#never had a single second of self reflection never asked himself mhm why do I care so much about gay rights but at the same time

[rainbowonice]

love rewatching the bucktommy break up episode (not rewatching the josh scene ever again in my life) yay

[dottielovegood]

ASMR - chapter 3

Elriel fanfiction

About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

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You can find chapter 1 here and chapter 2 here Read this fic on AO3

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Chapter 3

Luckily for Azriel, the next day was a Saturday, which meant that he didn’t have to go to work. The only plan he had that day was his gym appointment at 7.00 in the morning, just like every other day. Cassian and Rhys often gave him shit for going to the gym that early in the morning on weekends, but they had partners to enjoy the days with. Azriel did not, which meant that working out was a good way to pass time. Especially for someone like Azriel who didn’t sleep and seemed to have more hours to his days than most regular people did.

However, today he woke up to the sun shining in through his window. He picked up his phone to check the time and was surprised to see that it said 9.23. He never slept that late. And he never slept that well.

She made me miss my gym appointment, Azriel thought to himself and couldn’t help but smile. And then it hit him. It was 9.23. That meant that Flower Girl ASMR would call him in exactly 37 minutes, and he hadn’t even had coffee yet. Azriel quickly got out of bed and hurried to the kitchen. While the coffee was brewing he jumped into the shower. He didn’t know why, but it felt wrong to be on the phone with her without having a shower first. Just like it would feel wrong to show up to a date without showering.

This is not a date, he told himself as he tied the towel around his hips and walked back into his kitchen. Azriel lived in a studio apartment, which meant that his ‘kitchen’ was actually a corner of his living room/bedroom. It was quite big for a studio apartment and he could easily fit his bed, a big sectional, and a dining room table in the room. There were exposed bricks on one wall which gave it a rustic feeling, and the white sleek details everywhere else made it feel modern and minimalistic - just like Azriel preferred.

Azriel leaned against his counter and sipped his coffee. He glanced at the clock on the wall which told him that he had 15 minutes left before the phone call. His hands were sweating. Was it because the coffee was so warm? Azriel tried to tell himself that the coffee was the reason for his warm hands, but it was more difficult to find an explanation for the butterflies in his stomach.

He was nervous. Not because of what they were going to talk about - he could probably guide someone through this in his sleep. But because she made him nervous. It’s one thing to see someone in a video and talk via DMs and an entirely different thing to facetime that person. What if she thought that he was ugly?

As the thought entered his mind, he shook his head as if trying to shake the thought away. Why did he care? He was just helping her with a problem. It didn’t matter if she found him ugly because this was a one-time thing. He would never see her again.

The butterflies turned into a tight knot in his stomach.

Azriel let out a low groan and went to his wardrobe to get dressed. He put on a black T-shirt and black jeans - his standard uniform. He dried his hair hastily with the towel before throwing it in the hamper.

At 10.00 on the dot, Azriel’s phone started ringing on the kitchen island. Or vibrating actually, since he always kept the sound off.

Unknown number is calling

Azriel stared at his phone, suddenly feeling very shy and questioning everything he knew about computers. He checked his reflection in the microwave and let out a deep breath before answering.

“Hello, this is Azriel.” His voice was hoarse, sounding deeper than usual.

“Oh, hi!” A cheery voice said and he was a bit taken aback. In his stupid brain, he had imagined her answering in her whispering voice. “Is this… is this Shadowsinger?”

Azriel decided that her normal voice was just as wonderful as her whispering voice.

“Yeah, this is Shadowsinger. Or well, that’s not my name. I’m obviously not called that. That would be weird…” Azriel babbled, growing more and more self-conscious by the second. He took a deep breath. “I’m Azriel.”

“Hi, Azriel. I’m Elain.” He could hear the smile in her voice and it made him think of sunshine and flowers.

Elain. The name suited her. It was a welsh name that meant fawn. Or at least that’s what Feyre told him one night when she had spent three hours going over possible baby names with their entire friend group (After three hours, Azriel, Cassian, Mor and Nesta had been very drunk and started suggesting weird names from TV such as Khaleesi, Anakin and Buffy which led to Rhys kicking them out.) But Elain wasn’t a weird name. It was pretty. Just like the person that the name belonged to.

“Hello, Elain,” Azriel said quickly when he realized that he had been quiet for a short while.

“Azriel is… an interesting name.” He couldn’t tell from her tone if it was good interesting or bad interesting.

He chuckled. “Yeah, try growing up with the nickname ‘Ass’ in school. Not Az. Ass.”

He could hear Elain laugh and it warmed his heart. “Oh no,” she giggled.

There was a stretch of silence then, both of them unsure of how to begin this.

“So...” Elain started after a few moments. “How do I block words on Youtube, Azriel?”

As soon as the words traveled through the phone, he wanted to ask her to say his name again, but that would be weird. So instead he cleared his throat and got himself into work mode.

“Well, I didn’t know if you were a visual learner, but I created a Youtube account yesterday so I could show you what to do, and you could just follow along if you like?”

God, was he doing too much? Would she find this creepy? Maybe he should just tell her what to do without video.

But to his surprise, Elain did not sound creeped out. “Really? That would be so helpful! How...How can I see your screen though?”

Azriel huffed a laugh. It was kind of cute that she was so oblivious when it came to technology even though she had 250k followers on Youtube.”Well, we’ll change to FaceTime and I will be able to flip the screen and just show you what I’m doing. Is that okay with you?”

He was met with silence.

“Elain?”

“Oh, sorry. I was nodding,” she laughed. “Yes, that’s fine.”

Azriel clicked the icon for FaceTime on his screen and within seconds, her face filled his screen. Her brown hair was in a high ponytail and she wore a mint green hoodie. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and Azriel had to catch his breath. God, why did she have to be so beautiful? He realized that he was staring at her through the screen but his brain wouldn’t form words.

“Hi,” Elain smiled, her cheeks turning pink. “I kind of forgot that we would see each other and not just a screen. Sorry that I look like a mess. I’m going to the gym after this...” She gestured to her hair and Azriel had no idea what mess she was referring to.

“What? You look wonderful,” he said and as soon as the words registered in his brain he wished to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground. He winced. “I mean... I just–” he was making it worse. Lovely. “I just meant that you don’t look like a mess.”

She gave him the sweetest smile. “Well, You don’t look too bad yourself.” She was blushing even more now. Was he blushing too? He had never blushed in his life, so he didn’t even know what that would feel like, but he did feel a bit hot.

Azriel cleared his throat. “So,” he started. “I’m going to flip my screen and film my laptop now. Tell me if you can see what I’m doing.”

“Okay!”

Azriel logged into Youtube and held his phone in front of the screen. “Can you see?” He held the phone in front of his computer, and even though she couldn’t see him anymore, he could still see her.

“Just a second,” she said and held up a finger. She was moving and so was her camera. When she reappeared, Azriel was very happy that she couldn’t see him. She was wearing glasses and they made her, if possible, even more attractive. Her beautiful golden eyes looked even bigger. Like a fawn, Azriel thought to himself.

“Yes, I can see when you have the phone so close to the screen,” she answered.

“Okay, good. Are you near your own computer?”

“Yes! And I’m already logged into my Youtube account.”

Azriel nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Great. Then you should see your profile picture here in the corner.” He showed her where to look.

“Mhm, I see it.”

She was focusing so hard on the screen, she had probably forgotten that he could see her. She was leaning in close enough for Azriel to see her freckles.

I want to kiss every single freckle on her body.

The thought entered his brain before he could even react and he was very happy that she wasn’t a mind reader. He tried to ignore her face on his screen and focus on his task.

“You will click the photo, and that should display a menu,” he explained. “Like this. You are going to click ‘Youtube Studio’ here.”

Elain scrunched up her nose in concentration and Azriel thought that he might die from the cuteness.

“Done! What next?”

“Okay, then you click ‘Settings’ at the bottom here,” he showed her where to look. “And then you choose ‘Community’”

“Community?” She asked and bit her lip.

