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ladybyakuya · 2 months

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| BLIND + IZUMO HARUICHI.

+cw. — izumo haruichi x f!reader, coworker to lovers, oblivious pinning, flirting, confession, description of panic attack, claustrophobia & coping mechanisms, forced proximity, fluff, angst, character study, smut ( kissing ).

+wc. —3.1k ( shocker )

+syn.— last summer Izumo Haruichi came under your radar but this summer he has managed to get under your skin.

+notes. — part of ‘HELP WANTED’ mini server collab hosted by @interstellar-inn | redirect to blog navigation.

+tags. — @dear-koi @qichun @violet-turning-violet

The refectory of the office is oozing with ruckus this afternoon. It is not unusual but today it is just unbearable. The compartment plate in front of you is still filled with rice, curry, and salad as when you started eating your lunch. The line for the food is still alive; people are gossiping, taking food onto their plates, gossiping, taking spoons and forks, chopsticks— the sound of utensils clanking against each other one after another or sometimes all at once in sync is bugging you today. Your ears should be used to it by now after working for two years straight but it seems like a bother today. It is awfully loud in here. Everything is, even the heat.

Among this hustle and bustle, the only sound that bothers you the most is someone’s voice. It is faint to catch on from where you are sitting but the voice keeps coming to you in bits and pieces, like ebb and flow. Sometimes it is there and sometimes it is not. Sometimes your ears pick up on it but sometimes not and when it does not, your heart waits for it, even searches for the sound to reappear. And the heat is just making it worse. You can practically feel the beads of perspiration cascading through your cleavage as you search, waiting for the voice to turn up again. The air conditioner is on though, and the fans are working perfectly fine but with this kind of crowd, and heat in the dining place is at par with some blast furnaces.

“Well, I can take you there sometimes if you want,” Izumo states as one of the new interns, sitting diagonally to him, places a dumpling from her plate to his. Aoi Kaguragi, Izumo Haruichi, Reno Ichikawa, and Iharu Furuhasi are sitting at one table but Izumo is the most disconnected from them.

“No. No. Haruichi-san, it’s fine. I can manage.” The girl sitting beside him pleads. A group of four girls who joined as new interns have occupied the table beside them. There is just a slit of partition between the two tables. Most tables are for a group of four people, but cubicle tables are cluttered together to make the team bigger, and better to establish a good workplace culture to some extent.

Izumo expresses his thanks with a sun-kissed smile to the girl who just gave a dumpling to him, without asking. You make eye contact with him for a second but it's awkward. Aoi's nose shrinks. It acts as a distraction from Izumo’s azure gaze. Aoi stuffs his mouth with the dumpling Izumo just received out of disgust earning an alarming glare from Reno. Izumo does not even bat an eye to it. But the girl protests, “Hey. . .” Aoi glups it before saying, “he hates dumplings.” Iharu is busy eating his lunch. This guy . . . he woke up early, made breakfast for himself, got so busy and immersed with cooking that he forgot to eat. So, he is eating quietly. Reno keeps telling him to slow down but who is he? His dad?

“Well, wouldn't it be easier if you could get some directions and details?” The girl looks confused so Izumo divulges. “I live around there. So, yeah I could get you in touch with some agents if you want,” The girl looks at him with so much hope as if she has a chance to ask for the moon.

“Oh my God. Really? Thank you so much Haruichi-san,” she chimes

Oh Fuck! Here it comes. Aoi, Reno, and Iharu share a look as you get up. The clank of your spoon was a little too loud to be ignored. Okonogi asks, “You didn’t even eat today too. Are you okay? Do you wanna leave soon today? I can finish your work if you want . . . ”

“No. Kono-chan. It’s alright. I don’t feel hungry. I will eat when I feel hungry,”

“Yeah, gallons of coffee and tons of cakes,” Kikoru prompts without missing a beat. Your shoulders sink at her statement. She is not lying but gallons? Tons? That’s surely an exaggeration. You take your plate and as you walk past his table he gets up. Please let him not run into you. . . please god, please.

