to get in touch with my Gift and learn more about it." You bring up a web of darkness, warping it into different shapes in a show of control. "Just so happens they help me with my rent enough that I don't have to live paycheck to paycheck."

He's pensive, nodding along with your words. "You know, we should bring drinks up here sometime. I think we both need a break. You from your rent, me from my tuition deadlines. How 'bout it?"

Despite yourself, you reply, "Yeah. I'd like that." 

(Even worse is the fact that you don't think you want this to be an empty promise.)

You're at the clock tower again. The routine's stabilized into a weekly affair; it's unspoken between you two to meet on Friday nights, right as the day rolls over into Saturday morning. "Do you remember our last conversation?" Ace asks.

"About how you still owe me drinks?" Your legs are dangling over the edge of the tower, knocking against Ace's feet as the world whizzes below you.

"I thought it would be a potluck-style affair. We did establish that we're both broke, right? Why are you making me buy everything?"

"Wasn't my idea to get drunk with someone I've tried to kill," you offer. "Multiple times. I figured Seijoh's dirty money would be more than enough to afford a pack of shitty beer."

"If I'm going to drink with someone that's tried to kill me," for your benefit, he tacks on, "multiple times, I'm going to make it good. But that wasn't the part of the conversation I was talking about."

"Then what was?"

His shoulders tense, almost imperceptibly. You wouldn't catch it if you weren't sitting next to him. "Do you ever wonder..." He's reticent with his next words, as though they're better unspoken, "what would've happened if we worked together?"

"If this is some ploy to get me to join your so-called good side," you drawl, throwing up some jazz hands, "I'm afraid it won't work. We've been over this: it wouldn't make any difference."

"No," he says. He's not looking at you, but rather at the full moon that smiles at you from above. "I mean like...a world where it's always like this." He bumps his shoulder against yours, and you become hyperaware of the lack of space between you.

(When did it lessen? You could layer your hand over his, if you so pleased. Are his fingers calloused, are they warm?)

You force the thoughts back into the dark corner of your mind from which they came. "Don't go falling for me," you warn. (You're not sure who you're warning, exactly, but it's a warning nonetheless.) "You should know by now I won't be around to catch you."

His gaze is somewhere far away when he says, "I know."

There's a warm mug in your hands and a show you're barely watching on TV. You're alone, bundled in your comfiest blankets. You and Kenji had scheduled a movie night, but you had cancelled on him, citing your neverending pile of assignments as an excuse.

Somehow, seeing him hours after being with Ace feels wrong.

You take the day to unpack everything about Ace you normally save for the wee hours of the night, when your heart still races as you return home from the clock tower. Your eyes are glazed over as you analyze his every word, every action, try your best to read between the lines.

Then it hits you.

Why bother reading so much into it? Why expend so much energy into trying to figure him out?

It's not like—

Oh.

The realization of your feelings for your sort-of enemy isn't a loud affair, not at all like glass shattering or the freefall felt after leaping out of broken windows. It's quiet, almost unnervingly so.

Taking a sip of your drink, you step into this newfound truth as though it were your favorite pair of pants.

Here's the problem with this new truth: you're pretty sure that being in love with a member of Seijoh is off-limits.

"You'd think that in a city this big, we wouldn't be seeing so much of each other," he quips. Why is he always where you want to be? It had been annoying (until it wasn't), but on this fine Wednesday night, you’d wanted anything but to see him. 

"And here I was, trying to find someplace new." Instead of the clock tower you'd both made your unspoken rendezvous point, you've come across Ace atop a skyscraper.

"Aww, I thought we were friends." Is that what he thinks? You're not sure if that's a testament to the change in your relationship or a confession just shy of what you really want.

(But is this what you want? A life of secrecy and hidden eyes?)

Ace pats the space next to him, motioning for you to come sit. You don't move. You worry that if you do, all the things you’re keeping hidden will come tumbling out unbidden.

(Would it be so bad if it did?)

"I'm fine here," you squeak. Your voice is meek, only serving to raise suspicion.

"...Are you okay?"

(What are you supposed to say to that? That you think you're in love with him when you barely know him, don't even know what he looks like? Are you supposed to tell him that even though you're on opposing sides, his eyes are the ones that haunt your dreams? How do you convey that all you could ever want is for things to stay like this, the city cloaked in perpetual night with Ace at your side and in your heart?)

There aren't any words in the English language that could get the point across.

He draws closer, as if magnetized to you. If words can't do it, maybe actions can.

You don’t think. You don’t speak.

All you do is yank the collar of his shirt towards you, crashing your lips against his. The house of cards you two had so delicately put together is lit aflame, but in this single selfish moment, you have no regrets.

You pour gasoline all over everything you know, tilting your head to take as much of Ace as he's willing to give.

(He pulls you flush against him, and later on you'll try to puzzle out how much of his reaction was instinct and how much of him was wanting for this, for you. For now, you're more than content to burn against him, with him. You take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull.)

“I think I did something stupid,” you groan, head in your hands as Kenji scrawls your order onto his notepad. You’re his last customer, but he doesn’t bother pulling out his finest Food Service Voice for you, not when you’re like this.

“What happened this time?” His question only elicits another drawn-out groan as you drag your hands down the sides of your face. “Yikes. That bad?” Returning to his notepad, he mumbles, “Extra cheese,” adding it to your order.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Kenji, to his credit, doesn’t push the issue.

The food is good, as always. It distracts you a bit from the crippling weight of what you’d done not even twenty-four hours ago. You even find it in yourself to give a heftier tip than usual.

And somehow, that’s enough.

For now.

Your next meeting with Ace is awkward, to say the least. 

The haze of desire that plagued your mind that night has cleared, and you're left to face the consequences of your actions. The stars above twinkle and titter in equal parts at your embarrassment.

He's waiting for you at the clock tower. A change of pace, considering midnight is a ways off.

"Fancy seeing you here." You're trying for normalcy, but it comes out forced.

"What can I say?" There's no wind tonight, and that only serves to charge the energy between you further. "I guess we're just drawn to each other." The accuracy of that statement sinks in, and you gnaw at the inside of your cheek as you roll it around in your head.

"About last night—" comes out of your mouth at the same time as "Listen, what happened—" comes out of his.

Nobody speaks. You're reminded of one of the first nights you spent with him here, the silence almost companionable. Tonight, it's oppressive, suffocating you with its iron grip.

"So...are you okay?"

"Am I?"

"I mean, I guess not. You didn't answer the question last time."

"I did answer it," you defend hotly, stiffening as the words spill from your mouth. Way to go, you grimace. You've done a bang-up job bringing up the one thing you were trying to avoid. Ace shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"Do we...wanna talk about it?" he asks, giving a tentative poke at the elephant in the room.

"Good question." You're looking at the ground, eyes catching against the hole from your very first meeting here. "You seem to be full of those lately."

"Thank you," he replies, on autopilot. For a moment, it's like nothing's changed, the house of cards still standing. "I try my best." There’s another lull in the conversation. You’re not even looking at him anymore, instead finding much to observe about the hole you’d made a month ago.

Fuck it. You've already dug yourself six feet under—you might as well force yourself all the way to rock bottom. "You know that this," you gesture between you, "can't happen, right? You don't even know who I am."

"You seem to neglect the fact that I might want to." Not for the first time, you curse his ability to parry even your worst remarks. Right. Your heart flutters, a betrayal of the highest order.

"You seem to neglect the fact that when you're on the clock, we're at each other's throats."

He grins. "Maybe."

"Are you always this irritating underneath the mask?"

At some point in the conversation, he's come to stand one breath away. "Why don't you find out?" he whispers against your lips as he closes the distance once more.

You're seething, knuckles gone white as you clench your fists at your sides. You're not the only one pissed: Three-Eyes is about to pop a blood vessel, a vein bulging on his forehead. Whatever you think you're doing needs to stop. He plays your exchanges with Ace over, sneers when he sees you kiss like it were gum caught beneath his shoe. There are more important things than...this. 

You might have the worst informant in all of Karasuno, forced to watch as he skims through the month of private memories you'd tried to keep under lock and key. This was supposed to be a quick meeting to receive the details of your next job, but it seems he had caught wind of what you had been so eager to hide.

What you're doing endangers not only Karasuno, but you especially. There are fates worse than termination and much worse than death, he reminds you. There’s an undercurrent to his words, both a warning and a threat. See to it that you change your behavior before your next job.

"For the record," he says, quick to leave your mind, disgusted by what he's seen, "I kinda liked you. Shame you won't remember that if I have to wipe your memory clean."

He's gone before you can respond.

"You look like you just got broken up with," Kenji remarks as you shovel pasta in your mouth. When your only response is a withering glare, his voice softens. "Alright, what's going on? 

"It's nothing," you lie. You're at the restaurant to eat your sorrows away, but the reason why is a can of worms you can't exactly afford to be forthcoming about. Explaining exactly what mess landed you halfway to sobbing with each bite you take to Kenji of all people would only end with you behind bars for all you've done. "I'll be okay, I just...really needed some pasta."

He doesn't look like he buys it, but he backs off. It's a half victory you're more than willing to take. "If you do need help, you know who to call." You nod, unable to respond with your mouth full.

When it's time for you to pay, Kenji emerges from the kitchen to tell you that just this once, your meal is on him.

Kenji's taking his break, sitting right across from you as if he hadn't been waiting your table less than five minutes ago. (His manager had shouted for him to take his break in the back, but Kenji, it seems, has long since mastered the art of selective hearing.) He doesn't say much, scrolling through his Instagram feed while you eat. You continue in relative silence, the only real noise being the sound of your fork against your plate. 

You're more than halfway done with your meal when he pipes up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

He rolls his eyes at you, locking his phone and putting it down. "Ha ha. Very funny. I'll be in the front row of all your stand-up comedy shows," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Thank you," you reply with a smile. "Anything for my number one fan." He pulls a face. "What did you want to talk about?"

Despite being the one to start the conversation, he's clamming up. "Forget it," he says, eyes focused on the people passing by outside rather than on you. "It's not important, anyway. Just some relationship troubles," he lets slip.

"Oh?" you ask. You're in much of the same boat, though you suspect that Kenji, at least, has met someone that he can reasonably be with. "What's wrong?"

"I'm with someone right now," he blurts before he can think it through. "Or I mean...sorta with someone."

"What does 'sorta with someone' mean?"

"I mean...we see each other every now and again, but our relationship's never been clearly defined. I know the feeling is mutual, but there are some," he gestures with his hands, "obstacles stopping us from being together."

"Like?" Kenji's never come to you with anything like this before, but he's being rather secretive about this whole affair.

"We're not...meant to be together?" He doesn't sound sure of that answer himself, considering his wince. "That's not right. There are just...a lot of factors stopping us from being together, that's all."

You twist your straw between your fingers before you take a sip. "Sometimes, timing is a big factor," you tell him. "Maybe you're not meant to be together right now? In that case, it might be better to end things before they go too far." Kenji nods, soaking your words in. 

"At the end of the day, Romeo,” you remind, "the only person you have to please is yourself. What do you want?"

"The only person you have to please is yourself," he repeats. Louder, he says, "I know what I want. Don’t really know what I’m gonna do about it, but..." he rises, his break over, "you know. Thanks, I guess.”

You do, in fact, know. "Anytime."

Pocketing his phone, Kenji whisks away your empty dishes and returns to the kitchen.

Solving his relationship problems had been so easy. You only wish untangling the mess that was your own was that simple.

>> (11:08 AM) kenji: are you free after your shift today

>> (11:13 AM) you: yeah

>> (11:13 AM) you: why?

>> (11:14 AM) kenji: no reason 

Sure enough, when the bell fixed to the door signals a customer's entrance towards the end of your shift, it's Kenji you come face to face with. "The usual."

"No please?" you ask, typing in his final total.

"Sorry, we haven't reached that level of friendship yet.” He pays with his phone, the screen displaying a blue check before he pockets it. "Ask me again in a few months."

"My bad. I seem to have mistaken our months of companionship and movie nights for something other than close friendship," you say, scribbling the name Coochie-kins on the side of his cup. "How will I ever make it up to you?" Your voice is monotone as you pass his order to your coworker. A quick glance to your watch tells you that Kenji is your last customer. Untying your apron with practiced ease, you clock out.

When you emerge from the back, now dressed in casual clothes, you approach Kenji. "Well? Not studying today?"

"Nah. I needed a break. Mind joining me?"

Before you know it, you're at an arcade. It's one of those modern ones, revamped for all ages and teeming with all sorts of bells and whistles. You stop at the entrance, peering into the glass where a large stuffed turtle calls to you. "You want it?" Kenji asks.

Right now, you're not sure if you've ever wanted anything more. After a quick stop to load up a card with enough credits to make your wallet ache, you return to the crane game. "Hit me," you tell him, and he swipes the card for you, looking amused.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You're a fucking supervilain working for one of the most prolific criminal organizations in the city. This stupid crane game doesn't stand a chance.

...is what you told yourself three attempts ago. The turtle slides out of the crane's grip once more, taunting you. You resist the primal urge to bash your head against the glass, instead opting for a drawn-out groan. "Is it even worth it?" you mumble.

"Let me try," Kenji says, hip bumping against yours as he nudges you to the side. "Watch and learn." He cracks his knuckles as he grips the joystick, fingers feather-light as they rest on the buttons to engage the crane. The setup looks exactly the same as your previous tries, and you scoff as he presses the button.

The turtle goes up. Big deal, you think. It'll come down before it goes through the chute. The game is rigged, anyway.

Or not.

The turtle lands neatly in the pickup zone.

"What'd I tell you?" he asks, like it was nothing. "Sometimes it just needs that magic touch." He wiggles his fingers for good measure.

"Wh-" you sputter. "How?"

"It's like that episode of Spongebob," he explains, handing you the turtle. "Be the crane."

You resolve to beat him at something, the competitive side of you flaring up.

(It's the start of a losing battle. Kenji hands your ass to you in every game, be it skeeball or basketball or even those awful ones that demand a button pressed at just the right time. The arcade staff double, triple check the amount of points your card's accumulated.

It's kind of ridiculous, really, but you leave with a Nintendo Switch you claim joint custody over, so it's not like you're complaining.)

"Why did you call me out, anyway?" you ask, the turtle you've named Chichi (after the Dragon Ball character and not Kenji, thank you very much) in your lap. He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

"I said it earlier, didn’t I? We needed a break. I also wanted to thank you for last time." It’s been a couple of weeks since that day; you don’t think you would’ve remembered if not for how out of the blue it’d been. You’re kind of surprised he’d been thinking about it, really.

"What did you do about it?"

"Turns out, I didn't have to do anything," he exhales. His voice is bitter when he says, "I got ghosted."

You wince, sucking in a sharp breath through your mouth. "Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

"Don't worry," he says. "Not like you had anything to do with it."

Your next job goes off without issue 

You don't see Ace at all.

It's been almost a month since that night. Does he still shows up at the old clock tower at midnight in search of your silhouette? You would’ve done more, would’ve said a proper goodbye, but you’ve got bills to pay. Drawing Three-Eyes’ ire is the last thing on your to-do list.

You count the cash given to you by Three-Eyes, toss it onto your nightstand. Unfortunately, this isn’t some fairy tale where you can have your cake and eat it too.

(But was it so bad to long for that bit of fantasy?)

You trade your view of the city at the dead of night for pasta and movie nights on Mondays.

Weeks bleed into months, and you draw closer and closer to Kenji. When he asks if he can kiss you, fumbles with the words a bit before you leave his car, you let him.

He leans over the center console, one breath away, giving you one last out if you need it. You let him close the gap.

You like Kenji, you do. 

But when your lips meet his for the first time, it's not the same. Ace might not be dead, but you're chasing after his ghost all the same, seeking him out in everything and everyone. What was once explosive, electrifying, even, barely manages to simmer in the pit of your stomach. It's not enough to boil over.

You'll take it.

(With your eyes closed and fingers tangled in his hair, you can almost taste the night winds on your tongue, hear the clock tower tick with each passing second. You tell yourself that maybe this is good for you, that the day will come where you see Kenji instead of longing for Ace.)

In the end, being with Kenji isn't at all what you expected. It's not at all what you wanted, either.

It's like coming home and finding out the hard way that all the furniture's moved three inches to the left: not immediately apparent...until you stop to wonder why you keep stubbing your toe on the coffee table.

"Kenji," you pant, pulling away. This is how your movie nights tend to end as of late, your hands in his hair and you situated on his lap. "What-" He's not in the mood to talk tonight, it seems, instead peppering kisses along the junction between your shoulder and collarbone. "What are we doing?”

For a minute, you think he hasn't heard you. "What do you want it to be?" He's leaning back on your shitty couch, eyes hooded and hazy. His face is framed by the low light of the action movie behind you, his chest rising and falling. You know that if you pull him back in now, you can safely bury the topic, cover it completely with your lips on his. 

They say ignorance is bliss, after all.

But your toe's been stubbed to the point of bleeding; there's no ignoring that.

You've spent countless nights examining your feelings. You've held them up to the light, ghosted your fingers along the hairline cracks that run down the sides. And despite all your introspection, the best you can come up with is "I don't know." Even as the words come out of your mouth, they feel like the wrong answer.

The three words hang in the air between you, cruel fingers of guilt and indecision digging into your skin, kissing invisible bruises that bloom purple. For once, Kenji is at a loss for words. The clarity's returning to him, you think, bloodflow returning to his brain. He goes through several emotions you can't place nor process in a matter of seconds.