Azriel wanted to bite that lip too.

“Yeah,” he answered, happy that he didn’t have to come up with more advanced words.

“And then you scroll down to ‘blocked words’ here,” he instructed. “Are you there?”

“Yes, I found it,” she answered with a smile.

“Well, aren’t you a gold star student?” Azriel joked and Elain’s face went from smiling to blushing in a nano-second.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

There was a beat of silence again. Azriel wanted to kick himself.

“What now?” Elain asked in a low voice, still determined to get this over with.

“Well, now you just fill in the words you want to block. Make sure that you separate each word or phrase with a comma. And then you just press save and that’s it.”

“Oh, okay. That was easier than I imagined.”

Silence again.

“Can you manage from here?”

Elain bit her lip again. She was staring somewhere behind her phone; probably at her computer. “Ehm, I’m not sure what words to block.”

Azriel thought back to the awful comments he had seen and could think of a handful of words.

“Well, just block the words that these commenters often use, and maybe block bad words in general? You can review your comments later, so if nice comments are being filtered, you can choose to restore them while deleting the bad ones.”

Elain nodded and Azriel didn’t know if he should hang up or stay. So he stayed. His camera was still facing his computer, and Elain was still filming herself. She looked lost in thought.

“Are you okay, Elain?” Azriel asked cautiously, afraid to startle her.

“Hmm?” She looked straight at the camera now, eyes still glossy.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just… tired. I really like doing ASMR, but this sucks. I just want to make people happy and spread positivity, you know? And still, I have to deal with this.”

“Yeah, that must suck.”

Azriel had a question that he had been burning to ask, but he didn’t know if it was too personal. However, as he told himself before, they were never going to see each other again. He could always ask, and the worst thing he could get was a ‘no, I don’t want to talk about it’.

So he asked.

“Elain, can I ask you something?”

She nodded absentmindedly.

“Yesterday you wrote that you had blocked those trolls multiple times. Are you certain that they’re the same people?”

She nodded again. “Yes. In the beginning, they were a bit more creative with the usernames which threw me for a loop. But I realized that it was the same IP addresses every single time, so yeah. I know. I mean, I get hate from complete strangers too, but these people are a bit more persistent .” The last word was spoken through her teeth. She looked upset, but she also looked like she wanted to hide it. Azriel decided to switch his camera back to his face so she wouldn’t feel as vulnerable. And so he wouldn’t feel like a creep for staring at her.

Elain looked a bit startled. “Oh, hi again,” she smiled, but it wasn’t as genuine anymore.

“Do you know these people?” Azriel asked through gritted teeth. He didn’t know why, but he felt very protective all of a sudden.

“Yes, I do. At least the three people that commented yesterday…” she bit her lip again, probably contemplating if she should tell him more. “It’s my ex.”

Azriel tried his hardest to not look surprised and pissed off at the same time. “All three of them?”

With a surprised look on her face, she shook her head quickly. “Oh, god no. No. Just one. His name is Graysen.”

MortalGraysen. Azriel remembered the username because it had sounded so stupid.

“And the other two?”

She let out a long breath. “His stupid best friends, Amarantha and Hybern. Stupid names, right?”

Azriel could only agree. “Very. Why is he bothering you like this, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Elain took off her glasses and massaged her temple lightly. “I dumped him after he slept with Amarantha and then…” she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Then he told all of our friends that he only slept with her because I was so boring in…'' her cheeks flushed again and she didn’t finish that sentence. She didn’t have to. Azriel understood perfectly.

“Okay, so he really is an asshole then.”

“The biggest.”

“Well, I don’t think you can block IP addresses on Youtube, but you could always try to block their names. It might work for a while at least?” Azriel suggested. He needed to help her.

“That’s smart!” she exclaimed and sat her phone down to type. He was very happy that she had leaned it against something so he could still see her.

“What other words should I add?”

Azriel thought back to the comments he had seen. Boobs, nudes, cock, jerk off and tits were all words that she should block, but they were also words he didn’t feel like saying in front of her.

“Just check their old comments and block the words they have used.”

“I’ve deleted the comments, but I remember a few words.” She typed again and Azriel could tell that she was uncomfortable.

“Hey, just block all sexual words and maybe swear words? That should probably work for a while?”

“Okay.” She typed again while Azriel waited patiently. Honestly, he would probably wait forever if it meant that he could watch her on his screen like this.

He felt like a teenager with a crush on the coolest girl in school. He knew that she was out of his league, but his body had not gotten the memo…

“I think I’m done,” she announced and smiled at her phone. At him.

Azriel smiled back. “Which words did you write?” he asked out of curiosity.

Elain picked up her phone and switched the camera so he could see her computer. In the box for ‘blocked words’ she had indeed written a few words.

Blocked words Graysen, Hybern, Amarantha, Boring, Dumb, Stupid, Weird, Ugly, Penis, Vagina, Sex, Sexy, Breasts, Feet, Ejaculation, Nipple, Damn, Fuck, Darn it, Hell,

“Do you think that’s enough?” She asked him in a low voice as if she was ashamed of what she was showing him.

Azriel had to bite his lip in order to keep himself from grinning. It was kind of sweet that she had written down the more technical terms, and not any words that would actually be used on the internet.

“Well, I think it’s a good start,” Azriel answered. “But I think there are a few more words that you should add. And maybe some you can remove from the list.”

“Which ones can I remove?” She leaned closer to her computer, probably trying to find the redundant words.

“I don’t think that trolls will use Darn it, for example.”

Elain pressed the backspace key a few times.

“And which words should I add?” she asked the screen. Her glasses had slid down her nose a bit and Azriel had an urge to reach through the screen and push them back into place.

Azriel scratched his chin, thinking about the best way to phrase it. “Maybe a few synonyms for the words you have written down?”

“Such as?”

Azriel held his breath. “Well…” Azriel hesitated. Was she serious or was she just trying to get him to say dirty words? “I don’t think that internet trolls will use the word vagina.”

“Oh,” her ears turned a lovely pink color. “So I should just add synonyms for that word then?”

“Sure.”

Elain looked lost in thought for a moment before typing again, this time a bit more aggressively. “There are quite a lot,” she muttered.

“Really?” Azriel could only think of two; pussy and cunt.

“Yes. I googled it.”

Of course, she googled a list of synonyms for vagina. Azriel couldn’t hold back his grin this time. She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, still grinning. “Can you read me this list of synonyms?” he teased, thinking that she would tell him to fuck off.

He was wrong.

“Well, there’s pussy, cunt, vajayjay, punani, ho-ha, flower…” she drifted off and Azriel could tell the exact moment it hit her that she was reading these words to a man she didn’t know. “Oh, god,” she groaned and hid her face in her hand. “Please ignore everything that just happened.”

Azriel chuckled. “I rather not. What’s the weirdest word on the list?”

He was invested now.

Elain looked at him through the screen again, but this time he could tell that she was suppressing a smile. “The weirdest one must be fish taco, or bald man in a boat. One just sounds disgusting, and the other one is just… weird? Like, I don’t get it.”

“I think that the ‘bald man’ is supposed to be the...uh,” Azriel could not finish that sentence. He knew that he was blushing now, too.

“Oh,” she said looking surprised, and then disgusted. “Oh, that just makes it worse.”

The laugh that followed was contagious.

As she laughed, Azriel thought back to the day before. To when he had watched her video to fall asleep. In her videos, she was so calm and collected - the complete opposite from this bubbly, laughing person on his screen. Both sides of her were equally fascinating to Azriel and he wished that he could get to know her better. She was so easy to talk to. Azriel never found anyone easy to talk to. At parties, you could find him in the corner with a drink and a good book. He was not a talkative man. But with Elain, he wanted to talk. And he wanted to listen. He wanted her to tell him about her day and her life, which was absurd. They had been talking for like 30 minutes. They didn’t know each other. They would never get to know each other.

