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severinageto · 4 months ago

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TOXIC (and I love what you do) PART TWO

Suguru found himself getting ready for that night as if it were the red carpet. As had been the tenor of the day, he understood almost nothing of what was happening, except for an intuitive desire to look good. He wore a violet shirt that highlighted his skin and eyes. Tight pants hugged his hips. His nails were impeccably done in black polish. His hair, should it be loose or tied back? He thought about his school days. Satoru seemed to have no preference for how he styled it, only a near-maniacal urge to touch it. To run his fingers through the fine black strands, from the roots to the tips. To comb it before bed, smell it upon waking. To tug it nearly to the point of tearing when he penetrated him, and then to wash it with the delicacy of someone embroidering the details of a wedding dress.

He looked in the mirror. A half ponytail. An intermission. He smiled. He looked really good. He grabbed his bag, called a taxi, and headed down to the lobby.

***

"Shit, this is hard,” Satoru exclaimed, as he looked at the store's ample supply of lubricants. He was ashamed to admit it even to himself, but he had never bought one. That had always been Suguru's job. And that half year without him he hadn't needed to. His sexual encounters with men had been nonexistent.

Another thing that embarrassed him, since he had it on good authority that Suguru had had many, many lovers. Well, if that gossipy Shoko could be called a good source.

He sighed and picked up one of the brand he remembered using. He paid and left the place. He was nervous, too nervous, as if he was ill-prepared for an important mission. Even for his first time he didn't feel like this.

Sure, his first time was spontaneous. Neither of them knew quite what they were doing. They were just two teenagers driven by desire and love.

Love. That was what was missing. No, that was what should be missing. Satoru had been trying to convince himself all afternoon that he didn't love Suguru and that this evening would be pure sex. He had written down all the reasons why he couldn't love the man: he was a jerk, a complete idiot, depraved, a racist, a fascist, he liked curry too much, his adopted daughters were probably biological daughters of Satan, and so on. However, the reason he could love him was as simple as it was corny: it was him. That haughty guy, with that crooked smile and those lukewarm hands that seduced him a couple of hours ago was not Geto Sama, the leader of the Star Vessel. It was Suguru. He knew how mawkish he sounded, but he had seen it in his eyes. Those violet orbs had smiled at him the same way they had years ago, when he'd told him about Digimon or the goodness of psychic-type Pokemon. The same glow, the same shape. An arched eyebrow that seemed to say, “Satoru, you're a jerk,” contrasted with a tender smile that said, “Satoru, even though you're an otaku, I love you,”.

"But he doesn't love you anymore, stupid,” he muttered as he strolled through the mall. Suddenly, he spotted a Nintendo store. He leaned his nose against the display case and looked at the items for sale. A television was showing a game of Mario Kart. He smiled, reddened.

How many times had they fought because of that game?

“You're horrible with Toad, why do you insist, Suguru?”; ‘Because I want to show you that I can beat you with anyone, because it's not about the character, it's about knowing how to drift and using the items well’; ‘It's all that you said plus the character, you'll be stupid, Suguru’; ‘Very well, then beat me once and for all’; ‘How about you shut up?’; ‘Then you shut up, stupid’; ‘Shut me up’; ‘Ha, you know how I'll shut you up’; ‘Do it’.

No, it was better to put it this way: how many times had they fucked thanks to that game?

***

Suguru took a breath before knocking on the door. When he came out of his hotel he felt glorious, self-confident like never before. Yet there, about to meet Satoru again on a date plan, he felt small, tiny. And vulnerable, as vulnerable as he had been before breaking up with him. He swallowed. Maybe being there wasn't such a good idea, maybe the best thing was to turn around and....

"Suguru, come in before we both regret it."

Satoru had opened the door. He was looking at him, leaning on the landing with his arms crossed. He had smelled her scent ever since he entered the hotel. And not only that. Also his insecurity. A short time near him was enough for his six eyes to transform the kind of energy Geto emanated into information. It was like a kind of synchronization. Because of that kind of thing, Satoru sometimes thought he was born to be with him. That and the way he was looking at him at that moment, as if reading his mind.

Suguru, for his part, was extremely annoyed that Gojo had this notion of some sort of predestination over them. All that was nothing but garbage. Sure, he had thought so too, especially after kissing him for the first time, but he had put that foolish belief aside after meeting Toji Fushiguro. If he really was Satoru's destiny, then why had he abandoned him?

He shook his head and felt Gojo's hand. The albino, sensing what the black-haired man was thinking, had grabbed him by the wrist to make him enter his room.

Geto didn't say anything to him. He only looked at him with surprise after seeing that on the table there was a magnificent dinner for two.

"I thought we could eat,” said Gojo, embarrassed.

"Satoru, I came here to get fucked, not to talk."

The albino smiled at him, flirtatiously. The curse handler's frankness had turned him on. However, he was starving.

"I know." He moved closer to Geto's face and, delicately, ran his fingers through his hair. Fuck, how beautiful he was. He put his mouth next to his ear. "Believe me when I tell you that you'll need the energy,” he whispered.

Suguru didn't say anything. He was probably right. He sat down at the table and looked at the dishes.

"Where do I sit?"

"It doesn't matter. They're both the same plates."

Geto had no reason to be upset, because Satoru had no way of knowing that he had become a vegetarian. However, he felt angry.

"Your six eyes didn't notice the kind of proteins my body is synthesizing?” the black-haired man asked wryly.

"What?"

"I've been a vegetarian for over a year."

Satoru felt jaded. So that was Suguru's mood. Behaving like an idiot. He took Geto's plate and removed all the meat from it, leaving only the rice and vegetables. Suguru watched him intently, as he lit a cigarette.

"Well, my six eyes have no way of knowing that, especially considering that the body doesn't make any difference in the type of protein,” said Gojo, lightly. "I'm surprised at you, Geto Sama, that you don't know something so basic."

The curse handler took a deep drag on his cigarette, trying to hide the embarrassment he felt. It was probably the first time Satoru had ever caught him at something like this. How could he have been so stupid? No, not stupid. Impulsive. Even though he didn't want to, the grudge he held against the albino was surfacing. It wasn't the idea. He had gone all the way to that place to be fucked until he couldn't move. Although, Suguru sensed, perhaps fucking from hate could be much better than from love.

Satoru watched him smoke, feeling that dangerous mix of anger and excitement he was dangerously getting used to. He hadn't seen much of Suguru’s unpleasant side. He had left before Suguru turned into the diva sitting across from him. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he remembered that. Suguru had left him. Not just that, but in front of hundreds of strangers. And, of course, everyone found out—there’s no keeping secrets in the world of sorcery. It was pretty humiliating walking around school knowing that the strongest guy didn’t just have a weak spot, but that weak spot decided to kill his own parents and, worse, was a man. He’d had enough trouble accepting his sexuality without being figuratively pointed at in the halls. All thanks to Suguru, who decided to break his heart like that.

The two sorcerers stared at each other, each secretly furious with the other. Suddenly, Satoru stood up, took the cigarette out of Suguru’s mouth, and put it out.

"I’m not interested in fucking with a chimney, even if it’s a vegetarian chimney."

Suguru was stunned. That was weird. When they were together, he’d never cared if Satoru smoked before sex. In fact, he never cared about anything. Suguru could go five days without showering, and Satoru would still take him with the same desire and intensity. Which, in fact, had happened during Suguru’s worst depressive state. Wow, how wrong. That was kind of taking advantage. He smiled, realizing he was turned on. That was wrong. So damn wrong.

He started eating his veggies in silence while watching Satoru, who was doing the same, both wondering what the hell was going through the other idiot’s head.

For Gojo, that he needed to fuck that idiot until he couldn’t breathe.

For Geto, that he needed that imbecile to fuck him into unconsciousness.

"I need a drink". Suguru said, opening the wine. He looked at the label and smiled. "Excellent choice, even for someone who doesn’t drink, Satoru."

Gojo pointed to his glass while swallowing his food.

"Well, today I’m going to have a glass."

Suguru looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You might regret it tomorrow."

"I’ll probably regret it tomorrow, yeah, but not the wine."

“Ouch. Satoru is on a roll,” thought the curse manipulator while filling the albino’s glass.

Gojo downed it in one gulp, and due to his unique brain and the speed at which his neurons made and unmade connections, he got drunk instantly. As a result, he impulsively said:

"Seems like I can’t fucking stand you anymore, Suguru."

Geto looked at him impassively, one hand swirling the wine and the other resting his gorgeous head. Did he expect to feel that? Yeah. Did it hurt to confirm it? Also, yeah. Would he react in any way? No. The wine was delicious, and Satoru being a jerk made it taste even better.

"I’ll leave if you want" he said, making a show of standing up.

"Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you and…"

"So what are you waiting for?"he interrupted with a flirtatious smile, though he was starting to get nervous. He didn’t like the tone Satoru’s rant was taking.

"…doesn’t mean I don’t miss you every fucking second". The albino took a deep breath. "Suguru, I…"

"No, please. Don’t say it. Anything but that."

Gojo took off his bandage slowly. He was drunk and felt that gave him the courage he needed, which he only lacked when it came to Suguru. Maybe he’d never see him again. He needed to get this off his chest, now or never.

"…I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you."

"Satoru! I asked you not to say that!"

"Why don’t you want to hear it, huh?"

Suguru downed the rest of his wine and refilled his glass. His heart was pounding hard. He didn’t expect that, especially not for him to say it. He felt a strange urge to cry. He missed him too. No one understood him like he did, no one saw him like he did, and above all, no one would ever match up to him. Only Satoru.

Yeah, he still loved him too. But he didn’t want to say it. Verbalizing it meant truly feeling it, and Suguru couldn’t handle that at this point in his life.

"You could join me, you know?". He surprised himself by saying, in a very low voice. “Yeah, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. It would actually be beautiful to build the new world together,” he thought, as a sincere smile formed on his face.

Satoru snorted. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. No, it wasn’t the answer he wanted. He was sure (or almost sure) that Geto also loved him. He wouldn’t have bothered being there otherwise.

Or would he? Maybe it was all part of a plan to seduce him and bring him to his side. After all, together they could be invincible, and Suguru knew that better than anyone. If he was on his side, no one would dare lay a finger on him, and the sorcery schools would have no choice but to step aside.

Thinking this made the albino’s blood boil. So he just wanted him for his power, just like the rest of the world. Well, screw that.

He put the bandage back on and said coldly:

"Your utopia? No, it’s not a utopia. Let’s call it a delusional fantasy."

Suguru stared at him for a couple of seconds, blinking slowly. Was he really responding to that nonsense? Didn’t he realize what an honor that was? No, not just that. He was practically asking to get back together. After everything they’d both been through, all the resentment and rage they felt, he, Geto Sama, was willing to give in. Of course, it was always the same with the albino. Suguru had always been the reasonable one, the one who managed to cool Gojo’s passions so he wouldn’t end up smashing someone’s face in or reflecting on a mistake he’d made. And it wasn’t easy. Not even his meditation sessions were as challenging for his patience. Yet, he was willing to take him back. Even after all he hadn’t done. Who the hell did he think he was? Oh right. The magnificent Gojo Satoru.

"Me, delusional? You tried to kill me!" Geto exclaimed, pouring himself more wine. "And I’m sure no big shot was pressuring you at that moment."

Satoru’s anger turned into nervousness. The fact that he had gotten into a fighting stance at that moment was something that haunted him constantly. Yes, he had really considered, for more than a second, killing Suguru before it became an order. He knew Suguru had noticed it, in fact, he had even dared him to do it. But like a kid caught doing his worst prank, he chose to deny it.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Suguru raised an eyebrow and laughed with sarcasm. He couldn’t believe Satoru was pretending not to remember.

"Are you serious? When we broke up. No, when I LEFT you."

Gojo, more nervous than before and knowing it was a bad idea, poured himself more wine. He downed it in one go and then threw the glass on the floor. He really didn’t know how to act. No one, absolutely no one else made him act so erratically.

"YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE STILL A LIAR, GETO SUGURU!"

Geto stood up, furious. He got very close to him, their faces just inches apart.

"Do you dare call me a liar? What was it, huh? Red? Or…purple?"

"YOU WERE TURNED AWAY!". Rage and guilt clouded Satoru’s judgment, and he was no longer keeping track of his volume. "YOU’RE CRAZY!"

"YOU JUST CONTRADICTED YOURSELF! HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN THIS STUPID? I PRACTICALLY BEGGED YOU TO KILL ME!". Geto started pacing around the room, trying to calm down but failing miserably. The urge to hurt the albino at that moment outweighed everything else.

"When have I ever lied to you? Huh?" he continued, in a calm voice. "Or is it that the fact that I stopped loving you hurt your ego so much that you see it as a lie? It was just what I felt. When I loved you, I said it, and it was true every time. Then it stopped being true. That’s all."