“Going to share the rest with your boyfriend?” He grabs a bottle from its designated section. You watch him walk, pick a bottle, and then come back but he halts in front of you blocking your way. Of course. Why didn’t you expect that? You should have taken a different route.

“So what if I’m?” you squint your eyes at him since his Adam’s apple shift. Now, that’s different, unlike other days. Your eyebrows jump. Teasing each other is as easy as breathing for you and him. So, you just give in to this golden opportunity. “Your flirt game is so bad, no wonder you’re still single, Haruichi-san,” you snicker emphasizing ‘Haruichi-san’ since you have already been granted the authority to call him by his name but sometimes it is just amusing how he hates it when you do not use it; even if he specifically said that you can call him Izu-kun or simply Izumo. He just wanted to get included in your league of people; the people who you have given a nickname. It's almost like adopting a puppy.

Izumo rolls his tongue inside, along his bottom lip too quickly to pinpoint his frustration. He is pouting now. His hand proceeds to his nape scraping his hair for a moment in the hope of seeking some respite from this heat. Why does he even keep his hair long? Why not just cut it? Or put it in a bun. Your eyes go to the bunch of interns who are eagerly watching you two as if you are big stage actors. “My flirt game isn’t bad, . . . he trails off and then sighs. His hand swings back in his pocket as clarifies, “It’s just that . . . the person I like is a fucking idiot. That’s why I’m still single.”

You scan the group of interns at his valor display of vulgarity. Girls must find it hot, don’t they? That’s why he does it, isn't it? Good for him! He has an audience now. You bet they are practically swooning. Aoi’s face is a sight to behold. Iharu has given up. Even Reno has his head tipped down while holding the bridge of his nose. He is not someone who loses patience easily except Kafka Hibino, his mentor and co-worker.

“What a loverboy.” You opined to him before your gaze switched back to the girl who was trying all the ways to get his number. Yeah, it was very obvious especially since she was practically rubbing herself on him since the day she joined. How do people do that? Get hooked onto someone like the twinkle of a star. That too in this heat. It is hard enough to keep coherent behavior, thoughts, and habits intact but now you have another problem, Izumo Haruichi. He is being spectacularly annoying today.

You look at the girl before saying anything. You will probably be doing her a favor.

“don’t waste your time on him, he is going to break your heart, girl.”

The spoon from her hands falls on the dish splashing a little bit of soup on her dress. People have already started to look at this table by now.

“You’re just jealous,” the girl sneers back.

You part your lips forming an apology at the tip of your tongue but you realize the damage you have done. She hurriedly tries to clean herself with a napkin to avoid eye contact.

You should not pick on people’s emotions like that, however small, however meek it may seem to you, it's a lot for them. What’s with you today? This is not like you. This is more like . . . Haruichi. He has this habit. Maybe it's starting to rub off on you simply because he is now working with your team on this upcoming project.

Izumo has always been like this. Flirting with girls, leading them on, giving them hope, and then, breaking their hearts. Does he realize that? The hurt he leaves in his wake? He is like a swan in a lake leisurely swimming in the evening that attracts ducks, influencing them to be like the swan, elegant and beautiful when there is a surge of fresh batches of interns; every year. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it backfires.

His flirting is not limited to just girls. That’s how he became such close friends with Aoi. But then again, it is not exactly flirting. Could it be he is unaware of how he carries himself? Nah! That’s too much of giving him the benefit of the doubt or maybe has managed to charm a part of you. Yeah! That would happen in any case. He picks up on people’s emotions really quickly and does not hesitate to call them out. It’s a nasty habit.

That is how much you know about him, as a co-worker. Outside this office, he is a total stranger to you. So, you do not have to look out for him, worry about being among the swarm of ducks, he might turn into one, or fearing if there hides a hawk among them.

“That’s too much talking for an intern,” Iharu remarks, taking his plate and standing up.

“I agree.” Reno nods his head. “Wait, what?” He is not surprised by Iharu’s statement but rather his wit. Before the situation gets elongated you try to put an end in your way but whether the bow will pierce the heart or the head you gamble on that.

“Yes. maybe you’re right. That was so rude of me. But you see,” you bow your head a little to match her eye level since her eyes are on her plate. “ I don’t go for committed boys.”