“Thank you for helping me with this, Azriel,” Elain said when the laughter had died down. “I really appreciate it. I’m sorry for being a bit weird and reading you that list. I hope that I didn’t cross a line or…”

Azriel held up a hand to show her that he didn’t mind. “It’s no problem, honestly. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much.”

Elain shifted in her seat and picked up her phone again, moving it closer to her face again. “Just like you couldn’t remember the last time you had slept well?”

For a second, Azriel was truly afraid that she was a mind reader because that meant that she had heard him think that he wanted to kiss all her freckles. And then, he remembered the comment he had left on her video a few days earlier.

“Yeah, just like that.”

She leaned her head to the side and regarded him through the phone. “Is that true? You can’t remember having a good night’s sleep?”

Azriel shook his head. “I have suffered from insomnia since I was a child. Sleep has never been a positive experience for me.”

He had never opened up like this to anyone. His former girlfriend never understood why he was awake and why he hated sleepovers. The insomnia had definitely destroyed a few relationships over the years. He could tell that Elain wanted to ask about it, but she didn’t. He really appreciated that.

“Well, I’m happy that I can help you with that anyway. It makes me feel less horrible for making you help me with this on a Saturday morning,” she said and gestured to her computer.

“You didn’t make me do anything. I offered. I was happy to help.”

She gave him the sweetest smile yet and Azriel was surprised when he didn’t melt into a puddle. “Well, thank you. Can I pay you for your trouble?”

Before she had even finished the sentence Azriel shook his head. “No, Elain. I really don’t want you to pay me.”

“Okay,” she bit one side of her lip again. Those damn lips. “Can I give you something else then?”

Did her tone sound flirty? Azriel didn’t know. He might just be hopeful because he started imagining all kinds of things she could give him.

“Like, maybe you could tell me your favorite trigger and I’ll make sure that my next video includes it?”

Azriel swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling very thick. “You don’t have to do that, I...”

“But I want to,” she interrupted. “What’s your favorite trigger?”

Azriel was trying to figure out a way to tell her that she was his favorite trigger without sounding like a serial killer. “Well, I don’t really know. I like when you whisper,” he tried, and when she smiled and nodded encouragingly, he continued. “Honestly Elain, I have tried to watch other ASMR videos but they don’t make me fall asleep. Your videos make me fall asleep within minutes. Whatever magic you put into your videos, that’s probably my trigger,” he half-joked.

“Hmm,” Elain regarded him. “I’ll figure something out.” She winked at him teasingly and Azriel hated that this was the first and last time he would ever get to talk to her.

“Well, I really have to go,” Elain declared. “I’m meeting a friend at the gym.”

“Yeah, I have to go too,” Azriel lied. He would have canceled any plan he ever had if he could continue this conversation.

“Well, thank you again for your help, Azriel.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She removed her glasses and looked straight into her camera. It felt as if she was staring into his soul.

“Goodbye, Shadowsinger.”

“Goodbye, Flower Girl.”

The call disconnected and he was left staring at his apps. Not a single one interested him.

With a heavy sigh, Azriel walked to his bed. He was planning to lay down and scream into a pillow when he received a text from a number he didn’t recognize.

New message I searched for a few more synonyms, and this one for penis is horrendous. Just listen to this: Meat banjo. Isn’t that just horrible? I’m definitely blocking that word.

Azriel couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. It really was a horrendous synonym and he could imagine her sitting in front of her computer, making disgusted faces at the various words on her screen.

New message Oh, this is Elain, by the way.

And that’s when it hit him.

She had texted him and he could see her number. That meant that he could save her number on his phone. It also meant…

Well, he honestly didn’t know what it meant, but he didn’t feel like screaming into his pillow anymore.

[swellwriting]

idontwannabeyouanymore

Fandom: Harry Potter (Marauders Era)

Pairing: Remus  x Reader

Warnings: Uhm angst kind of, Reader is insecure so that’s kind of a touchy topic for some.

A/N: This is based off the song idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish, take a listen try not to let it get you too emo.

Word Count: 2.3k

-

As you walked down the hallway you pulled your sleeves over your hands and folded your cardigan around yourself tilting your head slightly down so your hair fell to curtain your face, the usual routine when you became aware that people could be looking at you. Remus noticed right away, he always did.

“Don’t be that way.”

You frowned and then forced a smile, your insecurities swallowing you whole, you hid your shame and self-hatred with a witty response.

“What? I’m not allowed to fall apart at least twice a day?”

“Maybe once, but not twice.”

His response was also witty but held a serious tone, not letting you brush this aside as usual, with no witty response to that you stayed quiet.

“I just wish you could feel what you say about others.”

“Mhm like what?”

“Like the way you ignored Sirius’ reputation and gave him the same clean slate you would anyone else. You didn’t have to hear his side or work your way in to break down his walls to hear the truth behind the reputation, you believed in him since day one. Don’t tell James but I think he would have come to your house instead of James’ that night he left home if you weren’t on vacation.”

“Oh yeah don’t tell james that, I don’t wanna come between their bromance.”

Remus let himself smile but grabbed your hands and pulled you to an empty hallway.

“No Y/N, im being Serious. Why can’t you treat yourself the way you treat others?”

“I’m not trying to treat myself differently.”

“You should be as forgiving to yourself as you are to me when I shut myself away from everyone.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“And you’re at fault for something?”

“Well…”

“No excuses, you give everyone unconditional love except yourself.”

“I want to.” You said frowning, trying to hold your composure, the hallway was no place to have an emotional breakdown. Remus watched your face fall and grabbed your hands pulling you down the hallways swiftly wanting to bring you somewhere else. But luckily for you the hallways crowded and the bell rang, class would be your escape from this unwanted conversation.

You managed to avoid Remus after class too, swiftly making your way to your room to hide yourself away, your room was a comfort, your own slice of heaven in your eyes. Your roommates unprying, but still nice to you. The comfort of your sheets, an open window and a book was all you thought you would ever need. But as you made your way to your bed you passed your mirror accidentally meeting your reflection in what you hoped would be an empty room, forced to face yourself for what should have been a fleeting second to anyone else but you dwelled there, staring yourself down.

You stepped closer looking at your reflection picking out all the flaws no one else could notice with a magnifying glass. Things that maybe existed solely in the expanse if your mind filling it to the brim with self hatred and insecurities. You wanted to cry or scream at your reflection, have her scream back and tell you all the things you were feeling in your mind but the room was silent aside from your shallow breaths getting deeper as anger boiled in your chest.

Was it normal to look in the mirror and feel hatred? Not love for your smile or admiration for your kind eyes, without adjusting your hair out of your face so elegantly like everyone else did while passing their reflection.

You wanted to punch the mirror and watch it shatter, so angry at your reflection you wanted to physically hurt her. But you knew it was too dramatic and your magic and mental state were not one on the same, you’d be too weak to conjure up a spell and repair the millions of shards leaving a permanently cracked mirror in your wake to constantly remind you of your self hatred on days like today. Making every day feel like this.

You might as well write your thoughts on the mirror and force yourself to read them every morning, feeling as though you deserved to feel like this everyday, like the good days never mattered when you had to go through a bad one. But you wouldn’t do that nor would you smash it.

You whispered instead of yelling, talking to yourself so quiet only you and the mirror could hear, telling the mirror what you know she’s heard before.

You pressed your forehead against the mirror in defeat, you would hug your reflection if you could just to provide yourself with some much needed comfort but that wasn’t an option.

You instead gripped the sides of the mirror so hard you thought it might end up cracking anyways, but after a few labored breaths and as a few lines of tears slowly trickled down your cheeks curving over to your mouth making you taste the salt, you finally backed away, half expecting there to be two dents in the mirror and two bloody shard filled thumbs at your sides.

But all that was there was a few smudges you would never take the time to clean and your own reflection staring sadly back at you. When you finally turned away from her your eyes met Remus’ who were wide and filled with even more empathy than usual which you didn’t think was possible, the boy would overdose on empathy if he wasn’t careful.

He was standing in the doorway and you didn’t know for how long, you didn’t know if he saw you cry and whisper to yourself, if he saw you get angry and then try to seek comfort in yourself going through a whirlwind of emotions.