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. This day was turning out to be one of the worst and most unpredictable of his life. The swings with Suguru were too much. He felt he couldn’t take it anymore and walked toward the door.

Suguru glared at him with anger. Even though he was having a terrible time, he didn’t want, for anything in the world, for the albino to leave.

"So, your ego is infinite too", he said with irony.

Satoru had opened the door but slammed it shut again.

"You’re calling me egotistical? It was your ego that couldn’t handle the objective fact that I’M the strongest, and that’s why you always resented me! It’s pathetic!". Gojo had never felt so angry. He got into a fighting stance, ready to cast a spell. "Do you want me to do it now? Because you know I CAN AND HAVE TO do it! I’m so superior to you that there’s no chance of me being wrong!"

Suguru yawned dramatically, pretending to be calm when he wasn’t. He was drunk, angry, and confused. Nothing seemed to make sense.

"Do whatever you want. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck."

They stared at each other, both agitated. Gojo remained in his fighting stance. Suddenly, he lowered his guard. He sat back down and covered his face with both hands, distressed.

"Don’t you know everything I’m risking, every second that I let you live?"

"Yes. And I don’t care. After all, it’s your decision."

That was too much for Gojo. He yanked at his bandage with such fury and force that he ended up ripping it.

"YOU’RE A SNAKE! A MONSTER! HOW ARE YOU ANY DIFFERENT FROM THE REST? YOU BROKE ALL YOUR PROMISES! YOU SWORE YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE ME, THAT YOU’D LIVE YOUR LIFE WITH ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT’S BEEN TO START SMILING AGAIN AFTER THAT DISAPPOINTMENT?"

"HA! SHALL WE BE FRANK? FINE! YOU PROMISED ME YOU’D PROTECT ME, THAT YOU’D ALWAYS BE BY MY SIDE! BUT WHEN I NEEDED YOU, WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU ABANDONED ME! YOU DIDN’T EVEN ASK! YOU JUST DECIDED I WASN’T THAT BAD OFF AND LEFT ME ALONE!"

Geto clenched his fists tighter and was breathing heavily. He moved towards Gojo with the intention of hitting him but hesitated when he heard him sobbing. He couldn’t help but remember the last time he saw him like this, alone, in his room, shortly after Haibara’s death. It felt like his soul was melting. He couldn’t stand seeing him like this because, on the rare occasions Satoru cried, he did so with sobs that seemed to come from the darkest place within him.

“I’m tired. I don’t want to keep hurting him,” Suguru thought. He sat down beside him and gently took his hands away from his eyes. He wiped the tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

Gojo smiled. “I should push him away, but this feels… so good.”

"Gross. Your shirt smells like cigarretes."

Geto pushed him away with a laugh and then rested his head on his shoulder. He took one of his hands and began to stroke it.

"You're right. I’m no different from the rest. I’m probably a worse person than you, Satoru". He sighed."Listen. You’re not stupid. You never were. I’m sorry I said that. I don’t believe it at all. You know that, right?"

Satoru smiled warmly.

"I know. And you’re not a monster. I’ve never really thought that."

Suguru snuggled into the six eyes' arms, resting against his chest. Gojo kissed his forehead and then started twirling his finger in Geto’s bangs, just like he used to when they were together.

"We’re a mess, Suguru. There are forces that don’t want us together. You know the bigwigs are hell-bent on me killing you, right? They want to make sure you don’t reincarnate."

"Yeah. I’ve known that since I decided to leave. It’s textbook material, Satoru. I’m not surprised you didn’t know until you had to live through it. You’re all experience, no theory. Some would say you’re lazy", Suguru laughed.

"I’m not lazy! It’s just that studying sorcery never made sense to me. And you know I’m good at everything by default, so what’s the point in studying? Look, the only thing that’s true in our world is that everyone’s a bunch of treacherous rats, hungry for money and whatever other crap."

"And you’re not ? Because I am."

"Yeah, you are. And me? Well, I’m just into eating sweets, remember?"

Geto laughed. He sat up and rested his hands on Satoru’s knees. He stayed like that for a while, thoughtful. Talking about Satoru, or anyone, eventually killing him had brought to mind something he’d been reflecting on for a while.

"Listen. I’m sure this is the last time we’ll see each other without one of us ending up dead. I need to ask you something. And I need you to swear you’ll do it."

"Suguru…"

"When I’m executed…my body, my corpse…give it to Nanako and Mimiko, my girls. I’m all they have."

Gojo turned pale. The way Suguru talked about his death made it feel real, something he didn’t want to happen for anything in the world. Let alone be the one responsible. And, on top of that, what he was asking was completely out of the ordinary.

"Suguru, no. That’s impossible and you know it."

"I need to be taken to a place that only they and I know about. Or I’ll never rest. I’ll be doomed to wander in some subway station or something, trapped for all eternity."

"That’s not even part of your religion; you just made it up."

"No, it’s like that for sorcerers like me. There’s little information, but it’s true. I swear, Satoru. It’s really important to me."

Satoru sighed sadly. He didn’t want to keep talking about this.

"That also means getting involved with Shoko’s work. I can’t do that to her."

"Shoko will understand. Believe me."

"Ieiri is my friend."

"And me? Am I not your friend?"

Gojo suddenly remembered everything Suguru had said that day and felt angry again. He pushed Suguru’s hands off his knees and stood up.

"Are we even something? Do you feel anything for me now?"

Suguru walked over to the table, grabbed the wine bottle, and chugged what was left. He was fed up with Satoru's insecurities. Nothing was ever enough for him. What did he expect? For him to crawl and say he loved him? Hell no. Angry, he threw the bottle at Satoru, who dodged it.

"Enough! Why the hell do you always need so much affirmation from me? You’re Gojo Satoru! Or are you going to deny it? You’re the strongest, you’re basically Anakin Skywalker, the one who brings balance. What do you need? For me to sign my feelings for you in blood? Isn’t it enough that I’m here, risking my life?"

The dark-haired man sat back down, agitated. The truth was, he hated losing his temper like this, but it only happened with Satoru. He was the only one who made him want to hurt someone. He knew it was wrong, but damn it, that’s how it was. Complicated. The only reason he said all that was because he knew Suguru’s approval was the only one that mattered. And that stressed him out. He didn’t want to have that responsibility on his shoulders. All he wanted when he decided to visit him in his room was a moment of peace. To be with him, have sex, and then sleep, even if just for a few minutes, on his chest. Was that too much to ask?

He looked at Gojo, who was staring off into the distance. For a moment, he remembered his girls. He saw the three of them on the beach in Sendai. Hell, he could even put up with Fushiguro’s kid. Playing, happy, like siblings. And the two of them watching, hugging. Like nothing ever happened.

On the other hand, Gojo was hurt but didn’t want to keep crying in front of him. He felt weak, small, something he literally only felt in the aspects of his life related to Suguru. And he hated feeling that way because, in those moments, the finiteness of his existence became tangible. Suguru was right. He was insecure and a hypocrite. He promised he’d protect him, and he couldn’t even help him when he needed it. But what could he do at that moment? They were there driven by desire. Or at least that was the case at first, as now they seemed like a couple that’s been married for forty years and on the verge of divorce.

He wanted to leave Sendai, wanted to break everything. But at the same time, he knew that once he closed that door, he wouldn’t see Geto again. Not like this. Not with the open possibility of touching him, talking to him, and playing with his bangs. So he held back his feelings, because the pain of his absence was far worse than the pain from his wounds.

Geto snapped out of his fantasy. He looked at Gojo and saw him more vulnerable than ever. He felt terrible. He never said it, but he hated seeing him like this. Part of it embarrassed him, and part of it felt like it was his own pain, or even worse.

He felt overheated. It was the alcohol, combined with the coast and the excitement of being there with him. He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Yes, that was just what he needed.

The albino, seeing this and not knowing why, followed him.

"Satoru...” he muttered, ”I'm exhausted. I don't want to argue anymore. The truth is, I really thought there was a chance I could take you with me. I miss you. Every fucking day, I miss you."

"Suguru, you have no idea how much I think about you. Look." He took something out of his pocket. "Look what I have."

Geto looked at it curiously and then smiled tenderly, on the verge of tears. It was a small Toad keychain.

"I bought it this afternoon. I don't know if you really remember, but..."

Gojo didn't get to finish speaking, as Suguru silenced him with a kiss. Satoru kissed him back, and then grabbed his hair and loosened his bun. Then he took off the top of his clothes and pushed him into the shower. Geto just let him do it. He didn't want to resist. Satoru got in with him and cornered him against the wall with his arms.

"Let's get this shit off our backs, Suguru. Since it's the last time, let's make it count."

He kissed him, first on the mouth, then on the neck.

Suddenly, Suguru grabbed Satoru by the arms and pinned him down. He pulled down his pants. He licked his neck and, slowly, began to stick the tips of his long fingers into his anus.

"Suguru...” Satoru smiled, excited. "You're a cheater."

"We didn't do it so much like that, huh? But I seem to remember you enjoyed it like the bitch you are."

Satoru, his penis hard as a rock, tried to get loose, but he couldn't. He didn't want to, rather.

"Are you going to talk to me like that?"

"Are you going to let me talk to you like that? Tell me: aren't you a bitch?"

Gojo laughed and again tried to turn around. Suguru stuck his tongue in his ear. Then he ran it over his lips. Gojo stuck out his to kiss him, but Geto pulled away.

"Suguru...you've changed."

"Oh, honey. You have no idea."

Geto pressed him harder against the wall; he kept fingering him. He smiled as he spotted the lube on the bathroom cabinet.

Satoru began to wiggle his ass backwards, searching for the black-haired man's penis.

"Are you ready? Do you want me to stick it in you?"

"Oh...Suguru...don't be an idiot. Do it, quick."

Suguru pulled his fingers out and pulled away.

"You're not going to order me around,” he grabbed him by the white hair and forcefully pulled him toward him. ”Or are you?"

Satoru was literally on fire. He felt drunk, not only because of the alcohol, but Suguru's smell electrified his whole body.

"No... put it in me. Just... put it in me."

Suguru moved closer again. He put his penis close to Satoru's ass, making sure he felt it in all its greatness, and began to put lube on it. He turned on the shower more, letting the hot water soak him. Then, he whispered in his ear.

"Say please."

Gojo could hardly speak anymore from excitement. All that came out of him were moans.

"Put it in me...please, Suguru. Put it in me. I beg you."

"You're such a bitch, Satoru."

Geto grabbed him by the waist and thrust in, hard. Satoru, dizzy with pleasure, didn't moan, but screamed. He couldn't even tell him to stop or go on, no. His body could not generate a sound other than those howls that could easily have been of suffering.

But they weren't. Rarely did Satoru let himself be penetrated, but not because he disliked it. In fact, only Suguru had that privilege, only the black-haired man was able to achieve that craving, so he had not felt that glory in his prostate for a year and a half. The heat of the shower, with that of his body and his sweat kept him in a perpetual hot flash that felt devilishly good. After a couple of minutes, he couldn't hold it in any longer. His back arched and his cum painted the wall.

Suguru stroked his back delicately and Satoru turned around. He looked for a couple of seconds into his purple eyes and, seeing them smiling back at him, smothered him with a passionate kiss.

“Wow, Satoru...I still...” said Suguru, indicating his erect penis.

"Do you think that after all this time that's going to be all?"

The albino took Suguru in his arms and carried him back to the room. He laid the curse handler's body on the table where they had eaten dinner, throwing everything away. Suguru laughed, as his penis hardened even more. Satoru, without any warning, shoved two of his full fingers into the black-haired man's hole.

"Ouch", whispered Geto, playfully.

"You're ready. And I'm going to fuck you like an animal."

"Tsk...Satoru...you don't have to warn..."

Gojo lifted Suguru's warm, wet hips and penetrated him, as deep as their hyperlax bodies would allow.

"Satoru...you're...you're a fucker", Suguru laughed, as he stuck his tongue out at him.

Gojo slipped his into his mouth. Then he bit his neck, taking the opportunity to inhale his scent. Suguru did the same, drowning his nose in his white hair. Synesthesia was a privilege of few and, in general, all colors smelled good, but Satoru's simply had no comparison. Suguru felt able to go to war over the scent of purple emanating from the albino's skull. He took a lock of the white hair, which glowed purplish in the dark, and pulled it out. Satoru laughed, like a madman and began to lick his nipples, while he penetrated him with perfect rhythm and smiled mischievously at him.

My god, how beautiful he was, how had he left that wonderful creature? Nothing compared to the white hair clinging to his skin, his cheeks flushed with sweat, and those light blue eyes watering with pure pleasure.

And that penis. That glorious penis.

"Do you want it?" Satoru said, sensing what was going through the black-haired man's head.

"Yes."

"Me first."