It's then that you ask yourself the question: What is this to him? Some part, selfish as selfish can be, hopes that you're just as much of a distraction to him as he is to you. It's much better than the alternative; better to set each other alight instead of stoking a fire for someone else.

"Right." The word comes out in a single, stunned breath. "Well," he says, moving enough to force you onto the couch, "call me when you think you've figured it out."

You don't get a chance to reply before he's out the door. The movie you hadn't been watching seems louder now, brought to the foreground of your misery.

You tune it out.

If Three-Eyes is put off by the look in your eyes, the anger that's taken root, he doesn't show it. A tactful move on his part, really; you're just about ready to tear someone's head off if they so much as breathe the wrong way 

He has no reason to stick around. "You know what to do. Good luck." he says, waving a hand around in noncommittance before vanishing.

He's here. Of course he'd be; Three-Eyes had told you as much. Under the darkness of the new moon, you set out to strike a decisive blow to Seijoh's throat.

Tonight, you're aiming for Seijoh's headquarters, where their current leader—a man known only as the Grand King—happens to be holding a very important meeting.

Security here is no joke, and you find yourself creeping around above the shadows rather than within them. The Grand King's spared no expense, his bloodhounds roaming the halls. If you slip up, even a little, you're sure to meet your untimely demise.

The Grand King himself is younger than you expected. He's maybe a year or two older than you; much too young to be running a business conglomerate rife with seedy dealings and the law enforcement on its payroll. (He's also kind of cute, but this is neither the time nor place to dwell on that thought. You shiver when you remember Three-Eyes will no doubt catch this remark when he reviews your performance.)

Standing to his right is another man you've only heard about: the Grand King's most faithful Knight, at his side at all times. Nobody that's ever learned his power has come out alive. Not even Three-Eyes had any clue. His file wasn't with the others when you'd been sent to their archives, leaving you completely in the dark.

To the Grand King's left is Ace; you guess even the mightiest king needs a trick or two up his sleeve. You’re slinking at the doorway, body pressed against the wall, when a voice calls out.

"Welcome, Harbinger," the Grand King greets, a cheerful smile on his face. "We've been expecting you."

Shit. How did he know? You're about to make a break for it, to cut your losses, when strong arms hold yours in place. When you wriggle around enough to see who's got you pinned, you see the same bloodhound from last time, white hair and all.

"You're here to kill me, aren't you?" the Grand King asks, though there's no question about it. You grit your teeth, reach out for his shadow with your own. Your shadow wraps its fingers around his throat without remorse.

Then the Grand King snaps his fingers, and you're forced to squeeze your eyes shut.

It's bright, like he's turned the intensity of the sun itself on you and then some. You barely have anything to work with, light at all angles doing well to chase away the darkness. The Grand King walks toward you, and your mouth curls in a snarl.

He takes two fingers and tips your chin up to meet his gaze. "You're all they sent?" His brow furrows. "I was expecting more of a fight." Whatever he sees in your eyes causes him to lose interest rather quickly, his fingers dropping. He wipes them on the fabric of his pants as though you were a speck of dirt. "You're just a rookie. I was hoping Karasuno would send their biggest and baddest after me," he sighs, palm pressed to his forehead in woe. 

The Grand King has mastered the art of dramatic timing, whether he knows it or not.

There's a deafening boom that rattles your being at an atomic level. It's from the ground floor, but you can feel it shake the furniture at the penthouse all the same. You exhale, shaky and suppressing a grin.

The plan is going off without a hitch.

You've never worked with the other Gifted in Karasuno, so when Three-Eyes told you you'd be joined by two familiar faces, you knew you couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Hinata bounds in, a smile on his face. Between the taller, more intimidating men in the room, he doesn't look like much—until he bends the white-haired bloodhound to his will. The larger man's grip loosens until he lets you go, eyes unable to leave Hinata's.

The temperature drops, goosebumps snaking up your skin. Not far behind Hinata is Kageyama, eyes dark with purpose as he walks towards the Grand King. A swirling storm of snow and hail orbits him, and you feel your fingers go numb when he passes you by.

"Oikawa," he says. The Grand King's Knight moves to stop the Karasuno operative, but Oikawa holds up a hand, orders him to stand down. Despite the fact that the Grand King isn't much taller than Kageyama, he manages to look down on him nonetheless.

"Tobio." Wait, what? 

You don't get to see what happens next, your attention stolen away by Ace right as Kageyama attacks. His hailstorm takes out much of the lights with it, giving you the opening you need.

"Remember me?" he asks, smile mirthless. "I was wondering where you went. So much for getting drinks together, huh?" His jaw is clenched as he dodges the spears of shadow you fling his way. You try to catch him, to lock him in place, but he evades you every time.

"Bastard," you spit, growing more frenzied with each second that passes.

“Oh, I just got lucky," he says with a thin smile, taking off. You know he's trying to distract you, to stop you from joining the fray. You know that he knows you're drawn to him, even now.

He's running out onto the roof of the building, but you finally get a hold of his shadow. Yanking it harshly in your direction, you force him to the ground.

Your feet hit the concrete, each step inching closer and closer to the decisive ending. Ace has done nothing but hopelessly entangle you in an impossible knot; the only way out, you think, elongating your fingers into sharp points, is to cut through.

Fact: When Ace makes contact with the ground, his mask clatters, having fallen from his face.

Fact: Your eyes are wide, so wide they feel like they might fall out of their sockets.

"Well?" Ace asks, only it's not Ace.

Fact: Ace is Kenji.

It's Kenji, and he's spitting blood, rubbing the spot where his jaw connected with the floor.

It's Kenji, with nothing but malice in his glare.

"What are you waiting for, Harbinger?"

It would be so easy. One move, performed with surgical precision. You've done it countless times before. You know how to make it quick. You know how to make it painless.

But Kenji is the one behind the mask. And slowly, all the pieces begin to fall into place.

("Read it and weep," he teased, showing off his grades. "How does it feel, knowing that you're talking to the future Albert Einstein?" You knew he was baiting you into either a battle you wouldn’t win or compliments he’d refuse to let you live down. You played into it all the same.

"What the fuck," you exhaled. "Have you ever gotten a borderline grade?"

"Nope." He pops the p sound, grin on his face growing wider. "Guess I'm just that lucky.")

("Tell me about yourself," you told him, yawning with the late hour. Classes had been taking their toll on you, so you’d flown up to the clock tower to take a break. What you hadn’t expected was to see Ace there, wind displacing his hair ever so slightly. 

"What, so you can rat me out to your murder of crows? No, thank you."

"What's your favorite color?" you asked, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

He’d given you a look, but responded anyway, seeing no harm in such an innocent question. At the time, you hadn’t, either. "...Believe it or not, it's actually pine green.”

"Really?" You turned your head to look at him. You were expecting maybe black or navy blue, but green? "Why?"

"I don't know. They were my high school's colors. I guess I saw enough of it around and on me all the time that I ended up liking it.")

(Sometimes, in the right light, you always thought Kenji looked like Ace. You dismissed it whenever it came up. You thought you just had a type. In a way, you suppose you do.)

You swallow in a poor attempt to rid yourself of the lump in your throat. Your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. What is there to say? There's no way you can unmask yourself right now, reveal to him that his enemy and almost-lover (two different times, to boot) are one and the same.

So you don't.

Your mouth closes, sets itself into a hard line.

And you run.

Your hold on his shadow fades before vanishing entirely once you get far enough, but you don't care. You take a leap of faith off the roof, relying on your wings to come together before you hit the ground.

You're at the clock tower for the first time in what feels like forever. It hasn't changed. You’d flown here on instinct after fleeing Seijoh’s HQ. That’s not surprising, of course; you’ve been longing to feel the wind from up here for almost two months now.

"Why did you let me go?" Ace—Kenji—asks. You don't turn around, and you don't run away. In retrospect, you're not surprised to see him here, either. He must have known that this would be the first place you'd go. "You've never been the type to hold back. Why now?" You turn your head just enough to see his folded arms, his sharp glare.

"I'm just returning the favor from last time. We're even now."

"Last time, I wasn't the one trying to kill you."

"Does it matter?" You can't do this right now. Knowing who's behind the mask is too much for you to take, and you haven't even thought about the implications yet. "Leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?" Kenji's raising his voice, but you can't look at him. You watch the hands of the clock above move instead, counting the seconds in your head. "Like you left me alone the second things got too real for you? Was this all just some twisted game you tried to play to get in my head?" He's accusatory, poison dripping from each word. Beneath it, the question he's too scared to ask: You threw me away so easily. Did I mean nothing to you?

"I did what I had to do." He's about to lash out with some scathing retort, but you cut him off. "It wasn't my choice.

"Oh, like Karasuno wasn't your choice? It's always about what you have to do," he growls, coming so close that you berate yourself for never knowing that Kenji and Ace were one and the same. "Maybe you should start living based on what you want instead." It’s a cruel echo of the advice you’d given to Kenji, your own words twisted and thrown back into your face.

But that's the thing, isn't it? "I don't know what I want." You’re lying.

You’re lying, and he knows it.

He's reaching out for you, meaning to come closer as you aim to pull away, his hand colliding with the edge of your mask. The momentum of two opposing forces end with your mask caught between his fingers as it lifts off your face.

(You know what they say: an eye for an eye makes the world go blind.)

Kenji—Ace—goes still. His shoulders slump, anger leaving him instantly. Behind you, the clock ticks and tocks, steady despite the metaphorical rug being pulled from underneath you both. He's incredulous, whispering your name as he struggles to process the same realization you'd only come to hours before.

The fire in his eyes has gone ice cold. You barely catch your mask when he tosses it to you.

And then he's gone.

>> (12:08 AM) you: kenji i'm sorry

>> (12:08 AM) you: ididn't know i swear

>> (12:11 AM) you: can we please talk about this

>> (12:12 AM) you: please say something

>> (1:29 AM) you: i'll be here

>> (2:17 AM) you: good night

The next few nights are sleepless. You've (once again) done a bang-up job cutting both (can you call it that?) Ace and Kenji from your life. The first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is roll over, unlock your phone in the hopes that the ache that's settled in your chest can find relief.

It never does. What greets you each morning, after each good night sent, is a one-sided conversation with two little words tucked at the bottom: Read yesterday.

After almost a full week of this, of mornings on your phone and midnights hanging around the tower, your phone vibrates.

>> (2:32 PM) kenji: meet me at the clock tower tonight

He's already there when you touch down, wings disappearing as soon as your feet kiss solid ground. He's staring up at the clock: ten minutes til midnight. "How long did you know? 

"I didn't. Not until your mask came off."

"I see." Then: "Did you like Ace more?"

"No." He scoffs, but you barrel on. You might as well show your hand, lay the cards on the table. "You remember back in our second semester, when we had that project? Believe it or not, I..." It’s hard to admit, even if it had been years ago. “I liked you, back then. Kenji you, not-” you’re fumbling with your words, but he gets the hint. The truth of it is enough to bring him to face you.

This isn’t a conversation between Ace and the Harbinger, this is a conversation between you and Kenji, masks nowhere in sight. The sight of Kenji set against the clock tower makes your stomach flip, his eyes boring into your own.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Took me a while to get over it. But then Ace came, and I liked him too. I guess I have a type." You're trying for humor, a shot in the dark. To your surprise, it works, drawing a chuckle from him. "And uh," you add, "sorry for...ghosting you." Kenji quirks an eyebrow. "They threatened to wipe my memories if I didn't stop. Maybe worse. I didn't wanna find out. Sorry," you tack on.

"Yeah. I get it. You did what you have to do," he says, and this time, there is no malice to be found.

There's one thing left to apologize for, but your attempts at it layer over each other.

"What are you apologizing for?" you ask.

"What are you apologizing for?" he fires back.

"I, uh." You're at your most eloquent tonight, it seems. "About the past couple of months..."

"Yeah. I have to ask...were you using me to get over," he pauses, realizes how absurd the question sounds, "me?"

"Will you be mad if I say yes?"

"No. I was," he gestures with both palms, "doing the same thing. Trying to get over getting ghosted...with the person who dropped me in the first place. Just my luck, huh?" You snort. 

"Sounds like the plot of a bad romcom."

It all connects then, ridiculousness and all. When two sets of unhidden eyes meet, they crinkle into crescents, you and Kenji breaking into laughter. When your stomach hurts and you wipe tears from your eyes, you ask, "Do you...want to start over?" It's hesitant. You two aren't perfect. There's a good chance you're going to fuck up somehow.

But you know what you want, and it's Kenji—with the mask and without.

Kenji holds out his hand. "Hi. I'm Kenji. When I need to pay for tuition, I'm Ace. What's your name?"

The clock chimes then, twelve times with the coming of midnight. You take his hand.

The nights are better with Kenji at your side, leaned against his shoulder. The clock tower's pleasant as always, city alight below. It's been a long time since you've felt the need to wear a mask up here. You find that you see more of the view nowadays, anyway. "Whatever happened to getting drinks and coming up here?"

"We're both still broke," Kenji replies. "We could go and get some, but..." he wraps an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer, "I'm not in the mood to move."

"You and me both."

"Next time?"

"Next time."

("I hate to say it," you mused, "but I guess you can be kinda charming when you want to be." Before his ego got too swollen, you added, "Sometimes."

"You're not so bad yourself," he murmured. There was a smile playing at your lips as you drew closer and closer to him, now a breath away. "Tell me, Harbinger," and this time, when your name came from his lips, there was no trace of anger or pain underneath, "am I going to get lucky tonight?"

"Why don't we find out?")

Three-Eyes stops your memory of that night rather early, and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but the tips of his ears are distinctly red. "All's well that ends well, right?" you ask with a cheerful clap of your hands. The corners of your mouth are curved in a smirk that your informant only responds to with a stern glare.

"I'll let it slide, but in the future, I'd recommend not...fraternizing with the enemy." His tone is clipped, which only serves to widen your grin.

"Oh, but he's not the enemy anymore, is he?"

Your informant—you've since learned that his name is Tsukishima, but you’ve grown fond of the moniker—can only sigh. "I guess not."

(After you'd left to pursue Ace, you'd only narrowly managed to avoid the wrath of Tsukishima and Karasuno's admins. Kageyama and Hinata had done such a good job without you that it didn't even matter, and for that you were grateful, even if it had meant acting as a decoy. With Oikawa under Karasuno's thumb, Kenji had come to work under Karasuno, drawn to the money—and you.

And so, you'd gained a partner—in both senses of the word—in Kenji. The once treacherous seed of infatuation had been nurtured with the soil of communication, watered with care until it blossomed into what you might even be ready to call love.)

Kenji’s waiting for you, hands in his pockets and a look that mirrors your own in his eyes. “Did he get mad again?”

“No,” you reply, holding your hand out until he interlaces his fingers with yours, “just embarrassed. It’s kinda cute.”

“First, you try to kill me, and now you’re calling other guys cute?” he asks, shaking his head. “I think it’s high time I get back on Tinder.” Your shadow, lingering behind you both, yanks at the collar of Kenji’s button-up. He chokes, a strangled noise as you grip his hand a bit tighter in response. “And you’re trying to kill me again.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Your question is answered as you trip over your own feet, almost landing face first on the pavement. When you right your balance, Kenji is laughing openly. It’s contagious, pure joy blooming in your chest.

(Out of a million outcomes, you've found yourself in one of the best ones; maybe, you think, this is what they call the luck of the draw.)

dedicated, ultimately, to @wackatoshi​: winter, i know at the time this goes up, you’re currently ia but it was your kenji fics that really kickstarted the love i have for him........

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part six ~ to be more normal ~

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six)

A/N: I want to thank each of you who have continued reading and supporting me through all these parts (that’s almost 12k words total!) and I hope you keep wanting to stick around until the end. Stay safe. Stay healthy. 

Summary: Alex visits with James & Fraser in a bid to distract himself from thinking about his feelings toward Y/N. George is concerned.

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Implications of Disordered Eating Habits. References to a Real/Imagined Domestic. An Absurd Amount of Pining.  

Word Count: 2.4k

Subdued shades of orange with the occasional single brushstrokes of pink projected through his bedroom window and painted him in light. A bird chirped, and another chirped back in a cycle of communication lost on other animals. Alex did not realize the change outside his window until the light gradient settled on a loud yellow and created glare on his monitor.

It was sunrise, and he had just finished editing for his most recent video. Where the hours of work went was unclear as it played back with the same level of effects as other videos on his channel. But the hours showed in his fringe, darkened with grease, and in his hands that shook from low blood sugar.

Sleep was for the strong – for those who executed enough psychological control to shush their thoughts. To untie their mental boat and let it drift into the oblivion sea. Alex was not one of those people. Quieting his internal monologue required medication that put him in a state not unlike how he imaged it felt to be roofied.

Or else he did not sleep.

And Alex did not sleep that night. Not because he needed to edit or because he was so busy he did not realize he was tired. No, none of that. He knew he was tired: exhausted even: his limbs felt heavier as, throughout the evening, his blood was spliced and diluted with concrete mix.

Why did he not take his medication? Why not sleep? He did not want to be trapped in ~the dream~ again.

Despite his fundamental understanding of the uncontrollable manner in which the unconscious forms dreams, Alex was consumed with guilt for dreaming about kissing his friend's girlfriend. So, he punished himself: not allowing his mind rest nor his stomach food as he threw himself into his editing.