How often did you do this? Do you always feel like this? Did he make you feel like this by not telling you how he felt about you, how the face you hated made his heart melt and his knees week, especially when you would smile, specifically at him.

“I didn’t want to talk before and I don’t want to now.” You spoke up, lifting your chin as you did faking a strength you knew was not within you.

“Well now I can’t ignore it, you can’t do that to yourself Y/N, you can’t be so harsh so judgmental!” Remus pleaded, wanting to close the space between the two of you.

“Well I just did and I always do and I’m fine.”

“You are not fine you're ripping yourself apart!” Remus felt like crying too, he felt helpless not knowing how to help you.

“I just don’t want to be stuck as me anymore. And I know it's selfish for me to complain about to you of all people.” You admitted sitting at the edge of your unmade bed, looking at the book that lied within the messy sheets. You would much rather be reading, escaping to a world where all the problems were fictional.

“Well you’re you for your whole life, if you can’t learn to love yourself you’ll be living life like an enemy in your own body, and I know what that's like, I don't want you to have to be like that too!” He spoke with so much emotion, always a caring soul but usually dripping with sarcasm and a cheeky grin which were both nowhere to be found right now. Just raw emotional Remus wanting to scream I love you but not having enough nerve.

“That's how I feel already.”

“Well I think you need to make amends even if I have to endlessly tell you how beautiful you are inside and out, how you catch the eyes of everyone in a room including your own and that’s why you never notice, then I will.”

“You don’t mean that Rem, you've never said that to me before.”

“Because I was selfish.”

“How?” You asked so timidly, completely unaware of what Remus was talking about.

“I didn’t think you needed to hear it I didn’t want to say it out loud.” Remus admitted coming to sit down beside you, fiddling with his sleeves pulling the the loose strings.

“You didn't want to tell me you think I’m pretty?” You asked him so dumbly, so naively having no idea the emotions the boy beside you had been harboring for your for so long and how deep they really ran within him.

“No I can’t just say you’re pretty without saying your smile is the most enticing thing I have ever seen it makes me smile, it makes me want to never stop. The way it lifts your cheeks and you squint your eyes a bit, especially when your really happy.

“Stop it.” You interrupted and he ignored you, something he usually never allowed himself to do.

“And the way your eyes are like traffic lights with how much you can say through them I know when you’re happy or when you’re sad and want space just by looking at you. I can’t just tell you you’re pretty without describing every single thing I love about you and if I start now I might never shut up.” When he finished he was out of breath, like you knowing all of this was suddenly more important than his brain getting oxygen. “Especially about your smile and those lips.”

What he said wasnt fixing you, it wasn't a missing piece you had suddenly found, like you were nothing without Remus, but it was still good, it was the reassurance that you needed for so long and it wasn't solely mending you and putting you back together but his words were like the thread and you yourself held the needle, sewing yourself back to one whole. It gave you the courage to change the entire tone of the conversation with one sentence, a more challenging one. “What about them?”

“Your lips specifically always look so soft even when you bite away at them I want to kiss them better and I’ve been watching you chew your lips while I’ve been talking and it’s rather distracting.” Remus instantly picked up on your change of direction, glad the conversation was still just as serious but not as heavy as before. You smiled so wide you could barely see his expression of waiting and patience so you continued to challenge him, push him and tease, a little unsure of where he would take it, if at all. “Then distract yourself Lupin.”

Maybe the confidence boost he had just given you helped spark those words but the love and actual spark from the kiss that ensued could lead to a lot more. The kiss was short lived but sweet, it tasted like you thought Remus would but felt like a question and confirmation all in one. When Remus pulled away he took a deep breath and you prepared yourself for what you assumed was inevitable, the i love you but. When Remus spoke it started with an apology so you prepared yourself for him to say exactly that but he didn't, not at all.

“I'm sorry, I can’t help but feel guilty for you feeling this way about yourself, even if it’s not directly my fault I sure as hell did not help you.”

“You didn't do anything wrong Remus. You were always there for me, even when I pushed you away.”

“I told Sirius to stop calling you hot and endlessly telling you empty pick up lines, I told James to stop calling you cute and acting in awe when you would put your hair up using your wand. I know we all kept you busy and out late with us that you missed out on the girl talks, sleepovers, and the support and compliments that you would have gotten from important girl friendships.”

You remained silent, thinking about what would be different if that stuff was a constant in your life, girl friends to confide in instead of the basic politeness you held with your roomates and the fact that the Marauders treated you exactly like on of the boys compared to when they acted like you were in fact a girl. Remus took your silence as a chance to keep explaining himself in endless apologetic rambles.

“I know how much you doubt your knowledge and your assignments, I should have know that self doubt would be just as bad about yourself and your looks. I should have noticed sooner. So even though I hate it I’ll tell Sirius he can say you look hot when you wear jeans even though I know he’s staring at your ass. I’ll ask James to compliment your messy buns because you’ve had your hair down for weeks to hide yourself away and I don’t want you to hide anymore.”

This didn’t magically make your self resentment go away, but the flood had gone down to mere puddles you could walk around, you would have to work on loving yourself and the maybe the boy in front of you as well, who was looking at you like a puppy dog begging to be loved. You were looking at a boy who just poured his heart out to you. And it would be so easy to get a cup and scoop up some of that love and emotion and take a sip and feel the love warm up your veins and fill your body, so you looked at him sweetly and smiled.

“Would you ever lie to me Rem?”

“I never lied, just withheld the truth out of fear.” He answered honestly.

“If I love you was a promise, would you break it if your honest?”

“No, i’ll tell you everyday and it will never become less true than the day before.”

“As happy as I am right in this moment I wish you didn't have to see that, I wish no one would, not even me. Only you know the way that I break.”

“That's okay, I’ll memorize exactly how to put you back together like my favourite puzzle that never tires me, and i'll never lose a peice.”

You felt a tear slip from your eye and hit your cheeks that were stuck out from your wide smile, a tear of happiness instead of pain and anger. “Then I guess I’m all yours solve.”

Tag List: @fortisfiliae  @sjriusblck @theboywhocriedlupin @moonynprongs @starlitfawkes

[constastan]

kusanagi+totsuka, ~5k, AU where mikoto doesn’t exist, or is a lion in savannah somewhere like God intended, or in jail

The card is the first thing Izumo sees after returning from his day off, for once properly used. Tucked into the door handle, yellow and gaudy, it stands out against the dark wood, relegating everything around it to a background. Turning it over, Izumo doesn’t find any name signed, but the combination of intricate handiwork and cheap materials is telling enough. Bouncy letters on the back read, Happy housewarming!

Not what one would expect after nearly nine months, but then, one generally stops expecting anything about six months in.

“Idiot,” he says later that day, when Totsuka appears at the door with a single tinkle of the doorbell and an expectant smile. “Housewarming’s for when you invite people to your new place. ‘s the opposite of that.”

“But you changed a lot around here,” Totsuka returns. “It’s kinda new!”

“Wonder how you’d figure it from the outside. Peeked through the windows?”

Totsuka laughs. He looks pretty different himself, a couple of inches taller and a certain way that makes Izumo suddenly aware he’s not going to remain a shiftless kid for the entire lifespan, however well he fills the part. His jacket has to be too light, though the bulkiness creates an illusion of warmth. His hair is nearly too long, some of the strands catching on the black cord around his neck that holds a small metallic pendant. That’s a new one: Totsuka accessorizing.

Still, when he says, "Let’s see" and starts admiring all the renovations clockwise, his priorities turn out to be unchanged. He scarcely notices anything about the woodwork but admires the print on curtains, points out the new cushions but misses the tablecloths - Izumo’s particular point of pride — and nearly loses his mind once he reaches the music machine.

"It’s like a stereo system!" he declares when the second song begins, interrupting his singalong for a moment.

"What’d you think it is? A jukebox?"