Gojo, quickly and with the same contradictory mix of strength and gentleness that drove him crazy, sat Suguru down and took his wet, veiny penis into his mouth. Suguru, weak from the surprise and excitement he had been feeling, couldn't hold anything in. A couple of flicks of the albino's deft tongue were all it took for the curse-handler to expel, along with the most melodic moan Gojo had ever heard, all of his semen into the six-eyed man's mouth.

Satoru dug his nails into his hips and grinned at him, still holding Suguru's magnificent cock in his mouth. Some of the liquid was trickling out of the corner of his lips.

"You're not going to swallow it?"

Satoru gladly swallowed Geto's semen. It tasted as good as ever.

He grabbed Suguru's face tightly and kissed him, choking him with his long tongue in his slick throat.

"I'm a crazy little bitch, don't you remember?"

Suguru laughed out loud.

"Of course I remember. I'll never forget. I haven't stopped thinking about you like that, even when I've been with other people."

Satoru looked at him in surprise. What a day. He hadn't expected to be the image Suguru used to fuck other people.

Suguru arched an eyebrow.

"Have you been all this time without...?"

"Of course not. But...". He pulled the black-haired man back to him and squeezed his hardened nipples. "...no one turns me on like you do, Suguru. There's no one as sexy. So I haven't been particularly interested in anyone else, see?"

Satoru grabbed Suguru's member and began to fiddle with it.

"Hard again. Looks like I'm not the only little bitch,” the albino added.

"No. You're not the only bitch,” Suguru said as he put his hands on Gojo's crotch and began to masturbate him. "I warn you: I could go on all night."

Satoru was breathing heavily, as he stroked the back of the curse handler. He fixed his eyes on those manly shoulders, wet with sweat and dyed black by his jet-black hair. He could go on all night, too. In fact, he could keep fucking Suguru all his fucking life.

"Is it a competition?"

"I always liked playing with you, Satoru. And against you,” Suguru replied as he put his face between the six-eyed man's legs.

Gojo grabbed him by the hair and pulled him hard, pulling him away from his cock. That was his favorite game.

"I could fuck you 'till I die."

Suguru laughed, with pleasure. No one else would pull his hair. No one would even dare to ask, but Satoru....

Satoru could do anything he wanted to him.

"This...ha. It's my weak spot. You know that. You're the cheater...oh, you damn albino."

Satoru grinned and pulled his hair harder, to the point of arching his back. He licked his lips at the sight of the beautiful curve the black-haired man's body formed.

"Now you beg."

Suguru stuck his tongue out at him, mischievous.

"No. Never."

Satoru pulled his hair again.

"Beg me or I won't feed you."

Suguru thought he was going to cum on his own because he was so turned on by Satoru pulling his hair, but he wasn't going to give in.

"I...I told you that...oh, Satoru. I told you no."

"I'll punish you, then."

Gojo pulled his hair violently and held a small lock in his hand. Suguru, feeling it, cried out, in a mixture of pain and pleasure. For the second time in the evening he realized that Satoru mistreating him unlocked pleasures he had never felt before.

The curse manipulator rejoined him, pushed the albino onto the bed and sat on top of him.

"Hey, It hurt,” he said as he tied his hair back.

"So?"

"Do you want to know how it feels?"

Satoru looked at him piercingly. Suddenly, his countenance darkened. He had come back to reality for an instant.

"You hurt me already, Suguru. Always."

Hearing that, Suguru's expression changed as well.

"Don't think It doesn't hurt me too, Satoru."

"You're so beautiful, Suguru."

Gojo caressed his cheeks. Geto took his hands and left them on his face for a moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply. He wanted to remember that moment forever.

Suddenly, Gojo kissed him passionately.

"Let's not think about that now. Just...". He buried his nails in the black-haired man's buttocks again, and then spanked him with a spank that would leave his big hand scarred"...Make me suffer in another way, honey."

Suguru laughed and then bit his neck, drawing blood. He licked at this one, running his tongue over his elegant lips. Then, he put both hands around the albino's neck, and began to ride him slowly.

"Like this?"

"Take...take my breath away."

Satoru was overcome with a pleasure almost impossible to describe, which tensed his muscles like never before. He felt adrenaline building in his chest and at the base of his penis. Suguru clenched his hands tighter and the albino's half-closed eyes, along with a grimace begging for air, brought him closer and closer to his zenith. Suddenly, Satoru scratched the black-haired man's buttocks so hard that a small trickle of blood came out of them. Suguru, feeling the burning that the albino's scratch brought with it, became even more aroused and continued to ride him with a speed and eagerness to feel Satoru's member that could only be compared to that of a thirsty man looking at a cold pitcher of water.

Suddenly, Satoru pulled out of him and ejaculated like never before, leaving Suguru's chest and stomach covered with his liquid. Gojo, seeing that his partner still wasn't cuming, came over and kissed him passionately while masturbating him. They stayed like that, lost in the sound of moaning and their skin rubbing against each other, until the violent grip of Suguru's hand on the albino's shoulder made him realize that the black-haired man had reached orgasm.

They both remained sitting on the floor, looking at each other and breathing hard. At the same time, they realized the mess they had left in the room and, also at the same time, laughed.

"We're pigs,” said Suguru.

"Bah, how else could the strongest fuck, huh?", said the albino throwing a pillow at him.

They laughed again. They looked at each other, complicit. Satoru approached Geto and kissed him on the cheek.

"What did I tell you? 'Till I die,” he said as he put the black-haired man's hands on his crotch, so Suguru could feel his new erection. "What about you?"

"Always."

***

Many hours later, when it was almost dawn, Gojo watched Geto sleep. He stroked his hair, gently. Suddenly, he looked at the time and rubbed his eyes. He sighed and sat on the balcony, watching the sea. His mind was blank, focused only on feeling that moment. A small tear peeked out of his left eye.

He stood up resolutely and took out a sheet of paper and a pencil from his bag. He began to write. Once he finished, he watched him sleep for a while longer. He caressed a lock of his hair delicately and, in the same way, left what he had written on his pillow. He picked up his torn bandage, his purse and walked to the door. He stopped, hesitantly, and returned to the bed. He kissed Suguru on the forehead, deposited what was left of his bandage on the bedside table and left.

No sooner had Satoru gotten into the academy car than Suguru awoke. He was disconcerted to realize that the albino was gone, and felt like vomiting when he saw the envelope with the letter.

With his heart pounding, he began to read.

"Suguru:

When you read this, I'll be back in Tokyo, and I hope you'll understand that I can't be with you. Not just because I shouldn't, but because I don't want to. Our paths aren't the same. Our ideals aren't either. Maybe they never were. Remember how we used to argue about that? That's why you broke up with me. It was the right thing to do, and I respect it.

I want you to know that I know you go to that place every now and then. Your trace is basically the same, but sometimes something changes. When I figured that out, I started visiting that station more. It was like seeing you, in a way. I know you’ve seen me there. I’ve seen you too. It was our way of reconnecting, of knowing we thought of each other. Believe me, the thought of you often kept me going. But I can't do it anymore. I have a kid to take care of, and due to circumstances beyond my control, he knows who you are and what you've done. If he found out about what we were... no, what we still are to each other, he'd never trust me again. And I can't do that to him. I know you understand. So, please, don’t do anything like what happened these past days. Don’t come after curses that I’ll have to exorcise, because I can’t see you again. It was horrible and beautiful at the same time, but going from saying we never loved each other, to trying to kill each other, to almost sleeping together, to hating each other again, and then spending the whole night together… it’s a rollercoaster I can’t handle. And I don’t want to. It’s truly impossible for us to be together again; those years are gone. Saying goodbye today is as painful as it was that day.

I need to focus on what I want to do with my life, and for that, I need to try living without the painful longing to find you. I need us to leave each other in peace."

Suguru crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash. He kicked the furniture around, making an even bigger mess. He grabbed his bag, put on his Gojo kesa, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

However, in his rage and pain, Suguru didn’t notice that the letter continued on another page, and there was something else in the envelope. Three polaroid photos of the two of them: one in a field, taken by Haibara; one at school, taken by Shoko; and one in Okinawa, taken by Riko. In each one, they were looking at each other like fools, in love. Immersed in each other, as if there was nothing and no one else around.

The letter continued:

"I want you to have these photos of us. No, they’re not the only ones I have, but they’re the ones I always carry with me. Because that’s how I like to remember us: in love. No matter how much crap we said last night, we both know the truth: I was born to find you, and you were born to find me. Life threw us some bad breaks. We got through most of them, but the final one is unbeatable.

I’ll take care of what you asked me because I love you, Suguru. I said it a thousand times, and it was always real; today it still is. I love you from the first moment I saw you, with your bangs. And I’ll never love anyone else. Not like this. You’re my only special person. No matter what anyone says: there will never be anything more than your love. No memory compares to your touch, your look, your voice calling me by my name.

Forgive me for leaving like this.

Forgive me for not being the partner you needed.

Forgive me, already, for killing you.

Yours, always.

Satoru.

PS: If I could, I’d go with you after that eclipse. I’d stay with you until death came for us.

You’re beautiful, Suguru."

————————————————————-

(Tysm if you read it all! It means a lot!)

If someone knows the artist please tell me so I can give credit 🙏🏻

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nailsupplyblog · 2 years ago

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Everybody Should Own These 5 Nail Care Products

To maintain the health and aesthetics of your nails, you must follow a nail care regimen. You may have wonderful-feeling hands and healthy hands with just a few best nail supply store near me basic things! If you're curious, have a look at this list of the top five nail care items everyone needs.

Good nail clippers

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Fingernail and foot files

You should file your nails after clipping them, though. Another crucial item that encourages healthy skin and nails are nail and foot files. Start by using foot files to remove dead skin and improve circulation on your heels and sides of feet. Nail files are also a gentle way to shape and grind the edges of your nails. To make sure you always have foot files on hand, you can buy pedicure files in bulk from wholesale suppliers.

Base Coat Polish

Apply a base coat first, then paint your nails. However, manicures aren't the only thing that use base coat polish. Base coats are advantageous to the health of your nails since they serve as a protective barrier and stop nail polish's chemicals from penetrating into your nail beds. Base layer polish also prevents dryness and brittleness while preserving the natural hydration of the nail.

Curticle Oil

Cuticle oil will help your nails grow stronger, thicker, and healthier. Applying cuticle oil helps healthy nails by promoting circulation and stimulating nail growth. To assist your nails get better, use this product every day. In order for your nails to absorb the nourishment, gently massage the oil into your cuticles.

Glove Cream

Healthy hands are the key to having strong nails. Are you aware that the skin around your nails is delicate, prone to dryness, and even prone to peeling? Because dirt and germs may enter the nail beds and cause infections, this may harm the health of your nails. But you may avoid this by spending money on a quality hand cream that hydrates the skin surrounding your nails. Almond oil, flaxseed, and argon are among the components included in hand creams that promote hydration and nourishment.

We sincerely hope that our nail extension products shop near me list of the top five nail care items you should own proved helpful. If you’re looking for nail products such as foot files, nail polishes, and prep tools, you should consider Nail Company Wholesale Supply. A variety of nail products are available from us.

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minnailart · 1 year ago

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A REVIEW OF THE TOP 10 NAIL HARDENERS FOR 2023

When you want to keep your nails neatly manicured with the knowledge that they won't get brittle, broken, or yellow over time, you need to have nails that are strong, lustrous, and well-protected. If you enjoy using various nail bubble bath nail polish paints and nail art, nail hardeners ensure that your nails are kept strong and protected from breakage.

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The Top 10 Nail Hardeners

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PERFECT FORMULA TONGUE HARDENER

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It keeps the nails looking healthy nail supply store near me and keeping them strong and bright. The nail hardener ensures that manicures last longer and that your nails continue to look healthy. With a silky shine and finish that lasts longer, it is simple to apply and won't be messy.

Polish Strengthener PS

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ALMICA QUIMICA Nitrile Rubber

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Garlic Nail Developer Hardener by Nutrine

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kennynailtech · 1 year ago

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Tips for Applying Nail Polish Correctly

Nothing makes us happier than a new manicure, but even if you don't have time to run to the salon, there are a few crucial actions you can take to keep your nails looking their best.

1. How do you put on nail polish?

Applying nail polish normally entails applying a base coat, two coats of color to provide complete coverage, and one layer of top coat to ensure durability and sheen. The best nail wholesales DIY nail polish system is OPI Nail Lacquer, which enables color expression with vogue and recognizable hues. Make sure to properly prepare your nails before you start, and make sure to get rid of any residual nail polish. To begin, apply OPI Natural Nail Base Coat in one coat and allow it to dry.

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OPI Natural Nail Strengthener is unbeatable by weak nails. Use in place of Natural Nail Base Coat to provide weak nails with the additional strength they need.

3. The center of the nail with nail paint

In order to avoid flooding your cuticle, it is better to apply nail polish color down the center of the nail. Next, work your way along the nail's sides, and as a last step, make sure to cap the free edge. Apply the color in two coats, letting each one dry in between. OPI Pro Tip: When painting very short nails, cap the free edge first by pressing down on the skin in the opposite direction of the edge. Apply the remaining nail polish as usual after that.

