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katnissmellarkkk · 4 years ago

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Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

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#everlark #thg #everlark fic #hunger games #fanfic #writing #dancing on my own 💔👸🏼✨

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inevitable-anna · 6 years ago

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Escape The Night S4X06 Spoilers.

Hello, it’s ETN time again! I believe this may be my longest reaction post yet! I’m working on my ‘possessed guest’ theory.

Here we go...

[[MORE]]

Oohh The Gorgon and The Collector are having an argument!

Ummm... The Gorgon doesn't turn to stone when she looks at her own reflection?

Holy Musical B@tman! The Minotaur came out of nowhere!

R.I.P random Greek warrior dude. Press f to pay respects!

Still loving the opening credits!

*The Gorgon enters the lounge* My mind: "Here's Gorgie!"

Ahh! No! Don't hurt The Sorceress! Bad Gorgon!

AHHHH! MORTIMER IS TURNING TO STONE! THAT IS NOT GOOD!

ASDFGHJKL! I'm sorry, I know Mortimer is probably dead now, but his statue looks hilarious!

The way The Sorceress was touching the fingertips of Mortimer’s statue, when the guests came back into the lounge. :(

"Oh, baked beans!" I love Ro so much, and I know I say it every time but she's great!

"I will gouge her eyes out for this. Mark my words!" The Sorceress vowed to avenge Mortimer!

"I knew he was a stoner." If Bretman dies I'm gonna be so mad!

Oh, this is the ‘rainiest day’ that Merlin was talking about!

The group used the 'guardian angel' stone!

ATTFSRKDBWORNZWLBEBUANRBFKRBFOWRPGOHEBNGORKD KENNGIIIWBSIA!!!!!

MATPAT AND NIKITA ARE BACK!!! YESSSSS!!

AND RO'S STILL ALIVE SO MATT/RO REUNION!!!

Ro: *sees Mat* "starts screaming"!

Awww! Mat just lifted Ro up and gave her the biggest hug! Yay! They're reunited! This is the one of the things in the series that I was waiting for and I’m so glad it happened!

Wait? Is Mat's hair purple? It looks good.

No one:

Nikita: *shows up*

Colleen: "Nikita's a really sucky guardian angel because last time I was with her, she shoved me into a box of spikes and murdered me."

Me: :|

"We only have a limited amount of time to save as many of you as possible." Oh? Are Mat and Nikita only here for this episode then? :(

Ro: "Did you join a cult?" Mat: "What?" Ro: "I saw the symbol on her, it's on Joey. You got it." Nikita: "We're the Society Against Evil." Mat: "We're here to help. We're the good guys." Ro: *suspicious af face* "This cult is recruiting. I do not trust them." I just found this funny.

But I do agree with Ro. I don't trust the SAE.

I missed Mat. "I mean, Jael and Ryu are kinda weird. Bit quiet. They puke magic. It's kinda disgusting." Lol

Thank goodness for Mat! "Thinking Gorgon, I immediately think of Greek mythology."

Mat and Ro's friendship is everything! Mat: *thinks of possible solution* Ro: "Mat, you smart. You smart." Mat: "Thank you."

Mat doing a victory dance, when his theory is proved to be correct, is brilliant!

Colleen: "The Collector, despite being a real b*tch, happens to have one in her museum." Does Merlin's note actually say the bit about The Collector being a b*tch or did Colleen add that in? Because it's hilarious to think of Merlin writing that!

Joey: "I volunteer not to hold the shield, so." When was the last time you actually volunteered to do something Joey? Because I can't remember! (This is gonna be really stupid if he volunteered an episode or two ago)

Colleen. WE KNOW YOU HOLD A GRUDGE BUT PLEASE STOP BRINGING IT UP EVERY 5 MINUTES!

ALEX! YOU ARE STILL SHADY AS HELL TO ME! EVEY TIME YOU SAY "I need to prove that I'm on your side" IT JUST SEEMS MORE SUSPICIOUS!!

Joey: "The Gorgon's lair is gorgeous." Camera: *shows The Gorgon's lair, which is covered in fog and statues that are actually deceased people* Me: 'If Joey thinks this is gorgeous, I'd hate to see what he thinks is ugly.'

Please let Alex get turned to stone!🤞🏻 Please let Alex get turned to stone!🤞🏻Please let Alex get turned to stone!🤞🏻

Bretman: "Alex tries to look at her through the mirror and Miss Gorgon was like, 'B*tch, you dumb.'" Bretman is still great.

Alex: *gets captured by Minotaur after failing to turn The Gorgon to stone* Bretman: "Why are the cute monsters never grabbing me?" Me: "... Wha?"

I love how whenever the group gets a note and someone reads it out, you can see Ro trying to remember it and figure it out in the background.

Ok, three riddles to open the three gates of the maze. The answer to each riddle will be an object inside the maze. This sounds cool, I love riddles! I’m not great at them but I like them.

Nikita: "Shut up and just look cute. I'm gonna save your ass."

First riddle: "I have a head a tail but no body." No body but it has a head and tail?

Ohh! It's a coin. Good thinking Nikita! And Nikita got captured!

Now we're with team Mat.

Oh so they have to find what each statue was missing and return it to said statue.

Okay, The Sorceress was helping Ro hide from The Gorgon was awesome and now I want The Sorceress and Ro to be friends!

(Photo credit to @sun-shine-lolli-pops)

Okay, back to the team Nikita.

Second riddle: "Feed me and I live. Give me a drink and I'll die." EEK! I know this one! It's fire, the answer is fire!

Nikita: "A candle. Look for something with fire." Alex: "Don't listen to her." And Alex keeps trying to convince everyone that he's not bad?

Grapes? Okay, now Bretman has used the lighter!

Okay, the second gate has been opened. One more to go!

Bretman has been captured as well.

Now it's Joey's turn! Third riddle: "When you need me you throw me away. When you are done with me you bring me back." Hmm?

Wait! On the table is an anchor! It's the anchor! It's the anchor, Joey!

Third and final gate complete! And Joey didn’t get caught.

Uh oh... Joey has to vote for himself or vote for either Nikita, Bretman or Alex and Joey will get immunity.

Back to team Mat.

Good thinking with the empty pedestals, Ro!

I love how Ro takes the high pedestal and has to, literally, climb on top of it because she's so tiny, while Mat and Colleen have the short pedestal and just have to step onto it.

Ro yelling "Team Cinnamon Roll" is everything! #TeamCinnamonRoll

Colleen: "Mat and I have to stand on the one that says, "Kiss of the jewelled lover." Matt's married and has a kid. I'm married and have a kid. So that ain't happening. So he's gonna get a big ol' kiss on the cheek."

Colleen: "Are we doing this?" Matt: "Give me a kiss, lover!" The way that Matt says that is hilarious!