"Not fair, Kusanagi-san. You know, I learned to play guitar from a busker in Iwaki, she was very good. I thought, ‘when I’m in Shizume I’ll play for Kusanagi-san’s patrons for free’. But I can’t beat this!"

With a smile, Izumo leans on the counter to see what he’s picking for the next turn.

"Why, go ahead and audition anyway. Live music is a whole another tier."

Totsuka beams directly at him before narrowing his eyes at the screen.

"Really? Well, I’ll give it my best. Oh, If I Fell In Love With You, I can play that! Does Mizuomi-san like rock or ballads more, Kusanagi-san?"

"Rock," says Izumo. He thinks his reply sounded easy and even as usual and came without any unnatural delay or strain. Yet Totsuka suddenly lifts his head as if catching a distant sound of something unfamiliar and ominous. He pauses before continuing. "He’d probably appreciate the Beatles. But he’s gone now."

For several long moments Totsuka is silent and looks taken aback. His hand is still hovering over the buttons; slowly, he brings it back to his side, and gives the interior another once-over, maybe trying to tie all the changes together.

Izumo reaches into his pocket for cigarettes.

"He was sick for a long time."

"I’m sorry," Totsuka says a little haltingly, then seems to remember something that brings about an odd flash of animation. "Ah, occhan died too. Last year, in the spring."

"Are you-" Izumo stops, unsure what exactly he meant to ask, gives himself a moment to focus. "Have you moved in with your… with his family?"

Totsuka shakes his head and finally comes over to take a seat at the bar, every motion careful and deliberate, like slipping between the dead they brought in there.

*

He went away right after the funeral. No reason, he was just thinking about occhan and the wind that always seemed to nudge occhan in the back wherever he went, and realized how little of the world he had seen, himself. It’s weird he had never thought to ask to tag along. His second — or was it third? — cousin is helping to rent out the apartment and they split the money. And now he has been to Saitama, Iwaki and Niigata - Saitama is the best, but the others are fun too. There’s always some kind of job if you aren’t too picky. Now he’s back to Shizume though, to pick up the rent money now that tenants moved out and because he felt like coming back. Who knows for how long. Who knows? That’s the only answer he is willing to give for anything that has to do with future plans, so eventually Izumo has to throw his hands up and stop asking.

Despite Izumo’s reservations on that point, the rent does come through. It’s instantly obvious when Totsuka walks in a couple of days later, all languid airs and exaggerated swagger.

"Well, the deed is done, Kusanagi-san. I’m a rich man now. Bring us the best you have to celebrate, on me!"

Two can play the game, so Izumo makes a show of examining the menu at length with a pondering frown before looking back at him, unimpressed.

"The best I have, huh. Well, that would be an Arizona Sunset for those of us who are underage. As for me, I’ll go for a Blue Arrow, and thanks for the treat."

"Geez," Totsuka says, not quite managing a proper pout. "At least let me watch how you make it. Because, see, I was in fact reflecting on things and I’m not satisfied with my career. I wanna do something creative."

"Following the recipe isn’t exactly an art form," Izumo points out, and comes to regret this warning very soon because Totsuka apparently has an outpour of creativity that garnishes anything he touches. He manages to keep his own cocktail safe, if mildly minted, but the Arizona Sunset goes supernova with fruit and syrups.

"It’s delicious," Totsuka assures him as soon as his lips touch the rim of the glass. He doesn’t return to the customer’s side of the bar. Izumo can see his eyes trailing along the shelves, sliding smoothly over the rows of bottles, sparkling with interest over the equipment. For several sips they savor their respective drinks in silence.

"What kind of job were you thinking?" Izumo asks eventually.

Totsuka hums and twirls his glass. His eyes are half-lidded; in the dim light they look warm, sweet and amber like honey.

"Mhm… a bakery? You know, an old-timey one, ran by some elderly couple. With family recipes and… rustic interior, is it what it’s called?" his voice is sing-song, also honey-textured. "And the same customers come every day for breakfast or lunch, so you make small talk…"

"Totsuka," says Izumo, in an undertone despite himself. "I’m talking prospects. not daydreams."

"Or a food truck. Going around the country, selling street food. Always on the move and everybody’s glad to see you when you come!”

"Food trucks don’t have routes throughout the entire country, idiot." Izumo sighs and goes to rinse off his glass. Totsuka trails after him. "It’s pointless, and nobody has that much gas to waste."

"But carnivals do, don’t they? If I sell street food and also busk, it’ll be like a mini-carnival."

The next day, they make a Kit-Kat milkshake, a Derby and some spicy nuts and bolts for snacking. The day later, it’s mozzarella sticks and plain soda. The food truck comes up occasionally, every time Izumo tries to gauge anything out about Totsuka’s cooking pursuits. After a certain, very early, point it’s all a game, but the kind that gets more amusing as new details come up. The truck is supposed to be orange, medium-sized, with a grill, candy floss machine and some space for the futon, guitar, keepsakes and Totsuka himself. Izumo eyeballs the price for him, just to be mean.

"I’ll put some ads on," Totsuka decides after a brief awestricken pause at the numbers. "Don’t you want to advertise your bar all over Japan, Kusanagi-san?"

"Depends. How much’d you even charge if you hope to cover the costs?"

Totsuka slumps onto the table, half-defeated, half-overdramatic and says:

"Maybe I’ll just sell the apartment."

It takes Izumo a surprising amount of self-restraint to stop himself from childishly retaliating, Well, maybe I’ll just sell the bar.

*

Not that he actually would, at the present moment. He has given himself until the end of college, so the time isn’t exactly running out yet — though the day when it starts to is already an impending dot on the horizon. It’s like the mid-August of summer holidays, is he’s still allowed to think in high school terms.

Then again, Izumo thinks, as he mops the floors late at night, meticulously studies the damage to the coveted tablecloths and moves expertly through the maze of tables without as much as brushing a chair once, nobody allows or disallows him anything. His family isn’t rushing him, and the money has never been an issue. No, it’s all self-imposed. He knows the bar will have to go eventually, better sooner than later. Better before he has a real reputation in the business world to worry about.

Izumo straightens out, propping the mop against the wall and looks around, taking in the interior, somewhat mismatched from the patchy renovating, a bit too fancy for the people who come there. Ever since his uncle died, it seems to enter deeper and deeper into transitory state. Izumo wouldn’t be able to explain why on earth he decided to upscale it. The theme he should have stuck with is neutrality, a complete lack of anything suggesting affiliations, or even non-basic standards. That’s how the place gained traction, after all. Neutral grounds ruled by a person who is on pleasant, distant terms with every group in your tier. Somewhere to have a drink without any fights erupting and maybe, when the floor grows emptier, take the bartender aside and wheedle a favor out of him. Izumo agrees just often enough to keep the rumor that it’s doable alive without appearing to take sides.

After a week or so and no fewer than twenty cocktail recipes Totsuka unearths the live music plan and proclaims he needs to know his audience.

"Guys who don’t know half a thing about music," Izumo reassures him. "And I don’t permit bottle throwing here, so you’ll do fine with anything."

Naturally, Totsuka is as offended as he hoped.

"I need to know what kind of people they are! You don’t get tips if you play against the grain, Kusanagi-san. And nobody sings or claps along, and it’s just depressing."

"No singalongs is what you should be aiming for, thanks," Izumo says, but Totsuka’s mind is clearly made up. To save him the trouble of climbing through the bathroom windows or trying any other wacky kidbook schemes, Izumo eventually deposits him on a far-end seat at the bar one Thursday night with a Coke and instructions to attract as little attention as possible. To hold out until he’s in the spotlight, guitar and everything.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take a guitar to make someone high-school aged stand out in a half-empty bar. For the first hour nearly everybody who enters greets Izumo with "Oh, and that’s…?". They provide their own helpful suggestions, too. Izumo shoots down ‘little brother’ right away, but accepts ‘cousin’ a couple of times. When Totsuka manages to cut in first, it’s usually ‘intern’.

"Intern?" Izumo asks him via a raised eyebrow after the first time. Totsuka mutters back, “Cause I’m learning cocktails from you,” burying the back part of the sentence in his drink. Izumo only shrugs.