4. How to use glitter nail polish

Want to make a statement? To ensure that the glitter is evenly distributed when applying chunky glitter nail paint, dab the polish on in a circular motion. In order to get complete coverage, use two coats of glitter.

5. When is my nail polish going to be dry?

Each nail polish coat will have lost a little bit of its luster when it is sufficiently dried, letting you know. The final step to obtaining glossy, high-shine nails is to apply 1 layer of OPI Top layer, so do not be alarmed.

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To keep the matte finish's best nail supply store near me desired appearance, be careful not to add another top coat layer on top of it.

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thaonailart · 1 year ago

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Nails Extended While Pregnant?

When pregnant, which is such a delicate and precious time, is it still feasible to take care of our nails by using a gel nail extension procedure? This new section nail supply stores near me of our Nail Artist Blog deepens our discussion on it.Thank you for reading!

Nails Extended While Pregnant? Here is a fantastic subject that our pregnant customers frequently ask us, so we thought it would be helpful to address it in-depth in our nails blog.

Unlike a Classic Manicure with Traditional Nail Polish, which only allows us to be flawless for a few days, Nails Extension is a "activity" that enables us to have our hands perfectly in order for entire weeks. This means that we can avoid worrying about touch-ups for out-of-order Hands and Feet! Women who can't resist this tiny aesthetic cuddle are becoming more and more common, which is understandable.

This subject seems to be of even greater importance during pregnancy: among the numerous tasks of this especially special time, the future mothers appear to be even more uplifted by the knowledge that their hands and feet will remain flawless for a very long time.

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The first question on the minds of all pregnant customers, however, is undoubtedly related to the safety of Gel Nail Extension at such a sensitive time: are there any contraindications? Can it be harmful to a baby's health?

There are a lot of questions, and we're here to try to answer some of them while also providing some brief clarifications. The first thing that needs to be said is that getting gel nail extensions while pregnant is NOT harmful, but we can only say so after taking certain things into account!

Because the nail supplies utilized during nail extension operations don't come into touch with the skin or mucous membranes, they aren't dangerous in and of themselves. As a result, our bodies aren't exposed to them.

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It is possible that the unique hormonal conditions experienced by our bodies during pregnancy could affect the ideal seal of the Gel Nails Supplies during the Extension. As a result, it is normal to experience a lower seal during these months compared to what is typically experienced.

For some specific products, like as the Primer and the Nail Prep, it is necessary to make one more little clarification. These products do, in fact, have an alcoholic component, and they could inadvertently come into touch with alcohol.

#nail polish #nailstyle #cute nails #nailpolish #long nails #nailsoftheday #acrylic nails #nail art #naildesign #nail design

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wolfythewitch · 2 years ago

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hello I saw that you started painting your nails and I wanted to let you know other interesting ways you could make neat designs:

- acrylic paint, first is easier to paint and corect with it than nail polish. you paint the nails normally and that with acrylic you do the design, now it does have to be in a thin layer so it will not chip and use a good top coat

- watercolor, is preferable to paint over white nail polish and the trick is to get a really fine nail file so the nail polish will become opaque and the watercolor will stay on it and again finish with top coat

of course you can use gels and more professional things for maybe better results but as someone who enjoys painting theyre nails with regular polish I found this things working for me without buying other stuff, and yeah help you if you already have paint supplies

also I cannot recommend enough a top coat that says instant dry on them because it will actually help to not ruin them accidentally when you start doing stuff. a cheap one that I use is the Sally Hansen insta-dri in a red bottle (but I do not recommend other products from them) and I'm sure that you could find something in a drug store near you

Your nails are nice and I hope I didn't scare you with such a long message <3

Hewwo just woke up so I won't really have a coheent response to this but noted! Honestly I don't really have the proper brushes rn I just ruined one of my painting brushes but I will keep in mind :D ty

#wolfy tedtalks #anon

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years ago

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Here is the first one

Second :D

And last..he's looking at you 👀💦

ALRIGHT you know WHAT—

There’s…a lot going on here. So much so, that I have decided to create

CONTEXT

for these three images that is

COMPLETELY FAKE

because I think it’ll be a fun writing exercise. kind of a cringe move on my part, but consider: i have fun making up ridiculous lies about characters who don’t exist in real life.

(which is how I’m treating these, by the way. yes, they are pictures of kaneko nobuaki, but for my purposes, they are NOT actually him. they are distinct fictional characters who are not real.)

so if you’re feeling adventurous skip below the cut and watch me break it down:

Image 1: Accidental “Date” Makes Cousin’s Wedding Less Terrible Than Originally Expected

The year is 1999. Your cousin (who you are not particularly close to) is getting married…on a cruise ship. Your mother insists you attend. You insist upon spending 90% of your time sipping margaritas on the deck and flipping through the latest issue of Marie Claire while trying desperately not to think about the fact that you are surrounded by nothing but open ocean.

One of the (very drunk) bridesmaids tries to toss you a beach ball because you have been, and I quote: like, a total bummer this whole time. She misses. It hits the person next to you in the face. Great. Awesome. You think: well now who’s being, like, a total bummer?

Luckily the person who got hit in the face laughs the entire thing off. He says your friends seem…’lively.’ You say that’s pretty rich coming from a guy who looks like a rejected member of ‘The Clash.’ He insists that he left them, not the other way around.

You slip into conversation. You tell him that you’re here for a wedding. He offers his condolences. You accept them. He says he actually likes weddings—something about two people making a life-changing commitment speaks to him on a soul-level. That and the open bar, of course.

You suggest he crash the wedding. He says he’s not sure if he can make it—there’s a shuffleboard tournament that evening that he would just hate to miss, plus the latest issue of Soap Opera Digest is waiting on his bedside table just begging to be opened. You say that’s perfectly understandable, but, if he suddenly finds himself caught up on the latest All My Children gossip, he can meet you back here at four.

Surprise, surprise: he shows up. He’s wearing the same shirt he was before, but buttoned up this time—and with one of the most hideous neckties you’ve ever seen, which he apparently borrowed from the kind old man next door. Instead of complimenting his attire (because it is truly un-compliment-able), you take the opportunity to mention that this is a Titanic-themed wedding. He says that having a Titanic-themed wedding on a cruise ship is “kind of fucked up” and you solemnly agree.

Everyone is very surprised and pleased to see that you’ve brought a date—even the bride, who tells you that you’re “just like Jack and Rose.” You agree, much to her delight…until you say that, if the ship goes down, you also won’t share the door and let him freeze to death in the icy water. He insists he’d be the guy who jumps off the ship and hits his leg on the propellor—that’s his favorite part of the whole movie, and it’d be an honor to re-enact the scene.

The wedding is…a wedding. Vows, toasts, pictures—and you’re sipping champagne through the entire thing. The two of you spend the evening getting completely wasted and telling everyone a different story about just who your ‘mystery date’ is. Highlights include: the captain’s unruly son whose been tasked with following in his father’s sea-faring footsteps; professional cave-diver who discovered a new species of slug and is spending his reward money on a nice vacation; head of marketing who gives all those clever names to the nail polishes at OPI; the guy who folds everyone’s towels into animal shapes.

You end up where you started: on neighboring lounge chairs, with a margarita, and talking to this stranger who has recently crossed into “acquaintance” territory. You chat about how “My Heart Will Go On” is actually a good song, and he promises not to tell anyone that you said that. He also says that this is the best Titanic-themed cruise ship wedding he’s ever been to, and he can’t wait until somebody decides to do Jaws.

Eventually, you both stagger back to your rooms with promises of seeing each other at breakfast. Unfortunately, you have the worst hangover of your life the next morning and even the thought of ‘breakfast’ makes you want to roll over and die, so you don’t manage to stumble out of bed until it’s time to disembark.

You see him at port, and you each offer each other a little wave before going your separate ways. Six weeks later, you get a Polaroid of the two of you together, sitting at the bar and laughing at something that must have been very, very hilarious.

You don’t remember most of what happened that night, but you remember it was not as terrible as it could have been.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 2: Extremely Weird Guy On The Street Has You Questioning Your Sanity

It’s 6:00 in the morning—a truly terrible time to be awake, but a necessary evil. Your flight leaves at 10, and since it’s an international thing, you want to make sure you get there in plenty of time to get to your gate (and maybe sample all the fancy perfumes you can’t afford at one of those high-end stores that are always in airports.)

The streets are mostly empty, save for a few random pedestrians and a handful of passed-out salarymen snoozing on the curb. The sky a rainy gray-blue as the sun tries to rise behind the springtime cloud cover—it’s no doubt going to be another dismal day, as is common during this time of year. Hopefully there’s not too much turbulence on your flight…

You stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the little walking man signal to show up on the light across the way. You’re soon joined by another person—a man in a soft-looking jacket who supplies you with a small “good morning” bob of his head. You respond in kind, throwing in a small smile for good measure. It’s nice that he too understands that it’s entirely too early to be having any kind of conversation, even if it is just a simple verbal greeting between strangers on a street corner.

The light changes, and you both begin your trek across the street. Your fellow walker is faster than you—or, more likely, has longer legs and, ergo, a longer stride than your own—and is nearly halfway across by the time you get your wheeled suitcase over the curb. He seems decent enough. You hope he’s going somewhere nice.

It’s then that you make the mistake of looking up. It would have been much better if you had just continued watching the white painted lines on the road and thinking about how it reminds you of piano keys—and how you hated the six months of piano lessons your parents forced you to take in the first grade.

But no. You noticed someone walking towards you, and you just had to look up.

The first thing you notice is a rainbow tie-dye shirt. The second thing you notice is that the rainbow tie-dye shirt is on a very cheerful looking gentleman, who seemed to be bobbing his head in time with a song only he could hear.

The third thing you notice—and this one’s the real kicker—is the large blue-and-green reptile sitting on his shoulder. It’s bulging eyes are hooded in pleasure as it’s red-pink tongue darts out to eat the green something—maybe a grape or a small piece of melon?—from the rainbow tie-dye man’s hand. It is nothing short of a spectacle, honestly, and you feel a piece of your sanity evaporate.

The rainbow tie-dye man continues on, uncaring of your confused stare at his strange pet. You even turn around to make sure that you weren’t somehow hallucinating, and sure enough, there is definitely some kind of creature draped over this stranger’s shoulder. It’s tail even sways in time with the man’s steps, which is both cute and confusing.

Because it would not do to stand in the middle of the street all day, considering the existence of rainbow tie-dye man and his exotic pet, you do the only thing you can do: turn back around and continue on your journey. You need a coffee. Maybe with an extra shot of espresso, after witnessing whatever the hell that was. Something to set you right again.

“Was that…?”

The other man—the soft-coat long-stride one—is speaking low enough as to not draw attention, but loud enough for you to hear as you make your way towards the sidewalk. His expression reads ‘concerned, but trying not to show it’ which you suppose is the polite and mature way of handling the situation.

“…an iguana? Yeah,” you answer him, “I saw it too.”

The man’s brow furrows. His mouth puckers into a small frown as he considers…well, something.

“…Okay, then,” he concludes, shrugging his shoulders, “Hell of a way to start the day.”

“Yeah.”

And you both continue on your way. He turns left at the next intersection, you turn right—but even though your paths may now be different, you will forever share an unbreakable bond over the fantastical sight you’ve witnessed today.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 3: Near Death Experience At Open Mic Night

You are not a poet.

Well, not professionally, anyways. You’ve been known to dabble in the written word, often scribbling little snippets of rhyme in a notebook over your lunch break or tapping a verse or two into the notes app on your phone. It a kind of outlet, you suppose—a way to keep the creative energy that bubbles inside of you from boiling over.

It’s also worth mentioning that you are not a confident public speaker. Not since that unfortunate incident in the third grade where you forgot the single line you had in the school play and ran off stage, tears streaming down your face and—actually, no, you’re not going to think about that right now. Or ever again, hopefully.

So when your (tipsy) coworkers decide that it’s a good idea to push you onto the stage at the local dive bar’s open mic night—while shouting at you to “read the one about the night-blooming jasmine”—you freeze up. There are at least seven strangers staring at you, expectation rising with every passing second of your inaction. It’s nerve-wracking in the way that the third-grade incident was not, and you gulp against the nervousness that rises in your throat.

Shaking hands scroll frantically through your phone, looking for the requested poem—and after a few agonizing moments, you manage to find it. Your voice cracks rather embarrassingly as you begin to read, trying your damndest to get the words out right so you can slink back to the bar and drown the rest of the night in Chardonnay.

Everything is going well—or, at least, as well as can be expected—until you notice that the room is suddenly feeling very hot. That’s the last coherent thought you have before the room goes dark and everything falls silent.

