#this guy's been brewing in my brain for a VERY long time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

weirdkpopgirl · 1 year ago

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Friends Who Kiss | Chenle Fic #1

Title: Friends Who Kiss

Genre: Best friends to lovers, high school/college au

Warnings: mentions of the reader being insecure and having a mental breakdown at some point. a little suggestive, but not really

Word Count: ~ 5.6k

Author's Note: Okay to be very honest, I think that this story is kinda stupid and cliché. But it was an idea that I still wanted to try writing. And this is my first full-length fic for Chenle too, so I'm happy to post something for him. So to those who like cheesy romance stories, I hope you enjoy this. Thank you for reading ^ ^

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Since the start of high school, Zhong Chenle has been a consistent part of your life. He arrived as a transfer student from Shanghai, while you were the reserved kid who often used studying as an excuse to avoid social interaction. So rather than you reaching out to him first, it was he who practically claimed you as his best friend. Your personalities were a striking contrast, but it proved to be the perfect balance. It didn't take long for the two of you to become inseparable.

However, your friendship took a turn in eleventh grade. You guys had gone to your house after school to do homework. Except it was mostly you working on assignments, while Chenle was animatedly ranting about some mobile game Jisung was terrible at playing.

“It’s unbelievable! Every time I check his character gets killed,” Chenle laughed, and you responded with a soft hum of acknowledgment.

The boy glanced up from his phone to find you engrossed in your textbooks. While your attention was focused on writing an essay, you were also trying to keep your mind from drifting to the unsettling conversation you had during lunch that day. Typically, you and Chenle sat together with his friends. But Jisung needed the boy’s help stalking his crush, so you found yourself sitting with some of the girls in your class.

Sensing the inner conflict brewing in your mind, Chenle rose from the bed and leaned over your shoulder.

“You've been at this since we got here. How is your brain not fried?” he asked, blunt as usual.

You shot the boy with an unappreciative glare. “It is fried. But our essay is due on Monday, and I still have to help you with yours.”

Chenle sighed, well aware of your enduring determination. Ever since he met you, he couldn’t understand why you stressed so much over assignments, especially when you always completed them before the due date. Then you somehow managed to go out of your way to ensure he was doing the same.

“You’re more than halfway finished, and I’ll get to mine on my own time,” He reassured, “Why don’t you take a break for now?”

Before you could protest, Chenle swiftly pulled you out of your chair and guided you to sit on the bed with him. Worry clouded his gaze. “Something’s troubling you, isn’t it?”

Your teeth sank into your lower lip, hating how Chenle knew you so well. He didn’t have a problem sharing what was on his mind, while you were the exact opposite. Yet, even a single look at you was enough for him to detect something was off.

“The girls at lunch were going on about their dating experiences and stuff,” you began to explain, your tone tinged with irritation at the memory. “They were all so surprised when I said I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

You pushed yourself to meet Chenle's gaze, half dreading that he might burst into laughter. Instead, his expression held a hint of amusement, and that alone made you regret bringing up the topic.

Before he could respond, you hurriedly attempted to backtrack on your words. “It's stupid, I know—”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you upset,” Chenle said firmly.

Leaning back in your seat, you let out an exasperated sigh. “I just can’t get their judgmental looks out of my head. All because I don’t have much experience with dating?”

Chenle's expression softened as he confessed, "There's nothing wrong with that, and there’s a lot of people like you. I haven't had my first kiss either."

“Really?!” You stared at him in disbelief. “Didn't you date Ko Mi-so though?”

Chenle scoffed, appearing slightly offended. “Okay, that happened such a long time ago. And we didn't even last a month, so we never kissed.”

Now that you thought about it, he was right about their relationship ending almost as quickly as it began. You recalled the time back in tenth grade when Chenle was quite smug about dating Mi-so, who happened to be the prettiest girl in class. Frankly, you were somewhat relieved when they broke up, given that she didn't particularly like you. Chenle hasn’t dated anyone since.

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” your voice trailed off.

The boy stayed silent for a moment before an idea dawned on him. “You know what? Why don’t we have our first kiss now?”

Your cheeks felt like they were competing for a world record in how quickly they heated up at Chenle's proposal. He couldn't possibly be serious.

“Did I hear you right?” you stammered, thoroughly taken aback by the suggestion.

Chenle nodded confidently, “I mean, we're best friends, so it's not that weird. And it's better than kissing someone we don't know as well or not have a connection with.”

You could kind of see his point. Having Chenle as your first kiss did seem much safer than kissing some random guy. Besides, it wasn’t like either of you had any underlying feelings for each other. This would solely be for practice.

“Alright,” you reluctantly agreed, “But you have to promise not to make fun of me if I turn out to be a bad kisser."

Chenle chuckled and nodded. He inched closer to you on the bed, leaving little space between the two of you. Although he saw you every day, having your face this near made a faint blush tinge his cheeks.

He started to lean in more before pausing. "Um, maybe you should close your eyes."

"Oh—right," you mumbled awkwardly, then took a deep breath before allowing your eyelids to shut.

He had to suppress a chuckle, finding you kinda cute in that moment. Before you had a chance to second-guess yourself, Chenle pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. Shortly after, he drew back, searching for your reaction.

“So, how was that?” He asked, voice laced with teasing.

You stared at him incredulously for a moment before realizing he was waiting for you to answer. “I suppose it was okay,” you mumbled.

Chenle tilted his head with an amused grin. “Just okay?”

“Yeah, I guess I didn't feel much because we're not really into each other like that,” you admitted with a nonchalant shrug.

Okay, you might have partially lied about not feeling much during the kiss. Truth be told, there was this strange, fluttery sensation in your chest when your best friend's lips grazed yours. But perhaps all first kisses were like that, and you were simply overthinking it.

The boy beside you let out a hearty laugh. “Well at least we got that over with.”

You had to muster all your self-control not to blush when he followed up with, “And you're not a bad kisser, by the way.”

Believing that the experiment was over, the two of you returned to your previous tasks. Nothing changed much after that day in your bedroom, as you and Chenle remained best friends. But little did you realize that this wouldn't be the last kiss you'd be sharing with him.

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Despite your previous attempts to justify it, the second kiss you shared with Chenle happened partially because of you. As your senior year of high school unfolded, Chenle prepared for his performance at the spring festival. It was you who initially urged him to participate in the talent show. The countless times you had witnessed his piano playing and singing during your private moments together convinced you that he should share his talents with the world. Your compliments not only fueled Chenle’s ego but also prompted him to eagerly jot his name down on the sign-up sheet.

However, what you didn’t expect was to find him backstage, looking as pale as a ghost. He was supposed to go after a group of girls who were dancing to Red Velvet’s “Red Flavor.” With the intention of cheering him on in person, you spotted the dark-haired boy sitting on a chair, anxiously bouncing his legs.

“Last-minute jitters?" you asked softly.

Chenle glanced up at you and crossed his arms in a nonchalant manner. “What, me? I'm fine,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

Just as Chenle knew you like the back of his hand, you were among the few who could read him. While he was partially correct about never being nervous, it didn't take an idiot to perceive that he was in that moment. It was evident he was trying to play it off to uphold his confident image.

One aspect that troubled you about Chenle was his constant facade of cheerfulness and carefree demeanor. No one could genuinely be happy all the time, and he was the kind of person who concealed his negative feelings when around others.

After deliberating on how to address the situation, you gently rested your hand on his shoulder, bringing yourself to eye level with him.

“Hey, you’re going to be amazing out there,” you reassured him. “I’ve seen how many hours you put into practicing that song. You have nothing to worry about.”

Chenle let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, you're right.”

The smile he bestowed upon you didn't quite convince you. Biting your lip in hesitation, you glanced around to ensure no one else was nearby. Once you were sure that you were alone, you leaned down and gently planted a kiss on the boy’s forehead. Chenle’s eyes widened in surprise at your actions.

“What was that for?”

Blushing, you took a step back and stammered, “Just for good luck, you know. I—I’ll be right there in the crowd, watching you. So if you feel nervous on stage, just look at me.”

A more reassured smile spread across Chenle’s lips and before he stood up to swiftly peck you on the lips, leaving you more stunned than he was a few seconds ago.

“There, I definitely feel more ready now,” he declared with a teasing glint. And the smug Chenle you were familiar with had returned.

As Chenle’s playfulness lingered in the air, the sound of the audience clapping erupted for the girls, putting an end to your “moment.” With a knowing look, you both parted ways, allowing Chenle to step into the spotlight for his performance.

As he took the stage, you found a spot in the crowd, eyes fixed on him with awe. The rhythm of the applause filled the air, drowning out any lingering thoughts. In that moment, the stage became his world, and you couldn't help but be swept away by the magic of his talent. The earlier exchange faded into the background as you watched Chenle shine, each note and melody weaving a captivating spell that left you in admiration.

Neither of you mentioned the kiss after that day. The interaction remained more platonic than anything, a gesture that was only meant to show your support for him. But Chenle still liked to think he killed the stage because of it.

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Chenle was undeniably responsible for the next time the two of you kissed. However, this particular incident didn't unfold until the first semester of your freshman year in college. The joy of discovering you both had been accepted into the same university was palpable, though Chenle appeared to be more exuberant about the news. In contrast, you felt a sense of relief, grateful that you wouldn't be venturing into the world of college alone.

In one of your classes, a sunbae began to show interest in you. Despite your attempts to politely reject him, it became apparent that he wasn't willing to accept no for an answer.

One day after class, he cornered you in the hallway, insisting that you go out with him. As you tried to maintain your composure, he grabbed you by the wrist when you tried to walk away. The harsh move triggered internal panic within you.

You could sense the danger in his tone as his head tilted cockily. “Come on, (Y/n), don’t be so difficult. I know you’re just playing hard to get.”