He would not allow himself think about it long enough to come to the obvious conclusion – that the real issue was not the dream itself. Despite what imallexx edits might guide someone to believe (with their cutesy music over compilations of smiling pictures or clips of him laughing), Alex was a young man in his twenties. And young men (who enjoy kissing) think and fantasize and dream about kissing.

And far more than kissing but regardless... He had dreamed about kissing his friends' girlfriends before: or at least Mia that one time. Ok, two times. He had dreamed about kissing cute men he saw on the train. He had even once dreamed about kissing Princess Leia.

It was natural. But Alex's thoughts about Y/N felt damning, felt wrong. Perhaps because it was the first instance in which he thought he had a chance to get the girl. Not that he would do; he refused.

It hit him. If he were always doing something else, then he would simply not have time to think about it – about her. Alex grabbed a pencil off his desk and his JoJo Siwa notebook and wrote a schedule for the coming week.

His hand cramped from furiously trying to keep up with dictating the information as it spilled from his head. He finished writing, but there were still stretches of time to fill-up including that entire morning. Was he desperate enough to disconnect from himself that he would risk the Budweiser Bug to visit his other friends outside his apartment building? Yes.

While rummaging around his bedroom for fresh(er) clothing to wear, Alex swiped a hat off his desk and concealed his unwashed hair with it. Not his tiktok bucket hat nor his iconic pink one, it was a lilac snapback with an image of lavender embroidered on the side. He rang Fraser.

“Hello?” Fraser answered with a voice bogged down with exhaustion. 

“How’re you doing?” Alex greeted.

“Um.” (a pause – a processing delay) “Fine. Good. Yeah, what about you?” 

“Trying to keep busy.” He tucked his wallet and keys into the pocket of a pair of joggers he found hanging, oddly enough, over the towel rail in his bathroom. Changing into them required a series of short jumping motions as he used just one hand. “You have any videos to film that I could jump in on?”

“Well I’ve been brainstorming ideas for a new series called…”

At the bathroom sink: Alex did not wait for the water to warm before splashing it over his face. He did a quick once-over and washed his cheeks and forehead with hand soap. Picking up his toothbrush from its holder stirred an uneasiness in him, he could not explain; he brushed his teeth and spit without rinsing.

Returning into the conversation he caught the middle of what would sound like a rant or passionate tangent if he did not know that was just how Fraser talked, “…and I’ve been working on a script for something on social repose—”

“Another needs to be stopped?" asked Alex.

Fraser laughed, letting it linger before continuing, "You got me. It's not done, but I could definitely use you for some reaction bits."

"Great! I'll be setting off within the hour." Ambling around – as is the norm during phone calls – Alex found himself in the kitchen. Half-full liters of lemonade, grocers bags, and dirty dishes cluttered the counters. He worked around the rubbish to make himself scrambled eggs with ham.

Fraser asked, "And you're sure about leaving the apartment? With the Bug? We could do a discord-call."

"Might as well get in some time on the train before things shut down."

"Alright, mate," there was a smile behind Fraser's voice, "just don't get arrested."

With their call ended, Alex finished cooking. He ate his entire breakfast in the same amount of time it took him to pull on his shoes.

During the train ride, he turned his phone's volume to eighty percent and blasted his music through his earbuds. His playlist was a mixture of two to three alt-rock or indie pop bands with a sprinkling of mainstream hits: a calm and comfortable backbeat throughout. No outlier tracks that burst into hard-hitting or exceptionally fast beats – nothing that might pump-up his adrenaline or be useful to scream along with in a fit of anger. That was not the connection he made with music in his formative years. Music to him was something to drown out that pesky internal monologue when lying in bed for too long – doing nothing – but perhaps pondering on some heartbreaking or otherwise emotional line in a song.

He arrived at Fraser and James' apartment when it was still technically morning. Knocking on the door, he was greeted with frantic barking and his tired ~obviously hungover~ friend.

After fussing over Kenji, Alex spotted the camera set-up in the kitchen and took his seat. Fraser and him watched several of social repose's music videos: covers of emo electronic, synth-pop songs, and a lot more original EMD songs than either man guessed – and all were dreadful. Neither could sit through a single video for more than forty-five seconds, and most of the footage they shot was just of their mouths hanging open in a disturbed shock.

Nonetheless, it was a great distraction. Alex liked feeling like he was helping out smaller channels – even if it was just those who were his friends.

Only as Fraser was cleaning up his equipment and Alex was sitting on the couch playing with Kenji, did James clamber out of bed and stroll out of his bedroom.

"Ow. What was that?" Alex asked in an exaggerated voice when the shiba nipped at yet another one of his fingers. Turning his attention to James, he asked, "Has he been biting a lot recently?"

James answered in his softer and calmer 'tired' voice, "He only bites sometimes. His brain is probably just locked on the idea of food right now; this is around the time Fraser usually feeds him."

"I just wanted a picture for instagram." Alex tried to find a good angle to hold his phone. He pushed Kenji to sit on his lap for a nice picture (which was sure to get hundreds of comments and love heart emojis), but the shiba was far too hyper to sit still. The few useable photos he got were of Kenji biting at and tugging the strings of his hoodie. "Come on, Kenj."

"Reckon he knows what you're doing with your phone, just mugging you off on purpose."

Alex hung around the apartment for the rest of the afternoon: enjoying an ubereats lunch and having James crush him at mario kart...multiple times in a row. The three talked youtube and the continuing aftershocks and effects of the ad crisis, and Fraser asked for feedback on a few video ideas.

An hour or two from sunset, Alex said his goodbyes and caught the train home to his apartment. Upon unlocking the front door, he was met with an interrogation.

"And where have you been all day?" asked George standing with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, and his arms crossed over his chest – the spitting image of a disapproving parent to a reckless teenager.

Smiling his fang-displaying side smile, Alex challenged, "Why do you need to know?"

"Sammy came over to film the opening pokemon cards video, and you weren't here. Neither of us could get a hold of you. Do you even care about my upload schedule?" It was a half-humorous rant with an eerie sense of latent seriousness.

"Phone died." He shrugged, not looking his flatmate in the eye and certainly not wanting to admit the truth – he put his phone on do not disturb earlier that morning, muting most everyone, including George and Sammy.

There was not an ounce of belief in George's expression, "Fine. Where were you, though, for real? You never leave the flat, let alone disappear; almost called Will and got a search team going."

"I was just filming with Fraser." Alex bent over to take off his trainers. There was a click from his shoulder when he did – alarming for such young bones. "We should host something soon."

And he meant soon. As talk of a complete social shutdown, rather than just more public health advisements, dominated news outlets; the thought of non-essential businesses being made to close their doors was frightening. And what was worse than the eking paranoia seeping into every day, was the horrifying realization that the pubs were considered non-essential.

Uncrossing his arms, George's posture shifted to be more normal. His brow furrowed as he seemed to examine his flatmate heavily; even so, he nodded in agreement. "Sure, we could do that."

"Great," Alex chirped and started toward his bedroom.

George grabbed his arm as he tried to walk past him. His hand clasped tight enough that his fingers touched his thumb, and nails would have dug into the pale skin – if he had nails that is. Both men were silent amongst the awkwardness of the interaction.

Sidestepping out of the armlock, Alex waited for George to speak.

"You're doing ok. Right, Al?"

"Yeah. I'm ok."

"But, you'd tell me if you weren't."

"Of course." Alex left to his bedroom. It was in a bad state, but he did not bother himself with picking clothes off the floor or taking food wrappers from his side table to the kitchen bin. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked for messages: sure enough, there were eleven messages from George: ranging from asking where he was to blaming his laziness for ruining their chance to film.

Alex flopped himself onto his bed and started to scroll through his photos with Kenji. There was not much choice, so he took the least blurry one and posted it to instagram – with a bright filter and a sarcastic caption that took him longer to come up with than he would have liked.

Fifty minutes he spent scrolling through instagram, occasionally checking back to watch the likes on his photo go up and to reply to some of the first commenters. It was mind-numbing in the good and proper sense.

Until he saw it – and it was not his fault, he just happened upon it – and it sent his thoughts into hyperdrive.

A post. A photo. Y/N sitting on her sofa in the dark with the one light source (presumably her television) from behind the camera casting a blue light across her face. One hand clutching the blanket in her lap as the other hand was held up. Jewel-like eyes peering through her fingers and connecting with the camera. A smile playing purposefully on her lips.

If Alex's thoughts at that moment were put into a blender, they might still have come out making more sense than they did in his head. Eyes. Lips. Blue. Watching? Angelic. Eyes. Fingers. Dancing. Blue. Lips. Taste. Lips. Soft. Photographer. Photographer.

Before he might ask for the app to load more photos, Alex's burst of energy and hectic but classic over-thinking was interrupted. From above him came the sound of muffled shouting. He held his breath, stilled as if a prey animal not wanting to be spotted, and focused an ear to the noise.

There were no words he could pick out, but from what he could tell – or from the details he filled in – it was not a light argument of few words but something that might supersede a genuine scrap. And it was coming from Sammy and Y/N's apartment.

As he listened, his imagination wandered. Alex visualized himself, rushing to Y/N's aid and wrapping his thin arms around her in more emotional comfort than physical protection. He saw her turn to him with wet eyes and a red nose before burying her face into his shirt. It would be uncomfortable – as it is to be around distressed people. Yet it would be comfortable – as she would fit against him so well.

Again, his imagination wandered. Alex visualized himself as the one shouting at Y/N and growing angrier as she refused his hard-hitting gaze. He saw her turn to him with wet eyes and a red nose before hiccupping out a sob and dashing from the room. No. That was not right. It was wrong. He would not— could not do that.

[carrotcouple]

The Grass Is Always Greener When You Love Me Deeper, Darling (AO3)

Happy Birthday to my wifey @rest-in-bees! You mean the entire world to me! Thank you for being by my side for the past three years! I wrote you crack and fluff with no angst!

The days have been calm, boring even. Everything goes perfectly. He wakes up, answers the multiple messages from Gin, Chuuya, Dazai and Higuchi on his phone, occasionally he has one or two messages from Atsushi, but those are usually random. He goes to the Port Mafia and does his work for the day, steals, destroys, lies and sometimes spills blood on Mori’s orders. Higuchi is always by his side making things as smooth and easy as possible for him. They’ve changed over the years, the two of them. They’ve settled in a friendship and partnership that makes it easy to interact. Of course, things are very different with the weird push and pull that Gin and Higuchi have been doing and the space between them that has gotten smaller and smaller with every interaction.

Ryuunosuke supposes he will have to talk to Gin about that soon.

In other words, Ryuunosuke is very bored. 

Nothing exciting is happening, aside from coming back home to have pistachio shells strewn all over his bed like rose petals, courtesy of Dazai. 

It’s not that Ryuunosuke is dissatisfied. He’s very pleased with how things have settled down and as he’s changed over the years, he finds this stability very calming.

Too calming actually.

He’s aching for a fight, for some kind of drama, for his heart to beat so hard he would be able to hear it in his ears and feel it in his fingertips. 

The rush that he used to feel back when he first met Atsushi is gone.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t feel it. He does feel it every now and then when he has to fight a particularly annoying group of idiots or when he meets Atsushi and his brain teeters on switching to fight or flight mode. He doesn’t get why though. 

Of course, Gin has noticed his restlessness by now and is joining Dazai in his attempts to make Ryuunosuke’s life a little more exciting. Now Ryuunosuke wakes up to life like wax statues of the grudge in his room and he’s this close to murdering both Dazai and Gin.

Luckily, with Rashoumon always with him, Ryuunosuke doesn’t fear anything other than Dazai when he has that no good grin on his face. So those wax statues are promptly and stoically disposed of.

If his neighbors screamed in terror at the sight of the grudge in the dumpster...well...that has nothing to do with him.

Anyways, Ryuunosuke is still bored and slouches on the sofas in the longue of one of the Port Mafia buildings. Higuchi tries to cheer him up with baked goods and rumors of underground wars they might have to quell.

It is on one such day, as Higuchi is trying to shove a document on the history of a Yokohama drug trafficking into his face, that Ryuunosuke receives that fateful phone call from Chuuya.

“Chuuya san,” Ryuunosuke picks up the phone immediately. He has a certain respect for the man. His fighting prowess is like no one else’s and he can put up with Dazai, in fact even push the man around himself sometimes. That deserved respect.

“Akutagawa! I need your help!” Chuuya shouts into the phone.

And Ryuunosuke’s heart goes thump, thump.

Chuuya needing his help. That doesn’t happen everyday. Chuuya tends to finish all of his missions flawlessly with no help at all. To ask Ryuunosuke for help, it has to be something very serious, something that can relieve Ryuunosuke’s boredom.

“What do you need?” Ryuunosuke is already dashing out of the longue, Higuchi shouting after him. 

“I need you to go somewhere,” Chuuya is shouting and Ryuunosuke can hear the rush of air, meaning that Chuuya is flying.

“I can get anywhere immediately with Rashoumon,” Ryuunosuke says.

“OK, do you remember the alley behind Agni Cafe?” Chuuya asks and honestly, how could Ryuunosuke forget that alley, the place where he first met Atsushi and had made Rashoumon bite his leg clean off?

“I’m right near there, actually,” Ryuunosuke says, moving as fast as he can. It doesn’t take long to see the alley and practically dive towards it.

“Right, when you get there you’ll see-” Chuuya is still flying and still shouting and Ryuunosuke slides into the alley and prepares for a fight, “-three kids that aren’t from around here, are lost and need to be escorted safely back to wherever they need to go!”

Ryuunosuke nearly spits up a lung. 

There are indeed three kids, two boys and one girl. They look like they’re maybe seven years old. They’re wearing backpacks and holding hands. Ryuunosuke almost drops his phone. The three children look up at him and Ryuunosuke has to resist the urge to leave immediately. 

“Chuuya san,” Ryuunosuke says slowly.

“You have to do it OK?” Chuuya shouts. “I would do it, but I’m on the trail of a bunch of cockroaches!”

“But I-” Ryuunosuke is desperate.

“No excuses! Bye!” And the call cuts. Ryuunosuke pulls his phone away from his ear to stare at it in pure disbelief. Why would Chuuya call him to escort a bunch of kids when he could have called maybe Atsushi?

“Ah! It’s the oniichan with the black fancy coat that Chuuya niisan talked about!” The little girl brightens up and the two boys instantly start clamouring in excitement.

“Did you see him fly?”

“He wasn’t flying!”

“Yes, he was!”

If this is some plot of Dazai’s that Chuuya has been talked into helping out with, Ryuunosuke is going to gruesomely murder his former mentor.

------o------

When Atsushi walks into the cafe, he is stunned at the number of flower vases crowding the shop. It doesn’t seem that out of place for a cafe, but Atsushi has been frequenting this shop for four years now and they’ve never had so many flowers. Lucy, his best friend, is behind the counter and muttering to herself. She looks up at him and nods. Atsushi quickly takes a seat. 

Lucy knows what he likes. 

The flowers aren’t flashy or too fragrant. They’re all small bouquets of forget-me-nots and gardenias. They’re lucky that none of the customers that visit the cafe are allergic to pollen or have asthma, otherwise Atsushi is sure the Master would have never allowed the flowers to be put up.

Was the shop trying to change the aesthetic?

“Here,” Lucy puts a coffee and a brownie with ice cream down in front of him. Then she slides into the seat across from him, holding a tall pink lemonade for herself. 

“So, what’s...with all the flowers?” Atsushi asks. Lucy sighs heavily and takes a long sip of her lemonade. There are no customers, so she is free to just sit with him.

“That’s what I want to know,” Lucy says.

“Lucy chan has a secret admirer,” Youko chuckles from the counter and Atsushi glances at the poor lady that Dazai has asked to strangle him one too many times. Then he looks back at Lucy who has her face buried in her hands.

“Ah…” Atsushi says in understanding. Now the choice of flowers make perfect sense.

“Please,” Lucy says into her hands, “tell her not to waste her salary on me,”

“What are you talking about?” Atsushi asks, leaning back and eating a spoonful of brownie and ice cream. “She does what she wants.”

“But this is too much!” Lucy looks up. 

“It’s not like she’s asking you out,” Atsushi says.

“That’s the problem! If she was asking me out, I could reject her!” Lucy snaps. 

“What’s the big deal? Just accept it. She doesn’t listen to anyone. And anyways, it’s not like you’re against it.” Atsushi shrugs at his best friend and Lucy mumbles something into the wood of the table.

“How has your day been so far?” Lucy asks, trying to change the subject. Atsushi takes pity on her and accepts her feeble attempt.

“Stopped a bomber with Kenji kun. The guy was trying to imitate Kaji Motojirou from the Port Mafia,” Atsushi explains. “Then I discovered Dazai san has been stealing things from my kitchen? Kunikida san beat him up for me.”

“Sounds like him,” Lucy nods.

“But what I can’t understand is why he seems to be stealing pointless things,” Atsushi tells her. 

“Such as?” Lucy asks. 

“The broken and rusted spatula Kyouka was going to attempt to use for something, burnt out candles, unshelling all of our pistachios and taking the shells only and other various things of the sort. To the point where Kyouka and I didn’t even realize things were missing until we thought about it.” Atsushi shrugs. 

“Speak of the devil,” Lucy mutters as the door opens and Dazai sings out a greeting and behind him comes Kyouka. 

“These are a lot of flowers!” Dazai comments. “Are they for me?”