Mat: "Are you the new Calliope? Are you the one who's shuffling the cards?"

Sorceress: "I'm The Sorceress."

Ro: "She's pretty cool, Matt."

Mat: "Yeah?"

Ro: "Yeah, she's really helpful."

Colleen: "Snake lady freaks me out."

Matt: "Didn't Joey say that she killed him?" That whole interaction was brilliant.

Phew, Joey voted for himself. Which makes my earlier dig about him not volunteering look stupid now.

Ro asks Alex if he wants to go in and he said yes!

WHAT? Who the heck voted for Colleen?

ASDFGHJKL! Bretman: "Miss Colleen, prove yourself, Duchess." It was Bretman!

Alex is going in too!

Alex: "What? Rosanna! I didn't know what I was saying earlier. I was just cold." Ro: "You told me to vote for you!" Anyone getting S1X06 Matt vibes here? When he said he'd do the exorcism and then tried to back out?

Oh this is an interesting challenge! The ‘guardian angels’ Mat and Nikita has to traverse the maze and find the parts of a puzzle, while Alex and Colleen have to assemble the puzzle pieces to make the Parthenon.

Nikita crawls under the legs of the Minotaur! That is gutsy!

Colleen is almost done!

NIKITA! WHAT THE FLIPPETY FLAPPITY FUCK?!?!?

I'm sorry for my language there but what the hell, Nikita?

Nikita has cheated at this challenge and the last person to cheat was Destorm and he automatically forfeited his life as punishment. I feel like Alex should lose now. (I’m not saying this because I dislike Alex, I’m saying because Nikita cheated and I think there should be a punishment.)

No! Where's Matt gone?

Thank goodness! Matt is still alive! He’s just outside the museum.

R.I.P Colleen Ballinger.

First death- stabbed to death inside of the iron ‘maiden of madness’.

Second death- “ripped to pieces” by the Minotaur.

I used to like Nikita... not anymore!

Yesesss! Kill The Gorgon! When Alex tells the Minotaur to stay in the maze, the Minotaur stomps of like a child being sent to their room.

Nikita: "I seem to be doing pretty well for my first mission as a Society Against Evil girl." Nikita: *cheats at challenge, which gets Colleen killed*

Ro: "Alex and Nikita return to the lounge. Which means Matpat and Colleen did not make it." She thinks Mat is dead and she looks so sad! Someone hug Ro! Please?!

Ro: "There's this fire that's starting inside of me that's just starting to ignite, and I'm just... I hate these monsters." #LetRoBeABadass2K19

A lamp? Does this mean that the genie/djnn looking person from the trailer is next?

"Wishes are not free." Well, that's ominous.

And that’s my reaction post for S4X06 done!

And as I thought about the end of this episode, I thought that, apart from Nikita, Rosanna is the only girl left in the group. If Nikita only stays for one more episode then Ro will definitely be the only girl left and that should guarantee that she is one of this seasons survivors! Until I thought that Colleen is seen in the pirates episode, which means she may be revived, which will probably be bad for Ro as they probably won’t have 2 female survivors (Although Ro is is the pirate episode as well). Excluding S2, The survivors are always Joey, a boy and a girl, so it’s unlikely that it would be 2 girls and Joey to win this season unless they decide to change that. But who knows?

Quick question, who do you want to win this season?

Hope you like this post! :)

Have a lovely day!

#escape the night spoilers #escape the night all stars #escape the night 4 #escape the night #etn #etn spoilers #etn season 4 #etn4 #etn all stars

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never-relaxed · 8 years ago

Text

On the Persona 5 translation

I’ve read a lot of extremely hot takes on the Persona 5 translation today. So many, in fact, that it’s difficult to address everything wholesale. To the their credits, the critics are both thorough & well-articulated, and their arguments are strong enough to get me thinking - strong enough, even, to kickstart me pushing out this writing blog I’ve been wanting to get off the ground.

I want to respond to the myriad of issues listed on the website being currently used as a sort of rallying-cry, http://www.personaproblems.com/ . It’s well-designed, and organizes the issues well. I’ll start at the top, then:

- “Yet no other form of media would ever get away with the number of errors found in Persona 5's English script.”

This is a very minor nitpick, but actually, yes. Other forms of media would, indeed, get away with any number of similar errors; viewers of foreign films, for instance, can tell you all about how perfect-world this sentiment is. Additionally, classic books aren’t retranslated for no reason; direct translation is not actually a Thing, and any translated work is going to display the biases, quirks, and language tendencies of its writer(s). This is why people learn dead or archaic languages just to read Cicero or Plato in the original text. It’s a bizarre claim, to say grammar issues are not a problem throughout other media. (Also, try reading a novel translated from a Slavic language, if you don’t like stiff dialog. Have fun.)

- “The baseline for any translation is this: readers of the translation should receive the same experience as readers of the original, as if the original creators had written it natively in both languages.“

If this is the writer’s goal when they go about their own work, it’s admirable. It’s also completely impossible. What does a “native” English speaker sound like? Are they American? British? Australian? Here’s the short of it: by translating a work in your own native tongue, you are co-authoring the piece. It is never, ever, going to be a 1:1 situation when facing down the realities of character limits, cultural differences, & even personal backgrounds. Some works get closer, some works get further, and it’s down to the writers to decide whether a strict or a loose translation better fits the text.

To a certain degree, the way we think - the actual way we formulate & process our thoughts - is influenced by language itself. If you ever communicate with folks who speak English as a second, third, fourth, or so on language - you’ll notice that, even when extremely proficient, they don’t just totally entirely lose the speech quirks that come with their parent language. Eliminating those quirks of speech already changes the context of the work. Is this a bad thing? No, not necessarily; but it’s presumptuous at best to believe yourself capable of understanding how another person would write “if only they were native” in your language.

- “Translation can be a murky concept, so first I'll define a standard to measure against: imagine if translation weren't necessary at all.”

I absolutely despise this. The assumption made is that any story could be told completely, and just as enjoyably, in any language, in any culture, without any change to structure. It is simply not how language works.

- “Translators do not convert words from one language to another: they convert ideas.”

Okay. Let’s keep this in mind.

- The entire “Why aren’t more people complaining?” section

This is one of the most bizarre, difficult-to-follow explanations I have ever seen. It makes totally weird assertions, such as the idea that people hold early, loose translations against current-day translators. That’s a really strange idea, considering the popularity of things like NA Kefka, or bounty-hunter-Samus. The truth is that if the translation was good back in the 90s, no one cared if it was inaccurate. Outside of Usenet, none of us really had a point of reference. The writer seems to have some sort of personal beef with Working Designs leaving Bill Clinton jokes in their work, or something. I am especially confused by the TV Tropes links here, and what they have to do with the point.

Cutting down on this section, we could just apply Occam’s razor: most people have no issue with the translation.