“I—I’m sorry but I just don’t feel the same as you, Sunbae,” you stuttered, trying to be assertive. “Please let go.”

Refusing to relent, the sunbae was on the verge of pulling you in closer when another hand intervened, forcefully ripping you out of his grasp. Your head turned in astonishment to see Chenle casting a disgusted look at the guy in front of you. The flames in Chenle’s eyes made you realize that you had never seen him so livid before.

“She said to let go of her. What part of that do you not understand?” Chenle’s voice cut through the tension.

The sunbae scoffed and crossed his arms in defense, “Yah, who are you to involve yourself in someone else’s matters? Are you her boyfriend or something?”

You watched as the corner of Chenle’s lips turned into a smirk as he snaked an arm around your waist in a protective gesture.

“That’s right. So who are you to go after another man’s girlfriend?” he retorted confidently. Your eyes widened, almost surprised as the jerk in front of you.

Shaking his head in a mix of disbelief and embarrassment, the sunbae pointed a finger at you. “This is a joke, right? You just asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend to mess with me!”

Before you could respond, Chenle took matters into his own hands. His free hand briskly moved to the back of your neck, drawing you in for a passionate kiss. In a typical situation, your best friend's impulsive actions might have freaked you out immediately. However, the way his fingers delicately pressed against your back reassured you that he was doing this for your sake, Closing your eyes, you kissed back and tried to reciprocate with the same passion Chenle was pouring.

Moments later, Chenle pulled away and turned to the sunbae, wearing a satisfied grin on his face. “Do you believe her now? Not that she has to prove anything to you.”

The older male muttered begrudgingly under his breath, “Whatever, not worth my time.”

With a scowl, he stormed off, leaving behind a palpable sense of relief in the wake of his departure. Once he was gone, you removed yourself from Chenle's hold and shot him a look of confusion.

“You know you didn’t have to do that right?”

Chenle chuckled, “Well, someone had to put an end to his nonsense. Besides, I've always wanted to play the protective boyfriend card.”

“Protective boyfriend? You almost gave me a heart attack!” You smacked him on the shoulder.

Chenle’s smirk remained, but he adopted a more concerned tone. “But seriously, (Y/n), why didn’t you tell me he was bothering you earlier?”

“I thought I could handle things on my own.” You shrugged weakly, lowering your head in guilt.

Chenle sighed, recognizing your aversion to depending on others for your problems. Throughout the time he’d known you, he'd witnessed your willingness to go to great lengths to help those you cared about. However, when it came to your own struggles, you seemed to prefer suffering in silence.

“We’re best friends for a reason,” he reminded you, “Looking after each other is 50/50, you know?”

You offered him a small smile, “I guess you’re right. Thanks for saving me today.”

“Well, you can thank me by buying food tonight,” Chenle said, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “It’s your turn anyway.”

Rolling your eyes, you let him lead you out of the building. But Chenle’s words from earlier lingered in the back of your mind. “We’re best friends for a reason.”

The two of you were the epitome of what best friends were. And that was all the two of you would ever be, right?

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At this point, you were beginning to lose count of the number of times you’ve kissed your best friend. Despite this, your friendship maintained its familiar rhythm throughout the university. But after that hallway encounter, the awkwardness that came with kissing your best friend faded. Although it was more of Chenle seeming unfazed, and you becoming less surprised each time it happened. And indeed, there were a few more instances that caused your lips to meet.

Like the time Chenle excitedly dragged you to his dorm to watch a Golden State Warriors game, and, in the heat of the moment, he gave you a quick kiss before cheering some more. Then there was the other time when you both went out for drinks with friends, a few drunken kisses were shared.

There weren't any real feelings attached to the kisses you and Chenle shared. At least, that was what you repeatedly told yourself. However, as you were halfway through your first year of university, you finally started to question the true nature of your friendship with Zhong Chenle.

Those thoughts began to sink in just before your first finals in college. Isolated in your dorm room, you immersed yourself in studying for a math exam scheduled in three days. Calls and texts from friends went largely ignored as you turned off your phone in an attempt to focus. However, Chenle wasn't about to let that slide.

One night, he let himself into your dorm, carrying a bag of your favorite takeout—knowing well that you tended to skip meals when stressed. You could see the determination in his face, ready to scold you. But the expression quickly transitioned to one of concern when he caught you on the verge of a breakdown.

You sat at your desk surrounded by textbooks and notebooks filled with scribbled equations. The sight of your trembling body and slightly tousled hair, a result of pulling on it too hard, tugged at Chenle’s heart. He was well aware of how your anxiety affected you at times. But he had never witnessed it manifest quite like this.

Instantly, the bag was placed on the floor, and he was at your side. “(Y/n), what's wrong?"

“I—I'm going to fail my calc final,” you swallowed, your fingers curling into fists. Your shoulders slumped, and the weight of despair was evident in the way you hunched over the desk.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, attempting to calm you down. “You still have a few weeks before finals, (Y/n). And you’re not going to fail.”

“Yes, I am!” you cut him off, your voice strained. Tears welled up in your eyes, and your hands clenched even tighter. “I’ve been studying for days, and my dumb brain still doesn't understand anything. Do you know how stupid I feel?”

“Being bad at math doesn’t make you stupid, (Y/n),” Chenle said, trying to inject a bit of lightheartedness into the situation. However, his comment didn’t seem to offer you any comfort.

You shook your head miserably in response. “Stop trying to be nice. I'm going to fail, and then I’ll end up letting down my parents and everyone else.”

Chenle’s heart ached at the defeat in your voice. Setting his jokes aside, he recognized that words weren’t what you needed at the moment. Instead, he enveloped you in a warm embrace. You hesitated only briefly before surrendering to his comforting hold, attempting to fight back tears.

“Just let it out,” he whispered.

Those simple words acted as an emotional release trigger, and Chenle found himself gently rubbing your back as you quietly cried into his shoulder. A sense of mixed emotions flooded him as he held you in that moment. A part of him felt a twinge of relief, grateful that you let him be there for you. You often kept your emotions bottled up, making it a challenge for him to discern how you truly felt at times.

However, there was a pang of sadness accompanying that satisfaction. He knew you didn't just cry in front of anyone, and realizing that you had reached this breaking point signaled the depth of your struggle.

After a while, Chenle gently pulled back, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You need a break, (Y/n). Let’s step away from the desk for a bit.”

"No, I really should—" you began to protest, but Chenle cut you off.

"You really should eat the food I brought you before it gets cold," he insisted, picking up the bag again.

He led you to sit on the carpet of your cramped dorm room, creating a makeshift dining space for the two of you. As you both shared a meal, Chenle continued to provide a comforting presence, occasionally cracking a joke to lighten the atmosphere.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion in your eyes became more prominent. Even so, you knew you should go back to studying. But Chenle seemed to disagree.

“Maybe you should just rest for the night. I promise to help you with math in the morning,” he suggested. However, upon seeing the unconvinced look you gave him, he backtracked on his words. “Okay, I'll have Renjun help you.”

Too tired to argue, you gave in, and that's how you found yourself lying in bed with your best friend. Back in high school, you used to have sleepovers at his house on the weekends. At night, the two of you would be lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and talking about anything. However, having him beside you at that moment felt strange.

You saw a sincere tenderness reflected in those large eyes of his. A part of you wondered if Chenle often gazed at you with such fondness and you simply hadn’t noticed before. Either way, the way he was looking at you made you feel even stranger. And the short silence that had settled between the two of you wasn’t helping.

Uncertain of how much longer you could endure the intensity, you broke eye contact with him and murmured, “Thank you for always being there for me, even when I try to push you away”

Chenle chuckled, adjusting his position to prop himself up on his elbow. “Well, of course, because how could you live without me?”

His ability to joke at a time like this struck you as unfathomable. Instead of the usual eye roll or pushing off the bed, a serious expression remained etched on your face.

“You're right, I don't think I can live without you,” you said, your voice laced with drowsiness. “Because you’re one of the few people who truly care about me.”

The amusement in his eyes danced away, as he felt the gravity of your words. Something about seeing this vulnerable side of you was so beautiful in his eyes. Before he could fully process his own thoughts, Chenle found himself leaning in to close the space between you with his lips meeting your own.

Uncertain whether it was the leftover stress from your meltdown or the sleep deprivation that prompted you to kiss back without much thought. You could recall all the times you’ve kissed Chenle throughout the years. But this one would always stand out to you.

This kiss lasted a lot longer than your previous ones. But it wasn’t just the way he tilted your chin upward for a better angle, or the feeling of his dark locks of hair slipping between your fingers. Nor was it the soft pressure of his lips moving in sync with yours. It was the indescribable emotions that made time seem to stand still, weaving an unspoken connection that surpassed words and left you yearning for more.

Aside from pulling away, both of you gasping for breath, and noticing how Chenle's lips were redder than you had ever seen them, you vaguely recalled what happened after the kiss. When you woke up the next morning, Chenle was already gone. However, he had left you a text message, mentioning that he went to check if Renjun could help tutor you in math.

But math was no longer the sole stressor in your mind. Your best friend had kissed you last night, and unlike all the other times, this one left you feeling more confused than ever.

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True to his word, Renjun offered to meet up with you that Sunday afternoon at the campus library. Within an hour of sitting down to unravel the calculus concept that eluded you, Renjun finally helped you grasp the material. Although the looming fear of failing finals had diminished, you still felt a weight on your shoulders.

“You don’t seem as relieved as I thought you’d be,” Renjun remarked lightheartedly. Even he could tell your mind was preoccupied with something else.

You smiled sheepishly, “No, I am! I seriously owe you for helping me out. I just…”

“Is it something to do with Chenle?” he asked, almost like he was a mind reader.

His unexpected question caught you off guard. “How did you know?” you stammered, feeling the heat quickly rise to your cheeks.