Next thing you know, you’re staring at the ceiling. A man who you do not know is leaning over you, and his mouth is moving—oh, he’s probably trying to say something to you, but it’s very difficult to tell what he’s saying over the throbbing pain in the back of your head.

You ask him if you’re dead. It’s a possibility after all, that you’ve somehow died and landed yourself in some kind of special public-speaking hell. That’s what this feels like, anyways.

The man says no, you are not dead. You say ‘dammit’ in response. He tries to hold back laughter, offering to help you up by extending his hand. You take it and—ouch, ugh, ew, going from laying to standing is not a fun experience.

You thank him (albeit awkwardly) for helping you up, and he insists that ‘it’s cool.’ Passing out in front of an audience is not even remotely cool, but you nod and thank him again, anyways.

Before you’re able to converse with the helpful stranger any further, your coworkers have come to collect you. You are whisked away by someone from accounting, who offers to escort you home—an offer you gladly accept, very excited to leave the site of your failure behind you.

Safe to say, you never go back to that particular bar again.

#writings and such #thought you’d get me with a thirst post WELL I JUST THREW DOWN AN UNO REVERSE CARD BAYBEEEEE #‘he’s looking at you’ YOU TRYNA MAKE ME BLUSH CUZ ITS WORKIN OKAY???#fun fact: the second one was inspired by MULTIPLE real-life events #can’t wait to wake up tomorrow morning and regret this <3

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undeadsnorlax · 3 years ago

Text

Alone at Midnight, Inside My Mind

@badthingshappenbingo

Ao3 Link

Bingo Card

using the prompt in a metaphorical sense, as opposed to the medical aid sense

Prompt: Crutches

Fandom: Yakuza/Ryu Ga Gotoku

Warnings: a lot of alcohol related issues, including addiction and withdrawal, some suicidal thoughts and body image issues, hurt/no comfort. set pre-Yakuza 2.

Wordcount: 5511

2pm. He could tell it was because his downstairs neighbour was home, attending to the array of plant pots she kept littered outside her door, and playing music on the radio that bled through the crack of the open window.

Daigo squinted in the afternoon light that managed to make its way through the blinds, groaning loudly.

“Fucking hell…”

Suppose now was as good a time as any to start the day. Especially when he felt his stomach rumble.

It took some effort to get to his feet, but soon he was dragging himself into the kitchen, yawning loudly. He needed something quick and tasty, now.

The fridge had nothing but convenience store sushi and days old leftover curry. The cupboards were also pretty bare, half a bag of rice and a ramen cup.

Daigo sighed heavily, setting his kettle to boil before grabbing the sushi. He stuffed a piece into his mouth, wrinkling his nose at the taste of stale rice but ate another without any complaint.

Head to the store. Get some more food, he thought, holding the ramen cup in place as he lifted up the kettle.

The water splashed on the counter a little, narrowly missing burning his fingers, making him forcefully slam the kettle back down once the cup was filled.

Daigo gripped the sides of the counter, closing his eyes as he felt a pulse of nausea rush through his body. If he forced the tension against the surface hard enough, he could stop his hands shaking for just a moment.

Eat noodles. Have a shower. Go to the store.

Opening his eyes again, he ate another piece of sushi, absolutely no taste on his tongue as he chewed it into mush, before taking his ramen into the living room.

He slumped down on the couch, turning the TV on and forced the food down him. He still felt nauseous, but he knew he wouldn’t actually vomit. He already had last night. Doubled over in a bush outside the train station and puked his guts out, despite not having much solids in him. Even now his throat felt sore from it. Classy.

He wasn’t even hungry, really. He was eating out of obligation, feeling his stomach gurgle happily at finally being filled with some kind of food.

As he ate, he noticed his cell phone on the table in front of him, discarded amongst the empty bottles and candy wrappers. It was flashing.

Daigo frowned, reaching over and flipping it open.

Three new answer machine messages.

Who the hell had tried calling him?

Message one - 9:25am

“Daigo, it’s your mother. Pick up.”

Message two - 9:43am

“Me again. Please answer your phone.”

Message three - 10:08am

“Daigo...it’s Mom-“

Daigo groaned, snapping his phone shut to end the messages. Nope! He was not dealing with this today.

He discarded the empty ramen cup and chopsticks with the rest of the trash on the table, storming towards the bathroom.

Shower on, clothes off. He used the toilet as the water heated up, catching the reflection of his upper half in the mirror as he finished.

“Hrmph.”

He ran a hand down his front, resting it on the middle of his stomach and huffed again.

His weight had been up and down the last ten years, though it had obviously settled during his stint in prison, with its shit food and no alcohol. Now that he was out, with all the freedom to indulge in every last inch of hedonism he could find though, he had developed a bit of a gut. Just a bump, but it was…noticeable, it was there. It stuck out.

No surprise really. How much did he drink last night again?

Enough I puked in a bush.

Daigo shifted on his feet, standing up a bit straighter and sucking his stomach in. It didn’t make much difference. He suddenly wondered how visible it was under his t-shirt, glad he usually wore a thick coat to hide himself in.

“Great,” he growled, stepping into the shower. Another thing to feel insecure about.

He stood there, forehead pressed against the wall as he let the water run down the Fudo Myoo on his back.

His hand started shaking again.

“Give me a break,” he said, clasping it to his chest, “A few hours, a day.”

He dried himself off, going back to his bedroom for a clean shirt and pair of jeans – both black, of course.

He also grabbed a heavy hoodie to wear to the store, a way to feel a little more comfortable in himself in a public place.

Wallet, keys, phone. Go to store. Buy supplies.

Daigo pulled his hood up as he jogged down the stairs, immediately blocked from leaving by the downstairs neighbour still gardening.

“Lovely afternoon, isn’t it Dojima-san?” Ito cried, beaming at him. She was older, always so chipper. How did she manage?

As much as he wanted to ignore her, Daigo had been raised with far too proper manners. He still remained casual, grunting a little and rubbing the back of his head.

“Yeah, suppose.”

“You came back late again last night,” she added, hands lifting a plant to move to another pot, “Ouma-san went off about it before going to work this morning.”

“Oh, did he now?”

Ouma was the guy around his age in the apartment next door. Always miserable, always bringing a new girl home every weekend that Daigo had to endure hearing fake horribly through his thin bedroom walls.

“I’ll try to be a bit quieter next time, Ito-san,” he mumbled. For her sake, not for that asshole Ouma.

“Or maybe you should stay in once in a while, hm?”

Daigo scowled, jerking his head and storming off toward the store. With any luck the old bag would have gone inside by the time he was back.

As he made his way down the street, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He went to answer but paused, clenching his fingers tight into his palm. Nope. He knew who it was, and what she wanted, and he didn’t care.

His supply run was basic. More noodles, packs of chips and cookies, some onigiri and bentos that could last a few days.

Whilst picking up a few bottles of Staminan and Tauriner, he stared blankly at the alcohol.

His hands still shook. There was such a quick fix to settle that.

He grabbed a six pack of beer and a bottle of scotch and vodka, unable to help a crooked little grin.

The cashier looked at him a little oddly as he set his basket down on the counter. And yeah, he’d admit he looked strange. Sweating and shaky from withdrawal, under his eyes dark and his brow pulled into a near permanent scowl, face otherwise obscured by the shadow of the hood.

“Get me some cigarettes too, huh?” he mumbled, taking out his wallet and avoiding eye contact.

He was a mess.

He stared at the glass case of baked goods, unable to resist the pull from his sweet tooth, and asked for two donuts as well.

He arrived back home rather pleased with his haul. He had enough in him to pack away most of it, before he stared down the booze he bought.

He could...not do this, actually. He could not drink. It was easy, in theory.

He wiped his damp brow, licked his dry lips. His head hurt, despite the slight gloom of the kitchen.

They could sit there as an ultimate temptation. He could ignore them. He could do all manner of things.

But he wanted to drink, that was the issue. That was the whole point. Drinking was the only thing he had that stayed consistent.

He grabbed the scotch and slugged back a long mouthful, feeling everything just melt away. He let out a relieved gasp, the taste strong on his tongue and warming his throat. Felt like a part of him was back. His mind became a little clearer, his mood a little more elevated. He took a shorter swig for luck, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Much better…”

He spent the rest of the afternoon lounging on the sofa, playing video games. There wasn’t much else for him to do during the day.

Evening was his time.

When seven rolled around, Daigo got ready. His jeans and t-shirt were fine already, so all he had to do was put on his usual cross necklace to complete the outfit. He spent a while staring down himself in the mirror as he applied a shaky dash of eyeliner around his lid.

Once upon a time he shied away from doing this publicly, but since leaving jail he stopped caring. Wore eyeliner and straightened his hair. Painted his nails black and picked at the polish when he was anxious. Who gave a shit? Anyone dumb enough to say anything soon regretted it.

Keys, wallet, phone. Same routine. He chose his white puffer jacket to wear instead of his hoodie, enjoying the barrier it gave him from the rest of the world.

One quick metro ride later, he was in Kamurocho, just as the town was coming alive in a burst of neon. Daigo lost himself in the crowds, thinking of which bar to hit up first.

He paused for a moment down Tenkaichi Street, staring at the sign for Serena. Place was closed, and had been for a little under a year now.

He knew what happened last year, of course. Heard about Rina through another barkeep. Not that he’d known her well, or spent much time at Serena, but something in his chest ached hearing she was gone in such circumstances.

He soon forgot about it with another glass.

With a weary huff, he decided the Champion District on the other side of town was the best place to start. The bar he chose was quiet, no other customers, and a barman who knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Perfect.

Instead of conversation, Daigo focused on the soft jazz music playing as he nursed his whiskey. He was into heavier tunes, but he needed a bit more of a buzz before going to his favourite rock bar.

He tapped his nails against the glass, tilting his head. Good idea, actually. They did cheap shots and a big array of imports.

He slammed some cash down on the counter before stumbling into the street, glad to feel the slight evening chill on his cheeks.

Down to Pink Street, and into the rock bar he enjoyed. Already feeling at home with the heavy guitar music blasting over the speakers, most of the other patrons dressed in a similar style to him. He’d missed out on a lot of stuff whilst locked away, the slight sways in fashion that happened in such a short amount of time, but he liked knowing he was still on trend within his scene, mostly.

He sat at the counter, giving a half-grin to the girl working there, and ordered himself five shots of vodka.

His earlier drinks had been a warmup, these were the first leg of the race. The second came in the form of a large scotch, some new brand they’d started selling.

Honestly, the start to a perfect night for him, until he heard a small gasp from behind him.

“Hey! Aniki!”

Daigo’s heart sank at the voice, glancing over his shoulder. Five of the guys he usually hung around with were there – or more accurately, they hung around him.

He rolled his eyes and groaned, turning in his seat and glaring them down. He should never had shown them this place.

“What do you want?” he muttered, already knowing the answer.

“We didn’t know you were out today!” Arita cried, leaning up next to him, with that sycophantic look he always had in his eyes. As if Daigo wasn’t out every night.

“Why don’t you join us aniki?” Kubo asked, which actually translated to wanna pay for all our drinks because we’re cheap scrounging bastards?

Daigo groaned again, knocking back his glass and waving the bartender over again.

“If you quit calling me aniki.”

They didn’t, of course. They gleefully accepted the drinks he bought them with more coos of thank you Dojima-aniki. Daigo rubbed the bridge of his nose and ordered himself two double scotches, slugging them back like they were water.

“I was thinkin’ we could go to Dazzle after this,” Arita said, having not left Daigo’s side. He always babbled and talked too much, like he felt he had to fill every silence with his own voice save people be left alone with their own thoughts.

“Why there?” Daigo asked, thinking of all the things he’d rather do more than go to a hostess club, including and not limited to slamming his face into a lit stovetop and drowning in a hot tub.

“I just think the girls there are really underrated, y’know? I like that they have some slightly older gals, I love a mature lady. How about you?”

Daigo shoved a shard of ice from his glass into his mouth and let it melt on his tongue. “Come on then.”

He was paying for two hours and that was that. At least he could get a bottle for himself and work through that, sitting at the edge whilst the others enjoyed the girls’ company.

Dazzle might have specialised in more mature women, but the decor was a nightmare like every other hostess club. Why’d they always insist on so many sparkles, it gave him a headache.

“Um...are you enjoying yourself?”

Daigo lowered his gaze to look at the girl. ‘Mature’ really meant ‘late twenties’, and she was running on the younger side of that.

“What do you think?” he said coldly, swirling his drink in its glass.

She seemed a little dazed at this, glancing back at her fellow hostesses, but kept going.

“M-my name is Nashi. Yours?”

“Daigo Dojima.”

He clicked his tongue, emptied his glass and went to refill it, his shoulders slouching slightly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so short, you’re only doing your job.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’ve had far worse responses.”

Daigo just gritted his teeth. Another reason he hated hostess clubs was he knew how other men treated these girls, saw it himself the times his father brought him along as a teen.