“You wish,” Lucy rolls her eyes. 

“Ah, your coldness is blinding,” Dazai fake swoons and Kyouka frowns behind him. Then Dazai takes Lucy’s hand and Kyouka instantly smacks him on the back of his head.

“Ouch! Kyouka chan!” Dazai whines.

“Dazai san, do us a favor and leave us alone,” Atsushi deadpans. “Your advances are wasted on someone who is just about as gay as I am.”

“It’s fine. Dealing with him is equal to dealing with an idiot,” Lucy says. Dazai fake swoons again and Atsushi is tempted to call Chuuya and let Dazai listen to him scream at him. Kyouka smacks Dazai again and turns to Lucy.

“Are you OK?” she asks and Lucy flinches and turns red.

“Yes,” Lucy nods. “I am fine,”

“We only came to get something for Ranpo san before he heads out for his case,” Kyouka says. “We will be on our way soon,” she dips her head towards Lucy and then drags Dazai by the back of his coat to the counter where Dazai’s attention immediately switches to Youko who takes what he says in stride and quickly prepares what Kyouka orders. 

“Someone’s staring,” Atsushi hums into his coffee cup. 

“Shut up,” Lucy bites out. 

Atsushi just shrugs and finishes up his brownie. 

Kyouka ends up dragging Dazai out who waves enthusiastically and then his eyes zero in on Atsushi, a wild grin spreading across his face. A shiver crawls up Atsushi’s spine and he immediately feels the urge to check every single thing he owns and also make sure everyone he knows is not being faced with something unexpected. 

And then the cafe door shuts. 

“Lucy, please, if I die, my belongings go to you and Kyouka,” Atsushi blurts. 

“What the fuck?” Lucy asks, her eyes judging him. 

“And also, the stash of fancy high class tea I never use goes to Akutagawa,” Atsushi continues, absolutely terrified. With very good reason, Atsushi believes. The last time Dazai had smiled like that at someone, it had been Chuuya and Atsushi had watched Chuuya nearly destroy their office after he learned that Dazai had somehow changed his name on several of his official documents to ‘Dazai Chuuya’.

Well, they did actually get married after that debacle. 

But still! What’s terrifying is terrifying!

“Speaking of Akutagawa…” Lucy trails off. “How is wooing him going?”

“I’m sorry?” Atsushi chokes out. Being shocked is a horrible move. One of Lucy’s absolutely maniacal grins stretches across her lips and Atsushi shivers. 

------o------

Gin, Ryuunosuke believes, was an incredibly well behaved child. When they crawled in the streets searching for food, she never complained, even when her stomach grumbled loudly, she would hold onto his tattered shirt silently. When he got into fights, Gin would never let herself get caught, she would crawl into shelter if the fight was too much for her, or she would flawlessly lessen his opponents. When he would have to go somewhere, she would wait for him. When they couldn’t sleep on cold nights, she only smiled in absolute delight as he used Rashoumon for puppet shows to take her mind away from the cold. She never strayed from his side. 

Ryuunosuke was horribly naive to think that all children could be like Gin. 

It’s only been two minutes and he’s already lost sight of one of the boys. 

This makes the other two start wailing and shrieking in absolute distress. Ryuunosuke wants to yell at them to shut up for maybe five seconds so he can at least attempt to remember the last time he saw the little devil. But they’re attracting enough attention as it is. He doesn’t want to have to deal with people trying to call the police on him for trying to make a bunch of little brats stop crying. 

“Keiji kun!” The little girl starts screaming hysterically and then she starts to run off. Ryuunosuke nearly has an aneurysm. 

“Wait right there!” He snaps a little harsher than he needs to be, but he can’t help it. His only experience with children are Gin, Elise and Q. The girl freezes, but miraculously shuts up, turning to look at him with wide tear filled eyes. The boy that is still standing near Ryuunosuke looks up at him with similarly tear filled eyes, except now he looks scared. 

Fuck.

Ryuunosuke takes a deep breath. 

Calm down, think of them as Gin. Think of them as Gin. What would Atsushi do in a situation like this?

“If you run off, we’ll also have to search for you,” Ryuunosuke says slowly, nearly gritting out every word through his teeth. “That’s why we should look for…” Ryuunosuke pauses. He doesn’t know the name of the child they just lost. 

“Keiji kun,” the boy next to Ryuunosuke supplies helpfully. 

“We’ll look for Keiji kun together,” Ryuunosuke says. The little girl brightens up and she immediately dashes back to Ryuunosuke, grabbing his hand with her tiny one. Ryuunosuke flinches, pulling away from her grip instantly. She stares up at him with confused eyes. 

She doesn’t understand.

Ryuunosuke’s hands are littered in scars and callouses. He’s broken his hands time and time again to live. To live like a murderer. He shouldn’t be holding hands with a little girl who had no idea how much blood is on his hands. The only person aside from Gin willing to hold his hand is Atsushi when they’re helping each other stumble away from a finished fight.

“My name is Nana!” she beams, her tearstained face transforming. She grabs at his hand again, and this time, her grip is as tight as a child her age can make it. 

“I-I’m Koutarou!” The boy next to Ryuunosuke says. He doesn’t reach for his hand, thankfully. Instead, his fingers latch onto Ryuunosuke’s coat. 

“Oniichan, what’s your name?” Nana asks him. 

Everyone knows that Akutagawa Ryuunosuke is a mass murderer. 

“Ryuunosuke,” Ryuunosuke huffs. They aren’t going to meet him ever again, so it isn’t a problem. 

“Ryuu niichan!” The two of them chirp at the same time, their eyes sparkling. 

Ryuunosuke is going to kill something.

“No,” Ryuunosuke breathes out through clenched teeth, telling himself to think of Gin. Think of Gin. “You will only call me oniichan.”

“OK!” Both of them are undeterred by the sudden spike in his bloodlust. When he was asking for things to get interesting, this wasn’t what he was asking for.

“Now, let’s go find...Keiji kun,” he says and the three of them retrace their steps back to where they started from. They find him soon enough, pressed against the glass of a confectionery shop. He’s getting the glass dirty with his grubby fingers and his nose. 

“Keiji kun!” Nana and Koutarou shout happily at the same time. He turns to look at them and smiles. 

“Oh! Koutarou kun! Nana chan! Oniichan!” he says, like nothing’s wrong. 

“What do you mean ‘oh’?” Ryuunosuke snaps before he can stop himself. Keiji’s eyes widen. Eh, well, he’s already started, so he might as well go the full mile. “Do you realize what could have happened to you? You got separated from your guardian in Yokohama. Do I need to enlighten you on how dangerous this city is?” He’s the most frustrated that he actually had to go looking for a child that wasn’t concerned in the least by the fact that he had gotten separated from his group while Ryuunosuke had to deal with his two hysterical friends. 

Keiji’s nose starts to wrinkle and Ryuunosuke watches his eyes go shiny. 

Oh for the love of God.

“Oniichan is right!” Nana comes to the rescue, sounding very stern, like she wasn’t trying to go her own way two minutes ago. “Teacher always tells us that we’re supposed to keep an eye on each other and hold hands! Keiji kun let go of my hand!” Nana says matter of factly and then holds out her hand to Keiji who seems to try to hold back his tears as he takes Nana’s hand. 

“Now,” Ryuunosuke says, already exhausted. “Let’s go to the nearest police box.”

------o------

 “Now, now,” Lucy leans forward and onto her elbows, her chin resting on the back of the folded hands. Atsushi hates that smile on her face. “Why don’t you tell me how your relationship with Akutagawa has been developing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Atsushi splutters, he can feel the heat in his face. He’s probably blushing up a storm and Lucy just sits there, staring at him with that knowing look on her face. 

“Atsushi, you do know that you’re a terrible liar, right?” Lucy asks him. 

“I know,” Atsushi hisses. “Just…” he slams his face onto the table, “I don’t think that many people have noticed…”

“Everyone has, Atsushi,” Lucy leans back, sipping on her lemonade. Oh how the tables have turned. “Everyone except for Akutagawa himself.”

“That’s because this is just me realizing he’s attractive, OK?” Atsushi snaps. “I don’t have a crush on him yet! I’ve just realized he looks nice!”

“And he’s your type,” Lucy stirs her lemonade.

“And he’s my type!” Atsushi exclaims reluctantly. “But, that doesn’t mean I want to date him or something!” 

“By the way, isn’t that him right there?” Lucy asks, suddenly looking out of the window curiously. 

“Huh?” Atsushi turns to look and almost chokes on his coffee. Lucy is right. Akutagawa is walking quite a bit of distance from the cafe and he’s holding the hands of three small children. Atsushi slams his hands down on top of the table as he shoots up to his feet. “No way!” Atsushi hisses, pressing his hands and face against the shop window in absolute horror. “Why is he with three kids?”

“Maybe he’s kidnapping them?” Lucy says, watching in disinterest. 

“Why?!” Atsushi screeches. 

“I mean, doesn’t the Port Mafia pick homeless kids off the street?” Lucy asks him. 

“They do! But!” Atsushi practically flattens his face against the cafe window. “Those kids don’t look homeless?”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Lucy raises an eyebrow at him. Atsushi glanced back at her for a second and then realizes Akutagawa is going to leave his sight in a bit. 

“I’m going to follow him and stop him if I need to!” Atsushi declares. Before Lucy can say another word, Atsushi has leapt over his seat and dashed out the door. He hears her calling his name but he’s too busy wondering how to fend Akutagawa off without involving the children. 

But first and foremost, Atsushi has to find out what Akutagawa is up to. So he slips into ‘stealth mode’, as Dazai likes to call it. It’s something Dazai took him two whole years to teach. Atsushi has perfected it now and can slip up behind Kunikida easily. The downside of using this in public is that people around him often fail to notice he’s there and accidentally bump into him. So now Atsushi has to maneuver his way around perfectly and quietly while keeping an eye on Akutagawa from an appropriate distance. 

And then one of the boys spots a shop on the side and stops, stepping away from Akutagawa. Akutagawa doesn’t realize it at first but he freezes the next second and spins around, murderous intent on his face. 

“Keiji kun!” he barks. The child attempting to become one with a glass display flinches and turns to look at Akutagawa. Atsushi may or may not have used his tiger vision to keep an eye on things properly. And he watches the little boy tremble. This calls for Atsushi to interfere!

“I’m sorry, Oniichan!” The boy wails and immediately rushes forwards to take the hand of the little girl holding Akutagawa’s hand. The little girl frowns.

“We just told Keiji kun not to wander!” The girl pouts. Akutagawa sighs like everything in the world is testing his patience and then rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s go,” he says. 

So Atsushi may not have moved from his hiding spot. But things were looking really interesting and he has not yet determined that Akutagawa was going to harm the children. So Atsushi follows silently. Watching Akutagawa holding the hands of two children is making his heart do weird things in his chest.

Atsushi has only followed them for another thirty seconds when the little girl screeches in absolute delight, lets go of Akutagawa’s hand and dashes towards a toy shop with anime character design posters on the front. 

“Hey!” Akutagawa snaps. “Nana chan!” The little girl is too lost in her own world to even hear him. Atsushi hears a familiar crackle and his heart leaps in his chest. 

No way, even Akutagawa should know better right?

Rashoumon extends from Akutagawa’s coat and Atsushi dashes forward. Only to stop when Rashoumon merely curls around the strap of the girl’s backpack and tugs her slightly backwards, halting her in place. Rashoumon slithers out and grabs the backpacks of the two boys as well. 

“I should have done this first,” Akutagawa groans. 

“Woah! What is this oniichan?” The little girl asks in absolute delight, forgetting the shop she had been looking at earlier. 

“It’s my gift, Rashoumon,” Akutagawa says, rubbing his forehead. Luckily, no one has actually noticed Akutagawa using Rashoumon. Akutagawa is kind of well-known after all, Atsushi muses. 

“Gift?” one of the little boys lights up. 

“My mom says that people with gifts are scary,” the other boy says. 

“That’s not wrong,” Akutagawa says. “But that’s not completely true either.”

Oh? Atsushi leans forward in interest. Is Akutagawa of all people giving three children a Gifted People 101?

“Just like how there are good people and bad people, some people use their gifts for good things and some people use them for bad things as well,” Akutagawa grimaces at this, probably thinking of all the gifted in the Port Mafia. Atsushi doesn’t blame him. They are a prime example after all. And the detectives in the Agency also worked on their own moral system. “I know someone who has a very strong and dangerous gift, but he can also do wonderful things with that gift.”

Atsushi flushes, was he talking about Chuuya? 

“Really?” The little girl asks, patting the tendril of Rashoumon attached to her backpack. 

“Yes,” Akutagawa says. “Now can we please finally make some progress towards the nearest police box?” He sounds like all of his patience has left him and he’s keeping himself from ditching these children with what little willpower he has. 

Wait, police box?

Atsushi’s heart does a clearly unhealthy and unnatural flip inside his chest. 

Akutagawa was helping a bunch of lost children! What the heck?

Atsushi shakes his head, turns towards the wall of the building he’s been hiding against and slams his face into the bricks. 

I know he’s your type, but you have to get a hold of yourself!

He can almost see Dazai, Chuuya, Lucy, Kyouka and Ranpo laughing at him in the back of his mind and he slams his face into the building a couple more times, ignoring the looks people are giving him. Excuse him, it’s not like it’s his fault that gifted people all seem to have something wrong in the head. He is clearly gifted, so it’s a given that he’s a little insane. Yes.

“Alright, let’s go back to following them,” Atsushi turns back towards Akutagawa and the children, only to see they’re gone. “Ah! I lost them!” Atsushi cries out. But they were heading towards the nearest police box so Atsushi knows which direction they’re heading. Atsushi quickly rushes in the direction of the police box, wondering why it didn’t occur to Akutagawa to leave the children at the Detective Agency. 

And Atsushi is so focused on heading towards the police box, he almost misses the fact that Akutagawa has moved to the side. Or rather, the children have. They’re crowding around an ice cream stand, absolutely sparkling. Akutagawa looks disgusted. 

“We need to leave,” Akutagawa hisses.

“Oniichan! Buy us ice cream!”

“Ice cream!”

“Ice cream! Ice cream!”

Akutagawa looks up to glare at the ice cream vendor, like it’s his fault for existing at all in that one place that distracted the children and Atsushi stifles a laugh as the vendor yelps in terror. Atsushi has been on the receiving end of worse glares from the mafioso. The look Akutagawa is giving the vendor is just very displeased, not I will murder you if you so much as move your mouth, so Atsushi isn’t very concerned. 

If anything the displeased look is kind of sexy, Atsushi reasons. 

“Stop!” Atsushi whisper-shrieks to himself and slaps his hands against his face. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Atsushi slaps his face repeatedly, once again ignoring the looks people around him are giving him. “Don’t give Dazai san and Lucy more reasons to torment you!”

But he is sexy! Atsushi’s mind betrays him. 

“I know!” Atsushi snaps, pinching his cheeks and daring his mind to betray him again. 

“OK, fine, what flavors do you want?” Akutagawa gives up and takes out his wallet. The three children at Akutagawa’s feet brighten like the sun and rush to hug him. Akutagawa looks absolutely horrified. Atsushi will have to see what kind of look Akutagawa would give him if he hugs him. 

“He’ll probably kill you,” Atsushi mutters. 

“Are you their older brother?” the vendor has the gall to ask Akutagawa. 

“I have a younger sister, but she is much more behaved than these three,” Akutagawa deadpans. 

The vendor chuckles very awkwardly and hands the children their ice cream as Akutagawa glares at him. Akutagawa pays him, looking like he would rather rip out his own liver than hand over money for some flimsy frozen flavored cream. 

Atsushi may be a little in love.

“Excuse me?” Atsushi asks himself incredulously. 

Oh god, he thinks he may be a little in love.

Why?

Two years of reluctant partnership and two years of a strange kind of friendship and one month of realizing Akutagawa is his type and Atsushi is in love?

Does that even make sense?

Of course it doesn’t. Atsushi must be overthinking things. 

“Let’s go,” Akutagawa says and he looks like he’s said that enough times to hate saying it. Just as he says this, one of the boys steps forward, trip and falls over, ice cream and all. 

“Koutarou kun!” The two other children cry out. The boy sits up, looking stunned with butterscotch ice cream all over his uniform and dirt on his forehead. For a moment he looks like he’s about to burst into a crying fit of distress, when the bit of Rashoumon that’s attached to his backpack lifts him up and to his feet. 

Atsushi watches in absolute awe as Akutagawa bends over examining the boy’s knees and then sighs like the most inconvenienced person in the world and uses Rashoumon to clean the front of the boy’s uniform and rub the dirt off the boy’s forehead. 

“Don’t cry from something that small. I will buy you another ice cream so watch where you’re going next time,” Akutagawa says. Then he stands up and turns around to glare venomously at the ice cream vendor. “You should know what I need right?” Akutagawa asks flatly. 

“Yes!” The vendor cries out, scrambling to get another cone of butterscotch ice cream. He hands the cone over to the little boy and the child smiles brightly despite the redness around his eyes. 

“Oniichan! We won’t get distracted anymore!” The girl tells Akutagawa. 

“That would be prefered,” Akutagawa says and Atsushi can tell Akutagawa doesn’t believe the little girl at all. But surprisingly, the rest of the trip to the police box is uneventful. With Rashoumon attached to the children’s bags and Akutagawa’s flat look that says ‘no’, they arrive in no time. 