A knowing smile played on the boy’s lips as he leaned back in his seat. “Oh come on, (Y/n). You have that look on your face that something happened between the two of you.”

Sometimes you seriously wished Renjun wasn’t so good at reading people. Even though you weren’t as close to him as Chenle was, he’s known you long enough to notice things that others wouldn’t. For instance, when something was troubling you.

Biting your lip, you debated whether to be truthful with Renjun. Although you didn't typically share your problems with others, you recognized that confiding in someone at a time like this was necessary to maintain your sanity.

“Chenle kissed me last night,” you tossed the statement out in the air, hoping you wouldn’t regret it.

Renjun’s eyes widened at this revelation, “He did?!”

“Well you see, we’ve kissed before. But this time it felt different,” you clarified, baffling the boy across from you even more. Internally cringing, you were acutely aware of how bad this sounded.

Before he could question, you continued to elaborate. “Look, it's not as complicated as it sounds. It’s just ever since we agreed to be each other’s first kiss, Chenle and I just keep having these…accidental kisses. Whether it’s out of excitement or to get guys hitting on me to go away.”

Renjun listened quietly as you recounted all the other times you’ve kissed Chenle. When you circled back to the previous night, you felt more conflicted than ever.

“But the kiss last night left me feeling so confused,” you confessed, running a hand through your hair. “Initially, I thought he was just doing it out of comfort, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, have you considered the possibility that he has feelings for you?” Renjun inquired, crossing his arms. His suggestion sounded so simple, yet it felt like navigating uncharted territory in your mind.

You shook your head in denial. “N—No, I mean we’ve been best friends for five years. He can’t possibly see me that way.”

“Like that’s ever stopped friends from falling for each other,” Renjun cocked his head. “It doesn’t take a genius to know that he likes you, (Y/n).”

His point made you mentally curse. If you looked at your history with Chenle from an objective point of view, the two of you certainly didn’t act like normal best friends.

“And, it’s pretty obvious that you like him too,” Renjun added, twirling the pencil between his fingers.

His statement left you feeling exposed, as if you had been caught red-handed committing a crime. Laughing nervously, you shook your head, “Renjun, we’re just friends. I…I don’t see him that way.”

Renjun raised an eyebrow, “Friends who kiss? Did you really not feel anything in those moments?”

Your teeth sank further into your lower lip as Renjun’s question hit you. The reality of your feelings for Chenle lingered in the air, challenging the facade you had built to convince yourself otherwise. It was like trying to hold sand in your fists, slipping away no matter how tightly you clenched. The truth, however inconvenient, seemed to be unraveling before you.

“I…I did feel something,” you slowly admitted, “But I never said anything because I didn’t want our friendship to change. It just seemed easier to pretend those moments were nothing more than accidents.”

Renjun’s eyes softened with understanding. “Well maybe a little change is what you need in your friendship.”

Maybe Renjun was onto something, perhaps change was necessary. In the past, you had always held out on dating, using the excuse that you were waiting for the right person. Despite the fear of potential rejection, what if Chenle was the person you had been waiting for all along?

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Chenle’s living room bathed in the gentle glow of the TV screen, a familiar sight during your Friday movie nights since college began. It was supposed to be a time to unwind, to escape the pressures of school for a little while. However, instead of the usual peaceful and easygoing atmosphere, an unspoken tension hung in the air tonight. Beyond picking a movie and deciding who made the popcorn, you and Chenle barely talked. The weight of the unspoken words made the space feel suffocating, and you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in your chest.

Unable to endure the weighty silence any longer, you turned your head to make a lame comment about the movie. However, before you could speak, Chenle beat you to it.

“Can we talk?” His voice carried a hint of restlessness, an unusual departure from his usual tone.

Trying to maintain a casual demeanor, you lightly nodded. With your acknowledgment, Chenle exhaled deeply and sat up straighter to face you properly.

“I know how crazy this might sound,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “But I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think we can stay friends.”

His words felt like a gun being pointed at your chest, panic surged within you as you tried to process the boy’s words. Of all the ways you predicted this conversation could go, this was not one of them.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice even smaller than his.

Noticing the perplexity in your eyes, Chenle continued. “You see, I've been in love with you for—I don’t know how long. But I spent all these years burying my feelings like a fool, because I never thought you’d see me that way. Yet, every time we kiss, it becomes harder for me to ignore my feelings for you.”

Chenle glanced down at his folded hands, vulnerability seeping into those brown orbs of his. “The other night made me realize that I don’t want to just be friends who kiss anymore. I want to be something more to you.”

His words lingered in the air now that they were out in the open. Your heart raced faster than it ever has before, as your cheeks flushed with heat. Chenle’s eyes bore into yours, his expression nervous yet hopeful.

For a moment, you were left speechless. But you still had the sense to hit him on the shoulder, scolding, “Oh my gosh, you can’t start a conversation like that, Chenle. You scared me!”

The boy chuckled sheepishly, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. But seriously, (Y/n), I meant what I said.”

A mix of emotions played on your face before you quietly admitted, “Honestly, I’ve wanted to be something more to you since that day we kissed in my bedroom.”

You noticed a smile of relief beginning to form on his lips, but you held up a finger before he could say anything. Now that he had taken the first step, you decided it was time for you to do the same.

“But I kept trying to convince myself that all the times we kissed were accidental or just for comfort,” you confessed, looking directly into his eyes. “And the reason I’ve been pushing away my feelings for you was because I was afraid of losing a friend who means the world to me.”

His hand rested on top of yours, the light touch sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t have to be afraid because you’ll never lose me, (Y/n).”

The softness and sincerity in his eyes made you want to cry for some inexplicable reason. You once believed that confessing your feelings for Chenle would only lead to frustration and heartbreak. However, as you sat here with him, holding his hand, those worries seemed to vanish.

“So…what do we do now?” you asked, unsure of what was supposed to come next in these situations.

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he grinned. “I think this is the part where we kiss. But you know, as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Just as you were processing his words, he moved closer, his breath warm against your skin, making your heart flutter. His eyes searched yours for permission.

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” you whispered.

With that, the distance between you closed, and your lips met in a tender kiss. It was a sweet surrender, a culmination of years of friendship and suppressed feelings. Although this wasn’t your first kiss with Chenle, it felt that way in a sense. For you could finally savor the tender feeling of his lips without questioning the intention behind it.

In that moment, all you focused on was the way Chenle had his hand on the small of your back, guiding you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your fingers found their way to rest on the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Although the change in this dynamic had just begun, this newfound connection promised countless moments of shared laughter, whispered confessions, and the sweet warmth of shared kisses. You had a feeling that you could easily get used to this beautiful new normal. By the way Chenle smiled during the kiss, you could tell he felt the same way.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

#nct dream #kpop #nctzen #czennie #nct dream imagines #chenle imagine #chenle fic #nct dream fic #chenle x reader #zhong chenle #nct scenarios #kpop fic #nct dream x reader #chenle #chenle scenarios

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alexa-fika · 11 months ago

Text

Tough Swordplay ( Mihawk x gn!winged!child!reader)

A/N: We’ve got a slightly older Reader in this one, around 10? Enough for them to reach that sass stage 🙄 IT’s BREWING GUYS, THE IDEAS ARE BREWING, MY BRAIN IS OVERFLOWING. I have ideas for more Dracule!Reader Shanks!Reader , Bro even Donquixote!Reader (of the better brother of course 😳) and even more fandoms!

I also wanted to take a small second to thank you guys, it has been my dream to have my little group of people who I can share my writing with and receive reactions from, to share opinions on! So thank you!

Dividers by @/saradika

They jump out of the way just in time to evade their father's attack only to miss the very next attack and end up falling to the ground

“Ow, I almost had it.”

Mihawk sheathed his sword as he watched.

“Hm, you are improving; your reaction time is better... You still need a lot of improvement” He said flatly.

They pout pulling two more long feathers from their wings, wielding them like swords as they got into position once again

“That’s much better... You’re finally starting to understand the difference between defending and attacking. Your footwork could use some work.” He said rapidly unsheathing Yoru.

“Your feet are too heavy and are slowing down your balance and agility, and you overcorrect when you are pushed off-balance. The moment my attack forces you back is the moment you have already lost.” He points out

“You are too eager to make your next attack. When defending and attacking there is a window of opportunity. When your opponent attacks, that is your window to strike.”

They frown, dashing towards him, ready to strike

He waited patiently for their attack while his own hands were in a position. As they struck, Mihawk used their own momentum to redirect the attack over himself before he countered, forcing them to stumble.

“Your form of attack lacks a proper flow. You should not be predictable. Instead of dashing at me, try to mix your movements.”

“Don't let your opponent know your next move. Be fast, unpredictable, and most importantly, be ready to react.”

“Agh! If you want unpredictably, you got it, idiot!” they growl as more feathers fall from their wings and are sent their father's way, immediately regretting both the action and their words.

“Oops…W-Wait, dad I din’t mean to,” they chuckle nervously

Mihawk narrowed his eyebrows but couldn’t contain his smile.

“... Impressive.”

“Just as I expected, you are improving,” Mihawk replied as he was finally able to be pleased.

“Your unpredictability was great, but... You are still rather obvious as your attacks tend to be slow and your footing heavy.” He added in.

They sigh in relief at their words only to wince at his following words

“However, I thought I had told you this was sword training. Did I not warn you against using your other attacks and focusing on your sword? And what was it that you call me earlier?”

“H-hah w-well, it was just an accident, a slip up!”

“Accidents are just convenient excuses for a lack of commitment,” Mihawk said, sharply approaching his kid.

A sharp wine can be heard across the training ground.

“Dad, it has been an hour of me practicing this sword move, can I please stop now? I learned my lesson!” They whine, a bump prominent on the back of their head part of the punishment they had received for their slip up; currently they were serving the second part of their punishment, stuck doing the very same sword movement repetition with a wooden practice sword

“... Another hour.”