Izumo’s face is aghast. What did you just say? He is not committed. He is single. Excuse you, did you not hear him a while ago?

Izumo looks at Aoi, clearly uncomfortable and frightened by your burst of bubbling behavior. That was odd of you. He has never seen you this annoyed. He has always been like this with you, teasing and flirting around you with other people. Maybe the heat is going in your head today. You walk towards the dustbin to empty your plate before keeping it on a designated table. Everyone watches you as Izumo follows you like a kicked puppy searching for his owner. It’s pathetic.

He is not pathetic . You are just dumb. How can you not get it? How can you not see it? His feelings for you? Well, not that he exactly laid his heart out in front of you but isn’t it obvious? Everybody on his team is aware of it. Everybody on your team is aware of it. Are you really that dumb? Or do you just choose to ignore his feelings? If it is the latter then he is done for. Perhaps, the fear of abandonment and rejection compels him to create backups while at the same time, it gives him a refuge to hide his feelings; keep them protected, warm, and soft; so that he can still talk to you, still be around you, breathe the same air as you.

After all, who would look for a leaf in a forest?

“Fancy a candy?” Izumo chimes as he leans against the door frame of the archive room while you slide the access card to open the door.

“No thank you.” You tartly reply with a poker face. God, he followed you here, which means he is gonna yap for as long as he is here and God forbid he better not talk about what just happened in the dining hall.

Izumo mumbles to himself, stepping into the room, “Guess I’ll have it then,” with a pout.

“Did the storage closet door lock behind us?” you ask as the bang of the metal door sends jolts throughout your body.

“I think so,” Izumo walks towards the door to check. He hopes that you are not playing any prank or something but then again, who would like to be stuck in the archive room? Especially in summer when the air conditioner is out of service and the fans have been hopeless since last spring. Izumo hears a loud thud. As he turns he finds you curled up in a fetal position on the floor struggling to breathe.

“Oh no no no no” you blabber feeling the dread and anxiety piling on top of your body. It is getting heavier. Seeing you like that, Izumo forgets what to do. At first, his feet move slowly though, then he quickens his pace but finally skids towards you since his calf muscles betray him.

“Breath. Look at me.” His voice is so faint or maybe you are already sinking in the depth of the attack. You know what to do. The tactic to overcome this. But with people around it gets harder. Most people do not know what to do and even if they did they are only aware of the ‘321’ rule since it is easier to remember, faster to execute, and the default suggestion before the medic arrives. Right. Medic. You can call, right? You touch your hips for your cellphone feeling only your skin and clothes. Your phone is at your work desk. Fuck. Your only hope is this guy, Izumo Haruichi.

“That’s not. . . it. you inhale barely but manage to say the next set of words in one breath.

“That 321 rule doesn’t work on me.”

Immediately, your chest starts to feel heavy. Your head feels heavy. Your breathing is labored.

“Yes, I know. I know.” Izumo assures. His voice is so still, so even that it gathers all scattered pieces on him finally. “54321 it is.” He adds. He tries to make you sit but you are so stiff under the influence of fear that even with his strength he is in no luck. Moreover, he does not want you to treat him as a threat rather than a cane to grab on.

“Identify 5 things you can see,”

Your eyes roam everywhere, to the farthest point it can see things. It has already started to itch and water. You blink rashly before mumbling. “Files—you inhale a long breath. “cabinets, AC, tables, chairs”

“Next. 4 things you can touch”

“The wall,” you say and touch it. You can finally sit up now, leg sprawled on the hot floor. Next, you touch your i-card. “My ID card.” Then your hair clip. “my hair clip,” unfastening it from your hair letting your hair fall onto your shoulders; it's a turquoise one today, and finally his ID card. You grab it in your hand and watch closely, flipping it too to glance at the other side . What an awful picture of Izumo .

“Your ID card.”

Izumo holds you by the arms. His touch feels cold against yours. The full-sleeve dress is the only barrier between his skin and yours. Your palms clamp around his upper wrists.

“Okay, 3 things you can hear:”

“A.C.”