At long last, the novelty of Totsuka starts to wear off. Tables are getting fuller, and by ten Izumo can say with certainty that Totsuka should have been able to collect an accurate sample of the local public already. He’s in no hurry to leave though, glancing around with gleaming eyes and a half-smile. The local public is indeed a sight, especially for those who don’t hang out in certain parts of the town too often. Mohawks, bleached-out do’s, even a couple of pompadours. Leather jackets, clunky jewelry, bandanas. Tattoos and scars, sometimes overlapping. Each gang brought in their own style, contributing to a wild mess of clashing key pieces. It took Izumo some time to get used to that visual cacophony; Totsuka, however, seems to be taking it in stride, like most things.

When Izumo has to go to the back room for a minute, he slips off the chair to follow him and whispers.

"Are they really terrible people, Kusanagi-san? Who do really terrible things?"

"Really terrible people go to the dive bars in another district." Izumo loads off several bags of readymade snacks into his arms. "These are at moderate levels."

"So, they just fight among themselves?"

"Why’d you say that?"

Totsuka ponders a little, then says, "The leather jackets and the punk-style guys definitely fight". Izumo stops for a beat to glance at him because that’s true. This untimely pause must encourage Totsuka and he probes further: "Is there a reason?"

Izumo sighs and goes over the options in his head while his hands collect the utensils and supplies semi-mechanically.

"Look," he says at last. "The reason they come here, drink, chat with me is because it’s comparatively safe. They know I’m not gonna tip anyone off on their business. And so I don’t."

Turning back, he runs smack into Totsuka’s pout, this time full-fledged, and decides to rectify it a bit. Even at this point he knows that decision is more on a wrong side. Too bad there’s no way to predict the scale of wrong sometimes.

"Some smuggle, some have gambling rings, some do bodyguarding. Sort ‘em on your own if you are so curious."

Before heading out he catches a glimpse of Totsuka’s eyes lighting up and a grin beginning to form. Figures: now he’s gone and turned what could be a simple curiosity bone-throw or a flat rejection into a game. If Totsuka doesn’t figure it out, he can’t blame Izumo, and if he somehow does, the subjects of their discussion can’t blame Izumo either.

It appears like a win-win.

*

The next afternoon sees Totsuka parked on a sturdier chair with a guitar, facing the still-empty room. That’s as good of a stage as the bar can provide, but he seems to be perfectly content.

"It’s a nice observation point," he informs Izumo.

"Weren’t you complaining about the lighting and whatnot earlier?" asks Izumo. "What happened to that?"

He knows perfectly well what happened to that though: the endless circulation of ideas and plans in Totsuka’s world. Technically, he deposed the busking to old news himself, with that espionage schtick. Now Totsuka’s fully ready to lurk in the shadows and sniff out secrets, even if it takes some guitar-playing on the side. His gaze is glued to the door.

The first person to come is Gonzo, the leader of so-called ‘leather jackets’ that Izumo just labels as ‘the north-east one’ in his head, even though that’s also not their proper name. He isn’t entirely sure whether they’re really a biker gang or just dress the part. Gonzo is generally a boisterously good-natured guy, twice as much today, but that doesn’t stop Izumo from taking notice of how uncharacteristically early he is.

And sure enough, Gonzo is barely halfway through his first drink when he suggests Izumo to step out for a smoke while it’s not busy yet. Outside they listen to the buzz of passing trains, watch the sky go a darker shade of pink little by little in what could be called a companiable silence if there were any companions involved. Gonzo’s eyes lazily drift from the cotton-candy clouds to the dark windows way below.

"You keep anything up there?" he asks, nodding at them.

Here it comes, Izumo thinks. Unlike Totsuka he knows pretty well how the north-east gang makes money and what issues come with this kind of business.

"Odds and ends."

"Could they make space for a bit?"

"Should they?"

Gonzo laughs and leans sideways, not quite bumping shoulders. The underworld custom of talking in circles and vague hints clearly isn’t his strong suit. Charisma-laced candor, however, is. The wisps of his cigarette smoke now curl in the air next to Izumo’s own, merging together as they float up.

"They could make you some money, is what I’m saying. There’ll be a shipment in Chiba tonight, and we’re all booked out. Will take it off your hands in twenty hours tops."

"Pretty risky for my business and for yours."

"It’ll pay off, for both," says Gonzo. Through the half-closed door Izumo can hear the doorbell ring and Totsuka greet someone cheerfully. Someone who could be from the central district, or criminal outskirts, or rival dealers and probably expected the presumed neutrality of their go-to for decompressing to span both floors.

He gives a careless shrug.

"Sorry."

*

Coincidentally, the newly arrived bloke turns out to also be one of the north-east guys. When Izumo and Gonzo reenter, the bar is already tingling with bits and pieces of music. Totsuka is not playing yet, just running his hands against the strings to make them hum, fingers plucking at one or another occasionally. The patron sits at the table nearby with a beer. They seem to be talking about some band; Totsuka breaks off to mouth, "On the counter," at Izumo. He glances there and swipes the coins, an appropriate number of them surprisingly, off into his pocket, making a mental note to teach Totsuka operate the cash register.

"Wait a sec, you got a show on?" says Gonzo, paradoxically less single-minded now that he’s been rejected. "And I have a first row seat, too."

Over the course of the next half an hour he backs up Izumo’s assessment of his good-naturedness, laughing and calling out song titles and occasionally going as far as to clap along. The music now fills the space properly, ringing off the glass edges, oozing into the back room. Customers flow in steadily, and so do drinks. The north-easterners trickle over to where their leader is parked in Totsuka’s corner; the circle gets denser until he starts looking like booked personal entertainment.

Izumo is too busy to really do anything along the lines of watching over, but the music makes it easy enough to keep tabs. It runs on steadily and smoothly for a while, interspersed with claps and shout-outs, starts stumbling a little when Totsuka gets ambitious enough to follow those suggestions; then grows sparser, laxer, gradually making more and more room for the background noise.

He turns his head to get a good look at that point. Totsuka is still at his original spot, but now leaning onto the counter, guitar tossed across his lap carelessly. His cheeks and eyes are overly bright and the grin when he catches Izumo’s eye is positively dazzling. Izumo, a bartender, inadvertently glances at the glass with soda sat near the improvized stage and wonders who dumped their shot in there, also when and for what exact reason. As soon as his look drifts back, Totsuka flings the guitar down and himself off his seat in one motion that has a certain drunken grace to it. To be fair, it barely stretches to see him all the way to Izumo’s end of the counter.

"It’s going really well," he reports blissfully and, before Izumo has the chance to take a jab at some of his riffs, specifies: "The intel gathering. I’ve very nearly figured it out."

"Well?"

"Not yet. Still gotta check. Say, Kusanagi-san, we should bet on it!"

Izumo raises an eyebrow at him.

"Can’t win gamblin’ with a rich man like you. I don’t deal in trucks, and what else can you want? A pudding cup?"

Tosuka is all too happy to use that as an excuse to laugh out, all tipsy merriment. The protests that follow are also fairly stereotypical, if Izumo’s experience counts for something,

"Nope! A drink, a drink! You still haven’t served me your best one. I don’t buy the Arizona Sunset!" And here he leans in to mock-whisper: "Is that Blue Arrow after a-"

They both look up simultaneously as Totsuka’s cut off by something falling over him, something that for a split second looks like a tangible shadow to Izumo. Then he recognizes it for what it is - a high-grade leather jacket — and becomes aware of a smiling Gonzo at the eye level, the likely source of this windfall.

"Sorry ‘bout that. Some of my guys were being funny, overdid it a little. Better get some air outside, that will help with clearing his head."