“Come on! I said it was an accident!”

“An accidental misuse of your power is still a misuse in my book. I warned you about mixing up your attack style and you disobeyed what I said. You are too reliant on your wings” Mihawk replied, not moving a muscle, now sitting nearby with the newspaper

“Accidental misuse,” they grumble mockingly

Mihawk doesn’t flinch as he continues reading the newspaper.

“I heard that,” Mihawk said sharply without looking away from the newspaper.

“Just for that, make it three hours.”

“Come on!”

They pout, continuing their movements with the wooden sword

‘Jerk,’

“Five.”

“W-w- But I didn’t even do anything this time; I din’t even say anything!”

Mihawk raises an eyebrow with a small smirk appearing on his face for a brief second before disappearing.

“Im you’re father. I raised you, and I know what you are thinking just by your expressions.”

“Sorry, Dad” they mumble, getting back to their sword practice

Mihawk sighs, now with a small smile on his face.

“I am merely trying to help you improve. You cannot afford any mistakes. You must be ready for anything. You know full well that the world isn’t like some practice room, and even the slightest mistakes in a fight against your enemy can cost you everything,” Mihawk said, his voice being far kinder than before.

“I know…

“Good,” Mihawk replied as he watched over their kid.

“I know that I may come off as harsh at times, but that is because I care about you. The last thing that I would want is for you to end up dead because of a mistake or for some weakling to look down on you.” Mihawk said with a sigh.

They smile at him

“Thank you, dad”

“You're welcome... But it still does not diminish the length of this punishment.” Mihawk replied with a smirk.

“Seriously?! After all that?! That's so stupid!”

“…What was that?”

“W-wait!”

“OW! THAT ONE HURT! IM SORRY!”

They jump out of the way just in time to evade their father's attack only to miss the very next attack and end up falling to the ground

“Ow, I almost had it.”

Mihawk sheathed his sword as he watched.

“Hm, you are improving; your reaction time is better.”

“... You still need a lot of improvement, however.” He said flatly.

They pout pulling two more long feathers from their wings, wielding them like swords as they got into position once again

“That’s much better... You’re finally starting to understand the difference between defending and attacking.”

“However... Your footwork could use some work.”

“You are too eager to make your next attack. When defending and attacking there is a window of opportunity. When your opponent attacks, that is your window to strike.”

They frown, dashing towards ready to strike

“Your form of attack lacks a proper flow. You should not be predictable. Instead of dashing at me, try to mix your movements.”

“Don't let your opponent know your next move. Be fast, unpredictable, and most importantly, be ready to react.”

“Agh! If you want unpredictably, you got it, idiot!” they growl as more feathers fall from their wings and are sent their father's way

“Oops…W-Wait, dad I din’t mean to,” they chuckle nervously

Mihawk narrowed his eyebrows but couldn’t contain his smile.

“... Impressive.”

“Just as I expected, you are improving,” Mihawk replied as he was finally able to be pleased.

“Your unpredictability was great, however... You are still rather obvious as your attacks tend to be slow and your footing heavy.” He added in.

They sigh in relief at their words only to wince at his following words

“However, I thought I had told you this was sword training. Did I not warn you against using your other attacks and focusing on your sword?”

“H-hah w-well, it was just an accident…”

“Accidents are just convenient excuses for a lack of commitment,” Mihawk said, sharply approaching his kid

A sharp wine can be heard across the training ground

“Dad, it has been an hour of me practicing this sword move, can I please stop now? I learned my lesson!” They whine, a bump prominent on the back of their head part of the punishment they had received for their mishap; currently they were serving the second part of their punishment, stuck doing the very same sword movement repetition with a wooden practice sword

“... Another hour.”

“Come on! I said it was an accident!”

“Accidental misuse,” they grumble mockingly

Mihawk doesn’t flinch as he continues reading the newspaper; he glances up at them, narrowing their eyes.

“I heard that,” Mihawk said sharply without looking away from the newspaper.

“Just for that, make it three hours.”

“Come on!”

They pout, continuing their movements with the wooden sword

‘Jerk,’ they think to themselves

“Five.”

“W-w- But I didn’t even do anything this time; I din’t even say anything!”

Mihawk raises an eyebrow with a small smirk appearing on his face for a brief second before disappearing.

“Im you’re father. I raised you, and i know what you are thinking just by your expressions.”

“Sorry, Dad” they mumble, getting back to their sword practice

Mihawk sighs, now with a small smile on his face.

“I am merely trying to help you improve. You cannot afford any slip-ups. You must be ready for anything. You know full well that the world isn’t like some practice room, and even the slightest mistakes in a fight against your enemy can cost you everything,” Mihawk said, his voice being far kinder than before.

“I know…

“Good,” Mihawk replied as he watched over their kid.

They smile at him

“Thank you, dad”

“You're welcome... But it still does not diminish the length of this punishment.” Mihawk replied with a smirk.

“Seriously?! After all that?! That's so stupid! You’re stupid!”

“…What was that?”

“W-wait!”

“OW! THAT ONE HURT! IM SORRY!”

GUYS AM I COOKING OR WHAT?! We got the wholesomeness, we got the tough love, we got the small smiles and smirks from Mihawk TELL ME I DIN’T COOK RIGHT HERE.

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

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8aji · 2 years ago

Text

too busy saving everybody else to save yourself. // s.s.

to think of a life without him filled you up with such sorrow you thought you'd let yourself drown just to be with him one last time. — or, an account of the events that transpired after the night of august 14, 2003.

pairing. shinichiro sano x baji!reader

wc. 18k

tags/cw. MDNI, angst with happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, baji!reader (reader is baji’s sibling), manga spoilers, shinichiro lives, anxiety/panic attacks, smoking, mentions of death, characters cry a lot, mentions of head trauma + hospitals + needles + blood, reader gets called 'nee-chan' a couple of times but other than that its pretty gn, very suggestive (one make/out sesh), takeomi is clowned a lot + please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n. its finally done sob i spent so much time polishing this as much as i could and what was supposed to be a 1k drabble mutated into this lmfao but all in all this fic is my baby, my child, and i love it so so much i just hope y'all will like it as much as i do !! a massive thanks to @tetsutits for betaing and to @mosviqu for letting me run the storyline through her !! hope all of u enjoy lots n lots !!

m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni

One step, one blink, one breath, one step, one blink, one breath; like on autopilot, the pattern repeated itself over and over again. You could feel it beating inside your skull; the pounding of your heart resonated throughout your body, acting as the fuel behind your every move.

Your blurry gaze amplified all of your other senses, sending your brain into a downward spiral of emotional overwhelm; the loud keyboard clicking, the obnoxious chatter, the drinking and munching of coffee and donuts, all of it made you want to tear your ears off. How could the world keep turning, people existing like normal, while you were being consumed by the tightness enveloping your lungs? The thought made you want to light up the whole building, watch it burn as the flames simmered the concrete to ashes to relieve the turmoil brewing inside your body.

“I'm coming for Baji Keisuke?” You asked, barely managing to string the words together in a coherent sentence, head going a thousand miles per hour. “He’s my brother.”

The officer behind the desk pulled down his magazine, looking you over and taking in your dishevelled state. “Ah,” he sighed as soon as your brother's profile appeared on his screen. “Baji Keisuke, the little rascal with the breaking and entering charges, huh?”

lips forming into a thin line, you nodded, biting your tongue so as to not insult the man in front of you who, for some reason, couldn't help but chuckle, as if a twelve year-old kid being detained was funny.

“Can I see him?”

He gave you one last obnoxious glance, before typing on his computer.

“He’s currently under police custody,” he explained condescendingly as if you didn’t know, pulling a manila folder and pressing the button on the printer, handing you a pen in the meantime. “He's only got a minor charge compared to the other brat he came in here with,” He let out a quiet cackle, not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention. To you, it was like he acted this nonchalant to rile you up, make your blood boil. And, in spite of your reluctance to admit to it, it was working. Being in his presence made you want to punch him. “We’re betting on whether the other kid’s gonna get charged with manslaughter or not.

“And just between us,” he made a come hither motion, but leaned forward on his chair at your lack of reaction. “I’m betting in favor of manslaughter, so I'm crossing my fingers for the guy to die soon, ‘ya know?”

Had you been wearing long sleeves, he would’ve been able to see you rolling them up, emotionally prepared to be charged with aggravated assault against a police officer

Fortunately, another officer called out your name, catching your attention before you could act on the violent scenarios coursing through your brain. You didn’t bother excusing yourself before leaving to find your brother.

He looked small, smaller than he actually was, as he sat on the floor with both his knees close to his chest. His eyes were puffy and red, it was obvious he had been crying; though by the looks of it, he had yet to stop.

The cell door sounded like nails against a chalkboard as it scraped against the floor. It made him flinch in surprise, snapping him out of the borderline-dissociating trance as he looked up at the intimidating officer, trying to gauge his intentions while gathering all the energy he had left in his body to fight off the man just in case he needed to. But as soon as he made eye contact with you he could feel himself lowering his guard.

He didn’t even hesitate, his body moved on his own, running past the officer and straight into your arms, letting the harsh sobs he had tried bottling up rack his body, along with muffled apologies and incoherent explanations.

“It's okay,” you mumbled against his hair, trying to calm down his heart wrenching cries. He nuzzled his face against your neck, trying to get impossibly closer to the sound of your voice. You waited for him to nod, still clutching at your clothes with all the remaining energy he had. “He's strong, he’ll be alright.”

Though at this point you were unsure whether your words held any weight against the grand scheme of things; hopefully all your promises won’t turn into bold-faced lies.