- I’m not going to go through all the examples. There are some I think are silly, some that I haven’t seen yet, some that are definitely awkward.

One thing that does frustrate me about these examples - it’s noted by the writer that the script does a fine job of getting _the idea_ across. There are few, if really any, examples of the game actually failing to convey meaning. By the author’s own definition of what a translator does, the script succeeds. No, it doesn’t flow the way it would if it were written by an American. Translate dialog this way, and it sounds weird for English speakers elsewhere in the world. It’s a give and take - we don’t all speak the same English. “But these are factual errors!” is a really silly argument here; if they are, why isn’t this an issue for everybody?

- “Unfortunately, while it's possible for a translation to be stiff but understandable, stiff but accurate translations are pretty much a myth.”

I hate this idea, too. “If it doesn’t sound right in American English, it’s incorrect, & doesn’t get the idea across.” The other thing I really don’t like about this is the vast majority of dialog in Persona 5 flows very smoothly for native English speakers! The writer even seems to be aware of that fact, as I’ll address later.

- “It's definitely great to get to experience the cultural aspect of a piece of foreign writing. However, that foreign nature should be expressed by the text's content, not by the text's awkwardness. This goes back to creator intent. If the original creator were perfectly fluent in English, would they have made their writing intentionally awkward just so readers could feel how “foreign” it is?”

I really fucking hate this! How are you ‘expressing’ the cultural aspect of a text by eliminating the speech quirks of the parent language - is the implication that you intentionally add lines to express the character’s nationality? It really feels like ‘thing that detracts from my experience by taking me out of my personal cultural & linguistic comfort zone should be removed and replaced with, y’know, something.’ And that final claim! People who write in two languages - or speak fluently two languages - will very, very often include quirks, stiffness, or other eccentricities in their own personal English. If the author means “fluent in the brand of English I speak and write,” that’s extremely irritating!

- “Consider—how would readers react if George R. R. Martin released his next book and every third sentence was awkward, with every fifth sentence containing an objective error? Writing is hard, and his novels are long, after all.“

I wish this author had simply not written this blurb, I was so much warmer on the criticism beforehand. George R. R. Martin works in an entirely different medium, in one language, with years and years between each published work. The criticisms even this writer has with Persona 5 do not extend to “every third sentence,” “with every fifth sentence” containing some sort of grand, inexcusable error. People would be far, far more upset if this were actually the case. This comparison fails in every conceivable way, & is just outright ignorant.

- “One reason someone might use this defense is that they genuinely don't see a problem, because to them those flaws aren't flaws. And that's valid, so long as they accept other people's right to believe otherwise.”

I like this. I wish the author didn’t hide this at the end, behind all of the assertions of objective “failure” and “outright errors.”

- “I haven't listed every mistake in Persona 5, or even a substantial fraction of them. I've also been forced to focus on the translation aspect of localization, which means I haven't properly addressed other failings such as bad typography, untranslated images and video, and voiced lines that are unsubbed even when Japanese audio is enabled.1 Nor have I dedicated time to the sometimes strange handling of honorifics.“

The typography complaint is valid, though one of the pettiest things I’ve seen in awhile now, and the untranslated images are a series staple, but the honorifics thing HAS bothered me since P3. Just commit or don’t, guys.. Anyway, not much to say about this chunk. I just wanted to say, man that honorifics stuff can be weird (& has been for years).

Listen: If you take nothing else from this write up, understand that I have no issue with people disliking the P5 translation. That’s totally fine. My problem is with the concept of there existing a ‘correct’ English, or a ‘correct’ translation. My problem is with the repeated emphasis this writer, and others expanding on them, place on their definition of “objective” errors. The vast majority of the moments picked out by this writer are not selections of terrible grammatical errors - and I’d argue that it’s /completely fine/ for a couple of those to exist in a fucking video game - but of what the author calls stiff language. That is to say: Neither meaning nor soul are impaired by the P5 translation.

The reverence with which this author refers to the text - referencing how the translation has ruined one of the ‘greatest RPGs of the last ten years’ for them, and so on, so forth - speaks to a kind of pedestal-hoisting that does no good for anyone. For example, in the Sae moment detailed on the site from the start of the game, with the “psychic detective”; what makes the original so good? In Japanese, the detective says “There’s been a call for you” right before she receives a call on her cell phone. Is this not silly as all fuck? Why is it so much better? Why did Sae’s boss call the detective first, why didn’t he just call her cell phone if he had it the whole time? The English script changes the moment to make the detective seem aware that she’s about to receive the call - emphasizing that the detective and Sae’s boss are working together no one in the scene can be trusted, while also positing Sae as an outsider. Watch the scene again and see if you get what I’m saying. https://youtu.be/f3bVM2mxh4k?t=876

It’s super frustrating that a changes like this get flak from this writer, while the worldview being pushed is one of ‘capturing the spirit, not the words.’ It’s also frustrating that many of the game’s legitimate, real problems (that aren’t fucking, the font used to spell out ‘hello’ on a calculator, god damn guys it’s okay most people have done that before) are ignored - such as the constant battle chatter every time you hit a weakpoint in a game centered on repeatedly exploiting weaknesses, or the intensity of the writing game’s first chapter. The writing is held in extremely high regard, & the translation is being used to try to assert the truth of controversial axioms without actually needing to discuss said assumed “truths.”

I just want to leave with one assertion: There is no “correct” English. It’s okay for a text to sound awkward (especially in visual media) _with the caveat_ that it must get the spirit of the original work across. It’s all right, for sure, for a foreign text to challenge or disrupt the expectations of a native English speaker in its translation. In some ways (and not even all), Persona 5′s translation does this. Is it a perfect translation? No, no translation is. Do you have to like it? No. Should you respect the opinion of players who do (as well as ESL players & those abroad!) enough to avoid making sweeping, generalized statements about the failure of the script to appeal to your individual sensibilities, complete with long, detailed theories as to why other people don’t seem to mind? Please. _Please_. Honestly, y’all make this game sound like it’s Chaos Wars, or Arc Rise Fantasia. The hyperbole is unreal, and it simply needs to stop.

#persona 5 #personaproblems #april 2017

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forkanna · 5 years ago

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WARNING: Slight AU; just one or two small events. Relationship involving a potentially underage character (high school; around 18). Massive spoilers for Persona 5, obviously. Change in perspective will be denoted with "JUDGMENT" for third person, and "The Priestess" for first person Makoto. Also, I know I'm writing the names in Western order (given name then surname) for Japanese characters; please don't @ me haha. If someone were to translate this fic into Japanese I would hope they reverse them into proper Japanese order.