“There’s the police box, oniichan!” The children tug on Akutagawa’s clothes. 

“I know,” Akutagawa says. “I can’t go there, so the three of you will have to go there by yourselves. Don’t get distracted, I’ll be watching you.” 

After all, Akutagawa is still wanted. Sure, the Port Mafia has helped with keeping the city safe from outside threats, but they still are the living and breathing darkness that dwells in the night. Atsushi feels a little sad about that. It makes it significantly harder if he wants to invite the other on a date. 

Atsushi doesn’t even bother fighting his own mind at this point. 

“OK…” the children look upset. 

“Oniichan,” the child that had said that gifts were scary and had also dropped his ice cream looks up at Akutagawa, “who is that person you were talking about earlier? The one with the dangerous gift?” Akutagawa frowns and then makes a face like he’s eating something sour. 

“He’s...my partner...you could say...but that’s not important! Go to the police box!” Akutagawa snaps. 

Atsushi’s entire face is on fire. 

If I don’t ask him out on a date right now, I will make Kyouka stab me.

------o------

Nana, Koutarou and Keiji cling to his coat, looking up at him with those puppy dog eyes that Ryuunosuke is sure would be devastating if he isn’t more enamoured by chilling, glow-in-the-dark, tiger eyes. 

“Run along now,” Ryuunosuke nudges them with Rashoumon. Nana tears up and then hugs his leg. 

“I will come back to see you again, oniichan!” she says tearfully. The boys clamour in agreement. 

“Please don’t,” Ryuunosuke deadpans. They don’t hear him. They hold each other’s hands and then rush towards the police box. Ryuunosuke watches them slip into the police box and sighs. “Not like you guys will ever actually manage to see me again.” Ryuunosuke turns around. 

“Now, you don’t know that,” Atsushi says. Ryuunosuke nearly stabs him with Rashoumon in surprise. Atsushi’s face is red. Ryuunosuke suddenly realizes what’s going on. He nearly turns purple from the pure indignation. 

“How long have you been here?” Ryuunosuke bites out. Depending on his answer he might stab him less. 

“Since you passed the Detective Agency,” Atsushi says, rubbing the back of his head. 

So Atsushi is now dead to me, OK.

Ryuunosuke wonders where would be a quiet and unpopulated place where he might make Atsushi suffer for everything he has seen and heard. Ryuunosuke hadn’t even planned on letting Gin know that he was babysitting a bunch of kids. Was this actually what Chuuya had been aiming for? Was this really planned by Dazai? But before he can make up his mind, Atsushi opens his mouth. 

“C-can I get you something?” Atsushi blurts. Ryuunosuke stares at him blankly. What is he talking about? “Like...uh...dinner? Tea? Ice cream?” Atsushi looks like a nervous wreck and Ryuunosuke has only seen him like that a few times. 

“Why?” Ryuunosuke asks. Atsushi balks and immediately seems to look for a way out before curling his hands into fists and muttering something about Kyouka stabbing things.  

“Because I want to?” Atsushi says. “I want to get something. For you. Specifically you.”

This is a date. He’s asking me out on a date. Oh. 

Ryuunosuke can kill him on another day actually. And he can pay back Chuuya and Dazai later. Going on a date with Atsushi sounds fairly exciting in it’s own way. 

“Dinner,” Ryuunosuke says. “I’m paying.” 

Atsushi squawks. 

“But I asked you out!” Atsushi says incredulously. 

“I don’t think you can afford the place I want to go to, Jinko,” Ryuunosuke shrugs. “Come with me.” He starts walking and after a moment of staring at Ryuunosuke in bafflement, Atsushi rushes forward to walk beside him. 

“Oh thank God, I thought I would have to give you reasons as to why I was asking you out,” Atsushi breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“You have reasons listed? Let’s hear them,” Ryuunosuke says. 

“I can’t!” Atsushi turns scarlet. A flattering color, actually. Ryuunosuke turns to look at Atsushi and then hooks fingers under his chin. The color of Atsushi’s face turns darker. 

“Well, you better prepare yourself, because you’re not going to go home until you tell me them to me,” Ryuunosuke says, mostly because the look on Atsushi’s face is so highly entertaining. He looks like he’s going to combust. Ryuunosuke’s lips twist into a smirk, deciding to really go to the end. “You better remember that you are the one that asked me out on a date, Atsushi,”

Ryuunosuke watches Atsushi’s entire brain fry in that one moment and he walks away, chuckling to himself. Atsushi is standing frozen, looking like Ryuunosuke gave him permanent brain damage. 

“Are you coming or not?” Ryuunosuke asks.

“I am!” Atsushi snaps out of it and rushes after Ryuunosuke. 

Maybe Ryuunosuke will actually have to thank Dazai. 

------o------

A/N - Phew! Writing fourteen pages of crack and fluff with no angst? It required quite the effort from me! Especially cause I always randomly slip in angst without even realizing it! Every single time I slipped in angst while writing this, I smacked myself and rewrote it. In case it wasn't obvious, the flowers in the cafe are from Kyouka. My wifey and I discussed the idea of Aku using Rashoumon as a backpack leash earlier this year, which birthed this fic. The fic title is from Michela's 'Chameleon'!

[mai-takeda]

Diverging Paths of Sorrow

The noise cut into her sleep making Mai’s eyes creep open. It had gone on for a minute before she finally groaned in sleepless frustration and hurled the blanket aside. She tied her robe tight while her puppy, Kari, continued to bark in the front of the apartment.

“This better be important, Kari,” she called out walking into the front area. “I was finally getting some decent sleep and then you just had to wake me and probably because you want food. Do you ever stop eating?”

Stepping in the front area she watched an overly excited Kari bounding around the front door. She looked at it perplexed then something caught her attention out the corner of her eye. A letter sat upon her working desk making her face scrunch up in confusion. She had finished some scribe work earlier and cleared her desk so nothing should have been there. Her curiosity took her to the desk and pick up the letter to read only to realize there were two pieces of parchment.

Dear Mai,

You will find my Starlight gift to you on the other paper. It is the deed to a new house completely in your name in Limsa Lominsa. I do not need questions on how this came to be. Just accept it because it is done. This will give you an easier path to Doma to visit your mother when you seek. 

I have a journey of my own I must partake. Do not seek to find me. I will find you when it is done. Mai, you and your mother have truly been family to me like your father and brother before they left this world. I am thankful to have met you both and to know I have a home with you when I return. This journey I take is my own. You cannot follow for what I intend to see done would darken a heart too precious to this world for me to allow. So here our path diverge for now. It has nothing to do with your ability to stand by my side. I have no doubt in your skill. Only know that this is not something I want for your spirit.

Be safe Mai and know that I am proud to call you sister. Blood does not always define who we call family. 

Your Sister Always,

Synaia Moonstone

Mai’s eyes had widened upon reading the letter. She slowly slid the front letter out of the way and saw the deed naming her own estate and let both letter and deed drift from her hands and to the floor. The reasoning behind Kari’s actions born a light in her thoughts and she darted for the door finding the knob still warm from someone’s touch. Cinching her robe tight again and ignoring her lack of footwear she yanked the door open and sprinted out into the corridor. 

Soon she was outside in the night running with eyes moving everywhere in frantic search of a sign of Synaia. Leaping over a rail she trekked quickly through someone’s yard and leaped over their fence onto the stone walkway. A wince came when she felt something pinch the bottom of her right foot but ignore the pain not realizing she had cut the sole of her foot. 

“Syn!” she screamed at the top of her voice leaping over another fence and hurrying down the ramp. 

Finally, she stopped. Her head whipped right and left, tears flying from her eyes at the jerking movement. Those eyes were widening in a nervous fear that she was too late. She had screamed Synaia’s name louder again but only found silence in response. In despair she fell to her knees without caring how hard they banged upon the pavement beneath her.

“No! Not again!” she bellowed. “Please! Everyone always leaves me behind! Please come back! I want to go with you! Please, please, please!”

Her tears streamed harder. Memories of the time her father and brother left her behind to return to Doma birthing in her mind. She curled herself forward. Her chest heaving with the desperate sobs.

“They always leave...” she said softer. “They always leave me behind. W-What good is a house if you are alone...”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Standing at a vantage point above Synaia listens to the calls for her name. She hears the cries. She carries the pleads. Crossing her arms over her breasts she tries to keep her expression stern but a single tear rolls down her cheek. Remaining there she looks downward without turning her head to the presence that stood distant from her to the rear.

“I hate you for this,” she said through gritted teeth. “I hate you to the void and back.”

There was no response.

“You are killing her. You...you’re making me hurt her. She showed me nothing but love and opened her home and heart to me and you’re making me...making me do this.”

“No, I am not,” a gruff male voice said. “We are protecting her. She is not made for what we are going to do and you know it. She deserves better than where we walk.”

“And I don’t, right?” Synaia said reaching up and wiping the tear from her cheek. “All I deserve is-”

“You marched with the Garleans,” he said cutting her off. “How much blood is on your hands, Synaia?”

Synaia’s hands balled into fist. It took every bit of restraint in her to not spin around and punch her fist into his jaw. Instead she took a deep breath to calm herself though it did nothing for the storm and pain she felt spinning inside of her.

“Once this is done so are we and I am telling her the truth, Kenji Takeda,” she said simply. “I am telling her that her older brother didn’t die that day with her father and chose to be a coward instead of the honorable man that his father had raised him to be.”

With that said Synaia turned and began walking away. Kenji Takeda watched her, turned toward the point he knew Mai still sat below in her misery and then turned to follow the highlander while speaking softly under his breath.

“I’m sorry, sister...”

[leonawriter]

Stray Dogs and Tiger Cubs (pt.3)

Read it from the start on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Dazai, Atsushi, Akutagawa, others.

Summary: What started out as rumours of a dangerous beast on the loose not far from Yokohama turn into Dazai carrying an eight year old boy back to the the Agency.

A boy whose name is Atsushi, and will now not let go of Dazai, who hadn't signed up to be a parent, but it looks like that's the way things are going regardless.

In this chapter, coats would appear to be items of great importance.

...

The first night, Atsushi had stayed with Dazai out of knowing that there was nowhere else that he could go, and the boy had slept well enough. Quietly. Almost too quietly for Dazai's comfort, but then Dazai had barely slept himself, constantly aware of the danger he had brought upon himself. 

Not that he himself was in any grave danger. Or that he would care, if that were the only matter at hand. 

But other people lived here, and that included other Agency members, and... if Atsushi somehow transformed and he didn't move in time-

Dazai shakes his head at the uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach. The entire situation was reminding him far too much of something else, that he'd thought he'd left behind. That he has left behind. 

He doesn't live in the night any longer. If - or rather, more likely, a 'when' - Atsushi transforms again, it won't kill him, and if everything he'd heard was true, even the tiger had not killed indiscriminately. It wouldn't be a complete disaster.

No, the dorms might suffer, and he'd be berated by the others for the interruption, but... he can't imagine such a misadventure causing much more than a dent in the budget.

(He wonders, in passing, for the first time in months at least, just what he'd do if he heard of a localised disruption, destruction of such a scale that put Atsushi's tiger to shame-

He decides that it's easier not to think about it, because what is there to think about? He'd left that behind, after all.)

...

The second, and it was because he was telling himself that the first points still stood, and also that he wasn't, entirely, sure what else to do.

Atsushi was slowly warming up to the idea of the others in the Agency, but they still had a ways to go until he trusted any of them the way that he seemed to cling to Dazai himself, not that Dazai could say he understood where that had come from, at all.

That, and everyone else seemed to assume for some reason that Atsushi would be staying with Dazai, and that would be how things were, and would be, and that it was somehow already decided.

And, of course, it was while Dazai was still coming to terms with the fact that his spur of the moment decision had somehow wound up with him in this sort of situation, that Yosano had told him, in no uncertain terms, that the kid couldn't exactly just keep going in those rags, they needed to get him some clothes, real clothes. And of course they did. It wasn't as though he hadn't thought of that! He'd just been... busy. That was what.

Why... why, did he feel as though... this sensation, it was so familiar. As though he'd experienced it before, and yet... differently.

Like falling into deep water, and having no idea how far the current would sweep him away, being completely clueless as to how far down he might sink until he reached the river bed, the ocean floor...

The feeling was so familiar. And yet, at the same time, there was no sensation of relief, at the potential that this might be the last he saw of the world; instead, there was merely anxiety at not knowing what was supposed to come next, and a wish that he could find some stability and peace of mind once more.

In an idle moment as he wanders off away from the group to look in the window of a shop the other side of the road, he wonders if perhaps this is what most normal people would feel like, facing uncertain death.

But then, of course his experiences would be vastly different. He hasn't been anything near what could be considered 'normal' for as long as he can remember.

There's a tiger plushie in the window that has the wrong colour eyes, but is perfect in almost every other way - he smiles to himself, hums, and wonders if Atsushi would appreciate it, and how much it would get on Kunikida's nerves.

He glances back, to see Atsushi now holding onto Tanizaki, who's talking to someone hidden by the crowd, before heading inside. As far as he knows from what he's learned so far, Atsushi's ability only activates in the moonlight, so this much should be safe.

...

"This... is what happens when you rely on others for your own safety. Your companions were hurt because of you. You see, yours... is the sort of life that brings misfortune wherever you go."

He stands there, shaking, unable to understand or comprehend the nature of what was going on, save for the fact that what he had thought would be a sanctuary of safety and hope was being shattered, with every bullet, and every word.

The world outside the orphanage was both beautiful, and terrifying.

Blood stained the bags that the people that Dazai had left him with had been carrying.

He was shaking, and he wasn't sure if he was scared, or... something else.

"...ushi-chan, run."

He didn't want to die. He wanted to run - he wanted to go, somewhere that didn't have people firing guns, or black beasts, anywhere but the orphanage or this alley. He wanted a world where none of that existed.

"You will come with us."

But that... wasn't an option.

("Those who can do nothing to save others are not worthy to live. You, who are powerless, are worth nothing.")

No... he was sure. He was scared. So scared. But he wasn't just scared, though, because the other cause for his shaking... 

...he was angry.

Because he wanted to live.

...

The first gunshot jolted his attention away from the cashier, and he almost dropped his wallet, his mind reflexively going back to the memories of black nights and firing squads.

But this was broad daylight, and there was nothing in the area that the mafia should have been after-

Except for, perhaps, Atsushi.

His smile becomes strained, and he walks out of the shop, listening for the direction the gunfire was coming from. His phone, miraculously dry for what was starting to become a record number of days now, sends off a text. 

And then, he's running.

"Ne, Odasaku... it looks like I've flailed again. Wouldn't you say I've flailed?"

Memories, of seeing the gutted diner he'd gone to with Odasaku, and the bombed out, burnt car the kids had been in when they'd died, crossed his vision, the very reason Odasaku had lost his will to live, the reason that Dazai hadn't been able to hold on, why he hadn't listened-

If Atsushi's still alive when I get there... if I can save them... Odasaku, would you say... I was able to make something of myself?

...

One hand touched the black beast of Rashomon, dissipating the ability with a single touch. The other hand felt soft fur for mere seconds, before that too dissolved under his hand.

Akutagawa didn't summon his ability again while Dazai, not breaking eye contact, bent down to pick up the boy that had collapsed where the tiger had once stood, which was good, because that meant that Akutagawa understood the warning in Dazai's eyes.

Tanizaki and Naomi were bleeding out on the ground, bodies riddled with bullet holes and wounds that could only have been created by Rashomon, but they were hardly the immediate priority, and because of that, they could wait.

"You... still haven't changed at all, have you?" With Atsushi still only just coming to, and the others in such a state, Dazai's glare was ice cold, and as dark as the alley he'd found himself in. "What a terrifying opponent, indeed."

"The weretiger-"

"Atsushi wasn't a tiger when your associate here lured him into this place, however... was he?" Akutagawa's eyes narrowed. It was enough of an answer. "Are you truly so weak as to think that defeating and killing children will make you stronger?"

"....Killing him wasn't our objective," Akutgawa said, clenching his teeth in such a way that it was obvious that all he wanted to do was to destroy him, right now. Which was too bad, given that Akutagawa could do nothing of the sort, and Dazai had no intention of dying right here, right now, in this place. "There's a bounty on his head, for seven billion yen."

"My," Dazai said, adjusting Atsushi in his arms. "What a hefty price for one so small."

...

Yosano arrives only after Akutagawa and the blonde woman - Higuchi - are already long gone. She helps Dazai lift one body up onto the side that isn't carrying Atsushi, who still hasn't recovered enough to walk on his own, and then she takes the other herself.

The walk back to the Agency feels as though it takes too long. He doesn't worry for the two who are going to need treatment; Yosano will see to them well enough, and they'll be back up and as healthy as ever after she's through with them.

But... as for the only one of their group of invalids who wasn't actually going to need treatment... that was another matter entirely.

Kunikida shoots them both a concerned glance from his desk as he types away yet another report. Kenji catches sight of the two who're being bundled into the infirmary, and winces, while the other clerks have varied responses of blanching or averting their gazes, well aware of the sounds that would soon be coming out.

He himself had put Atsushi down onto the sofa before carrying Naomi into the infirmary himself, and heads back there after that's dealt with, sitting next to the worryingly still boy.

"...Atsushi-kun. It's all right. You're safe now."

Slowly, painfully slowly, one of those small hands reached out to grab at Dazai's coat once more, and the grip once made was so tight that Atsushi's knuckles went white.