You made your way out of the cell together, holding his left hand as he used the other to rub at his eyes, itchy and dry from all the crying. The two of you walked past a couple of cells before he stopped for what seemed like a millisecond, mumbling something under his breath in weak anguish. Had you not been hyper aware of everything going on around you, you wouldn’t have noticed the slight tug at your hand.

Kazutora sat on the floor the same way Keisuke did, knees pulled up to his chest, biting his cuticles raw to stop his brain from looping the traumatic set of events like a broken film; still, it wasn't enough to stop his whole body from trembling in shock. The distress fresh in his eyes made you want to drop everything just to hold him close, comfort him like you did with Keisuke.

But you didn’t have much time, the officer behind you pressured the both of you to move, and considering Keisuke remained under police custody, you weren’t willing to risk him getting locked up again now that you had him by your side.

“Wait for me over there, okay?” You said, pointing at the waiting area. “I just have to fill out some paperwork and then we can go home.” He held your hand even tighter in his grasp in response, as if he was scared to let go. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

Reluctantly, he dragged his feet as he walked, not wanting to stray far away from you. At least there was still some sort of stubbornness left in him. You’ve never seen him act like this, uncontrollably crying and apologising, devoid of the mischievous glint in his eyes. Knowing the Keisuke you knew was still there comforted you.

“How, uh, how much is bail gonna be?” You asked once he had made himself at home on the plastic chairs. Thankfully it was someone else behind the desk instead of the asshole you had the misery of interacting with.

You knew it wasn’t going to be cheap, already having a grasp of fines and bail costs thanks to your friends getting into trouble, but even with this knowledge, their response sent a shiver down your spine.

Maybe you could use some of your own savings, or part of your college fund. Using your mom’s money was also an option, but you didn't want to put the burden on her. If you skipped a semester it could give you some time to earn the money back, but you were already behind in a few classes, and the minimum wage from part time jobs wouldn’t stack up too much, so was it truly feasible?

Fuck, you knew they were children but you couldn’t help but curse at their recklessness, their stupidity and naivety. Did they actually think stealing a bike would be that easy? And now you have to pay for the consequences, quite literally. Of course, you could always leave him here, let him face the consequences straight on. There was nothing forcing you to bail him out. But who were you kidding, you’d kill for him, of course you were going to pay.

Making sure he was still where you left him, you looked over your shoulder back at him. He was slumped over his knees, aimlessly playing with his fingers as his eyes fixated on the corridor leading to the cells, a solemn sadness washing over his features.

No.

You weren’t going to. You were going to pay for your brother’s sins, or whatever the cheesy line says, and leave to never look back. You didn’t owe this other kid anything, most certainly when you couldn't afford it. But, after knowing him for so long, the thought of him staying in the middle of four cold walls until further notice broke your heart.

“Actually,” you sighed. This was gonna cost two semesters instead of one. “Could I pay for someone else’s bail as well?”

At first, he refused to acknowledge your presence, biting harder into his fingers. He tried self-soothing through slow back and forth rocking motions and the unintelligible words that spilled from his mouth, hugging himself tighter the closer you got.

He didn’t move, frozen in place as if the lack of movement would make him invincible to the naked eye. He didn’t cave in no matter what you did, not when you kneeled in front of him nor when you whispered his name in hopes he would acknowledge your voice.

It only took a couple of seconds after that for him to shyly meet your gaze, warming up to you in an instant and clinging onto you just like Keisuke had done, though he did so with a lot more desperation, this sort of comfort foreign to Kazutora. He felt so small in your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder, the only thing he could do was claw at your body for reassurance. Other than that, he didn’t speak, didn’t cry, he almost didn’t move, to the point it had you questioning whether he was actually breathing.

Once you coaxed him out of the cell and got a hold of your brother, your sole focus was on guiding the boys beside you out of the precinct as fast as possible, one hand holding Keisuke’s while the other rested on the back of Kazutora’s head. They didn’t need to spend more time than necessary in this place, surrounded by grimy cell blocks and seemingly socially inept officers who couldn’t keep their rambunctious laughter down.

Wakasa was sitting on his bike outside the police station waiting for the three of you, and though initially it was supposed to be just the two of you riding along with him, he wasn’t surprised you paid for your brother’s friend’s bail. He kept a fairly laid-back exterior, lit cigarette hanging from his fingers replacing his preferred strawberry flavored lollipops, inhaling back the smoke that seeped from his parted lips and freaking out on the inside.

The two of you were hanging out when multiple calls blasted through your phone, prompting you to rush to where you were now. First it was one from the hospital, one of the bearers of bad news that didn’t let you dwell on the fact that Shinichiro had written you down as one of his emergency contacts. Then came the call from the police station, sinking your heart down to the bottomless pit in your stomach.

“Everything alright?” He asked, putting out his cigarette, smothering the stick with his boot along with the other three he had finished while you were inside.

You hummed in response, words dying in your throat. The silence around you itched and burned, made your skin prickle with discomfort, and even so, no one dared say anything besides the occasional noise of acknowledgement. They weren’t dumb. They were one-hundred percent aware of what they were doing, and this wasn’t something you could blame on their age either. Yes, they were kids, but a twelve year old should be able to discern right from wrong; aware that stealing is bad and that murdering people is wrong.

And deep down, you knew this was even more fucked up than it appeared to be. You knew Kazutora wouldn’t have cared for the victim had it not been Shinichiro. The only reason he was shaking like a leaf, flinching when Wakasa fastened the belt of his helmet against his head, was because he hurt Mikey’s brother. That’s not to say Keisuke was innocent, it was clear he wasn’t. Intentionally breaking into someone’s shop to steal a very valuable, very expensive, piece of equipment and potentially complicit in someone's murder.

You wanted to tear your eyes off at the thought. Did they really think they could get away with this? That it would be as easy as stealing some candy or gum from the corner store? You wanted to curse them out for being so stupid, so naive. But looking down at their sunken faces, eyes bloodshot and teary as they sweated fear from every pore on their fragile skin, it made you want to excuse all their horrid behaviour, ignore the fact they committed a crime and in the process they mortally wounded an innocent man.

You held down an involuntary gag at the violation of your principals, the memory of what had just gone down stirring unwanted bitterness inside your stomach. You were no one to criticise the two kids sitting between Wakasa and you. They could be stupid, but you were the weakest of them all.

“Let’s get going then.”

You could question your moral compass later, first you had to get them home.

The voices of the characters talking in the background faded into an uncomfortable white noise as your muscles dissolved along with your bones, breaking through your skin and seeping into the cushions of the couch. Each time you breathed in the more stressed you became at the uncertainty of your friend’s mortal status.

You hadn’t received any news from the hospital, and though you knew that if they hadn’t called by now, they probably wouldn’t at least until tomorrow morning, that didn’t stop you from imprisoning your phone close to your chest. Maybe if you channelled all your strength into your hold then you’d lose the urge to cry.

In spite of their initial resistance, it didn’t take long to put the kids to bed. The two of them drifted off to a bitter, yet hopefully replenishing, sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. It wasn’t surprising, the whole incident had drained the both of them to their core.

“‘Sure you’re okay?” Wakasa asked, and had it not been for his voice you're sure you would’ve dissociated the rest of the night. Maybe the kids would find you the next morning still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue as you stared at the ceiling, and freak out because they’d think you had died along with ‘Shinichiro-nii’.

You hummed, it was the only response you could muster it seemed, with your eyes zeroing in on his shoulders, then his cheeks and then his earrings. Looking straight into his eyes would do you no good. It’d blow your cover in less than an instant, and though it’s fair to say it was a shit cover, amplifying your grief through your dejected silence instead of toning it down, it made you feel safer from the imminent doom. Still, shitty cover up or not, Wakasa knew you weren’t okay. You wouldn’t be able to fool him even if he was stupid, and at this point, he’s convinced you wouldn’t be able to fool anyone; a single glance your way was enough to tell you were silently crumbling.

He let his head fall backwards against the back of the sofa, sighing in acknowledgement. No matter how many times he asked, deep down he knew you would only cave in at your own account, But at least his question somehow managed to bring you back down from the maze your brain had started fabricating to earth. And maybe, just maybe, if he gave you enough space that’d prompt you to speak. He didn’t mind waiting. Not for a couple of seconds, or the couple of minutes those seconds turned into, or the couple of hours they mutated into next, and so on until days and weeks and years had passed, until the scarcity of time felt infinite.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” You broke the silence, biting the edges of your words as if you wanted to hide them back inside, voice shaky and heavy against your tongue.

He hesitated, sharing a seat next to you inside the same sinking uncertainty boat, “Shin-chan’s stronger than you think.” He tried reassuring you, or himself he wasn't sure, but at this point the more he tried to tell himself his friend was still breathing, the more it felt like a lie. Shin-chan was stronger than the two of you thought, but was he really? “He’d be heartbroken to know you had little faith in him.”

At least he got you to chuckle, “I’d be heartbroken to know that I was right.”

You fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after, the stakes of the conversation too high, and if you continued talking you’re sure you’d end up giving Shin up for dead. But like this, maybe you could finally force yourself to get some sleep. The weight of your eyelids had doubled, eyes growing heavier against your will, and though you didn’t want to, just in case something happened while you were unconscious, you knew you’d be of no use without at least a few hours of rest. Plus, you promised yourself you’d never lose any sleep over a guy, ever, and you weren’t about to make an exception for Shinichiro Sano.

Not even an hour in your slumber, you almost threw your phone to the other side of the room as its desperate cry pierced your ears. You’re sure Wakasa almost had a heart attack with how fast straightened up next to you, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if it somehow managed to wake up both Kazutora and Keisuke, although your brother was more of a chronic heavy sleeper.

“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” Feelings heightened in his barely awake, panicked state, the desperation was palpable in his words. And though uncommon for him to act in such an erratic manner, he had bottled everything up the whole night, it was time for the stoic facade to break.