The least he could do was give this lady a nice conversation.

“Well, I’ll try to be a bit better than them,” he said, gesturing with his head towards the others, so loud and obnoxious.

Nashi smiled a little. “They’re not so bad. Your friends are just a bit...out there.”

He scoffed. “They’re not my friends. I don’t really...do friendship anymore.”

“Oh? How come?”

Shit. Of course, when you say something like that, people have questions. Daigo licked his lips in thought, considering how he should phrase this.

“You...don’t recognise my name, do you?”

Nashi blushed a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um, well, you do have a bit of notoriety around town, Dojima-san. I know girls in other clubs, and they always talk about you.”

Daigo did a slight double take at this. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. You’re a rather…” She gestured at his coat and skinny jeans. “A striking figure, you know. A lot of girls like the edgy emo bad boy look. It’s popular right now.”

“Hm, figures.” A lot of men are also fans…

Daigo sat up a little straighter, gazing Nashi down. “Do you?”

“H-huh?”

“Find me attractive?”

It was a joke, said with a dry smirk, but she flustered, clearly uneasy. Daigo grimaced, sliding up a little closer and putting a hand to her knee.

“Hey, hey. I’m kidding.” He made his smirk a soft smile, broke down the facade for just a moment to put her at ease. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nashi’s eyes went wide, but nodded, brushing down the edges of her dress.

“A-anyway, I...I’ve heard you...were involved with the Tojo Clan. Is that why you don’t ‘do’ friends?”

“Mm. Essentially.”

Daigo gave up on the glass, swigging back from the bottle which got him a funny look from one of the other patrons across the way.

“My only friend murdered my father,” he said, so matter of fact. He hesitated a moment, letting out a short huff. “Well. He went to jail for the crime, at least. He was actually covering for someone else. Either way, I was left without his guidance for ten years, thinking he had betrayed me like that.”

He paused a second, swilling whiskey around his mouth, before continuing.

“I came back to town a few months ago and...he hasn’t bothered trying to find me. Which shows how little he cares.”

“Oh. That sounds...awful, Dojima-san.”

“It sure does, doesn’t it?”

Daigo shrugged, tilting the empty bottle back so he could savour just a few more drops as best he could. “That’s just how my life is now.”

He grumbled a little as he set the bottle down, belching into his cupped hand before draping himself back against the seat.

“Sometimes you gotta deal with the hand you're given,” he added, scratching lazily at his middle, “And unfortunately, I’ve had a poor deck from the start.”

He shut his eyes before letting out a laugh, forced and hollow. “Sorry. I’m not the best at keeping things light.”

How many hostesses had he paid to listen to him whine? Then he thought how they were probably all used to it, which made it even worse.

“Well, given your circumstances…”

Nashi glanced back at her co-workers, the barely hidden looks of disdain towards the rest of the crew and their boorish behaviour.

“I’d much rather talk to you though,” she said, reaching over to grab another one of the bottles along the table, gesturing toward his glass, “You’re nice.”

Daigo swallowed, nodding in approval as she filled it to the brim. His head pounded, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the music or the cravings.

“If you say so.”

The glass was empty in a flash, and filled just as quick.

“You’re good at this,” he purred.

The bottle was empty by the time the waiter came by. Daigo had just enough mental capacity to dig through his pockets and pay, giving Nashi a shaky smile and a pat on the knee.

“Thank you for tonight. You’re great.”

His friends, on the other hand, all started to whine as the waiter began to urge them into finishing their drinks.

“Aw, c’mon aniki, let’s hang around a bit longer!”

“If you want that, pay yourself, ya cheap fucks.”

Daigo stood up, a bit too quickly as he felt the room spin. He stumbled to the side slightly, wincing as he contained a belch that very much tasted of vomit. Nope! No puking tonight. Keep it all inside.

“I’m outta here,” he mumbled, resting a hand on any available solid surface to keep himself steady as he left.

He blanked out the cries of the others as he did. He’d wasted enough time with them tonight, and he was craving something else.

“Burger,” he mumbled, squinting as he glanced up and down the street, “Pffft...that way.”

This was always the worst part of the night. Trying to sober up enough so he could keep going, or at the very least get home in one piece. Stumbling through the streets and trying not to crack his skull open.

It wasn’t just food he craved though. He felt...itchy. That was the only way to really explain it. The desire to go wild, start a scuffle. Really earn that reputation he supposedly had.

To hell with staying in one piece.

But first, Smile Burger.

The fact that the poor worker even understood what he said through his slurred words was impressive and soon he was curled up against the window, feet pulled up on the chair beside him as he made his way through a burger that tasted like the finest wagyu steak right now.

All the while, he kept his eye out.

Yeah, it felt shitty to target people for a fight like this, but he made sure it was a fair fight. Usually a few guys, who looked like they could take a hit as well as throw one, maybe even have a chance if they weren’t facing someone running on adrenaline and too much booze.

He cocked his head as he focused on a table nearby. Four men, mid-twenties, definitely young yakuza from some family. He couldn’t see any lapel pin from where he was sat, but they were perfect.

Childishly, he picked up one of his fries and threw it in their direction. It hit the back of one guy’s head, and he looked around puzzled. Daigo just threw another, chuckling as it hit him again. A bit too obvious, as he was spotted this time.

“What the hell’s wrong with you dude?” one of the four cried.

“I dunno,” Daigo said, stuffing a bunch of fries in his mouth before flinging another their way, “Target practise.”

This one hit a guy in a striking red sports jacket right between the eyes, and Daigo could barely contain the full-on cackle he let out at the expression he pulled. It was almost too easy.

He grinned when one came over and jabbed him in the chest.

“Outside. Now.”

“My pleasure.”

He followed them into a nearby side street, hands in his pockets and head held high. He liked an audience sometimes, but a private fight was fine enough.

The biggest one of them threw the first punch. He was expecting it, crossing his arms over in front of his face to block it, before kicking out at the guy’s ankles.

The whole fight was messy. The little gang clearly had never been in a proper fight, had no form. They kept punching poorly, wincing with any that managed to hit as they stung their knuckles.

Not that Daigo was any better. He was still far too drunk, but that was half the fun. Stumbling about and getting in a rough hit that frightened these kids who’d never experienced this before. He just wanted the thrill, the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Anything to feel something.

Daigo landed a punch on that guy in the sports jacket, right in the middle of his face. It sent him flat on his ass, skidding down the street slightly.

“Come on!” he groaned, “Grab him, idiots! We outnumber him!”

A moment of pause. Daigo tried to catch his breath, but ol’ sports jacket was right. He was outnumbered.

Two of them grabbed his coat and pushed him back against the wall, holding him there. The third punched at his gut, over and over. Daigo gritted his teeth, tensed his stomach for every punch.

He knew he could get out of this, easily. The guys holding him were hardly doing much, weren’t even gripping his actual arms, just the sleeves of his jacket. It wouldn’t take much to duck and slip down, then send them crying home to their mommies.

“Come on!” he hissed, baring his teeth.

But he wanted them to hit him.

“That all you got?”

He wanted them to hurt him.

Sports jacket guy had gotten back on his feet now, face already starting to bruise. His fist met the middle of Daigo’s face hard, harder than they’d been hitting before. It stung, a lot, which is exactly what he wanted.

Not that it solved anything.

It never did.

“Oi!” They all froze, turning toward the entrance of the street. Daigo, semi-dazed, managed to look too, and felt his stomach drop.

Kashiwagi's expression, initially a scowl, changed the moment he saw him, shaking his head and blinking a little. “Daigo?”

He sighed heavily, storming over and waving his hand at the little gang. “Shoo. Don’t let me catch you boys doing shit like this again, you hear?” “Y-yes Patriarch Kashiwagi.”

They scurried off further down the street, leaving Daigo to stand up straighter, rubbing his nose. He groaned a little as he saw the streaks of rusty red on the back of his hand, sniffling heavily. “Great.”

“Daigo…”

Kashiwagi sighed again, rubbing at his temple. “What are you doing?” “I’m just...I’m just out.” Daigo sniffed again, scrunching his nose. “Just finished dinner.”

“You know what I mean…”

Kashiwagi looked around, then grabbed Daigo by the shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s talk in the office.”

Daigo went to argue, but it only took one stern glare, the kind the older man had given him his whole life, for him to clench his jaw and follow.

Kashiwagi led the way toward the Millennium Tower, hand on Daigo’s shoulder the whole way. It felt so patronising, like that time he accidentally broke a window at the Dojima Family offices when he was ten, and Kashiwagi had done the exact same gesture, marching him to his mother.

“Nice upgrade,” he still said, gazing out the wide window of Kashiwagi’s office once they arrived, “From that little place on Tenkaichi.”

“Well, we make do. I’m second in command now.” Kashiwagi set down the plastic convenience store bag he’d been carrying on his desk, letting out a small, bemused exhale of air. “It’s not all bad. Now come on. Why were you fighting?”

Daigo clicked his tongue and shrugged, staring at the blinking lights below them.

“Daigo…” “I just was, okay?”

He gave a dismissive shrug, walking across the floor toward a cabinet, throwing the doors open. Kashiwagi watched him with tired eyes, slumping down in his chair. “I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight.”

“How did you know that’s what I was looking for?”

“Your breath reeks of it, kid. Your whole body does.” He took out a bento and can of coffee from the plastic bag, raising a brow. “And I know what you’re like, especially lately. How’s being a free man by the way? Haven’t seen you since you were released.”

“It sucks ass.”

Daigo slammed the cabinet door shut, opening another and grinning as he saw half a bottle of whiskey there, as well as some crystal glasses. He heard Kashiwagi tut loudly as he slammed both down on top of the cabinet.

“What did you expect?” he scoffed, pouring a very large measure, “Mom told me the news the moment I got out. What Nishikiyama did. That it wasn’t Kiryu. He hasn’t even come to see me, to apologise for it.”

He knocked the glass back, the sensation warm and familiar down his throat. “Hardly feel free. Just not in jail anymore.”

“What happened to the boy I knew?” Kashiwagi asked, walking over and placing a hand on Daigo’s shoulder once more. This time it was gentle, kind, attempting to be comforting. Not Kashiwagi-san, one of his father’s men, but Uncle Osamu, his mother’s best friend.

Daigo scrunched his nose up, taking another slug of whiskey. “You say that like I’ve ever been cheery.”

“Well, okay, you’ve always been a serious young man, but…”

He just shook his head, moving his hand away. He grabbed the whiskey bottle in the process, making Daigo let out a pathetic little whine.

“I’m not going to enable you any more than I have,” he said firmly, before adding, “I mean it though. You don’t need to throw your life away like this.”

Daigo didn’t reply, because he didn’t like the real answer. There wasn’t much of a life to throw away. He was doing everyone a favour with this.

“You bring me up here just to lecture me old man?” he growled, narrowing his eyes.

Still looking for someone to fight. Kashiwagi would wipe the floor with him, he knew that, but he didn’t care. He also knew he wouldn’t get that kind of satisfaction.

Didn’t mean Kashiwagi wasn’t frustrated with his attitude. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists and let out a deep exhale from his nose. “I saw your mother today. She’s been trying to call you all morning.”

“I know.” The empty glass was set down heavily, with a grunt. Daigo dug around for his phone, holding it out so Kashiwagi could see the countless missed calls and texts from her on the home screen. “I know what today is.”

“...and is that why you’re-”

“You know I’m like this anyway.” He stared at the texts, all similar in tone - Daigo, please call me. Daigo, it’s important. Are you okay? He got them most days from his mother. She was trying so hard. He didn’t want her to. He would rather she forget about him. She deserved that much.

Kashiwagi wasn’t looking at him, staring up at the ceiling as he thought of what to say next.

“I understand that...none of us could have predicted the extent of what your father was like.”

Daigo did a double take, noticing Kashiwagi immediately cringe. At least he knew what he said was stupid.

“Sorry, that was-”

“Yeah. It was.” Daigo looked up, head cocked to his shoulder. “Anyone could have guessed, really. We just pretended otherwise, because somehow he seemed to be the only thing keeping the Tojo Clan from completely falling apart.”

He was up in Kashiwagi’s face now, feeling his chest clench tight. He was working himself up over nothing, over that bastard. He hated it, but thinking of what his father did to get himself killed, the kind of man he was, it made his skin crawl.

“He deserves to spend every birthday after what he did having the most miserable time in hell,” he said with a hiss, noticing his voice wobbling, “I know it. You know it. But Mom refuses to let go-”

The slap felt cathartic, for both of them. Daigo shut his eyes and nodded as his cheek stung. He deserved that. He was trying to provoke that kind of reaction and got exactly that.

“I take back what I said. That boy you were is still there. An insolent brat,” Kashiwagi said, walking back to his desk, “Daigo, one day, you’re going to have to grow up. You can’t keep doing this until you die.”