NOTES: Okay. I'm really nervous about this one, because I know Persona has a huge fanbase and I'm a total noob. I just never had any contact with it that wasn't passing P4 on a game store shelf and having no idea what it was until last year; none of my friends were playing it and I didn't know enough about it. But then earlier this year, a few friends strongly recommended P5 to me, and it went on sale for a great price, and… well, crack's primary function is to be addictive, right?

Hopefully I've done some justice to the characters and the universe. And as always, I tried to write this in a way that non-Persona fans can jump right in. Enjoy!

-Jessex

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

PROLOGUE

The clicking of jet black heels echoed throughout the hallway as Sae Niijima made her way to the interrogation room. Her blood boiled and curdled alternately as she thought about what she was about to do - or rather, what she was going to have to put herself through. The last thing she wanted was to know any more than she already did about this situation. But she had no alternative. Either she did her job and got to the bottom of this, or…

No. That was the only option.

"Alright," Sae sighed brusquely as the door slammed shut behind her. The noise still had yet to fade when she added the din of a metal chair scraping across cold concrete to the cacophony. A file folder with a legal pad inside was deposited on the otherwise-barren table; more routine than necessity.

"Let's start from the beginning. Name?"

The half-smiling girl across the table from her stared back for a moment. "Are you kidding?"

"I am not. Name?"

"Fine," she sighed softly, lowering her reddish eyes to point at the table as she tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. "Makoto Niijima." When the pen started scratching across the pad, she snapped, "Come on, Sis. You didn't need me to tell you that to add it to your file."

"I'm following the rules," she snapped right back at her little sister. "And don't forget our deal."

Makoto seemed to go even more pale than usual at that barely-stated threat. Her slender throat contracted from swallowing as she stared through the table that lay between them. Then she whispered, "Alright."

"Good. Now… do you want to start at the beginning?"

"Beginning of what?" she hedged.

"Of why and how you let this happen."

"When I… when I let this…" Her eyes widened and she sat up straighter. "Just what are you accusing me of?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." Sae crossed her legs and tapped the pad of paper with her violet nails, finally glaring at her sister properly. Etched across every inch of her severe features was disapproval, disappointment - just about any word that began with 'dis' was present. "You and I both know you're nobody's victim, even if you weren't the aggressor. And there are other… factors in this case that don't really add up to the simplest explanation. So I think I have every right to demand answers."

Jaw tightening in defiance, just for a moment, Makoto whispered, "I asked you to leave this alone. It's none of your concern."

But she received a lot more backlash for that than she probably had anticipated. Sae slammed her palm down on top of the notepad, eyes narrowing as she leaned in closer to her alarmed sister.

"Do you know what they think you're doing here? My superiors? They think I'm interviewing you in connection with those so-called Phantom Thieves - which I still need to do, because I think you know more than you've let on in that regard."

Only now did her sibling look truly shocked. "Wh-what?!"

"That's right. I'm not blind. But one thing at a time." Leaning in further so that Makoto had to tilt backward to avoid their heads connecting, she hissed, "I have complied with your foolish request, you little pain in my ass. I don't know what the point is. I don't know why you would want me to protect anyone who did something like that to my own flesh and blood. But I have. So the least you can do is show me a little more cooperation than this!"

As always, Makoto shut down. She knew that was coming. Whenever they argued, if it got particularly heated - or rather, if Sae let her temper get the better of her and went into full Attack Mode - Makoto would resist, she would argue back… until she didn't. The light left her eyes, the wind went out of her sails. Sae both loved and hated that moment, because while it meant she had won the argument…

She was losing Makoto. And she couldn't stop it, couldn't alter that course. It was too late. She wanted to treat her sister better, more like family, but couldn't quite see that pathway anymore.

"Yes, Onee-san," she said in that robotic tone that had become all too familiar. "What would you like to know?"

"Better. Let's begin." She turned the file folder, sliding it across to Makoto so she could see the photo clipped to the corner. It wasn't an official police file - yet. Just notes and a picture.

"What can you tell me about Sadayo Kawakami? And the nature of your relationship outside of teacher-and-student. The truth."

Makoto took a deep breath, staring down at the picture. "It's… not what you think."

"Then tell me what it is instead."

"Alright. So…" Fingers fiddling with the corner of the file, she took a deep breath before she continued. Sae had backed her into a corner; it was practically her M.O. No sense in fighting it.

"This started a few weeks ago, maybe a month, when I noticed something really unusual going on with my friend Ren…"

CHAPTER ONE

~ x The Priestess x ~

Kawakami has always seemed to me as if she were hiding something. Maybe that's because my big sister is a public prosecutor; something hereditary from our late policeman father. Or maybe hearing about all that legal-related work my whole life has just made me paranoid. Either way, I felt like there was something a little bit off about the Japanese language teacher even if I couldn't quite place what it was. Most of the time, she remained professional and always taught her subjects with passion. But this black cloud seemed to follow her around. Why did such a highly intelligent, capable woman who said she loved teaching so much always look as if she wished she were anywhere else but Shujin Academy?

My first clue I might be right was only a series of fleeting glances between her and Ren- I mean, Amamiya-san. My suspicions should be obvious. Even though I didn't think of him as the sort of boy who would do such a thing, or Kawakami-sensei as that sort of woman, intuition is not a guarantee. So I had to find out for myself one way or another.

I could never have guessed their true situation. Not in a million years.

My curiosity finally got the better of me one day when I saw Kawakami was more tired than usual. Drastically more tired, as if she hadn't slept in a week. With everything going on after Coach Kamoshida's confession of abusing his students and subsequent termination, I think it was natural for me to assume she was feeling fatigued from the fallout from that; the entire staff were strained from picking up the slack of his classes, and dealing with the constant gossip and bad press. Still, given my suspicions about Ren, I decided it was my duty as student council president to at least ask. If she didn't want to talk about it, then that was her choice. And if I turned out to be wrong…

I would have been relieved. Do you honestly think I wanted to find out another teacher at our school could prey on their own students like that?

"Kawakami-sensei?" I asked gently as I knocked on the open door to the teacher's office. "Do you have a minute?"

The dark bags under her eyes said that she didn't. Even her cheerful yellow long-sleeve scoopneck seemed extra wrinkled, though that was probably a figment of my imagination.

"Niijima-san. What's up?"

Seating myself at the neighboring desk, I cleared my throat. "Nothing in particular. With me, anyway."

"That's good," she began suspiciously, brow furrowing as she ran a hand through her wavy brown locks. It occurred to me that she was actually very beautiful, but it wasn't as easy to notice when she always looked tired and stressed out. Sometimes a person's mood colours all perceptions.

"Yes, I'm doing well in my studies. Making new friends."

"Excellent." A few more seconds ticked by. "So…"

"Hmm?"

"So… what did you need to see me about?"

"Oh!" I gave a respectful bow, keeping my eyes on the floor as I said, "Forgive me, Sensei. I'm sorry to take up so much of your time."