But, even so, in spite of your friend’s heartbreaking desperation you didn’t move. Not after the third ring or the fourth. You didn’t dare move, staying frozen on the couch, groggy from waking up yet hyper-aware of everything going on around you despite your mild dissociation. The sole thought of moving towards made your brain press against your skull, screaming at you to stop.

Not answering meant that Shinichiro could stay both simultaneously alive and dead, his fate linked to whether you picked up the call. If you didn’t, maybe he wouldn’t die after all, he’d stay stuck in the unknown limbo of immortality until you made a call.

But then again, this was your only chance to get an update on his status. And it wasn’t only you anxiously waiting on any sort of news. Wakasa was waiting; Keisuke and Kazutora, although asleep, were as well, and you could only fathom Benkei and Takeomi’s reaction. Mikey and Emma were probably up to date, the hospital must’ve called their grandfather before they reached out to you. And looking back at the people that depended on you, it really wasn't fair to put your own self-indulgent selfishness over the needs of others, was it?

It wasn't. Of course it wasn’t, but after putting everyone before you for as long as you’ve lived, didn’t you deserve to be selfish? At least once, when it pertainted the condition of the unrequited love of your life, didn’t you deserve at least that much?

“Hello?” Wakasa answered through furrowed brows and twitching lips. From the way he spoke, you could tell he was biting on the inside of his cheek to release some tension, putting enough pressure to draw blood. “This is Wakasa Imaushi speaking,

“–can’t get to the phone right now, can’t you just talk to me?” Voice getting progressively louder, he challenged the person on the other side of the call. “He’s my best friend, don’t I deserve to know whether he’s alive or not?!”

Only when his voice broke at the weight of his own desperation did you manage to snap out of your trance, snatching the phone out of his grip, ignoring his glassy eyes as you spoke into the receiver, mumbling your name through a shakily put together voice.

You’re not sure whether you imagined it or not, almost choking on a withered sob, but you could feel the moment your teeth sunk into the skin of your hand, digging hard enough for blood to prickle to the surface, preventing any other noise from coming out.

With your vision blurry and a tightness in your chest you could not describe, your body had gone completely numb, and yet your nerve endings were scorching under any semblance of atmospheric pressure, forcing you to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.

Had Wakasa not been there to catch you, you’d have collapsed on the ground, a pitiful wailing mess. Tears soaked through the fabric of both your clothes as you held each other close. For what felt like hours, the two of you stayed like that. Face buried against his neck and his against the top of your head, he rocked you back and forth in his arms until your tears stopped mixing themselves with your spit, sharp inhales tuning down into soft sniffles. And though his eyes burned with unshed sorrow, he kept on humming at your unintelligible mumbling.

“See? I told you he was stronger than we thought.” He whispered, though it sounded closer to a whimper, and nuzzled his cheek further against your hair. As if trying to ground himself, he gave you a tight squeeze, still in doubt whether he was trying to convince you or himself.

Only after a while, once both of your breathing had evened out, did you raise your head up from its hideout, hesitant footsteps catching your attention.

“Nee-chan?” You heard a tiny voice coming from the hallway, a little insecure, as if he didn’t think he deserved a proper response.

“I’m sorry ‘Tora, did we wake you?” You peeled Wakasa’s arms from your body, rubbing the haziness of your eyes away. He shook his head in response, carefully moving away from the shadows after acknowledging your lack of anger.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

His puffy eyes shimmered red under the soft moonlight coming through the living room window. He took meticulous steps in your direction, side-eyeing Wakasa and still wary of you, not knowing how you would react after his intrusion. Each one was lighter than the other, the wooden floors refused to creek underneath his weight, almost as if he had trained himself to become weightlessly invisible.

Slowly as to not startle him, you stretched your arms in his direction, beckoning him towards you and silently encouraging him to trust you. Even after drying out his tears once you tucked him in bed, holding his hand a little longer while Keisuke slept next to him, you’re sure that wasn’t enough to reassure him you wouldn’t blow up on him. For Kazutora, interacting with most people felt like trying to navigate an active minefield.

Hugging him close to your body, you pulled him on your lap and softly rocked him back and forth; the same way Wakasa had done with you. He nuzzled closer to you, letting himself relax against your touch once he registered you weren't a threat, basking in your warmth.

The silence the three of you fell under was deafening, uncomfortable even, though you didn't intend for it to be. Kazutora had this question stuck in his throat, sitting heavy against his vocal cords while the bitter taste of bile stained his tongue.

“Is…” he trailed off, still doubting whether he deserved to be asking such a question. “Is Mikey’s brother going to be okay?”

He tensed up at the lack of immediate response. The lack of positive reassurance that he hadn’t completely messed up everyone's lives made the grip he had on your arm grow tighter in fear of you letting go.

You didn’t. You weren’t planning to do so. Even if nausea piled up at the end of your oesophagus as the conflicting set of emotions brewing at the pit of your stomach, you were sure he needed you as much as you needed him to keep yourself grounded

“He will.” You brushed your fingers through his hair, lips curled up into a smile once you felt him relax against you once again. “Right now he’s resting, we can visit him in a couple of days, if you’d like.”

The silence amongst you became heavy once again, but inside Kazutora’s head the cacophony of your words bounced against the thick layers of bone and skin like worthless cries of distress. What he did was inconceivable, and in spite of that you still cared.

“I didn’t mean to,” barely a whisper, the words died out before they could be properly enunciated. They prickled and ached and stung at the walls of his throat. Something he couldn’t name but feel deeply inside his bones stopped himself from vomiting it all out. But mess after mess, like building blocks stacking one on top of the other, they piled up and pulled him down like a ball and chain made out of his own flesh and when he tried to pull at it to set himself free he could feel everything spilling out in a tangled cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I’m sorry!” he cried, clutching onto your shirt and arms, anything he could get a hold of to ensure you wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Holding him tightly and shushing his cries, you could do nothing more than let his tears wet at your shirt, mumble that it was okay even if it truly wasn’t; even if the two of you knew it was a lie. The weeping child in your arms did nothing but pull at your heartstring, conflicting feelings arising in your chest. In spite of the fondness you felt for the kid, the same fondness you felt for all of your little brother’s friends, you had unconsciously developed a grudge towards him, bitterness and resentment for hurting Shinichiro.

His lashes rested against his skin, casting thin shadows under the sunlight streaming through the window. He had always looked peaceful when he was sleeping, chest rising and falling as if following a metronome’s tempo. You can remember taking long summer naps next to him and the rest of your friends, you always being the first one to wake up. Every summer the three of them arrived late to at least five Black Dragon’s meetings because they had slept in. Shinichiro had developed this antsy habit of arriving weirdly on time yet slightly late ever since then, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of letting down whoever was waiting for him; you wonder how he’d react if he knew the shop wouldn’t open today.

So peaceful yet fragile., never in your life would’ve you remotely imagined you’d be sitting next to your best friend’s hospital bed, eyes puffy and droopy while his head laid covered in bandages. The beeping of the monitor filling up the unnecessary silence that wouldn’t have otherwise been there had he been awake.

Had he been awake, he would’ve talked to you non-stop, retelling everything that went down to the most insignificant detail, sprinkling hyperboles as much as he could just to appear a little cooler in front of you. But it's not like he had to try anyway, to appear cooler, that is, you already thought he was the coolest person in the whole wide world; though you’d go as far as saying he was the coolest person to ever exist. The sole idea made you smile, tears welling up in your eyes as you wondered if he’d blush once he found out how highly you thought of him.

And of course, had he been awake, he would’ve been worried about everyone but him. He would’ve asked about Mikey and Emma, if they had slept over at the hospital or at home with his grandfather, who he would’ve proceeded to ask about. He would’ve bitten his tongue to prevent himself from even mentioning the economic implications of his stay, but you would’ve been able to read right through him.

Then, had he been awake, he would’ve asked about Keisuke and Kazutora. He would’ve be worried about them, berated you with a flurry of questions, emotions switching from anger to guilt in less than a millisecond; angry at your deplorable encounter with the police, guilty because he was the one that called, and maybe if he hadn’t, then Mikey’s friends wouldn't have gotten in trouble.

He would’ve asked about the shop, if anyone was there watching over it while he was resting in the hospital, deflating a little after finding out it wouldn’t open for the day. He would’ve asked about Wakasa and Benkei and Takeomi, ask if they were aware of what happened, if they had already started making fun of him after finding out a twelve year-old sent him straight to the ER; he would’ve sighed at your response, shaking his head because instead of making fun of him his friends were worried.

Finally, he’d ask about you. And maybe you would’ve cried or laughed or screamed. Maybe tears would’ve pooled in your eyes, the fact your friend was breathing finally sinking in. Maybe you would’ve giggled at your past unjustified worries because he was here now and you never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second. Maybe you would’ve broken down, fatigue deep in your bones pulling you to the ground until you could do nothing but lay cold and empty and happy on the floor because you had not dared sleep but at least the existence of his consciousness remained.

But the only one speaking was the wind blowing through the curtains, kissing his forehead and messing up his hair just to give you the opportunity to put it back in place through the insecure brush of your fingers

Resting your forehead next to the palm of his hand, you sighed in defeat; maybe you should’ve let him rest alone. You had spent the whole morning next to him, ignoring any hunger cues alerting you it was time for breakfast or lunch or any sort of meal time that could fuel your body from complete exhaustion. Still, even if you wanted to fall asleep, it was like your subconscious wouldn’t let you. Every time you closed your eyes and felt yourself slip into a deep slumber, you were jolted awake to your own dismay.

Not being able to rest had started to eat away at your own sanity. Only eight hours had passed, but every second felt like a thousand and at this point, you had become a walking contradiction; hungry but unable to eat, tired yet unable to fall asleep. Your body was failing you, unable to react to any sort of external or internal stimuli, and you’re sure wouldn't be able to cry no matter how much you wanted to do so.