He threw a semi-sympathetic look over his shoulder, but Daigo mostly felt it was piteous. That’s what he was. A pitiful, useless mess.

“Go home, Daigo. Call your mother. And for everyone’s sake, don’t have anything else to drink tonight.”

Daigo sucked in through his teeth and nodded again as he walked toward the door.

“...good night, Kashiwagi-san.”

No response. Yup. I deserve this.

He made his way home in a daze, everything working in automatic. Kashiwagi’s words kept echoing in his head, over and over.

You can’t keep doing this until you die.

Because that’s what he was trying to do, wasn’t it? Die. Suicide by hedonism. He was born already holding the worst hand life could deal, and he was never going to get anything better. After his father was killed, the one tiny scrap of potential good he could have in his life was gone, even if that prospect was a life of crime.

So why not? Why should he grow up when there was nothing to grow up for?

The moment he was inside his apartment, he slid down the door, staring blankly ahead. He’d needed that talking to, he needed a few really, from people who were currently pretending like he didn’t exist. That’s what he really needed. For Kiryu to talk to him, apologise for ruining his life, try and talk some sense into him. He always knew what to do.

But it was like he didn’t exist. Kiryu didn’t care. Kashiwagi tried to care, but knew he was a lost cause. Who did care?

Daigo opened up his phone again, staring at the missed calls and sighed. That’s who cared. Mom.

He should talk to her. He knew he should. He was an awful son who loved his mother very much, which is why he knew she deserved better. She was trying despite knowing she’d made mistakes, but he just couldn’t let that go.

He hovered on her number, ready to press the button to call...but instead he tossed his phone to land on the couch, walked to the kitchen and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the vodka bottle still on the counter.

He licked his lips, swallowed heavily...but let go, pushing it away.

“You win this time old man,” he grumbled, picking up an energy drink and the donuts he’d bought earlier in the day instead. Kashiwagi could never be allowed to know that though.

He knew this self-control wouldn’t last long. Come morning, he’d be shaking again, a hangover banging in his skull, and he’d be dragging himself towards that bottle like it was the source of life.

The same thing every day.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

He couldn’t have it any other way.

#dojima daigo #ryu ga gotoku #trope: crutches #badthingshappenbingo #undeadbthb #highly recommend reading the end notes on ao3 for the buckwild place the inspiration for this came from

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mynailstuff · 2 years ago

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tessiete · 4 years ago

Note

"I wish you would write a —" continuation or AU of that scene from away the vapour flew (because I've seen you mention that even your AU's have AU's lol and I'm selfishly hoping you'd consider revisiting that fic and coz I can't let this opportunity pass when this fic literally lives in my mind rent free lol)

Alright! At long last I have figured out what happens next. This is for you, dear thing ❤️❤️❤️ ( @lightasthesun on - or very near thereabouts - your birthday)

LED BY THE WANDERING LIGHT

It starts with a very little thing: a seed.

It is slipped from the glove of a Republic aid trooper who smiles as he passes it over.

“From the General of the 212th,” he says. “Don’t know what it is, but I damn near lost the thing on the way over.”

“For me?” he asks, and the man nods, his grin growing wider.

Then he leans in as though commiserating with a friend. “Jetiise sha’bise, lek?”

“Elek,” agrees Korkie, dubiously, turning the little living pebble between his fingers.

The trooper grins, and gives him a friendly shove before trotting off back to his ship. Korkie has come down on his aunt’s behalf to oversee the relief efforts, but he is distracted by the seed in his hand. It is flat, and furry, and pleasingly plump. If he squeezes it, he can feel the skin relent and rebound, and if he digs in his nail ever so gently, he can feel the taste of water upon his thumb, and see the pale blush of springtime in the depths of the cut. It is a seed of something, he knows, but of what?

He places it in the breast pocket of his Academy jacket, and turns his attention back to the work. It is an impressive, and important sight, but his thoughts linger on the seed, and he feels it sit bright and eager against his heart.

Later, when the supplies have been unloaded, and the aid troopers seen off, when the ceremony of thanks and assurances of neutrality have all been displayed, when he is back in his room at Sundari only hours away from the magtrain ride back to school, he plants the seed in a little pot of black earth, and dampens the soil. It will not grow tonight, but he cannot help but stare at it anyway, waiting in the dark, beneath the stars, so patient.

A week passes, and he is back at the Academy when the mail officer - an upperclassman he’s never met - stops at his place during first meal.

“Su-su, Kryze!” he calls. “A package for you from the Core.”

A small bundle wrapped in layer upon layer of bonding tape, and stamped with the ink of a hundred spaceports too numerous and cramped to decipher lands upon his lap. He uses the thin knife from his plate to slice through the plastifibe envelope.

When his fingers graze the object within he gasps, and pulls back the wrap to reveal a real, proper book. It’s not even printed on flimsi, he notes, cracking the aged spine and letting the pages fall open, but on actual paper. They don’t make these in the Core, and hardly ever in the Mid Rim, it’s just not economical, and most planets don’t have the resources to spare. But this one is old, it’s pages creased, and worn smooth at the corners with the turning of many fingers. It is about horticulture, though the illustrations of green and growing things have faded to browns and burnished golds. It is beautiful.

A piece of dried grass has been tucked between two pages, and when Korkie folds them back to look he sees an image of the seed he’d sown in the pot by his bed. Beside it, a riotous bouquet of blossoms burst in an array of different colours. It is a daesyn flower.

He tucks the book in his kebisebag, and carries it around for the rest of the day. At nightfall, he takes it out with careful reverence, turning the pages back to the daesyn slowly lest they tear or turn to dust. Then, by the light of a little glowrod, he props the book against his window and reads along as he tends to the small green sprout only just peeking through the soil.

He buys a sun lamp, and a watermeter, and adjusts the temperature of his quarters much to Amis’ chagrin, determined to provide the most optimal growing conditions he can for the little plant.

After a month, the seedling has become a sturdy sprout, with prickly leaves of a green so deep it might be blue. He is attempting to commit those variegated lines to flimsi when Amis returns to their quarters, a small pouch swinging from his hand.

“I’m supposed to give this to you,” he says, tossing the pouch. Korkie reacts without thinking, snatching the bag out of the air before it can hit the ground.

“Who’s it from?”

“Front desk. Said some high up Republic alor sent it.”

“Which one?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask, did I? Too busy polishing the silver.”

Korkie grimaces in sympathy, having spent many an afternoon of his first year cleaning the trophy case in the main hall. He thinks that Amis’ plight could be easily avoided if only he behaved himself, but refrains from saying so to his friend.

Instead, he pulls the drawstring at the top of the purse, and turns it over his hand. A dozen discs of coloured glass tumble into his palm. They are thick, and smooth, though not polished by anything but time. Each is a different colour, though some are struck through with shimmers of gold and silver.

“What’s that?” asks Amis over his shoulder.

“Don’t know,” he echoes. The glass feels comfortable in his grip. Made to be held, and carried, and passed from hand to hand.

“Should ask Lagos,” says Amis. “That seems like her kind of thing.”

He makes no reply to Amis, but of course, he does as he suggests. Lagos is, after all, a walking encyclopaedia, and of all their friends the most likely to at least have an idea of where to start looking.

The excitement on her face when Korkie shows her his hoard tells him she has more than an idea - she knows.

“Oh, oh, oh!” she gasps. “Where’d you find Abafar trading beads?”

“They were a gift,” he replies. “What are they for?”

She picks them up one at a time and holds them to the light. By some trick of their design, they cast no shadow, but seem to capture the rays inside like banked embers, or twisting prisms. The ones marked with ribbons of ore grow warm in her hand, and she presses them to his cheek so he can feel their heat.

“They’re the traditional currency of Abafar,” she explains. “It’s a desert planet in the Outer Rim, and craftsmen in the Void used to make these beads as a means of facilitating trade over great distances. Metal was scarce, and the beads could also be used to retain heat for longer - that one in your hand could keep the warmth of the sun all night, if you wanted it to.”

He considers the disc of deep indigo, and holds it up to the sun until it turns red. The glass seems to have become molten, but its warmth is not painful in the hand. He leaves the bead out for the rest of the afternoon to test Lagos’ theory, and brings it into bed with him at night. Tucked beneath his pillow, it radiates a soothing heat, and he feels his muscles relax and his worries melt as he drifts away into an easy slumber.

The next gift he receives is shattered into bits.

“Sorry, kid,” says the attendant at the delivery depot when he arrives to claim his parcel. “Happens sometimes with these packages from the front. The war is not a safe place for fragile things. Bic cuyir meg bic cuyir.”

He takes the present anyway, carrying it delicately back to the Academy, fearful of breaking it further. When he finally tears through the tape and plastifibe, clay and ceramplast pieces give up any pretense at form and clatter over the surface of his desk.

It was beautiful once, he can tell. Perhaps a bowl or a cup turned by hand - he can see the telltale print of a foreign finger pressed into a section of naked clay - but now it is only fragments and dust.

Still, he hovers over the pile, turning the pieces this way and that, trying to see how they fit together. He doesn’t notice when sixth bell rings, or when Soniee pings his comm, or when Amis sneaks in past curfew and turns out his light. He stays up late into the night, until the form takes shape, and through the cracks and crevasses of painted clay dawn creeps in.

It is an amphoriskos. A small vessel for storing precious oils, like the kind used in the rituals of so many traditional peoples. There is none in it now, and Korkie retrieves the sachet to see if perhaps it was spilled into the weave of the plastifibe wrap. But it is dry. And the clay, when he looks at it more closely, is dry and unstained by use. The gift was always empty.

The shards sit upon his desk in their loose arrangement until, one afternoon, Amis moves to sweep them off into the dustbin.

“No, no!” protests Korkie, before Amis can complete the task. “I want to keep it.”

“What for?” his friend asks. “It’s broken.”

“I don’t know yet.”

He collects the bits of amphoriskos into his hands, and arranges them about the base of his daesyn pot. The paint glints in the light, and so too do the Abafar beads nestled amidst the debris. The plant grows green and bushy, its leaves reaching out to skim the rim of its bed as though a swimmer poised on the edge of emersion.

He receives Theelin singing strings wound tight around a holodrive meant for the Duchess, paired basalt spindles from Hapes, seashells from the deep oceans of Mon Cala, and a set of Lateron hoops carried on the wrist of the visiting senator from Naboo.

“From Master Kenobi,” she says, and she smiles at him with a warmth that feels like family. He wonders if they’ve met before, if he should know her, but she moves along with the entourage of press and government officials before he can ask.

He is home for Holyrod month, and has brought his prizes with him carried along specially in his kebisebag, his daesyn in his hands. He sets them out along the windowsill in his rooms at Sundari. The watchet blues and greens of crystalline filtered light play over his collection, illuminating one after the other in joyous turn. He does not know what they mean, or why his father has sent these particular things to him, but they are all precious, and he longs for a way to display his gratitude for the thought he has been spared.

The daesyn itself revels in its new surroundings, and leans close to the glass to get as close a view of the sun as it can, budding with imminent delight.

The Senator from Naboo is called Padme, he discovers when he is introduced to her again at mealtime. And she has not come alone. She is part of a delegation of foreign ambassadors, all from the Republic, but not all, Korkie suspects, as enthusiastic about the Chancellor as they had once been. There are murmurings and whispers amongst them, hurried out between thin lips and caught only in the corner of his eye, or the turn of his head, but whether satisfied or not, they are accompanied by the ceremonial force of the Senate, and the might of Palpatine himself - Two Jedi travel with them.

Anakin Skywalker, and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He sees him through the crush of bodies, and later down the line at suppertime. In the midst of deep blues, and mauves, and furs, and silks, his earthen tunics stand out, but he is always distant, always just out of reach. All he needs is a moment, he thinks, to make sure he’s seen, so he can acknowledge his father - even in the polite, and suitably respectful language of perfect strangers if he must, but it never comes.

The plates are cleared, the halls are emptied, and Korkie finds himself bidding his aunt (she is always his aunt here) goodnight, and wandering back to his rooms alone.

It is dark when he arrives, though by the window the Abafar beads glow like the distant lights of the city. He slips off his stiff shoes, and his raiments of clan, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. He waits, uncertain, until the knock comes again.

Perhaps his mother come to assure herself of his health and presence, as she has done so often in the past, but he opens the door to find Obi-Wan Kenobi waiting, with his hand out. In the euphoric rush of astonishment, he hastens to place his own hand upon his father’s as is customary on Stewjon, though he holds fast in a manner peculiar between children and their parents.

“Master Kenobi,” he stammers. “I did not expect you. I thought you’d left. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Obi-Wan replies. “I’d rather hoped to catch you alone, but I’m afraid our schedule was somewhat packed.”

“Of course.”

He is staring, he knows it, but he can’t seem to think of anything else to say, caught up in looking at his father and searching for all the commonalities between them. Does he tilt his head like that? Does he stroke his chin? Does he frown and smile by equal measure?