The brown fabric shook, and Dazai half expected to have the boy scream and ask him why he wasn't there, but the words never came. Atsushi's mouth hardly even opened, his eyes staring straight ahead in a way that made Dazai remember things he wished he could forget.

Then, at first almost as if just as a glistening sheen, and then, by increments, the first tear fell down the boy's face. And after the first, it was as though a dam had been broken, and Atsushi gasped as the sobs broke free, seemingly uncaring of the number of people in the office who were trying their best to not stare too noticeably as Dazai attempted, awkwardly, to not make things worse.

He had seen children crying. More than enough, in fact, and he still had no idea how to handle such a situation. Generally, he preferred to leave it to others, who might know better what to do - even Kunikida had more of an understanding than he did.

But he was the one who had failed Atsushi here, and he was the one who Atsushi had chosen to cry on, no matter that this was a poor decision on the kid's part, it was a decision Dazai couldn't do anything about.

So he did all he could do.

One hand reached hesitantly around the boy, and patted him awkwardly on the head. For a moment, the crying faltered, making him wonder if that would be the end of it, or if Atsushi had simply retreated into himself again. 

You can't handle that child, he had been told. 

I believe you also have nothing to be gained by defying me and going to him, he had been told.

Dazai let his hand fall again, onto Atsushi's head.

Maybe that's true, he thought to himself as Atsushi fell onto him, letting his feelings out in cries that words couldn't contain, but that's my decision to make, and this... this is reason enough.

...

For a while, he had wavered. Caught between hope and disbelief, sure that everything would just be a dream that he would wake up from.

And then, Dazai had disappeared. And he had nearly died, bringing misfortune not only on himself, but others as well.

"Those who have been abandoned by their parents have no right to cry!"

Except, here he was, back at the Agency, on the comfort of the sofa, hands holding Dazai's coat.

Dazai's hand had touched him, and for a moment, he had wondered if he would be reminded of those words, told that someone who only brought misfortune on others did not deserve to cry at their own fate, and yet-

And yet-

Dazai's hand stayed there. 

"Those who have been abandoned by their parents have no right to cry!"

And yet-

He had not been abandoned.

Dazai had come back.

For him.

And the tears - he just... he couldn't stop the tears from flowing anymore.

[tryingtofeelanything]

Eventually...

English Bungou Stray Dogs Soukoku (just a bit at the end) & platonic Dazatsu One shot SFW (TW though : implied suicide attempts)

For DazaixHappiness week 2nd Day : How to suicide love / Birthday party. Third day will be on my art blog again. This... got out of hand. Like, it was supposed to be much shorter and somehow it feels like it changed into a series of short stories with a shared story line more than a whole, single one shot. I ended this in a rush honestly and, as some of you know, I had to translate it in English after getting done with the original version. So I really, really hope it’s not too bad. I did work hard on it. I may fix this when I’ll post int on AO3... probably next week, I hope. Oh, by the way, this has some references, well, about BSD manga and BSD Wan, but also about the real life authors. Can you spot them~? Happy birthday, Dazai~! ღ

    June 11th.

    The clinking noises of typing on a keyboard, with a tolerable speed, mingled in a well-known tune, of those sounds creating unfailing everyday life and familiarity, even where it wasn’t meant to appear. Atsushi looked up from the screen of the laptop settled in front of him for a few seconds, searching for the appropriate word he could not get a grab on. His gaze briefly scanned the office facing him, quickly noting a few of his colleagues in their most usual situation. In front of him, the grating of the plastic bag, wriggled with meticulous regularity, to the rhythm of Ranpo’s fingers getting one sweet after another. To his right, the sounds of Kunikida’s keyboard, smashed at an exaggerated, almost nervous speed. Leaning against one of the windows, Kenji’s heel nonchalantly tapping the floor, not caring about any tempo, too occupied as he was watching the city-dwellers’ swarming life. Behind his back, another sound, a lot less pleasant to his ears, of metallic items grinding against each other ; Yosano, busy with “maintaining” her “work tools". Finally, a few steps away, Naomi’s enamored monologue, having some tea with her brother between two files. The scenery was one of a distressing banality, some that could only be noticed, eventually, by someone who had not known the slow repetition of everyday life for far too many years.

    Both two-tone eyes found their way back to the screen in order to type a few letters without real confidence. The young man was trying to remember the previous afternoon so that he could render it into the most accurate report he could master. The route he had followed with Dazai and the comments the latter had done about the case involved back then - a potential abduction of a kid on account of an ability - paraded in his mind. He reassessed his mentor’s words. This feeling was getting familiar too, but he could not prevent the surprise from overwhelming him every time he realized how right his reasoning and anticipations were once the investigation was solved. By the way…

    He examined the small space on the screen giving the time in a digital format. The morning was getting quite late, and Dazai had still not passed the door of the Agency. Atsushi thought it right to mention it out loud. As if this situation was not a part of everyday life too - some familiarities are not good to keep. Kunikida’s frantic typing stopped. A sigh replaced them.

    “ Nothing to worry about. He’ll just appear from nowhere in a poor state or I’ll get a call soon from the police office to pick him out of there. It’s always like that at this part of the year. You can expect, starting from now, two very hard weeks. Take it as a test. ”

    “ A test ? Why this part of the year ? ”, Atsushi asked, looking perfectly confused.

    “ One : the test. To determine how long you’re still going to be able to put up with this whining wimp. Two : this part of the year. This desperate case’s birthday. It’s surprising he hasn’t started harassing you yet. Get ready. The longer it takes to happen, the hardest it will be. ”

    Atsushi was opening his mouth again still looking as much questioning. His colleague stopped him :

    “ Yes, two weeks. One before it, when he does all of his ‘preparations’. It seems like he does all of his ‘best attempts’ from the previous year. One year ago, it was death by suffocation, defenestration from a rooftop. Among other ones, of course. And the second week is after his birthday. Since he couldn’t get into his grave, he harasses his colleagues instead to beg for money as a birthday gift. Ah, right… It’s exactly on June 19th. You can get yourself ready mentally-speaking. And to do his work too, potentially. Of course, he doesn’t do anything here for those two weeks. At least, even less than usual. ”

    Tanizaki’s voice raised from behind the wooden screen hiding the sofa from the desks :

    “ That’s impressing, Kunikida ! I couldn’t remember everyone’s birthday if I wasn’t checking on my calendar. I even forgot Dazai was born in June. ”

    Kunikida answered nothing ; he looked like he was hiding some embarrassment, though. Atsushi saw him slide a hand towards his precious notebook, carefully settled close to his workstation. He wondered if he had written every members’ birthday right beside his “ ideals ”. Even Dazai’s. From sheer curiosity, the boy would have wanted to ask about it. His probable reaction appeared in his mind before he could do it, however, and he immediately changed his mind.

    “ Ah, now that I think about it, wasn’t there an attempt with fireworks too, last year ? ”, Tanizaki said, coming back to the part of the room dedicated to work.

    The newest recruit from the Agency quickly understood that it had been an attempt to blow himself up in the middle of “ fireworks "… Could they really get accustomed to this… strange part of Dazai’s personality so casually ? His colleagues got hooked on it and started talking about the incident. It seemed that Dazai had "accidentally” ran into a stock of explosive devices. And some people getting instructions right from the government owned the warehouse in question. Someone called “Sakaguchi”, coming right from the Special ability Department, had personally taken care of this case. No one really knew who was this Sakaguchi, by the way - and it seemed liked Dazai had made sure no one would know anything.

    Eventually, only one conclusion imposed on Atsushi. His mentor’s birthday did not sound like it was favorable for celebrations. It felt too much familiar. And it was also so sad. Even for someone like Dazai…

    His decision was made. Whatever kind of frowns he could get from his colleagues or Ranpo’s mocking smirk. He would prove that this day could be celebrated : he would hold a birthday party, and a decent one ! After all, he owned him at least that. Against all odds, after some obvious reluctance, everyone was (relatively) convinced by the newcomer’s enthusiasm.

.

    The first considerations and preparations were not difficult to do. The main guest hardly sent any sign of life in the two days following Atsushi’s decision. He proclaimed himself “ ill from an unknown illness with, as the main symptom, the inability to leave one’s bed ” on the first day, with a phone call to Kunikida. The following afternoon, he was using the same number to send him a message with a shopping list consisting mainly of alcoholic drinks. His partner almost threw his phone across the nearest window, before he remembered it was his. The only real risk, actually, was that Dazai could annoy the Agency members so much that they would give up on any kind of celebration… like the previous year, or so it seemed.

    The place did not pose any major problem either ; or rather, choices were very limited so that they did not really have to wonder about it. They would use the Agency, temporarily pushing desks against the walls - it took Kunikida some time to get convinced  ; it was promised that only he could touch his desk to move it. They did not have any budget to rent a hall and no one owned a place big enough for them to meet all and not being cramped. The sum on one of Akutagawa’s paychecks, he had shown him once as his monthly earnings, furtively and treacherously crossed his mind.

    Talking about Akutagawa… Maybe he was thinking too much about it, but, after the place, should they consider the guests…? Of course, all of the Agency was invited, but should he think beyond that ? He did not know who Dazai could meet outside of work at all… Or if there was anyone. Probably ? After all, Dazai was popular… Well, that’s what he was thinking, at least ? He could think about it as much as he could, his mentor never mentioned anyone Atsushi did not know directly from their mutual employer. Except from… one person, one he talked about only to criticize them in a negative way ? Who was from the opposite side - but they currently were on a truce and so wondering about it was possible.

    Now that he was studying this case - something that Dazai had skillfully avoided until now, it seemed, by only sliding implied comments, in moments and situations which would prevent anyone from wondering immediately about their frequency -, his ex-partner was rather often mentioned. It was only things like “ I’m sure a certain micro mafia was there ”, “ it smells like hat rack, don’t you think ? ”, “ I rarely had such a bad moment, except with some chuu-huahua ”. That being said, Atsushi could brag about starting to know him well ; he could now easily determine when Dazai was mentioning Chuuya Nakahara, even though he never used his name, but a myriad of degrading diminutives from what sounded like an infinite list. And yet, he did mention him, and he had done it often since their hard-luck story with the Guild. Did they meet outside of work ? Nothing could prove it, but something like instinct whispered to Atsushi that, yes, they did. Anyway, no one could talk so regularly about someone else�� not wanting it at all… right…?

    Bringing it up to his colleagues was out of the question. They would only try to put him off this rather crazy idea and he would surely regret not trying. Well, it was a bit of a hazardous bet…

    This morning, just before heading to work, and as he let Kyouka leave first, Atsushi took a decision he would have thought inconceivable just a few minutes before it : he grabbed his second-hand cellphone, opened his contacts list and searched for Akutagawa’s name. How had they exchanged their phone number was a mystery even for them. The facts were that they both had it and had not erased in only minutes after saving it.  Using it was another whole story though… It was a true first time for the young man this one day.

    The tone of the call echoed for a long time and he thought Akutagawa would never answer. Yet, as the answerphone was about to set off, he heard someone answering the call. Then, silence.

    “ H-hello ? Um, Akutagawa…? ”

    Still, the same silence. Atsushi held his breath, both of his hands tensing around his phone, which was like glued to his ear. He repeated the name of the one who was supposed to be at the other end of the line in a questioning mumbling.

    “ What do you want, Jinko ? ”

    Atsushi swore silently that he would never admit he jumped from surprise at this very moment.

    “ Akutagawa… I have something to ask you ”, he stated with a tone he wished sounded solemn.

    A slight sound came to his ear, like a snort, but he got no… “human” answer. After another moment of hesitation, he hurried to get to the point, realizing the person he was calling could just decide to put the phone down on him any time.

    “ What do you know about Dazai and Chuuya’s… relationship ? ”

    Akutagawa’s surprise was not exactly audible. However his… “occasional partner” (?) felt it very clearly. And was only granted by silence again. As he was trying to repeat his question, he found himself bumping against a wall of oppositions. For a reason he could not understand, mentioning this subject was absolutely forbidden. He insisted.

    “ What do you want to do about this information ? ”

    Fatal question. Admitting the reason of his wonders meant that he could not decline the young man’s presence the night of June 19th. Dazai would not be pleased about that, for sure. As he would complain about Chuuya being here too anyway. Yet… He sighed. This was the only concession he would do to reach his goal.

    Akutagawa’s interest was still as quiet, but it increased in an almost visible way through the communication. To the point that Atsushi thought about sitting down for a moment, and he would have done it, if the idea of physically lowering down did not repel him so much - well, Atsushi would have been the only witness, but it was already too much…

    Talking about his initiative did not get him any real answer to his question, or any explanation either, though. However, he understood that Akutagawa was giving him his approval. Only his approval. Before hanging up with no warning. The boy kept the phone against his temple for a while, staring at the immaculate and shining sink of his kitchenette, looking outraged. As he was staying motionless, in order to get sure he could really not hear anything from the other end of the line anymore, the device vibrated against him to inform him about the reception of a message. He eventually pulled it away from his face and checked the small screen. A message from his recent call - the very first one from him - was displayed, with a phone number. Atsushi’s heart rate suffered from some uncontrolled frenzy.

    Taking some furtive side glances around him, as he was about to do something particularly compromising, he saved the series of numbers in his contacts list under the name “Nakahara”. Then, after a long moment of hesitation, he opened it. Another minute passed with his finger hovering over the phone call icon. He eventually could not find the strength for that and chose to write a written message instead. Today was still a day full of first times, anyway.

    Atsushi swiftly left home, in order to not get late. He attempted, with some difficulty, to find a way to formulate his invitation message to someone he hardly knew, but he knew to be quite short-tempered and not exactly the kind to jump at an event involving his ex-partner - at least from joy… While he was barely and somehow avoiding some passer-by, the text, modified so many times already, took on a more and more look of some sort of official declaration of intent and he wondered if his message could ever get too long to be sent… It was about truce - several times, just in case -, about free - but really, really free, no obligation at all here ! - choice and finally, after two paragraphs and a few dozens lines, about Dazai. At last, after reading it again for the fifth time, he pushed the sending icon as if it was a button that had something about life and death. The young detective then realized he had frozen on a crosswalk and hurried to reach the building where the Agency was waiting for him.

    As he was about to enter the building, his phone vibrated again. He jumped as if he was under a death threat. Nakahara Chuuya’s name was displayed on the screen like an order to answer in the following second. Maybe was he really under such threat…

    “ What’s that ?! ”, was the immediate exclamation, even before any kind of ‘h’ from a very hypothetical ‘hello’ could be articulated. “ Nakajima… The were-tiger, Dazai’s newest flunky, huh ?! How did you get this number ?! I didn’t understand anything ! I am supposed to do something for this idiot ?! With his stupid bunch of ‘good people’ or something ?! What did this pathetic excuse for a human being do to you to force you into asking me something like that ?! ”

    The boy stayed frozen on the threshold of the building, one arm reaching for the door. He jumped again when the Mafia executive’s voice resounded, pressing him to answer.

    “ I… What should I start to answer first…? ”

    The whole conversation sounded unreal. Like a dialogue of the deaf too, for its first half, at least. It also lasted quite a long time, considering how they got so little things out of it when it ended… At least enough for Kunikida to poke his head through several windows of the agency to check if their newest recruit was finally coming and, when he finally spotted him, to scream at him to hurry and get in. Chuuya got even more irritated by the mumbling that followed, half of it for his boss, the other half for his call. And yet…

    “ I don’t see why I’d do anything for this idiot ”, were Chuuya’s last words before curtly hanging up. “ I don’t owe him anything and I’ve better to do than wasting my time for him. I don’t have anything planned for this day but even doing nothing is more interesting than putting up with him. I’ll see. If I want to bump someone off. ”

    Once again, Atsushi found himself confronted with the sound signal informing the call had ended without prior warning. Nakahara did sound less… aggressive than at the beginning of the conversation. Despite the meaning of his words, he had high hopes. Was his intuition right…? He hoped so. Really. Otherwise, the whole night would turn into a fiasco…

—————————————————————

    After this first tacit victory, though, nothing happened as planned anymore. Dazai decided to appear again three days before his birthday, in one piece. Sources of anxiety kept accumulating starting from then : their purchases - bought with everyone’s savings, the Agency could not really help them with money - disappeared, the main reason of the party kept coming in without prior warning when they were discussing preparations and how to organize them… He even looked like he came out of nowhere, once, while Yosano escorted Atsushi to get some drinks and snacks. The latter was convinced that he would lose a few years of life expectancy in this episode…

    On June 18th was the climax. Dazai entered the agency in the middle of the morning, opening the door with a wide and dramatic move. Atsushi felt his hair stand on the back of his neck in an absolute warning sign. He exclaimed with a fake solemnity that he had a great announcement to do.

    “ I’m here to bid farewell to you all ! This time, I’m about to find the woman of my dreams for a perfect shinju ! Well, not like I’ve any r…! ”

    “ Dazai ! ”

    Atsushi’s blood boiled. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on him.

    “ Please come to work tomorrow ! Please ! ”

    Those times when Atsushi could actually surprise Dazai were rare. He once even made it his goal. Unfortunately, he could not fully appreciate the way chocolate eyes widened in surprise for a short moment. The expression only fleetingly crossed his face before his features softened back to let a light sigh escape.

    “ Very well. If, really, you cannot go without me, I’ll make an effort for you. ”

    The corner of his lips tensed in a slight smile.