However, Kawakami chuckled at me. "So formal. Go ahead, I don't bite. What's on your mind?"

As I sat back upright, I tried to arrange my thoughts into the most tactful question I could come up with. What came out was, "Are you having an affair?"

I could see my teacher's eyes widening, and it took a concentrated effort not to throw myself out of the nearest window. It happened again. Why did I always sling the most forthright question possible at people if I was investigating them, instead of phrasing things a little more gently? That impulsiveness was so unlike me - and as I already learned many times, it didn't yield positive results!

"Niijima-san… what's- I mean, why would you ask me something like that?"

"I-I, um… I'm not sure?" Swallowing hard, I whispered, "You seem very exhausted and upset. Sorry if this isn't my business, I was-"

"You're right. It's not your business." My head snapped up to see she was frowning hard at me, and my heart sank. "I'm your teacher and my personal life outside this school is just that, kid - personal. But in point of fact, I'm not married, so I can't have an 'affair', anyway."

I felt about two centimeters tall as I bowed low. "Y-yes, Sensei."

"And you can tell that old potato the same thing."

"Old… potato? Oh, you mean Principal Kobayakawa?" My jaw almost hit the floor. "Did you just say that about our principal?!"

Kawakami rolled her eyes, seeming to actually lose another hour of sleep just from having to endure this conversation. I felt a tiny pinprick of guilt, though I tried not to think too hard about that. "Come on, Niijima. I know you're his pet; we know that. The staff, anyway."

"I…" My heart sank even further at the way she stated that. "I'm not his pet."

"We've all seen those notices pinned up all over the school, asking for information. Does the rest of the student council really care about unearthing the Phantom Thieves? Maybe about bullying and things like that, but… it's not even school-related. Well, other than their target being Coach Suguru."

Staring at her denim skirt instead of her face now, I whispered, "Of course. It is our duty to… to maintain order in this school. The Phantom Thieves, a-and bullies, are… disorderly. Right? Shouldn't we want to make sure… u-um…"

When it became obvious I wasn't going to finish because my voice had left me, Kawakami prompted, "Go on."

"Shouldn't we want to ensure this is the best institute of learning it can be? Don't you want that? You're our teacher."

"Well…" Another sigh, and I glanced up to see her pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. I guess we do. But nobody likes a snitch. Even I've heard that you and the principal knew about Suguru abusing his students… what was going on with poor Miss Suzui."

"I- I didn't," I hastily told her, feeling my chest tighten, my blood running cold. She hated me. Everyone at the school hated me, didn't they?

But Miss Kawakami was shrugging and turning to look at her papers. "Didn't say I believe the rumours. Just that they exist, and they have some basis in fact. You gonna deny that?"

When I never answered, she finally did glance over at me. There was no warmth or kindness in her eyes, and I understood why; I had stormed in there, accused her of doing something unscrupulous. Even if I didn't outright state that it was with a student, maybe that was why she was so upset: she figured it out. What kind of entitled jerk was I?

"I am very, very sorry," I whispered as I bowed low again, just barely able to keep from trembling. Maintaining my professional facade. "I won't trouble you with this again, Sensei."

"Thank you," she said simply. But when I didn't raise back up, she touched my shoulder. "Makoto…"

"Wh-what…?"

Now there was the tiniest amount of warmth there - both in her eyes and the gentle hand. My heart skipped over a beat. Whether that was because the brief comfort felt nice, or because I had been shocked and afraid she might hurt me, I couldn't say for sure.

"It's alright. Get out of here, let me get back to work."

"Thank you, Sensei. I… I'll go away."

For just a second, as I stood and turned toward the door, I caught a flicker of surprise crossing her face again as she watched me make my way to the exit. But I didn't dare look back to confirm.

~ o ~

That was it. My big plan to expose further corruption in our school, to get to the bottom of the problem with my teacher, and I failed. I didn't even really get started.

So nothing happened for another week or two. I busied myself with other projects, studying, my duties as student council president. Though I did notice Miss Kawakami looked more and more exhausted, I had already burned that bridge with her; she thought I was an awful, rude busybody who cared more about advancing my school career and finding out the truth than people's feelings. None of that was true… but how could I argue with the way it looked?

Then something happened that almost made me forget all about her. You might remember this, Sister. I hadn't even been home for a few minutes when I heard you shouting for me.

"Makoto!"

I was still busy taking off my Mary Janes when I called back, "Yes?"

You came around the corner, that iron grey hair of yours dripping wet, towel wrapped around your body. It's easy to forget when I don't see you like that, but your legs go on for days. How am I your sister when you're twenty centimeters taller than me? Why did you win the genetic lottery? I always feel like a child next to you. But that's for more than one reason.

"Wasn't the water heater supposed to be fixed today?"

"I… think it was," I replied, stepping away from the door and fiddling with the strap of my school bag. "I take it maintenance didn't get to it?"

"You take it correctly." Every inch of your posture radiated anger and disapproval. "I thought you were going to make sure they could be let in."

Swallowing hard, I set my bag down near the couch. "Well, Onee-san… I said I would if I was home. But they were supposed to arrive while I was at school, so-"

"Then you should have left instructions with them. A key under the mat, something. You know I'm busy with the Phantom Thieves case; do I have to do everything around here?"

"No," I said. In what I hoped was a reasonable tone. "But you also know I can't skip class. And isn't it dangerous to leave a key out for anyone to find?"

Your jaw tightened, and I felt smaller and smaller. Pathetic and useless in your eyes; like I would never measure up. Which was how I always felt with you. On the good days, I only felt somewhat lesser; on the bad, I felt like��nothing.

"Fine. You're right. Can't help that. I'll have to do it myself."

"Wait. Can't you… can they come back on Sunday? I don't have class then, and I would be happy t-"

"Nevermind," you cut me off fiercely with a wave of your hand, eyes no longer focused on me but off into the distance. "I'll do it. You can focus on your studies so you can grow up someday. Can't keep coddling you and supporting you forever, can I?"

And before I could say anything else, you were stomping back into the bathroom. There was nothing more for me to do than to move into the kitchen and begin cobbling together a simple dinner for the both of us. And that happened so often I could have set my watch by it. I was left alone in the living room, with my feelings of inadequacy coming from two women in my life who were authority figures.

Poor little Makoto, right?