Totsuka partially scrambles out from under the jacket, letting it fall back onto his shoulders, and in that half-buried state looks between them like a bewildered chipmunk. Izumo takes a moment to pass through the haze of half-formed thoughts of dragging him upstairs, throwing down a blanket and having him sleep it off for a while. But the night air is also good, as he, a bartender, can attest. He stifles a sigh.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Gonzo nods and Totsuka, who’s still in the process of getting the tousled hair out of his face, is pulled to his feet. Before leaving he turns to wink conspiratorially at Izumo through the remaining flyaway strands, and Izumo says to himself, since there’s nobody else, So, not that drunk after all, huh.

*

They come back in twenty minutes or so. Totsuka does seem more even-keeled, less sparkle and more glow. The leather jacket is sitting on his frame properly now, though it’s hard to say who gets the credit for that. He takes a seat at one of the corner tables this time, smiling absently at Izumo as he motions at the discarded guitar. One of “the guys" picks it up and eventually it finds its way back into the case. Izumo is rather sure he catches a glimpse of it cased at some point between then and the midnight.

Still, the fact remains: they've come back. It’s a good hour, if not more, of partying for the north-easterners that night. They drink and tip remarkably well and Izumo is waiting for his chance to tell Totsuka, See what I told you about the live music. Totsuka, however, seems to be moving with the tidal waves of people around him, never approaching alone. Whenever their eyes meet, he smiles in the same conspiratory way and gesticulates something inarticulate. Izumo only wonders if the night air really worked like they hoped.

It’s after midnight that the people start trickling out. A little early, Izumo thinks, but then recalls they have an overnight job lined up. Two by three, three by four, the group makes its way to the entrance and then outside. From the corner of Izumo’s distracted eye they blend into clusters of black spots against the light-colored walls, then transform into firefly-like tiny bursts of vivid color as each one stops to light a cigarette just out of the doors. The hum of departing slowly fades away to near silence, and when Izumo finally turns away from a desolated customer with a large tab, the bar looks lopsided — the right side is now barren.

Izumo leans against the counter, putting his weight onto it for several seconds: that late-shift feeling, something between lightheadedness and fatigue, starts to settle in. Making use of the downtime, he sorts out the tips, wipes the counter, prepares the trays for dirty glasses and tries to remember what he wanted in the back room. It comes to him like a jolt: the blanket. Only at that point he realizes.

The bar is half-barren and locked in what feels like a unnatural hush: the music is long gone — soaked into the walls, splashed out into the street — and no inane chatter has come to replace it. Belatedly, Izumo remembers Totsuka never swapped from Gonzo’s jacket back to his own bulky excuse of it, and wonders if he, a black dot at the edge of vision, gave Izumo’s back a mischievous smile on his way out.

*

Twelve hours in, Izumo thinks of all the ways to bastardize Blue Arrow while still retaining the right to call it that and entertains himself by looking up substitutions.

Two days in, he skims the local news column closely and starts straining his ear for any noteworthy gossip during the shifts; there’s none, which is reassuring.

Three days in, he suddenly reaches to turn on the portable radio mid-afternoon while prepping the bar alone.

Five days in, he tries to recall the address even though he knows Totsuka never mentioned it. Nor his cousin’s name, for that matter.

A week in, Gonzo shows up at his usual time.

*

Just like the last time, he’s alone, but in stark contrast from the last time he isn’t the one determined to have a word. Izumo bids his time and eventually Gonzo catches that prompting undercurrent in his persistent lingering glances. He goes through the trouble of coming over to answer it with a roll of shoulders and a lazy smile.

"The last week’s gig turned out good, by the way. The trouble paid off in full, like I said. Think it over for the future."

Izumo keeps the frustration off his face as he rummages through his memory trying to pinpoint what on earth he could be on about. Eventually, their smoke outside backdropped by cotton candy sky and the upstairs windows floats up to the surface.

"Ah," he says. "Well, looks like you’re making do without me."

Gonzo winks.

"The kid sure came in handy, so thanks for that, too. But we gotta have something more permanent."

"The kid," Izumo repeats slowly.

"Your cousin, was it? His place was perfect for the job. You know, a tiny block, on the outskirts... all warehouse-like, even. Could have fit twice as many crates in. Does he live with your family?"

Izumo, listening as if through the thick layer of something muffling, says, "No".

"Ah. Well, figures, since… Anyway, transporting the stuff was a piece of cake back then. I was gonna chat him up about a couple more shipments I had an eye on, but now that he’s cleared off…"

This time Izumo stops himself from dumbly echoing, "cleared off…", but something of the sentiment must be seeping through on his face anyway as Gonzo’s eyes flicker away. Still keeping them off, he rubs his cheek, the picture of someone’s who’s wondering if they're getting dragged into family drama.

"I mean, he joined us here and there while we were finishing up that business — no harm in that, keeping company. He loves to be on the move, no? Left him in Sendai last, he asked to pick him up Sunday. Said he’ll be staying for some open air schtick. But…"

"I see," says Izumo and somewhat hastily serves him his usual. They talk a bit about the current climate in the city and how the rent’s on the rise and, what movies are on, for Pete’s sake, before Hiroki and some others finally show up. The minutes swell, break off and sink  slowly like heavy droplets from a leaking pipe. Izumo goes through the routine with an odd sense of distance, as if his hands move three paces ahead of his consciousness. 

Hours later, Gonzo approaches him before calling it a night — half-cautiously, or so it looks to Izumo’s currently lagging mind.

"Can’t promise you anything," he says in a hurried attempt to redirect. "Don’t even know how long this place’s gonna stay in the business."

Gonzo blinks, then just looks at him for a moment — tall, solid and steady on his feet. Not the kind of person you can just hip-check off their chosen track. No knocking the subject out of his hands until he’s ready to drop it, Izumo thinks, and waits for him to keep going.

"Right, just thought I’d mention… Me and some guys, we’re going back to Sendai next week."

"Good luck, but don’t bother," Izumo hands seem to be picking up speed uncontrollably. It’s five paces ahead of the rest now, no less. "He’ll be in Nagasaki by then, or maybe in Europe. There’s no keeping up with him for us who have things to do."

Having blurted that out, he stops for a second – completely, hands and all – mesmerized by the satisfying finality of the words. That didn't just sound like it's over, he thinks, that sounded like it's been over for a week. Like it possibly never even started.

*

Several days later he re-discovers the card in the pile of mail where he first put it, and feels grateful to have something he can- not dispose of but physically set aside, literally put on the shelf. A gesture like this is the only thing his perfect wrap-up speech was missing.

He pauses for a second, surveying his options, then opens the drawer that holds a purchase agreement and other non-trivial papers. The yellowness and gaudiness of Totsuka’s inverted welcome seems to show through the top sheet, so he buries it deeper in the stack.

In the end of the winter when he starts getting things ready for the deal, it’s still there, unfaded.

[aza-extella]

Heshikiri Hasebe (revised fanfic)

Hi guys! I already posted this on my wattpad book but I’m still sharing this here! I will also post this on my ao3 account. This is a revised version of an old work of mine on wattpad 3 years ago titled “His Fidelity” in an old one shot book. Instead of revising it on the book itself I decided to separate the revised version.

I hope you like it :D

Heshikiri Hasebe (Revised)

Former Title: His Fidelity

Revised on 19/07/2020

Pairing: Heshikiri Hasebe/Ayano Kisaragi

Notes: Will remain in third person POV. Saniwa OC is my own creation.

___

A certain uchigatana diligently did his work as the self-proclaimed attendant of the citadel. He cleaned the nook and cranny of the building, arranged all furniture and misplaced items, instructed everyone to do their chores, and make meals for a hundred swords. While Ayano appreciates his hardwork, it is apparent that he WORKS too hard that he sometimes get too tired recently.

Ayano sighed for the fifth time as she gazes at Hasebe working hard. She closed her eyes and glanced at Mitsutada. "This won't end well if he continues to work too hard."

Mitsutada nods. "I agree. His body will get weak if he won't stop."

Granted, every tsukumogami born with a human body has immense strength unlike an ordinary human, but they still have their limits which worries Ayano.