    “ But well, Atsushi… I’m so sorry. I am really not interested in men. ”

    Atsushi looked away, unable to choose between feeling embarrassment or dismay.

—————————————————————

    June 19th.

    Atsushi should not be so nervous for something so trivial. He was. Definitely. He was not Osamu Dazai but he had already thought about dozens of worst-case scenarios involving the party. It could not go well. Why did he even get such idea ? Ah… no, no, no. Get a hold of yourself, Atsushi ! Everything will be alright if everyone believes in it…!

    The young man had come earlier than usual to work after he got out of his usual way to stop at a flower shop. The premises were still empty when he entered. Kyouka should not take long to come in, though ; she was also about to depart when he left her. After he carefully hid a perfectly wrapped packet - two hours and nine tries had been needed to do it, and his young roommate had come to his rescue for the last one - in a drawer of his desk, praying every god he could think of for it not to disappear like half of the drinks and the cardboard for ornaments. After some time of thinking it through, he put his bouquet on the desk Dazai was supposed to use. He adjusted the composition a bit - daffodils ending the season and iris, interspersed by a few flowers of vibrant bluebells, enhanced by some ribbons here and there. He trusted the seller entirely for his choice. Dazai had never shown any interest for flowers ; they had felt like a good idea as a first present, before he would give, later in the evening, his actual gift - a book. Atsushi was sure about that one : Dazai liked reading a lot. He had taken a long time examining publications for sale in a small book store sitting close to his home. His choice had eventually inclined towards a collection of short stories. One hundred views on Mount Fuji. His mentor was hard to grasp, he would not have pretended he knew him that well. Yet, this work had immediately felt fitting. He just hoped he had not already read it.

    The front door slid open with a very light noise. He smiled at Kyouka while she closed it as quietly.

    “ You’re the first one to come ”, he noticed.

    “ Kunikida is here too. ”

    “ He’s early too. ”

    “ He’s waiting in front of the door. ”

    A slight, more bothered than amused, laugh passed through Atsushi’s lips. He checked the clock hanging on the wall. Kunikida would still wait 3 minutes and 36 seconds before turning the handle…

    Dazai only came around 3 in the afternoon, with a wide pout crossing his face and looking particularly bothered from the effort he had to do to reach the agency. As he made his way to “his” couch, under Kunikida’s unbroken flood of blame, Atsushi rushed to his bunch of flowers to hand it to him.

    “ Happy birthday, Dazai ! ”

    The flowers were stared at from some distance away for a while, with an unreadable but almost suspicious expression. Then Dazai’s shoulder shook from a silent laugh and he took the gift. The boy could not exactly ignore the feeling of relief spreading in his chest.

    The following hour, however, was only whining and Kunilkida’s more than irritated comments, getting to the point that no one could really work on any kind of task. Tanizaki, Naomi, and Kenji were luckier : they were on a small business trip with no real consequences for a client. They should not be long to get back, by the way. Atsushi hopped everything would go as planned and there would not be any setback.

    The phone rang. Kunikida, as usual, picked it up. After the first formalities - identity, reason of the call, essential details about the case -, he spent a long time listening to, obviously, some client’s explanation. When the call ended, he silently stood up and made his way to Fukuzawa’s office, under Dazai’s suspicious gaze. He came out a few minutes later.

    “ Dazai ! Tear off your rear end from this couch and get back to work ! ”

    The succession of complaints this sole sentence triggered surprised no one. Kunikida did not let a single one get fully worded and vehemently pushed his partner towards the door. Atsushi could only exchange a quick glance with him and got up from his own seat.

    The door, of the agency, then of the building, closed behind both men. Dazai immediately stopped his lamentations to move on to an amused smile instead :

    “ So, then, where were we meant to go oh so suddenly ? ”

    Kunikida was about to tell him the exact place ; he remained silent as he turned to the young man and met his gaze. A sigh escaped him.

    “ You’ve already figured everything out, haven’t you ? … So you were the one who stole Atsushi’s purchases ? ”

    “ So, how long do we have to stay outside ? ”, the young brown haired man asked, obviously avoiding the last question.

    “ I figured that, with the time to go there, quickly stop and go back, it would take one hour and forty-two minutes ”, his colleague speculated, swiftly browsing his notebook. “ It’s quite far away from here. ”

    “ Well then, Kunikida, instead of running to some place where no one is waiting for us, and since you wouldn’t let me have a drink meanwhile, you could buy me a coffee ? It’s supposed to be my day, right ? ”

    Another sigh. At least, Kunikida could find a new café, and a rather nice - and expensive for his wallet, the only one to suffer - one. The Agency’s usual café was not an option, since Kenji, Naomi, and Tanizaki could come back at any moment and see them.

—————————————————————.

    Two hours later - eighteen minutes were lost because of Dazai, who did not find anything better than offering a young waitress to chose her favorite bridge for them to jump from it together, almost crudely -, both partners appeared again in the narrow hall leading to their workplace. Seeing Kunikida hurriedly typing something on his phone, his colleague, uselessly loud, exclaimed that their client had been particularly impolite not waiting for them although they had made the trip for him only. A series of hasty sounds, hurried steps among them, came from behind the door. Eventually, Kunikida put a hand on the handle, glancing one last time at Dazai to show him clearly that his patience was getting to an end and that he would not do that much for him so soon anymore, and finally entered the room, taking a side step so that the main guest could get a good look at the work done while they were away. The way chocolate eyes widened for a quick instant of surprise did not look fake.

    Atsushi really had put his heart and soul into it. The whole thing was a bit precarious, the desks somehow pushed on the sides, a few garlands clumsily hanged up and clearly cheap (the cardboard holding ornaments had suddenly reappeared in the afternoon in Fukuzawa’s office, whereas the latter would have never had the absurd idea of stealing it, and Atsushi would have never dared to hid it there), but the efforts were obvious.

    “ Once again, happy birthday, Dazai ! ”

    The latter looked down at the radiant smile from his… protégé ? Yes, maybe, a bit, he surreptitiously thought while noticing the wrapped packed he was handing him. He took it with a questioning look and, not caring about any decency, he unwrapped it immediately. Once again, a slight surprise briefly appeared on his face when he silently read the title.

    “ I hope you haven’t already read it… ”

    “ Actually, I did ”, he admitted, with a strange smile, softer than what he got those around him used to. “ But it’s a nice book. I wouldn’t mind reading it again. Thank you, Atsushi. ”

    Even someone like Dazai, supposedly, could be delighted about the expression of joy, mixed with relief, which brightened Atsushi’s face at this moment.

    It was however quickly interrupted when a black figure, which did obviously not belong there, but was clearly determined to firmly stay, slightly moved from a less lighted corner looking like it was made just for it. Akutagawa’s dark gray eyes were staring at Dazai with a piercing gaze. The latter looked sideways towards Atsushi, looking clearly disapproving. The boy answered with an apologizing smile. Dazai immediately examined the room, suspicious.

    The first part of the evening went without a problem. Atsushi tried to approach Akutagawa cordially a few times. He kept his distance, scanning Dazai’s every move. The latter emptied a generous amount of bottles of sake, even though he was significantly helped by Yosano, who quickly became very jolly…

    The door opened abruptly in a relative crash. Silence fell onto them immediately as everyone turned to another black figure, with only fire-like hair and blue eyes on watch standing out. A few minutes passed with no movement.

    “ What ? Do you want a photo ? ”, Chuuya flung, closing the door behind him without any care for gentleness.

    Atsushi cast a quick glance at Dazai. He had an ostentatious pout on his face. Chuuya, maybe not feeling so at ease, quickly took a look at everyone and stopped at Dazai with a disdainful glare. He walked to him with fast steps and forced what clearly looked like some bottle of alcohol wrapped in gift wrap onto the detective’s chest.

    “ What is a Mafia hat rack doing here ? ”, the young brown haired man let out once he found his breath and grabbed the bottle with a critical look. “ And I hope it’s not one of your dated wine inside. ”

    “ This is not the first time I’m coming here and anyway, you sneak in our headquarters whenever you feel like it, so I don’t see a problem. And about my wines, there is a difference between dated barrels and quality ones, you ignorant idiot ! ”

    “ You’re the one with awful tastes, chibi. "  

   Dazai’s eyes stopped on a single peach blossom, carefully attached to the wrap with a thin ribbon tied around the bottleneck. He looked up at Chuuya, raising an eyebrow, but it was thoroughly avoided. Conversations echoed back around them as they found a new - more consensual - topic to biker. Dazai unwrapped the gift meanwhile, to find a high-quality bottle of sake. He did not make any comment about it, which clearly pointed out his approval. A very informed eye would have seen him surreptitiously slide the flower in one of his coat pockets. If Atsushi did not see it, watching them interact, he came to the conclusion that his idea had not been so bad. He would have not been able to say why he had this feeling though.

    Maybe was it because, from this moment, Chuuya entirely monopolized Dazai’s attention. Sure, they only complained about each other. Yosano was interrupting them from time to time with a not so really elegant, loud laugh. The young man with auburn hair looked at her.

    " She looks a bit like Kouyou when she’s way too drunk… ”

    “ Ugh, Chuuya, you could’ve avoided talking about that. ”

    “ You wanna talk about you when you’re drunk as fuck ?! ”

    “ Are you sure you want to get on such a dangerous topic, Chuuya ? I have a lot of compromising files involving Chuuya and alcohol… ”

    “ Hah ?! And what if you shut up for a while so that we can all have five minutes’ peace ?! … I’m going out for a while before I really make you choke on my hands right here and there ! And none of your buddies here could save you ! ”

    “ Oh, chibikko is worrying about me now ? I would almost be touched if it didn’t come from a midget with such bad tastes… ”

    Chuuya’s “ go fuck yourself ! ”, followed by the slam of the door behind him, actually meant “ I’ll be back soon ”. No one was surprised when, only five minutes later, Dazai announced he was going to get him. He was so small that some passerby could mistake him for a child stuck on the roof and call the emergency number for nothing. No one thought about asking him how he knew the Mafia executive was on the roof either.

    Chuuya was barely starting on a cigarette, leaning his elbows on the fence separating him from the asphalt of the street, around twenty meters below. He did not react when Dazai’s footsteps got closer, watching the darkened sky with no stars, his back willingly exposed. He turned his blue eyes to him only when his ex-partner came to lean against the fence too.

    “ I’ve never asked you to follow me. ”

    “ I know. If you had, I wouldn’t have come. ”

    A grumble answered him. Chuuya’s gaze turned back to the city spreading in front of them. A simple and calm silence settled for a few minutes. Then Dazai’s voice broke it gently :

    “ Why did you accept Atsushi’s invite ? It’s quite impressive he could convince you. ”

    Chuuya took the time to take a long puff out of his cigarette before starting an answer.

    “ I was just curious, to see that someone actually cared that much for you. I wanted to see… your new colleagues and all… ”

    Dazai just looked at him in silence, his face unreadable. Chuuya let him avoid the comment. He knew this face. He knew it hid the will to not let any kind of emotion transpire. It wasn’t all that hard to admit he was just a bit thankful…

    “ Besides, Chuuya ! "

   The suddenly joyful tone was rather worrying.

    " I’m still waiting for your gift ! ”

    “ Hah ? I’ve already given it to you, moron. ”

    “ Ah, Chuuya, I would’ve never thought you were this shy. I even have no choice but take it myself. ”

    A flash of understanding crossed Chuuya’s gaze before Dazai slid one hand on his cheek to bring their faces closer. Surprise first tensed the jaw under his long and thin digits. A breath imitating a sigh gratified the young brown haired man and the jaw slightly rotated so that their lips could perfectly mold together in an innocent kiss. They kept still against each other for some time, just enjoying the softness of the touch. It felt like the traffic had stopped under their feet, the only sounds from the city echoing from far away. A light laugh, lacking any kind of animosity, even betraying longing, made the throat wrapped in a leather choker shake.

    “ You’re horribly sentimental tonight. It’s disturbing. ”

    “ Don’t worry like that, Chuuya. It’s just a foretaste for what is coming tonight. You should read it as a signal telling you not to drink too much. When this party is over, I’m going back with you. ”

    Dazai’s voice gradually got lower, turning into a whisper pleasantly vibrating against the young man’s lips. He let a few of his strands of hair getting gently pushed away by a bandaged hand. Before their lips met for a second time, he opened his to make a quick comment. However, his partner forestalled it :

    “ You know my walls are too thin for me to bring you home. ”

    Chuuya felt the need to whisper the few letters of “ pervert ” before kissing him again, even though that allowed his lover to feel his smile which wouldn’t erase, nor even fade. They had had a lot of “accidents” since their temporary partnership against Lovecraft and had found themselves in crumpled and soiled sheets of the mafioso’s bed several times. Their secret encounters had increased after Dostoevsky’s rats appeared in Yokohama. They started to accept it, to discuss without insulting each other, just lying together in bed, just barely a few weeks earlier. Dazai never had demonstrated any form of… “romanticism”. Kissing had only been used for their provoking, sometimes brutal game of seduction. Both pupils encircled with blue tones watched this face, formerly wrapped in bandages, compresses and band-aids. They got briefly covered by two eyelids, in silent admission. This naive boy had managed the achievement of making Dazai feel happy for just one night. Or at least, as happy as Dazai could be…

    Footsteps revealed a third person was coming. Chuuya stepped backward in order to quickly break their embrace. His partner stopped him and put one hand on the back of his head, his fingertips pushing between red strands of hair, against his scalp, as if affectionately massaging it. The movement was meant to be soothing and he got it as a silent “it’s okay”. So he let Dazai kiss him tenderly as Atsushi froze a few meters away. The gentleness in Dazai’s eyes when they pulled away was something he had never witnessed before.

    Chuuya finally acknowledged Atsushi's presence. The boy sported two very crimson cheeks. A part of Akutagawa’s coat was pulling at his arm. He probably had advised him not to check if everything was okay on their mentors’ part while denying him any kind of explanation… The were-tiger hastily apologized and stated that they could take as much time as they want, that he was relieved to see everything was going well. A split second later, the soles of his shoes disappeared through the door leading to the last floor of the building.

    When the young man turned back to Dazai, he was smiling tenderly at him. Once again, he could interpret his silence. “ Thank you for coming ”. He let a small laugh out.

    “ You better thank Atsushi properly. ”

—————————————————————

     … it’s not so bad.

[sonichico-blog]

Letters and Bracelets - A Bungo Stray Dogs Fanfic

Author - Circie888

Pairing - Chuuya Nakahara/Atsushi Nakajima

Osamu snorted, whined and rolled eyes, while sincerely refusing to believe that his subordinate has such a bad taste in people - well, including the fact Atsushi was pretty close to him, there was no doubt. "Sorry, Dazai-san, - Nakajima awkwardly smiled and scratched back of his head. - I... Fell in love". There was nothing left for Osamu to do but courageously be silent, ignoring the presence of the ginger shorty in the Agency, and break loose on Kunikida, annoying him three times more often than usual, but including the fact how tense the work got just before the New Year, Doppo wasn't just unsatisfied - he was in rage. That's why Dazai was beaten up three times more often. But even this was better for him, than Atsushi's and Chuuya's little world - sugary-vanilla, with milk rivers and gingerbread shores.

When Nakahara got his deserved vacation, he started visiting a lot more often, than usual. Sometimes he got drinks for all of the detective company, except for Dazai, of course; sometimes he visited just to to drag Nakajima off behind the folding screen, to whisper about stuff on couches in solitude; or he took Atsushi to the cafe on the first floor for lunch break, but always paid for both of them, not letting Nakajima even look at the cheque. Shortly speaking, Chuuya tried to get every single piece of his beloved one's free time, and even though sometimes was distracting, Atsushi was... Happy.

Quite often Nakahara arrived in the end of the working day, and two of them went away under Dazai's displeased look, which Chuuya tried to not notice very hardly, and got away to the town, walking through snow-covered alleys, along narrow cozy streets with colorful garlands and round lanterns hanging over their heads. Nakahara had this weird will to always buy something for Nakajima, doesn't matter what - for example, a key chain, a plushie or some clothes - in any case the tiger-boy had an awkward feeling, but refusing these gifts would be impolite. When he confessed about this, Chuuya just thought about how cute he was and said, that he does not mind the money for him at all, but Atsushi made him promise he'll calm down a bit.

- How would you like to celebrate the New Year? - Nakahara asked, pulling up his scarf, and looking into Nakajima's face - red cheeks and red nose, shiny eyes, filled with the light of life. Yes. That's what he was in love with.

- I... Don't even know, - Atsushi babbled with an unsure smile and wiped the snow off his shoulder, snuggling up closer to Chuuya. - People in the Agency were talking about a corporate party, but I don't think they'll be holding it on the New Year's night. I am sure, somebody would want to celebrate it with their family - like Kenji, for example...

Nakahara bit his lip, hesitating to ask, but he wanted, he wanted to offer it so much, so he couldn't hold himself and blurted out:

- Then... How about spending it with me?

Chuuya hid his glowing look so that Nakajima doesn't see how exciting it was for him to talk about it, but he didn't care and smiled happily, going for a hug, but immediately pulling away - after all, this was so... confusing.

- Why not? - Atsushi responded, putting his head on his shoulders, but starting panically waving hands: - N-no, not like that, I'd want it! Really want it!! - Nakajima promptly muttered, and Nakahara laughed kindly, soothingly patting him on the shoulder.