“Fans.”

“Your voice,”

Izumo nods every time but it becomes slow at your third pick.

“2 things you can smell.” It sinks in him: how in desperation and hunger you seek whatever you can get.

You take your scented handkerchief out of your pocket. Izumo takes it and holds it against your nose. Your exhaustive eyes look at him. His perfume smells rather too sweet today. You fall into his chest, embracing him. “Your perfume,” You whisper nuzzling against him. He is still sitting with his legs folded. You can hear his heartbeat, yours too. You are alive. You are very much alive.

“1 thing you can taste,” He says in a low voice, like the start of a lullaby. Reluctantly you pull your face away and look up. At this angle you can see his tongue, it’s white due to the candy. Could it be lichi flavored? There is still a bit of it left, peeking against his teeth.

Curiosity cascades into your body like rain and soaks him wet in a fraction of a second. It is an entirely foreign sensation for Izumo: Your lips are plush and soft with no hint of lipstick. The way your fingers press into his chest is unforgiving to his taut muscles creating a sense of pain, but a different kind of pain; the good kind. You are desperate and forceful. Your lips taste like spicy and honey. What did you have for lunch today?

WAIT. You break the kiss. Izumo is as stunned as you are. His azure is asking why did you stop? You are still holding on to him. How did he know that the ‘321’ rule does not work on you? Moreover, how did he know that you have claustrophobia in the first place?

Ah! Now it makes sense.

The realization paints your mind like it's high on drugs. Before you can think twice, your hands trail up to his nape enveloping his face. He instantly pulls you into his lap folding his legs one over the other to make you comfortable. He is swift and strong. This time, he is the one to demand first. The candy must have melted by now. It was coconut-flavored. You do not remember swallowing it neither does he but only the feeling of your lips on his, his on yours. He pulls away from the kiss gasping for air. His mouth and nose are cherry-tinted. He is getting an earful from Aoi for sure.

“I have texted Aoi.” His hands recoil back into his pocket from under your shirt. “He will be here soon.”

Izumo looks at the ground. Is it awkward? Yeah! Definitely. Does he want this to get over with? NO!NEVER. Damn him for wanting you. Damn him for craving you even at desperation like this.

You give him a long hum. “Why do you look like a crumpled receipt? It’s not like I will break your heart once we are out of the room, Izumo.” You place a kiss on his cheek. “Still have to thank you for saving my life.”

You get out of his lap. He blinks hopelessly. Yeah, his suffering isn’t going to end . You still are as dense as a cabbage and so defenseless, so tactless, by god it drives him nuts. “I love you,” Izumo mumbles to himself. Aoi opens the door as you look at Izumo.

“What did you just say?” Both of you walk side by side as you two walk out of the room. Aoi is still holding the door.

“Nothing” You continue to scrutinize him with your eyes. “I said, I hate you.”

You smile. “Yeah! I hate you too.”

Poor Aoi is still holding the door witnessing the cheesiest corny confession ever.

—

network: @underratedcharactercorner

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alluralater · 4 months

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kinda want to start a text post series about the things i've learned/experienced being biracial.

for instance, when i was little i was fortunate enough to have spent plenty of time with my great grandmother in south carolina. she was fully black and she taught me about my heritage, my lineage, where we come from and how we survived as long as we did through slavery and the civil rights movement. one afternoon while at her house she asked me to come sit with her. when i did she seemed hesitant, like she wanted to tell me something but wasn't sure how to do so. i asked her if she needed me to fix her oxygen line and she replied no. it was a long minute or two that passed just sitting there on the couch next to her before she abruptly began telling me what it was like for her growing up.

i had known this particular information already and was prepared to tell her (she was in her 90s and sometimes would forget certain conversations) but then she started telling me what it was like for those she knew that were of mixed descent and the crimes perpetrated against people like me by white people as well as other black people. i will absolutely not be talking about those stories on here because of how graphic and scary they are but i will tell you what she told me afterwards.

she said she was afraid for me. she said that i was loud and outspoken and it was a fine line which i needed to be careful walking. she told me it would have been better if i'd been born black instead, or even just white passing, because my ambiguity put me at risk.