To Be Continued…

#Queen Of Temperance #forkanna writes #persona 5 fanfiction #niijima makoto #makoto niijima #kawakami sadayo #sadayo kawakami #jess the writer

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m1ckeyb3rry · 9 months ago

Note

hi mira can i pls req a sae x reader and it’s like falling in love with someone. like you know that feeling when you’re really getting to know someone and it sounds like a soft song

i love uu take care x

Synopsis: Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 11.6k

Content Warnings: love at first sight, fluff, humor, teasing as a love language, sae does not understand emotions or relationships but he’s rich asf, reader has a little brother and loves eating, meet-cutes, summer romance, SEAGULLS

A/N: although sae is a difficult character for me to get a hold of, i ended up having fun with this LMAO as i’m sure you can tell by the massive word count 😭 i hope he’s not horribly ooc or anything and that this is kind of what you were looking for anon!! tysm for requesting and ily too <3

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

You tried to evaluate the series of choices you had made which had led to you lying atop a boy with green eyes and sand smeared across his cheeks, a blank expression on his face despite the way you were literally sprawled over him.

First: your family had decided to spend your summer vacation in Spain. This was innocuous and broad enough, considering how large the country was, so you concluded that your brother’s desire to practice his rudimentary Spanish in a more realistic setting than his high school classroom could not be blamed for your plight.

Second: your father had gotten a great deal on rooms in a luxury beachfront hotel. He was like a bloodhound when it came to haggling and discounts, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were staying in such a nice place for a relatively cheap price — and with a complimentary breakfast every morning, too! Anyways, the hotel had its own private pool that you could’ve been lounging around beside, so that probably wasn’t the cause, either.

Third: your mother had told you that the beach within walking distance of the hotel was famous for its smooth waters and pale sand. You had to visit at least once, according to her and every other travel guide written about the region, but since no one had wanted to go with you, you had decided to go alone, bringing a book, a bottle of sunscreen, and a blanket with you, throwing a dress on over your swimsuit and preparing yourself to spend the entire day soaking in the sun’s rays. This was definitely a contributor to your current predicament, although considering the miles of beach that stretched out in both directions as far as the eye could see where you could’ve been instead of right there, it wasn’t the sole factor.

Fourth: you had thought you would get hungry at some point and had had the foresight to bring a sandwich with you. That was definitely the reason. If only you hadn’t been so concerned with your stomach! If only you had just sucked it up and made the trek back to the hotel upon feeling peckish instead of being so lazy and planning ahead, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Can you get off of me?” the boy groaned.

“I am so sorry!” you said, scrambling to your feet and offering him your hand. He did not take it, standing on his own and doing his best to wipe the sand from his face. Then he shook his head like a dog, shaking out the grittiness from his soft hair. “I’m really sorry. I was just running so fast, and I was so worried about my sandwich that I didn’t notice you were there until it was too late!”

“Sandwich?” he said. A few paces away, a seagull landed, the remnants of your lunch held in its beak. You and the boy watched as it tilted its head back, swallowing the last few bites before cawing at you in satisfaction.

“You pig!” you shouted, pointing at it, the boy beside you temporarily forgotten as you fumed over the loss. It cocked its head at you. “That was mine!”

“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”

The seagull hopped towards you, like it was teasing you or something, and you screeched before diving at it. Satisfied with the mischief it had caused and the food it had stolen, as well as with making a fool out of you, the seagull took wing, flying well out of reach and leaving you facedown on the ground, your stomach grumbling sadly and emptily.

A foot nudged against your rib cage. “Hey. Sandwich girl. You’re not concussed, are you?”

Being referred to as sandwich girl was so humiliating that you were instantly pushing yourself into a sitting position, folding your arms across your chest as you gazed up at the boy, who still wore that same unimpressed expression from when you had barreled into him.

“No,” you said.

“That’s great,” he said, though he did not sound particularly concerned nor relieved. “Mind elaborating a bit more on why you ran me over? You could’ve seriously injured me, and then you would’ve been in a bunch of trouble.”

“You would’ve been in a bunch of trouble,” you mocked, making your voice high and smarmy. “Jeez, what are you, some kind of celebrity or something? I ran you over because I was taking a break from reading my book, and I realized that I was hungry. Well, luckily, I had brought a sandwich along with me, so it wasn’t a huge deal. I was just about ready to dig in, when that fat pig of a bird swooped down and stole it right out of my hands! The gall! The shamelessness! It was definitely laughing at me, and I can’t stand anyone who laughs at me, so naturally I took off in pursuit, and, uh, that’s how I ended up crashing into you. Though you really should’ve been paying more attention, too. What’s so fascinating about the horizon that you just blocked out the rest of the world for it?”

“I like looking at the ocean,” he said. “But, wait. What do you mean, some kind of celebrity? Don’t you know who I am?”

You gave him a once-over. He was tall, though not impressively so, and definitely well-muscled. His hair was a warm shade, and his green eyes were framed with long eyelashes that fluttered every time he blinked. A pair of sunglasses was perched atop the crown of his head, and the top few buttons of his white shirt were undone, lending him a breezy appearance.

“You’re not handsome enough to be an actor, so that can’t be it,” you said, chewing on your lower lip in thought. “Plus, I’ve seen a bunch of movies, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t been in any of them, so if you were in the film industry, you’d be a D-lister at best, and there’s no way you’d want to flex that kind of status.”

He furrowed his brow, the first hint of a different expression than the one he had kept for the entirety of your very brief acquaintance. “What?”

“What else are people famous for?” you said. “Oh! Are you a singer or something? Were you in that one boy band from a few years ago? I’m sorry, I was too busy having a ‘not-like-other-girls’ phase when they were popular, so I never got into them. I’m over the phase now, if you were wondering, but that would be why I didn’t recognize you.”

“You are amazingly off the mark,” he said.

“I am? I’m kind of out of ideas at this point, though. Can I have a hint or something?” you said.

“Do you watch soccer?” he said. You made a face.

“Hell no,” you said. His eye twitched, so you hurried to elaborate. “My little brother is obsessed with it, so by law, I’m required to hate everything related to the sport. Do you have any siblings? You’d get it if you did.”

“Ask your brother about Sae Itoshi,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, drafting a text to your brother and sending it when you had deemed it to be a perfect blend of uninterested and cool while also underscoring the urgency of the request. “So, your name’s Sae Itoshi? I’m Y/N L/N! I’m not a celebrity, though. If you text anyone and ask them about me, they’ll probably be pretty confused.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” he said. Your phone vibrated in your hand, and when you looked at the notification, you saw that it was from your brother.

uglier sibling: no shit i know about sae itoshi. he’s that one super talented midfielder on re al. he’s dad and i’s fav player atm.

You gulped, glancing up at Sae before returning to your phone.

me: lol wtf is re al.

uglier sibling: it’s madrid’s team lmfaooo dumbass how do you not know that

uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol

uglier sibling: did u meet him or something

me: funny story actually!

uglier sibling: WHAT

uglier sibling: y/n are u with sae itoshi rn.

uglier sibling: y/n answer pls

uglier sibling: can you at least get his autograph for me or smth???