- Heh... Personally, I think it would be great to book a room at the hotel, or maybe a house on the outskirts of the city?..- Chuuya thoughtfully said, starting a new wave of confusion inside Nakajima, who mumbled:

- Uhm... Chuuya, isn't it gonna be a bit expensive?

Yes, that's true.

But such things never stopped Chuuya.

Despite all of the talks and common sense, which seemed so only for Atsushi, in the end Nakahara rented them a two-floored villa and took the boy there as soon as his vacation started - two days before New Year. The place was amazing, beaming with holiday-like coziness: along the perimeter of the house there were garlands, beaming with gold, twinkling stars and snowflakes, there was a spruce wreath, and just above the threshold - omela, and Chuuya didn't miss the opportunity to kiss Nakajima's cheeks, tightly holding his hands.Inside was no less beautiful - nice warm colors, high ceilings, a fireplace with red socks, tinsel and glass balls, but the most prominent was the Christmas tree, gleaming with hundreds of lights. The place was great. Chuuya was great.

But at the same time Atsushi had a feeling that he doesn't deserve this.

He couldn't give anything in exchange, he was sure, that Chuuya would get him a gift which can't compare to his - moreover, Nakajima didn't have enough time to even think about it, to buy something - even more so; that's why he felt guilty. Firstly Chuuya didn't notice his depressed mood, but when he noticed, understood it is so because of him, and so he fell into the sadness pit too. He just wanted to please Atsushi. He just wanted Atsushi to be happy with him, here, at the place he had never been to, experiencing feelings that he never experienced. Nakajima bit his lips in confusion, listening to his beloved one's honest excuses, and then he told about his worries. Nakahara made them disappear one by one. Then they hugged, laughing happily, and after that, when Chuuya made them some mulled wine, they sat together in front of the fireplace. Swaying in a hug to quiet music, drinking spiced hot drink, rub noses, gently smiling - if somebody told him he's going to spend his holidays like this a year back, he probably wouldn't believe them. But despite this... right now he was happy.

Only a half of the day was left until the New Year. And even if Nakajima couldn't buy anything, he could make it him himself - so that's why he locked himself up in a room, sometimes coming out just to grab some food or tea.

Atsushi was thinking a lot, keeping his eyes on the blank sheets for a long time, he wrote, tore, and started again several times - the correct thoughts just didn't want to come to his head, but he needed to...to tell how important Nakahara became for him. Atsushi was a bit nervous, as he didn't have a pretty envelope for this letter, was nervous if the white sheet of paper would look soulless, and his writing would look too bad - since the orphanage times he still hasn't made it better... He was ashamed and felt awkward, but he finished and neatly folded it, and drew black hats and little tigers on the other side, repeating to himself how childish it looked.

But Nakajima was satisfied with his work. A bit nervous, but satisfied.

Their New Year - great tasty food, made by Chuuya, sparkling champagne, warm hugs and fireworks, which Nakahara launched with unstoppable fun and loud shouting, thank God nobody could hear them. Without the loud bells, without going to the church and without the traditional games, actually, they didn't need that - their hearts were filled with happiness, bright fire was burning in the quivering souls, and lazy stretching under the kotatsu* wasn't worse in any way.

- Oh, Atsushi-kun... The gift, - Nakahara awkwardly smiled, getting something out of his back pocket.

- Please don't say it's something expensive, I'll die of embarrassment! - Atsushi squeezed his head in his shoulders holding his hands between the knees, and Chuuya, hiding something that he got out, laughed warmly.

- Firstly, we talked about it already, - he said, taking Atsushi's hand into his. - And secondly - no, it's not expensive - and he put a braided cord, clasped it, making sure he picked the correct size. - I... made it myself, - Nakahara lowered his head and smiled. - I was thinking about the gift for a long time... Starting with great alcohol, ending with a flat next to mine. But you'd not be interested in the first, and the second would make you sad, because, you know, too expensive.

- C-chuuya... - Atsushi held his fists closely to chest, nervously looking at the bracelet he got.

- I was thinking about a hat, about a coat, about a smoking... Even about a ring, - Nakahara smirked, looking up at Nakajima. - But all those things are not... sincere enough. That's why I started making this kumihimo** and made a gift for you by myself. Sounds... So childish, - and Chuuya started laughing, covering his face, but Atsushi took his hand into his and gently kissed the knuckles.

- Thank you. The bracelet is great, - "Just like you", - a thought flew through in his mind, but he didn't have enough courage to say it outloud. - And it... Is important. Right here. - Nakajima placed Chuuya's hand on his chest, where his tender heart beat fiercely, and Nakahara hugged his darling, dragging him back under the kotatsu. - Ah, yes, I have a gift for you too! - remembered Atsushi. - Wait a second.

He jumped out of his warm spot and ran away to the second floor, to the bedroom, where he had left his letter. When he returned, he sat next to Nakahara and and stretched out the paper rectangle with his trembling hands. Chuuya smiled inappropriately wide, and Nakajima blushed, biting his lips.

- Looks like you even overdone it with the "childishness", - Chuuya smirked, looking at the cute drawings, but when he felt it could offend Atsushi, he hurried up to apologize - I'm not intending to shame you. It just looks really cute.

- W-wait, are you going to read it now? - Nakajima asked, when Nakahara started to unfold the letter and caught a puzzled look on himself.

- Why not?

- It's just... Whatever. If you want to, go on then.

Chuuya could understand him - maybe, it's very confusing, when somebody reads the thoughts you put on a piece of paper right in front of you, but the man was too curious, that's why he carefully unfolded it and started looking through the neat lines of handwritten kanji.

"My beloved Nakahara Chuuya,

I am very happy to spend my time with you. Every day, which I spend with you, every minute, every second fills my heart with the most sincere joy, which you can feel only by being with the closest person.

We don't know each other for so long, and we have been dating even less, but you became the most important person for me. Your attention, your care, your love make me feel the happiest human on this planet - and even though we work in the organizations, which still haven't destroyed each other only because of the fragile truce, it does not prevent us from loving each other no matter what.

It's a bit awkward to write about such stuff. When you're unsure, a bit scared, confused... it's very scary to say something wrong and trip, but I know, you will catch me, so that's why I'm ready to entrust yourself to your hands. You filled my life with light and eclipsed the horrors of my past. I never knew love nor tenderness, but you taught me, and I am thankful to you, and I will try so hard to not lose you.

I love you with my soul and body. And I hope you'll love me the same.

Sincerely yours

and nobody else's

N. A."

Nakahara covered his mouth with his palm, and, it seemed like his temperature raised because of what he felt while reading this letter. Atsushi was just keeping quiet, dying of embarrassment, and Chuuya, finally looked up.

- Atsushi-kun... - he breathed out, letting go of the letter and tightly hugging the boy. - Atsushi, I love you so much! And I will! I promise I will!

Nakajima blushed again and hugged him too.

Intending never to let go.

________

Kotatsu* - a low, wooden table frame covered by a futon, or heavy blanket, upon which a table top sits. 

Kumihimo** - a Japanese form of braid-making. Cords and ribbons are made by interlacing strands. Kumi himo is Japanese for "gathered threads".

All credit to @circie888

Your humble translator @sonichico

[rahmakapala]

This One – Epilogue

Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin 

Pairings: Kenshin Himura / Kaoru Kamiya, past Kenshin/Tomoe

Characters: Kenshin Himura, Kaoru Kamiya

Word count: 2149

Read the chapter in AO3, FF.net or below the cut!

Notes and thanks: That's it. It took five years... but now it's done. I hope you enjoyed my story. :)

I would love to thank my dear friends for all of their help: beta reading my ESL dyslexic writings, listening me ramble... and being there for me. I would also extend my sincere thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story. It means a lot and has given me the strength to keep writing and working on this story.  

Lastly, I would like to thank Alekssi, who has done a humongous job and translated the whole saga into Russian. You can find their translations here.

AN: This chapter has not been beta-read, so be prepared for grammar issues and typos.

This one – Epilogue

”And that’s how this one became a wanderer,” Kenshin said quietly, looking up at the clear night sky. The stars were bright tonight, much brighter than they had been all those years ago.  

Warm arms sneaked around his chest, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, for telling me,” his beloved wife for four years, Himura Kaoru whispered. “I know it wasn’t easy for you, to keep speaking of your past for all these evenings during this past year, to delve into your private memories, both terrible ones… and tender ones.”

“It wasn’t,” Kenshin agreed. He looked at her softly, “But you were curious, that you were. And… you, you have given this one so much already, that it was only fair to–“

“No,” Kaoru cut him off. “You didn’t owe me a single thing. If that was the reason, then you should have told me and I would have never–“

“Maa, maa–“ Kenshin raised his hands in surrender, to stave off her burst of temper. “Forgive this one, one said it badly. It wasn’t an obligation to tell you these things, that it wasn’t. You didn’t pressure one to do so. No, what one was trying to say was… this one never dared to speak up, tell more than the absolute basics of ki, of his feelings and thoughts to Tomoe, that he didn’t. It was something one always regretted, that it was. If one had been braver, had dared to trust her more, maybe we could have avoided the disaster that struck us.”

The spark of temperament in his wife’s eyes wilted and she bit her lip, before agreeing quietly, “I guess so.”

Kenshin could have cursed himself, for his badly chosen words. This was not what he had been trying to achieve! He reached for her hand and stroked her palm. “Kaoru, love – one can’t change the past. Even if this one could, he wouldn’t. No, there was a reason for everything that happened, and without of those bad things, the disasters and terrible things… this one wouldn’t be the man he is now. He wouldn’t have become a man you dared to fall in love and marry. He wouldn’t be the father of our beautiful son.  Without all those bad things, this one wouldn’t have this happiness with you.”

“You, you…” She bit off, blinking the mist away from her eyes. She shook her head then decisively rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands and looked at him, her eyes shining with her fierce emotions. “Kenshin, you idiot! You don’t need to tell me that! I know! I wasn’t jealous or thinking I was the second prize, just for having met and married you after her.”

“Oro?” Kenshin blinked, “But you…”

She surged to his arms, hugging him with all her strength. “I love you,” she said. “I want the best for you and I am so, so thankful that you faced your demons once more and told me about your past, about ki, about the spirit. About the people in your life, about your private happinesses and worst terrors. Now I don’t have to guess why you are feeling blue on Obon Matsuri, on the winter morning when it’s snowing… or why you stop to look at a garish kimono in the shop window with a smile on your lips. I honestly thought that you wanted to buy that yellow kimono and was trying to figure out a nice way of telling you it was the ugliest garment I had ever seen!”

“Ah.” Kenshin exhaled softly, his tension melting. “Well, yes – it was quite similar to the one Lady Ikumatsu bought this one but for the color. That one was purple, not yellow with blue prints.”

"It would have clashed terribly with your hair." Miss Kaoru shuddered at his arms. “Everyone would have laughed at me if you had decided to buy it.”

“A terrible fate indeed,” Kenshin laughed, stroking at her back gently.

“Mmm,” Miss Kaoru mumbled her agreement, squeezed him once more before pulling back and settling to sit one veranda again. She swept her longer bangs behind her ear. “I meant to ask you before, but this ki – did you ever figure out why it was paining you so?”

Kenshin paused, looking down at his kimono sleeves and fiddling with the magenta fabric there. “Not as such. One did take time to find monks who knew about ki, but one couldn’t say if he learned anything new or worthwhile. They told this one that ki is something most people have, but the talent to sense it well enough to learn to manipulate is rare, very rare. It’s dangerous. Used wrong, it can cripple or kill. But if one is careful and knows exactly how to do it, one can use it to perform impossible tasks.”

“I see.” Miss Kaoru said. “But your pains…”

Kenshin shook his head. “One used it too much, too often – for years. It’s no wonder such misuse left its marks on this one.”

“Marks? But… “ Kaoru blinked, the dots connecting at lightning speed. She screeched, “You liar! You said to Megumi that you didn’t know why you felt such pain and stiffness in your limbs that you couldn’t use Hiten Hitsurugi’s strikes anymore!”

Kenshin gave her his blandest look. “Miss Megumi is a wonderful doctor, so she is. But she is also a woman of medicine. Of reason, and logic. Explain ki to her, and she assumes you have listened to old wives ghost stories for too long.”

“Don’t even try!” Kaoru growled, pointing her finger at him. “You… You went to Hiko, asking him to teach the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu’s final moves to you, knowing perfectly well how badly it would go for you whether you won or lost against Shishio.”

“Yes,“ Kenshin agreed. “This one doesn’t regret it. Shishio had to be stopped.”

Miss Kaoru buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know why I am surprised. You have always sacrificed yourself for the sake of others. I just…” She looked up, eyes red and her lower lip quivering. “I just hate when you make those choices. Why can’t you think of yourself, of your own happiness?

Kenshin's heart ached for her. He reached to sweep an errant lock of her hair behind her eyes. “T-this… I, I… I don’t know.”

“I know." She smiled at him – a sad, heartbreaking smile. "I have known why from the moment you rescued me from those Hiruma bastards and I hope that one day, my husband, I can teach it to you too.”

She swept her face to her sleeve and laughed. “Gosh, we are a mess, aren’t we? But one last question. This ki – Kenji has it, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Kenshin said. “He is easy to sense. He has a very distinct presence, that he has. Free flowing and active. He gets it from you,” he added, absently.

“Me?” Kaoru asked, surprised. "I have ki?"

“Yes, of course,” Kenshin said. “It shines brightly in you when you fight.”

“But I have never used it, I don’t think –”

Kenshin shrugged, apologetic. “Maybe once, you could have learned. Now, it would be too risky.”

“It’s okay.” She exhaled softly. “I have done well without it. So you can feel me and Kenji? Is that how you always know where to find Kenji whenever he decides to play hide and seek? I bet it is. You cheater,” She said fondly. “But if he has such a presence, do you think he can learn to manipulate ki? Like you did?”

Kenshin sighed. “It would be better if he didn't, that it would.”

“I agree.” She paused, hesitating. “But what if it’s not up to us to decide? What if the talent runs so strongly in him that he starts to use it on his own, intuitively? He already has his imaginary friend. What if he ends up experimenting like you did as a child?”

“Oro!“ Kenshin frowned, baffled – like this was the first time the scenario occurred to him. “Then... we need to keep an eye on him, that we must. If he achieves something impossible that only could be done with ki, then he needs training.”

“In that case, can you train him?”

“The way this one used ki was odd, even backward. It would be dangerous for anyone to try to mimic that, so it would.” Kenshin said, thoughtful. “You know, out of all ki-user this one ever met, the closest to this one’s odd approach would be…”

“Hiko?” Miss Kaoru guessed.

“No, not Master.” Kenshin denied instantly. “Master’s style is very defined, structured. It’s as close to perfect as internal ki use could ever be. It’s why Master can still utilize it with little to no risk, even at his age. No, if this one had ever properly learned Hiko’s style to use ki, one wouldn’t have even half of the problems he had over the years. ”

“Ah.”

Kenshin turned at her, shrugging awkwardly. “We were very different, Master and this one. He taught this one the best he could... but this one can be stubborn.”

“I am aware.” Miss Kaoru agreed blandly. “In your own way, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

Kenshin rubbed the back of his head, acknowledging her point sheepishly. Then he smiled, “It was Sanosuke that one was thinking.”

“Eh?” Miss Kaoru blinked. “As a teacher?”

“No, no.” Kenshin denied. “Sano uses ki. You have seen him break boulders, haven’t you? He enhances his fists before he strikes. Obviously, he doesn’t know he is utilizing something that typically only samurai or monks have managed to use – but he uses it very intuitively, based on the feeling. It’s quite similar to how this one learned to use ki as a child.”

“Except that he is not a child.” Miss Kaoru murmured. She frowned thoughtfully, “but his hands, they are always…”

“He does himself quite a bit of harm with the trick, that he does.” Kenshin agreed. “This one told Sano, the last time we saw him, that he should utilize the skill carefully.”

“Good,” Miss Kaoru nodded. Then she jumped off the veranda and straightened to her full height. She looked at him calmly, as if she had just come to a decision. “If Kenji needs help or he wants to learn, we can visit Kyoto. That’s good to know.”

“Oro?”

Kaoru gave him a look. “Hiko.”

“What about Hiko?” Kenshin asked.

“You said that out of all ki-users you have ever met, Hiko’s way to use of ki is the safest, the least risky one.” She explained to him. “So if Kenji needs guidance, or if he wants to learn… our son will have the best. It’s our duty as his parents to provide him with the best changes for the happiness he can get.”

“Oh.” Kenshin paused, suddenly thinking back to his son’s ideas of fun – climbing to the rooftop or any high places he could get to. If someone stopped him or carried him down before he wanted to come, god, his son had lungs to spare. Even the errant thought back to this morning’s screaming session was enough to bring a twinge of pain to his ear. Kenshin rubbed his ear absently. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea. Master seemed quite taken with Kenji the last time we visited, that he did.”

“I knew you would see it my way.” Miss Kaoru smiled at him. “Besides… whatever we could do, having a couple weeks to ourselves, eh?”

“Oro!” He protested, heat rising to his cheek.

She grinned. “And some time… you could tell me about your wandering days. I would love to hear what you got up with during those years on the road.”

“It’s not much of a tale.” He mumbled.

“Rubbish.” She said fondly. “That’s what you said about your years in the revolution and I loved those stories. But I won’t push you, if you truly don’t want to tell.”

“Well, maybe.” He hesitated. “There could be some bits and pieces that could make a story… when there is a good moment for it.”