But even then, apparently you could still scream.

The weight of his hand on top of your head caught you off guard. It almost made you fall from the chair and smack your head against the bed’s metal skeleton. Maybe if you got a concussion and slipped into a weird pseudo-coma after a harrowing God-knows-how-many-hours-long surgery he’d feel guilty enough to make up for the tachycardia that had your heart beating where your brain should be.

“Hi.” He smiled, words a little slurred as the remaining anaesthesia wore off.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I see ‘you missed me alright.”

And you did. Even though less than a day had passed since the accident, picturing a whole lifetime without him was enough to permanently alter your brain chemistry. But he was here now, he was back and he was safe and the toothy grin he sported reminded you of home.

“Don’t ‘cha know it’s rude to eat in front of someone who can only chew on ice chips?” He joked, flinching as the nurse adjusted his IV drip.

You were forced to leave the room after a flurry of hospital staff came running at your volatile reaction; Of course, you were quick to reassure that your friend had only woken up and that everything was fine, before leaving for the cafeteria; giving them some space to work on Shinichiro would be good. Plus, not that he was ‘okay’ and you weren’t worrying about his health every second of every minute of every hour, you could address the sudden pangs of hunger poking at your stomach.

“I’ll buy you dinner once you get out.” You smiled, scooping some of the jell-o into your mouth through your innocent smile. But, again to your dismay, the mischievous glint in your eyes ratted you out. Shinichiro knew that ‘dinner’ meant the cheapest ramen you could find, maybe add an egg to spice it up, and ice cream you’d eat directly from the tub; a long lived tradition between the two of you. “I’ll even add chives this time.”

“Gee thanks,” he mocked, as if he’d rather do anything else than eat stale ramen with you. As long as he got the chance, he’d do anything. He’d probably lick the floor for you—not that he’d ever let you know, but if you asked he would, no questions asked. That’s what happens when you love someone. You’d be willing to do anything and everything for them even if it's irrational. “Can I choose the ice cream flavour at least?”

You hummed, focusing on scraping the plastic spoon against the plastic container in your hands to avoid his gaze. “Only this time though, so don’t get used to it.”

“Everything’s looking good so far, we’ll do another check up in a couple of hours.”

Right, you were still in here. Talking like everything was seemingly normal made you forget that you were still in the hospital, watching over your post-op, bedridden friend.

“Lay with me?” he asked, not before the both of you thanked the nurse who excused himself after gathering the remaining equipment. “Please?”

You shouldn’t, something inside your head made sure to let you know even if the urge to hold him close was overpowering. He had just barely woken up after a long emergency surgery, and you taking up space would be of no help for him to get the rest he needed. But the silent plea in the puppy dog eyes you had trained yourself so hard to resist, the subtle pout and the cute dopey-ness that had yet to wear off were far too tempting to resist.

His little celebratory cheer made you inwardly squeal as you slowly moved to his side, watching him wince in pain while he slowly shuffled himself closer to the edge in a clumsy attempt to make some space for you.

The thumping of his heartbeat reverberated in his chest, the stress melting from out your bones. You couldn’t help but sigh in content once you laid your head on his chest. Now that you were wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like you could finally rest.

“Tired?” He mumbled against your hair, breaking the silence that had settled in the room as you basked in each other’s presence. You hummed in response, nuzzling your cheek against his body and almost purring like a cat at his warmth. Letting your eyes close involuntarily, you couldn’t help but be lulled to a premature slumber. With how comfortable you looked, and because your obnoxious yawning was too contagious, he wanted to do nothing but follow in your footsteps.

Instead, his eyes stayed wide open and stuck to the ceiling as if the off off-white paint that covered the concrete was the key to shutting down his brain long enough for sleep to take over. It didn’t matter that his blood had been infused with what felt like at least twenty hundred thousand milligrams of various pain-deafening substances that were sure to knock him out in a matter of seconds, falling asleep seemed to be an unattainable goal.

Whatever they had injected into his body increased his senses’ sensitivity, multiplying it times a hundred instead of dulling them down to nothing. And it didn’t stop at the uncomfortable overtly bright fluorescent lights or the suddenly deafening sound of unoiled wheels from hospital carts being rolled around. It was the way he could feel you barely resting your weight against his body, as if scared the least amount of pressure would make his heart stop. The way he was met with your now dull eyes, almost bloodshot but not quite, sunken with a thick coat of desperation, or fear, or some sort of premature grief, as soon as he woke up. Or how, in spite of only being gone for less than a day, it seemed like you had spent a lifetime unable to exist alongside everything you held dear.

Hyper aware of all those little details and more, it hit him without warning, and suddenly, he could feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

It prickled uncomfortably at his eyes, the skin around his charcoal orbs itching like it was on fire. His mouth felt cottony, smothering his airways and cutting his airflow while his tongue rested uncharacteristically heavy in his mouth with the weight of unsaid words. It broke all his bones at once, leaving him numb on the ground, still like a corpse, and unable to suppress the dooming feeling of his own life spilling from his pores, mixing with his blood until the air around him turned thick and metallic.

In the blink of an eye he had been one step closer to the grave, barely hanging onto a thread of consciousness as the view of his shop turned blurrier and blurrier, and now he was breathing. His lungs had finally regained consciousness and he could feel everything around him overwhelmingly loud and clear and close and real.

Now awake, he could feel you laying on top of him, almost passed out due to the immeasurable amount of stress he had put you under. And maybe if it wasn’t for his reckless habit of parading around life with his guard lowered or for the lack of proper security measures at the shop—because who on earth would rob him? There’s no way he could be that unlucky. Impossible. Or maybe it was his inability to dodge, to hold his stance in a fight because even if he was strong, without proper technique he was rendered useless and, holy shit– he could’ve died.

He could’ve died and then Manjiro would’ve been forced to grow up way too soon because he would have to take care of Emma and grandpa��although knowing both his siblings, Emma was more likely to turn into the head of the house. And then his friends would’ve been left to grieve his death, make sad speeches about the best moments they had together and, fuck was Takeomi terrible at writing; his speech would just be a big mess of incoherent words stuck together. And what about the shop? Who was he leaving the shop to? And what about Inupi? Inupi was just a kid and he can’t just leave him all alone; he had promised to himself to take care of him the same way he took care of his siblings— fuck, Izana as well. Who was going to look after his brother? He was planning to introduce him to all of you guys soon. The two of you would’ve gotten along so well and,

And you.

What about you?

You looked beyond heartbroken. Words couldn't begin to describe exactly what somberness mulled deep within that brain of yours. If this is how you reacted to the possibility of him dying, then how would’ve you reacted to him actually doing so?

A choked sob rips through his lips, the sound painful as it breaches its forceful containment.

“Shin–”

“I’m sorry.”

“What…” you trailed off. The strained cry had erased any speck of slumber. For a second you thought you had dreamt it, that your brain had finally gone off the rails and you were hearing imaginary voices. That was until you looked up at him, eyes welling up with unshed tears, body stiff as if to prevent them from falling. “What’re you sorry for?”

“I just remembered the beach trip we were planning for Manjiro’s birthday,” he sniffled, “and I think we’re gonna have to cancel.”

“That’s okay, we can reschedule—”

“Yeah but I– I know he was really excited for it, all his friends were.”

“We’ll talk to them, make sure they understand—”

“And you were excited about it too,” avoiding your eyes even after you had tried to coax him into meeting yours. He felt so far away, almost unreachable despite laying right next to you. “And I know how much you love the beach and I really wanted to go with you even if we were gonna have to chaperone six hyperactive children,

“And, and I know the guys were gonna come with and we had it all perfectly planned out with this huge dorayaki cake thing and now we’re gonna have to cancel because of me—”

“Wait,” you shush him as gently as possible, sitting up and holding his hand tightly between yours. “What do you mean ‘because of me’?”

Almost as if he had never started, your question managed to shut down his rambling like forcefully closing a water faucet. He had this estranged, far-off look darkening his face, eyes glassy, almost as if he were dissociating. It made your stomach churn with anxiety. Never in your many, many, years of friendship had you seen him lose himself like this.

“Because,” he paused, trying to swallow down the knot grappling at his throat, fighting off the urge to tear it off with his bare hands. “Because it's my fault we’re cancelling.”

“I– What’re you talking about?”

He groaned in desperation. Why was this so hard to explain?

“I’m the one who’s bedridden.” Still dizzy after waking up and to the best of his ability, he tried sitting up, wincing in pain to then give up and lean into his forearms. “I’m the one with random needles poking through my skin, fresh off the ER because my skull was bashed into with one of my own tools and maybe, just maybe, if I had been more aware at the time, I could've avoided the hit.”

“Shin, this wasn’t your fault—”

“But it is! Can't you see?”

“Shin–”

“D’you know what I did when I heard someone break the glass?” He looked at you expectantly, voice raised in frustration. “After I called the cops; do you?” You shook your head in response, knowing that any attempt to help him calm down would be futile. “I grabbed a wrench.

“After the operator told me to hide and wait for help because I told them it sounded like more than one person was inside, I grabbed a stupid wrench and decided to face them,

“I decided to face them even if I'm well aware I wouldn’t be able to take two people at once.”

And though he seemed to be dead set on believing that somehow he managed to land himself in the hospital, you wouldn’t allow him to give himself up to the restless thoughts, no matter how badly he wanted to indulge the bitter part of his brain that had gotten used to putting himself down.

“Someone hit you from behind,” you tried, “you were ambushed, of course you wouldn't be able to take them on.”

His defeated sigh gave you some sort of uncomfortable comfort. Knowing it made you glad that he had finally given up was a conflicting feeling you wish to never re-examine or experience again.