But the weight of his scrutiny is too much to bear, and Obi-Wan cracks.

“I thought to ask: did you get my gifts?”

“Yes,” says Korkie. “Thank you. They were very thoughtful.”

“Ah...And did you - did you like them?”

At this, Korkie cannot help but smile, and he shakes his father’s hand, tugging him forward with zeal.

“Yes, of course,” he says. “Would you like to see?”

If he is confused by his son’s desire to reintroduce him to items he has already laboured over and seen, then he does not show it. Nor does he resist when the hand in his pulls him further into the room, and doesn’t let go even as a curtain is flung open, and a light flicked on low.

He is pulled over to the broad casements and left to bask in starlight as Korkie steps aside to reveal a colorful mobile hanging from the frame of his window.

“The amphoriskos broke,” he explains, and sees a shadow flicker in his father's eyes. “No, no,” he insists. “It wasn’t your fault. It just happened. But I couldn’t bear to throw it away. It was so beautiful.”

He gestures at a silver thread from which hang a variety of irregularly shaped clay shards. The shiny amber and black paint catches the light thrown by the glowing Abafar beads strung further up, and on another and another thread. When he blows on them the threads hum, and sway together, the seashells and pottery and glass clattering together like wind chimes.

“The singing strings,” notes Obi-Wan, and Korkie grins.

“And the Lateron hoops,” he says, pointing to the frame from which the strings are suspended. “And the spindles, for balance. It’s meant to hang with my window open, like it is at school. And then, at night, when the dreamwinds come, the whole thing sings, and shines, and glows like the stars.”

“It’s beautiful,” says Obi-Wan with awe. He reaches out with one hesitant finger, the beads flickering beneath his touch, and the strings murmuring the low notes of an opening phrase.

“You gave it to me,” says Korkie with a shrug, and Obi-Wan turns his awe upon his boy.

“No,” he says. “I gave you fragments, but you have made them into art. You gave them meaning. You gave them a soul.”

Korkie shifts on his feet, fretting at the cuff of his sleeve, and diving in.

“Would it be okay, do you think -” he starts, then stops. Then he starts again. “Do you think it’d be alright if I wrote you? Every once in a while.”

“Wrote me?”

“Or com’d,” he says, quickly. “Only I know you’re busy, and I can’t expect to lay claim to any of your time, not really, but I -”

“Com me,” says Obi-Wan. “Write me. Send me anything you like, but only say you will and I will have all the time for you I can spare.”

“I promise that I only want a very little.”

“If it’s mine to give it’s yours to have, Kiorkicek,” his father swears. His grip upon his hand is firm, willing him to believe him, and Korkie nods his head because he does.

They stand there, hand in hand, reading themselves in each other, and learning the other in turn, and in the glow of the stars, and the city, and the Abafar beads, the daesyn flower bursts from its roots into a riot of colour and life.

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #Korkie Kryze #SW #Star Wars #my fic #GFFA #prompt fill #Korkie is a Kenobi

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writearctic · 4 years ago

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Turtle Threats (a) (f) - Song Mingi

wc: 2k

Disclaimer: i know zip about 🐢

for this beautiful boy: i hope you are getting the love, rest, and support you need to return to the stage soon.

“You’re late.” Your boss, Sunghyun, scowled as you entered the shop; he looked down at his watch: 19:12.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized. “The rain caused the bus to show up late. I know it’s no excuse but-”

“I have to leave now. Don’t make your tardiness a habit, Miss y/n.”

“Yes, sir.” You turned to the lockers and changed into your work attire. “Late by only twelve minutes,” you uttered to yourself after he left. It was refreshing to remove your soggy clothes, but your body remained cold.

“Here.”

You turned to see your coworker, Mingi, extending his jacket towards you. He must’ve found this “late” thing amusing.

And he did, too. When your pale, wet body dripped inside, he couldn’t help but smirk at your dishevelled appearance. But, after seeing you hunch closer to your body, shivering, he halted his laugh.

“Oh. Thank you.” With trembling hands- no doubt caused by the weather- you eagerly took his jacket. A soft stretch of red eased across his face; seeing you in his coat gave him this familiar unexplainable feeling inside.

A ding at the front exclaimed the arrival of a customer. You hustled to straighten your appearance before Mingi placed his hand on your shoulder to gently stop you.

“I’ll get it,” his honey voice whispered. “Straighten up; you’ll give the tenets a fright looking like that.”

He had a point: none of the pets at Aquarium Den would ever want to see you fresh out of a “tsunami.” You turned to the mirror and huffed in defeat before pulling out your makeup wipes and washing the smudged makeup from your face. You brushed your hair with your fingers before deciding this was as good as it was going to get.

Mingi had everything under control, as always. The customer needed to secretly replace his child’s goldfish. Luckily, most goldfish look alike.

You focused your attention on cleaning the tanks. A soft melody played over the store speakers. It was assuring and made your unhygienic task seem easier. You hummed the tune while fixing the labels on the glass tanks. Mingi started the same routine on the opposite side of the shop. Aquarium Den was a downtown “fish mart” squeezed between a nail salon and card shop; the faint scent of nail polish remover and printer ink almost hid the unpleasant smells from the fishy occupants.

The shop itself was small, as all city-centered buildings were. At the front window was the register. Along the vertical walls were the tanks as well as some smaller ones against the back wall. In the middle of it was a median of supplies like tanks, food, etc.

A few other customers came, and you and Mingi easily assisted them. The last hour was quiet. Mingi sat at the checkout counter and studied his textbooks while you swept and mopped the tile floors.

“You have to take a break,” you chirped towards him.

“Y/n, I have an exam tomorrow. There’s no time for a break.” His voice grumbled back at you without even a turn of his head.

“Ok.” The tone of your voice was quiet and disappointed, though you doubt he heard it.

You and the boy had started working here at the same time. Both of you were uni students- yourself a photography student while he studied music.

You went back to mopping. No more words were exchanged, not even when you mopped around him. When your shift ended, both of you met in the lockers.

“I’ll wash your coat. It’s the least I can do to thank you.” You said while gathering your backpack and purse.

“Sure. Thanks.”

As he locked the door, you waved goodbye hoping tonight he’d finally return the gesture. But, no. He watched and turned the opposite direction.

There was something up with Song Mingi. At school, you never bumped into each other. You started taking the full walk around campus with hopes to see the boy. Today you thankfully did.

“Mingi!” He seemed to flinch at your loud voice; he stopped his pace and turned to you. “Hi. Wow your side of the building is something else.”

“I guess,” he shrugged and glanced at his friends standing further ahead. “Do you need something?”

“Your coat.” You bent to the sidewalk and dug his sweater out of your backpack. It was tidily folded in a ziploc bag.

His soft hands took the garment. “You could’ve returned it tonight.”

“Oh, yea. I guess I should have.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” he rushed to reassure you. “This is one of my favorites, and I appreciate you returning it so soon.” A timid laugh fell from his gorgeous lips.

“Oh, of course.”

“Yah, Mingi! Let’s go; class is about to start!” A friend of his called out.

“Ah, I should go. Thank you, y/n.” He smiled and waved goodbye.

You stood in shock at his ability to wave.

Every night after your only encounter at school was the same at Aquarium Den. Except for the part of you being late. You had expected a shift in relations afterwards, but no. However, some nights he would wave back at you.

You had had quite enough of this “one-sided” friendship. You were colleagues, yet it felt like he was trying to ignore your existence. After sitting near a turtle doing your homework for long enough, you sneaked towards Mingi at his usual post- the register- studying away. You reached over his shoulder and yanked the folder from the counter top.

“Y/N!” You had perhaps miscalculated the chance of him fighting you for it. Mingi lunged at you and snatched it back, but you were faster. Before he could raise it out of your reach- darn him and his lengthy genes- you grabbed it and raced around the store a couple of times until you both ended up back at your turtle corner.

“Y/n. Give. It. Back.”

“No. I want to see what’s been capturing all of your atten-TION.” You flow of speech was interrupted by you dodging his attack. Oh boy was he not going down without a fight. He jumped towards you but abruptly paused when you opened the turtle cage and hovered the paper over the reptile.

Mingi’s fight was useless, now. This was no ordinary turtle; this was Spartacus. The red-eared slider had an appetite bigger than Mingi himself. He could devour anything and everything in his path. Including the two-pocket folder whose fate rested in your hands.

“Let… me… read it.” You gasped for air after the speedy chase around the shop. Even Mingi was out of breath; his chest heaved silently while his gaze locked yours. This was the first time you’ve ever made deep (longer than a few seconds) eye contact with him, and it made your heat somersault against your ribs.

“Let… me read it… without fearing you’ll reach over and grab it ‘cause it might just fall into-”

“Read it, then.” He ordered. A momentary shiver of fear traveled down your body. Wait a minute. Was he a hired hit-man? No. No. No. It’s Mingi; no harm flows through his veins. I think, you thought.

“Ok-k.” Your delicate hands opened the file. The first notable thing were a few pages of sheet music which were a foreign language to you. He watched as your eyebrow furrowed over the music sheets, recognizing you couldn’t read them. You flipped around the pages until a small page of notebook paper caught your attention. It belonged to your journal; you remembered the day Mingi asked for a sheet. How could you say no?

It was the words scribbled all over the lines that knocked the wind out of your lungs.

‘I bet this time of night you’re still up.I bet you’re tired from a long, hard week.

I bet you’re sitting in your chair by the window looking out at the city. And I bet, sometimes you wonder about me’

He noticed your grip on the crinkled paper loosen, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

‘And I just wanna tell you, it takes everything in me not to call you.

And I wish I could run to you.

And I hope you know that everytime I don’t, I almost do, I almost do.’

Your eyes looked up at his. He was writing a song. It made sense, him being a musical arts student, but you couldn’t figure out why he tried to hide it from you.

“This is beautiful. No. That’s not the right word.” You bit your lip and gazed down at the paper before noticing a line you hadn’t yet read:

‘I bet it never ever occurred to you that I can’t say Hello to you and risk another Goodbye.’

(lyrics from Taylor Swift- I Almost Do)

“This is… about me?” It made sense, his struggle to wave to you. A blush tickled your pure cheeks when he nodded. A warm smile formed on your face as you stepped closer to the boy. “Why does Hello pain you, Min?”

“When I was younger, we moved around a lot: financial problems.” He rested on a bag of fish pebbles and fiddled with his hands. His eyes would glance at you from time to time before rushing to find something other than you to admire.

“Whenever I made a friend, there was always this fear of ‘how long?’ ‘When do I have to say goodbye?’ It’s childish, I guess-”

“No, Mingi. It’s understandable,” you purred while easing onto the stool you sat on for studying. You scraped the bottom of it on the floor while scooting closer to him.

His face lightened and rid itself of worry. “I guess I never got over the fear that... I’ll leave everyone behind. Even the ones I love.” He held his gaze with yours.

“I thought you hated me,” you breathed a low laugh.

“No. No, I- I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I- well you,” he took the paper out of your grasp carefully and slid it back in the folder. “You make me nervous, y/n.”

“I’m not trying to.”

You’ve never seen this particular loving grin of his before now. And gosh, did it feel like heaven. “You always give me this unexplainable feeling. Like, I get so much inspiration when I’m around you. I’m always looking forward to working here with you because I can go home and add the lyrics to my songs.” He sighed and took your warm hand in his.

“When you brought my sweater back, I realized I feel something for you- something close to love. I waved to you then because I unconsciously discovered why my stomach feels nauseous around you- you make the butterflies fly for me, y/n.”

You stood there in disbelief. Song Mingi likes you? You beamed at him and whispered, “I like you, too.”

“Hm I couldn’t catch that.” His tease earned a light punch on the shoulder from you.

“I’ve been thinking about you like that for a long time.” Confidence filled your voice as your eyes caught hold of his.

“Yeah?” Mingi’s slightly calloused fingers traced along your jawline. He inched closer and felt your quick breaths on his collarbone.

“Yeah.”

He leaned into your hair and eased at your tiny hands tracing along his spine. His palms firmly rested on the small of your back afraid to let you go.

“I’m afraid to lose you.” His voice sparked with panic as you slowly inched apart.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” you cooed at him. Your hands raised to hold his cute cheeks; his eyes were hypnotic as they seeped with care only for you. “I’m here. And I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not leaving either,” he promised. The honesty in his voice made you deteriorate. His lips danced dangerously close with yours as he lowered to your height. You leaned on your tiptoes in frantic need for his lips. His palms cupped your neck while the pads of his thumbs grazed along your jaw. He urged you closer while your hands fell to grip the fabric of his t-shirt.

After one small kiss, you pulled away for a breath then devoured more of his alluring lips.

In that moment for air, his eyes never left your lips; they electrified him with desire. A desire that sealed his promise to never leave your side as he curved his body against yours.

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