"I appreciate the fact that he's doing it for my sake and the others, but can he at least notice that he needs rest? He only takes rest when sleeping, and I know that he is not taking at least eight hours of sleep." Hasebe can't lie. A saniwa can sense if someone is not taking care of themselves properly but only to a minimum.

"Mitsutada, can you help me?"

The man wearing an eye patch tilts his head for a bit, but a knowing look slowly forms on his face.

"Okay~!"

~~~~~

It was time for dinner. Hasebe softly yanked the bell's rope, signalling everyone. A lot of swords, namely tantou, rushed towards the dining hall. Both Mikazuki and Kogitsunemaru chuckled at everyone's excitement. After everyone found their place to eat, they marveled at the delicious food laid in front of them. "Itadakimasu~!"

Everyone ate in a joyous atmosphere. They shared stories, teased, and took big bites on their food.

"Ooh~! This food is so delicious! You really are a great cook, Mitsu-bou!"

Mitsutada chuckled as he rubs his nape in shyness. "Thank you for the compliment, Tsuru-san. But you should say that to the one who cooked the meals. I only did the minor stuff, after all."

Tsurumaru's golden eyes widened. "EH!? Who cooked the meals then!?"

A muffled "That would be me!!" silenced everyone. The main door of the dining hall slid open, and there holding a tray of seconds is Ayano. All swords are surprised, the Awataguchi tantou group releasing shrieks of delight. "It's Aruji-san! Awesome!!"

Hasebe's eyes are as wide as saucers. His mouth was wide open, too shocked to even blink and utter a single word. He watched as the swords congratulated her for her handiwork. He nearly didn't recover when Ayano approached his spot. "Hasebe-kun?"

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes at her and Mitsutada, the latter giving a nervous smile. "Didn't I tell you that I will do all the work?"

"What's wrong? It isn't to your liking?" Ayano tilted her head.

"That's not it!" Hasebe composed his self for a but. "It's delicious... But didn't I already told you that I'm your attendant?"

"It's not bad to do basic chores sometimes!"

"But it's my job!"

The two of them bickered until Ayano gave up. "I'm tired of this! You don't even listen to me!!" she said before she stormed off the hall. Hasebe was about to chase if not for Mitsutada stopping him on his tracks. "Please leave her alone for a while, Hasebe-kun." He had no choice but to obey.

All swords present in the hall held a sad expression. They continued to eat in silence, Hasebe reflecting on his mistake.

~~~~~

The following days continued with minimal problems, but Ayano and Hasebe aren't talking like they used to do. The two of them will converse about citadel affairs but never talked as if they were close friends. The swords got more worried for the two and so most of them held a secret meeting in a spacious storage room.

"A-aruji-sama and Hasebe-san aren't in good terms..." Gokotai sniffled. Midare and Hirano rubbing his back in a soothing manner.

"It's alarming indeed." Yagen huffed.

"What should we do, then?" Taikogane placed a hand on his chin, staring into nowhere.

"WAAH!" Tsurumaru shouted, causing the swords in the meeting to shriek. Tsurumaru laughed in which he received a glare from Ichigo Hitofuri. "Kidding~ Anyways, why not we leave them alone in the citadel?"

Tsurumaru's suggestion received a mix of 'yes', 'no' and doubt. A lot of opinions were raised. Ichigo tried to coax his brothers but his plea got buried with more questions.

"Everyone! Calm down." Mitsutada silenced everyone, all of them looked at him. "Let's try Tsurumaru's suggestion."

"But what should we tell them? They'll probably get worried if we just go."

"What about this?" Kashuu raised a colorful flyer. "There will be a fireworks festival at eight in the evening." Yasusada added.

~~~~~

Ayano thanked Sayo and Souza for the good work and walked back to her quarters when she noticed something. A door was ajar, and yet someone seemed to be asleep on the futon. She glanced around for any person in the vicinity before going inside the specific room. She saw Hasebe sleeping peacefully. His brows that are usually knitted in a frustrated fashion are now in a relaxed one. His gentle and calming snores sets a tingle in her heart. Seeing that his blanket isn't covering him properly, she went beside him slowly as to not wake him up abruptly and covered him properly. She was about to sit beside his sleeping figure, to stare at him for a bit, but was surprised when he absentmindedly grabbed her hand and engulfed her in an embrace. "H-Hasebe..?"

Hasebe didn't replied. He buried his face on her locks and cotinued to sleep. "Is he perhaps... dreaming?" she said as she studied his face. The calm expression that he sported turned into a smile. Ayano was glad that he's resting more properly now, she didn't pried herself and waited until sleep took her too.

"Aruji?" Mitsutada found out from Tsurumaru, the ever prying crane, that Ayano was sleeping in Hasebe's room. He shot a warning look at Tsurumaru "Please don't start a gossip unless it's confirmed." before he rushed inside. Indeed, as he opened the room, both Ayano and Hasebe are in each other's arms.

"Oh dear, I'll just leave them a note."

After writing everything that the two needed to know, he took a one last look at the sleeping figures and left. A smile made its way on her lips.

A few hours later, Hasebe woke up. Feeling a bit more refreshed, he was about to stretch his arms when he felt that his other arm is heavy. He opened his eyes and nearly screamed when he saw his master laying in front of him.

He calmed himself slowly, afraid of waking her up. He looked around and saw that it's already dark. He cursed himself for slacking off. It was almost time for dinner, so he decided to wake Ayano. "A-aruji..."

"Mhm..." she slowly stirred and sat up. She took the time to adjust herself from the time and stretched lazily. Hasebe watched in an endeared manner, savoring every minute that she is beside him. "It's already evening..." she said and looked outside the room.

"Yes."

"Hasebe. I'm sorry about what happened a while back."

Hasebe shook his head. "No, it's my fault. I should've listened to you and took care of myself. I apologize for my stubbornness."

"No. I--" The both of them said but stopped. They looked at each other more properly, and laughed.

"Let's just set this aside, since we both apologized." Ayano giggled.

"Yes, Aruji." He chuckled.

The both of them were silent for a bit, but Hasebe suddenly remembered about their compromising position a while back. The thought of it sent him into a blushing mess that he covered his face in shame. Hasebe slowly faced his master in guilt.

"I'm sorry for invading your personal space, Aruji!" he slammed his forehead on the tatami, both of his hands planted firmly. Ayano finally remembered what happened, making her eyes go wide and a gasp escaped her lips. "No! I'm sorry! I was awake when that happened!"

"It's my fault Aruji! Please don't blame yourself!"

Ayano bit her lip and whispered. "I didn't hate it..."

Unfortunately, or fortunately, Hasebe heard it clearly. "R-really?"

Ayano closed her eyes, "It's because... I see you not only as a comrade... but as someone that I love."

Hasebe almost can't believe what she had said. His master loves him? A lowly servant?

"You aren't just a sword that I used for battle, I don't see my swords as mere pawn. They're my friends. You... are my cherished someone, Hasebe."

Before Ayano could hide in the futon, Hasebe inched closer and engulfed her in a hug. "T-that's... I can't express how happy I am..!" Hasebe choked back the sobs and squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the tears that are threatening to fall.

"R-really..? I'm glad too!" Ayano cried in tears of joy as the both of them held a mutual love for each other. They stayed hugging each other, savoring the warmth of each other's bodies. They occasionally sneak glances and rub their noses in affection. The moment continued until they remembered something more important.

"Where are the others?" They both asked. Hasebe noticed a small paper tucked obviously. He reached towards the paper and read the contents.

"WHAT!?"

"Hasebe??" Ayano read the content of the note and gasped. "Really?"

"I hope they are spending our funds properly." Hasebe rubbed his head.

"I hope so too." For once, Ayano agreed. "Should we watch the fireworks on the thousand-year cherry blossom tree?"

Hasebe smiled. "Let's. Ayano."

~~~~~

At the festival, all are enjoying playing games and eating food from the stalls. Mitsutada watched all of his friends with a fond expression.

"I wonder how those two are faring?"

___

This originally has 3k word count but I removed almost all fillers. I also changed the ending and simplified it too. I hope you like the revised version!