'you won't fit in anywhere. people don't like what they don't understand.'

my great grandmother was a wonderful woman and her fear was held similarly to that of my parents and grandparents. she told me it would be worse as a woman, that my brother would have an easier time because white people would like him and his blackness was less questionable because he was a boy. and she was right of course but i didn't understand why it mattered then. unfortunately i was hurt by many as well as bullied constantly growing up for my looks but i kept that to myself for the most part.

my great grandmother told me i was lucky that i was pretty, because being pretty and sweet might save me. she told me about how she felt when my older sister was born, how angry she was with my dad for having children with a white woman and creating "abominations." that word among others i heard a lot as a child from plenty of people whether strangers or family. she said she hated the idea of us at first but then loved us— me. she had realized most of her hatred was rooted in her fear for what could happen based on the things she knew of and saw in her own experience, on top of things that had happened to her. my dad had previously had a few conversations with me asking if i'd been bullied at school at all for being biracial and i always told him no and lied because i didn't want him to worry. my great grandmother explained to me that it was better to use my cuteness, tone down my intelligence when in the presence of anyone that was not like me, and be careful. she said that i would never be black enough to be accepted fully because i would always be seen as something else, and i would never be seen as white because i didn't look it. i hugged her carefully so as not to pull the tube from her nose. i didn't feel offended by anything she said. the shake in her voice was enough to show me how painful it was for her to say. she loved me and while she said i would have a better life than she did because the world was changing, it would be more lonely.

being biracial i have learned to fit in everywhere and yet still, i fit in almost nowhere. i was a dirt poor kid that wore the same few outfits to school as a child because my mom worked three jobs and barely had enough money for gas let alone new clothes or extra gas to go to a donation center for anything new. i shared a single room with my four siblings and my mom for a long time. while other people were learning to accept their identities and navigate the world accordingly, i was learning to be quiet and blend into the background, not make too much noise in front of the wrong audience, feigning stupidity when people began to see me as a threat as i aged out of the 'cute mixed toddler' category. i was learning to be a mother to my siblings and protect them from a world that hated us. being biracial meant learning that i was seen as entertaining, looked at in the same way as a selectively bred puppy. i learned that i was fetishized by many for my looks and simultaneously looked down on for them. i learned that grown men considered me attractive in a sexual sense because of my mixed looks and had no problem telling me or acting on that. i learned that white women hated me but envied me, cherry picking which attributes they loved about me most and disregarding all others. i learned that being biracial was always about proving myself, justifying my existence to those who wouldn’t accept me fully regardless, fearing the intentions of people who wanted to be with me or have me alone. i learned that many people expected me to pick a side, choose one half of myself and leave the other behind, as if i am not already in existence held together by the parts of my heritage that created me from halves to whole.

being biracial and not passing on either side was and can be very lonely. there were many years as a child that i thought life would be easier if i weren't alive. attempting to find community when you are always seen as 'other' was hard. thankfully when i moved here i met more people like me, and my great grandmother was right. the sense of community i have with people who share experiences like mine is similar to no other. i can be myself, my entire self. i'm black and i'm white, but i am biracial. one day i’ll have to share this information with my children, and even though it pains me to recall these experiences among thousands of others, i understand now why my great grandmother and other family members were so worried for my safety and my quality of life. my experience as a biracial woman specifically is something i don't really ever talk about on here in depth because i have community to have these conversations with irl thankfully and do often, but it matters to me and i'd like to talk about it more.

anyways thank you for reading <3

#whew i'm like shaking after writing all this because it's so hard to talk about with tons of people who are basically strangers #there are soooo many things i can talk about regarding this #oftentimes it feels as though my existence takes up space that i am not worthy of. this isn’t true but it is a reflection of the world #it’s hard to talk about and it’s hard to think about.#if i decide to talk more on this i’ll start a new tag for it but for now i need a minute to go breathe and pace bc i’m for some reason abou #to have like a panic attack #okay i’m back and still scared but i’ll be posting this anyways. the anxiety over voicing my experiences with new/random people is so loud.

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