Pretending like you were still texting your brother, you typed the name Sae Itoshi into your phone’s search engine. The photos that came up matched the boy in front of you, and the news articles made your heart pound. He actually was a celebrity, and furthermore, his earlier arrogance was deserved. If you had somehow injured such a famous player and put him out of commission for the season, then you really would’ve been done for. It hadn’t been an exaggerated sense of self-importance but an honest evaluation of himself.

“Ahem,” you said, feigning a cough to appear dignified and mature. “It seems like you are a pretty well-known soccer player, Mr. Itoshi.”

“It seems like I am,” he said.

“My brother and dad are big fans, apparently,” you said.

“Good thing you didn’t take me out permanently, then, or I’m sure they would’ve been pretty disappointed,” he said.

You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”

“Whatever. I won’t hold it against you; all’s well that ends well, after all,” he said.

“I feel really bad, though,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“You didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to make up for,” he said.

“Not true! I knocked you over and said you’re not handsome!” you said. “I’d say that warrants some kind of recompense.”

“It’ll warrant more recompense if you keep saying it,” he said.

“You agree that you deserve payment, then? Great! Um…how about I…buy you lunch?” you said, the insistent pangs of your stomach reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten.

“Is food the only thing you can think about?” he said.

“For your information, it is not, but I haven’t eaten since the morning, so I’m hungry,” you said.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m not interested, and just so you know, I’ve been asked out by plenty of girls, but by far, this has been the lamest attempt.”

You supposed, looking back, that it did seem like that was your end goal. But, of course, it had been nothing of the sort; you were just planning on going to eat yourself and thought that you might as well kill two birds with one stone. It was just your luck that he had twisted your words into such a request, though! How were you supposed to maneuver yourself out of this position? If you denied it furiously, then it would seem like you were just ashamed at getting caught, but if you didn’t say anything, then it would be akin to agreeing with his accusation.

There was only one way out of it, and even though you were usually opposed to lying, and even more opposed to bullying others, it was the only thing you could think of. So, bowing your head, you clasped your hands together in front of your heart.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type, Mr. Itoshi,” you said. “Like I said, you’re really not that handsome. Also, I’m into tall guys.”

That was how you found yourself sitting across from Sae Itoshi in a private booth at a fancy restaurant, your hands trembling as you read over the menu items and their associated prices.

“I’m in the mood for steak,” Sae said, stroking his chin and setting down his menu, interlacing his fingers and raising his eyebrows at you. “What about you?”

“Steak is a dinner item, don’t you think?” you said, your head spinning at the fact that he had picked the most expensive thing that was served at the entire establishment. “It’s lunchtime.”

“I’m an athlete,” he said seriously. “I need a lot of protein in all of my meals. Especially because I’m so short. It’s important for me to build muscle, don’t you agree? How else will I manage to compete with the taller, better-looking players?”

“Steak it is,” you said with a faux smile. “As for me, I’ll just get crackers.”

“Crackers? What kind of lunch is that?” he said.

“An affordable one,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing!” you said. “It’s nothing. I just really like crackers.”

He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”

You waved the waiter over. He had been hovering around your table for the past few minutes, and as soon as he saw you beckoning him, he sprinted to your side, fumbling with his pen and notepad before reaching you and bowing.

“Sae Itoshi, sir! I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. If — if it’s not too much trouble, could I have your autograph?” he said.

Sae sighed, a long-suffering and irritable sigh. “Just take our order first. I’ll give it to you after we’ve eaten.”

“Oh, my apologies,” the waiter said. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have the steak, and I also want this sandwich, but omit the tomatoes, please,” he said, pointing at the menu items he wanted.

“Got it,” the waiter said. “What about you, miss?”

“Just the crackers,” you said. The waiter paused, but when you did not say anything more, he giggled nervously.

“Would you, uh, like some cheese with those?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I’m really the biggest fan of plain crackers. That’s all I want.”

“Sure, miss, if that’s what you’d like,” he said. “So, one steak, one sandwich, and a plate of crackers?”

“That’s right,” Sae said, hardly looking up from his phone when he did so. It was only once the waiter had run off to place your orders that he put the device away, resting his elbows against the table, setting his chin in his hands and giving you a bored look. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“Steak and a sandwich, really?” you said.

“A conversation with you was more than enough to increase my appetite,” he said. “Forget about that. This is the part where you ask me questions about myself and I pretend like I am interested enough to answer them.”

“Why would I do that?” you said, rolling your eyes at him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure your answer to that question will be something that makes me even more annoyed than I already am, so don’t bother. What’s your favorite movie?”

“You’re not going to ask me about soccer?” he said. “It’s Taxi Driver, by the way.”

“I don’t know that much about soccer, so what would I even ask? Based on what I’ve seen from the matches my brother and dad watch, it’s just a bunch of sweaty guys kicking around a ball and pretending like they’re dying whenever another player happens to look at them the wrong way,” you said. “Oh, actually, I am curious about that. How many of those injuries are real? Have you ever faked getting hurt?”

“Almost none of them,” he said. “Generally, players will overreact for the sake of entertainment and the possibility of the opposition receiving yellow cards. I’ve never needed to do anything like that, and I never want to, because it looks stupid. Also, soccer is more than that mediocre description you just gave me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you said. “Man kick ball. Ball go in net. Man happy. That’s the extent of it.”

“Women play soccer, too,” he said.

“It’s the same concept there, but with women instead of men. Not the argument you thought it was,” you said.

“I can’t believe you actually dislike soccer,” he said.

There was definitely some irony in the fact that you couldn’t care less about his chosen sport, and yet you were the one who had somehow finagled your way into eating with him — even if you were the one who was paying. There were so many people who’d do anything to be in your place, but to you, it was a begrudging chore that you were only performing because you felt obligated to. Mentally, you had already marked the entire encounter down as something that you’d laugh about to your friends later; a fun story you’d tell at parties, but little else.

“Like I told you earlier, I’m the older sister. If I didn’t rag on my brother’s interests, then I couldn’t claim that title in any way that mattered,” you said. Sae’s eyes flicked down to the ground.

“You should be nice to your brother when you can,” he said.

“Are you some kind of an only child or saint, then? There’s no way you’re saying that if you have a normal relationship with any possible siblings,” you said.

“I have a little brother,” he said. “Our relationship is okay. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“Long distance?” you said, reaching over to pat him on the hand sympathetically. “That’s the worst. I miss my friends and my pets already, and I’m only here for vacation.”

He snatched his hand away. “You make it sound like we’re dating or something. It’s alright. I’m sure it’ll be the same as it was whenever I go back.”

“True, it’s not like he can dump you and find a new brother who’s both better and more conveniently located than you are. He’s kind of stuck with you forever,” you said.

“Enough about my brother,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay,” you said. “What TV shows do you watch when you’re bored?”

The two of you continued on in that mindless manner until your food arrived. Your mood, which had steadily been rising as Sae proved himself to be, if nothing else, a willing conversationalist, rapidly plummeted as the waiter set the steak and sandwich in front of Sae and the crackers in front of you.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.

“I’m sure one of us will,” you said, picking up a cracker and biting into it rebelliously. Sae began to cut his steak into small pieces, using his fork to demurely place the meat on his tongue, doing nothing to disguise the indulgence of eating such a wonderfully prepared meal while you were stuck with crackers.

“What a shame,” Sae said when he was about halfway through his steak. You hadn’t spoken since the food had come, mostly because you were too busy fervently hoping that he would choke and you would somehow be awarded a free meal as an apology on the restaurant’s part, so you jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat that sandwich after all.”

“We should send it back, then,” you said.

“What sort of place do you think this is?” he said. “It’s already been ordered, so it’s ours now.”

“Are you serious?” you said. “What now? I’ll have to pay for something that you didn’t even eat!”

“You’ll just have to have it,” he said.

“Me?” you said, already salivating at the delectable sandwich, the bread which was taunting you. Come, it seemed to be calling out to you. Eat me. You know you want to. “I guess that’s a sensible prospect. Someone’s going to have to take it.”

“Someone will,” he agreed, sliding the plate across the table and stealing a cracker for his troubles. “It might as well be you. My coach will be pretty upset if I get stomach cramps next season because I overate too much on my off time. I’d have to tell him that it was your fault, and then you’d have all of Re Al after you, and you don’t want that. They’re relentless.”

Your fingers inched towards the sandwich. “I definitely don’t. That sounds scary.”

“It would be amusing,” he said. “A waste of resources, though. They might cut my salary to make up for it. ”

“Then the only solution is for me to eat this sandwich,” you said.

“Essentially,” he said. You gave in, taking an enormous bite of the tantalizing sandwich and exhaling in delight. It really was as good as the exorbitant price tag claimed it would be, and although you would never buy such a thing for yourself, you found that you were a little more grateful for the series of events that had led you to be in this position now that your stomach was finally being greeted with something substantial.

“It’s good,” you said, your words muffled by the napkin you held in front of your mouth as you finished chewing. “I can kind of get why they charge so much now. It’s still way more than any sandwich should ever cost, ever, but…I kinda get it. Is your food good, too?”

“It is,” he said.

“Alright!” you said, giving him a double thumbs up. “Then you can consider this a worthy apology! Let’s finish eating and be done with the entire mess.”

“Hm? But how can it be a worthy apology when I’m the one who paid for everything? To me, that doesn’t sound like an apology at all,” he said. You froze, your mouth wide open, the sandwich still halfway to your mouth and drooping in your hands. Sae looked at you, still expressionless, though if you really focused, you would’ve noticed something like mirth dancing in his irises.

“What do you mean?” you said. He unlocked his phone and showed you his screen.

“You can pay by app here,” he said. “I did it as soon as we were done ordering. I was going to tell you after you ordered what you wanted for yourself, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so frugal that you’d really only order crackers!”

“But — but I was supposed to pay! To apologize for—”

“You don’t have to say it,” Sae said sourly, cutting you off. “Believe me, I remember exactly what you have to apologize for, and I’m not going to forget. I just paid this time because I was feeling generous, but you still owe me.”

It was a little suspicious, but you didn’t have any reason to accuse him of anything, so you only narrowed your eyes at him. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you mulled over the latest reveal. He was paying for the entire lunch? You still owed him? You could manipulate that in your favor, then.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay for your breakfast,” you said. “The hotel I’m staying at has complimentary breakfast for guests, but outsiders can eat for a certain fee. I’ll pay for your entrance, and then we can be even.”

“Sure,” he said. “I eat breakfast early, though.”

“How early?” you said.

“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”

“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”

“I hate running,” you said.

“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”

“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”

“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”

“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.

“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”

He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”

“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.

Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.

“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.

“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.

“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.

“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”

“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.

“Nope! See you tomorrow!”

The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.

Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”

He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.

“I already ate my snack,” he said.

“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.

“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.

He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”

“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”

“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”

“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“How horrible,” you said.

“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.

“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”

His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”

“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.

“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”

“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.

“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.

“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.

“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.

“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.

“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.

“Seriously?” you said.

“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”

“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.

“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”

“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.

“Kind of,” he said.

“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.

“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”

You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all.

“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”

“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”

“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”

“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.

“You look slower on TV!”

“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”

You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.

“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.

“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.

“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”

“You do that,” he said.

While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.

me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast

me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!

uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO

mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!

dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.

uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk

uglier sibling: like

uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK

uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr

uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything

uglier sibling: i bet u made it up

uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.

mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up?

dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.

So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.

“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”

“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”

“No!” you said.

“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.

“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”

“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.

“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”

The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.

“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”

Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”

“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.

“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.

“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.

“That was cutting it close,” he said.

“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.

“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”

“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.

“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”

Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.

“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”

“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.

“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”

“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.

“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.

“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”

“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.

“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.

“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”

“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”

“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.

“Really?” he said.

“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.

“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”

“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”

“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”

“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.

“What for?” you said.

“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”

“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”

“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.

“You have low standards,” he said.

“Yours are lower,” you said.

“Very mature response.”

“Thanks!”

Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.

“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.

“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”

“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.

“What? When?” you said.

“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”

“You little—! Now what?” you said.

“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”

He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?

“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”

“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”

“For what?” your brother said.

“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”

“He paid for himself?” your brother said.

“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.

“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.

“Creep,” you said.

“Weirdo,” he said.

“Freak,” you said.

“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”

“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.

“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.

“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.

“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.

“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”

“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”

“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”

“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.

The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.

And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.

No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.

“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”

“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.

“Same here,” your brother said.

“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.

me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”

“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”

“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.

“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.

“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.

“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.

“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.

“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.

“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”

“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”

“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.

“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”

“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.

“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”

“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.

Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.

“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.

“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.

“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said.

“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”

“Super hot,” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”

That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.

Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.

“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”

You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.

Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.

You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?

Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.

Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi

They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.

“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”

Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”

“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.

It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.

You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.

There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.

“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.

“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.

“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.

“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”

If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.

No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.

Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…

“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”

“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”

“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.

“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.

“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.

“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”

“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”

“Will you miss me?” you said.

“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”

“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I’ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.

“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.

“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.

“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”

“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”

“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”

“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”

“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”

He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.

“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.

So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.

“I understand,” you said.

“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.

“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.

“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”

“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.

“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”

Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.

“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.

“Are you talking about me?” you said.

“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.

“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.

“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.

“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”

“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.

“Will you?” he said.

“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.

“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”

“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”

“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.

“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.

“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”

“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”

“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”

“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.

“What is it?” you said.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.

“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”

You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.

“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”

“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”

He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.

“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”

“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.

As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.

#sae x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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