You sat up, swallowing the foreign relief down, and scooted further up the bed’s backrest. Your elbow rested well above the pillow where he laid, and you couldn't help but use your leverage to gently brush your fingers through his hair, only relaxing once he visibly melted against your touch.

“You didn’t do this to yourself, this wasn’t your fault.” You whispered, fingertips soothing his worries as they ghosted the skin of his forehead. “You’re not responsible for every single thing that goes wrong, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are.”

He can’t recall a single moment in his life in which he felt like he was relieved from his self-imposed duty—the duty of an older brother, primary caretaker, and practically a parent. Someone who must put everyone’s needs above his own well-being. He’s responsible for everything going on around him, the good, the bad, the neutral, the everything. It only made sense that the break in and the subsequent series of events were, in part, his responsibility.

And he knew it was irrational thinking because how on earth would he have known what was going to happen? But he couldn’t help it, not when all the consequences of his actions reflected on the bigger picture; everyone relies on Shinichiro Sano, and it was his duty to fulfil.

“And I promise you no one is disappointed in you. Not a single one of us.” You press your lips against the top of his head, smiling through your own teary eyes at the little hum he involuntarily let out. “We’re all so, so happy that you're awake and talking and I bet Manjiro would rather move his beach birthday party a hundred years from now than lose his brother six days before his birthday,

“The beach is not going anywhere, and neither are we, okay? We are not going anywhere.”

And you knew it wasn’t not enough. Your words weren’t enough to shut up the swirling negativity spiral in his brain. But at least it was enough to calm him down, enough for him to fall asleep in spite of the dampness kissing his skin; he might have successfully managed to suppress the heart wrenching sobs, but he was not strong enough to hold back the tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

You follow through not long after, head lolling to the side in an uncomfortable position that would for sure leave your neck aching for days. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. There was no dreaming this time. No nightmares or worst case scenarios crafted deep within your subconscious. In spite of the gloomy circumstances, the two of you had fallen asleep. Finally, being in your arms was beyond comforting. Plus, indulging in the rest your body had craved for hours made it easier to regain consciousness once Manjiro decided to jump on the two of you in surprise, never minding the possibility of further injuring his brother by mistake.

Being on the receiving end of his lovable violence hurt more than you thought it would, one of his hands landing straight on your stomach and the other on Shinichiro’s chest, but you couldn’t blame the kid. Based on what Keisuke had confided in you last night, Manjiro had witnessed both his best friends’ arrest as well as his brother being pulled out unconscious on a stretcher out of the shop.

Beyond a muffled apology, he didn’t utter anything else, like his voice had given in. He clung onto Shinichiro’s body like his life depended on it.

A swift knock on the door caught your attention, though Manjiro didn't even bother looking up, face tucked against his brother’s body, letting himself relax as his brother’s fingers threaded through his blond locks.

Emma poked her head from behind the wall, hands holding onto the door frame for balance. From where you laid you could see how her eyes were almost as puffy as yours. They were rimmed with a bright red, the same shade that was splotched all over her cheeks and nose. Mansaku stood beside her, holding onto his hat.

You could physically feel the relief washing over Shinichiro the moment he saw his whole family entering the room. He laid lighter next to you, with a brighter smile decorating his lips. It was like his body had melted from hard concrete right into a puddle, your previous conversation seemingly forgotten as a twinkle of warmth returned to his pretty eyes.

Careful not to let Manjiro fall in the dent you were leaving as you stood up, you beckoned Emma over. She cuddled up to Shinichiro, clinging onto him while her soft sniffles filled the silent room, and you swore you had almost started tearing up again at the sight.

Mansaku placed a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise as he acknowledged your presence. Like a wordless thank you, he nodded at you before stepping closer towards the bed, letting his hand rest on Shinichiro’s, and gently squeezed as if making sure his grandson was truly there.

In no way shape or form was it the perfect family meetup—a perfect one wouldn’t entail the eldest-grandson-slash-parental-figure stuck in a hospital bed. But by the way they huddled together, Shinichiro pinching Manjiro’s cheeks, the latter not even fighting him off like he usually would, and patting Emma’s head in reassurance, with Mansaku displaying the ghost of a smile as he stood next to his grandchildren, the four of them gave off the feeling of everything being okay.

The familiar warmth between them left you to watch the scene like an outsider in a third-person point of view. It made you feel like you were intruding, messily glued to one of those fancy family portraits.

In spite of both your families spending the majority of their lives around one another, you weren’t a Sano. No matter how close Keisuke and Manjiro were, no matter how much Shinichiro and you acted like a married couple with at least five children, you were never going to be one. You knew this from the start, but even so, the knowledge didn’t stop the churning of a deeply seeded loneliness inside your stomach.

You didn’t bother with your goodbyes. Even if you had promised Shinichiro you’d spend the rest of the day together—pretending to be bothered and reluctant when you sealed it with a ‘pinky promise’ to hide the fact you’d willingly play nurse whenever he needed it—something from within told you it was your time to leave, you weren’t that important after all.

The question swirled inside your skull, bitter as it scratched your bones, as you leaned against the walls outside the hospital. At first, you intended to camp out in a waiting room, maybe join them after you had finally calmed down, but instead your legs had taken you right outside, landing you in a secluded area between the building and the many trees surrounding it so you could confidently retrieve the crushed package from your back pocket without disturbing anyone

Your thumb burned as you attempted to roll the sparkwheel of your zippo lighter, the metal forming uncomfortable crevices against your skin. You had to hold back the urge to bite down on the cigarette you had clumsily stuck between your teeth instead of your lips, frustration welling up and threatening to burst from the seams that clumsily held you together.

Waiting for the uncomfortable itch to burn at your throat, you traced the outline of the red koi fish at the corner of the lighter, eroded after thumbing at it like a nervous tick over the years. Every time you felt your eyes water you made sure to compulsively take another drag, as if the smoke could cloud your thoughts, mixing them up with the familiar nostalgia.

Anyone would think that after incinerating your taste buds with each stick you burn, you’d get used to the taste. Whoever said it gets easier the more you do it was a liar. They were as disgusting as ever, flavour the exact same as those you had tried when you were younger, fooling around with your friends. It first started when Shinichiro and Takeomi brought a couple of cigarettes they had stolen from his grandfather to one of your hang outs. It prompted the three of you to continuously choke and make fun of each other for doing so until there were only mustard coloured butts squished on the floor.

Neither Takeomi nor you had really enjoyed the experience, but for some reason, Shinichiro was quick to grow fond of the taste. He made sure to carry around a twelve-pack wherever he went, lighting up cigarette after cigarette in strategic places so the smell wouldn’t stick to his hair or clothes. Not soon after, the rather unhealthy habit had extended to the remaining two of you, who couldn’t help but carry your own packs to satisfy your newly birthed cravings.

Looking back, you’re sure younger-you did that to be a little more like Shinichiro, just like Takeomi, and for other even more childish reasons like appearing more mature and attractive in his eyes; you clearly remember him having a thing for older women for a while. Sure, the two of you were the same age but still, you felt like he didn’t see you like you wanted him to, and the only way for you to change that would be to gain some more common ground with him right?

So yeah, just like Takeomi, you wanted to be more like Shinchiro, but unlike Takeomi—as far as you know—you had started buying cigarette packets mainly to share back and forth with your best friend in, what you would call, a weak attempt at flirting.

At least the cringe memory managed to rip you out from the insecurity whirlpool you were being sucked into, making you groan while softly hitting your head against the concrete wall. Thank god Wakasa existed to berate you into stopping the unhealthily embarrassing habit. Back then you were just a kid, but were you being for real? Were you seriously intending to build your whole life around a man to the point you’d indulge in one of the most common and deadliest habits in the world for a slim chance at a high-school romance? Fuck, was younger-you so painfully stupid to even think–

“One of you is already in the hospital, we don't need you to auto-hospitalise.”

The old man’s voice made you jump, fumbling with the cigarette until it fell to the floor. You tried to hide the coughing fit to the best of your ability while frantically stomping on the lit stick laying on the ground. It didn’t matter that you were an adult, you were still terrified of getting caught smoking by the man.

“Would you mind sharing one with me?” He asked, ignoring the way your face morphed into a confused frown. With nimble fingers, you opened your cigarette pack once again, handing him your lighter when he was unable to fetch his from his pockets.

“You still smoke?” You questioned, adding a hasty ‘sir’ once you noticed how informal you had sounded.

He chuckled in response, taking another puff. “I only stopped doing it in front of the children.”

This time it was your turn to chuckle, playing with the gravel underneath your feet to avoid looking at the man at your slip-up. Still, even with your gaze fixated on the ground you could tell he was looking at you in curiosity.

“I didn’t mean to laugh it’s just,” clearing your throat, you stumbled with your words, debating in your head whether you should come up with one of your horrid cover ups or tell the truth. “You always smoked around us when we were little, like you didn’t care.”

You thought he would’ve left you alone after that, knowing you were purposely disrespectful towards him. It would’ve been better that way. Then you would’ve been left to wallow in your own self-pity in peace, with no one to stop you from finishing the seven remaining cigarettes. But he didn’t, taking you aback as he stayed rooted right by your side.

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve called them out. To cover up his own embarrassment or to make up for the disrespect? Not even he could be sure. But he had seen you grow up next to his own grandchildren, sharing your love and caring nature with them along with your mild irascibility and your talent for keeping Shinichiro on a tight leash. He couldn’t help but grow fond of you, even if most of your one-on-one interactions had consisted of you running away from him before he managed to scold you.

He had only stopped smoking once Manjiro was born, self-awareness finally sinking into his thick skull as he watched his two grandsons play together. No one had questioned him back then, letting him sit on the couch undisturbed while he read the morning paper. It was only after Sakurako had passed away, that he had started to notice the many areas he was lacking, watching both Shinichiro and you fill the gaps in each other’s broken homes while he alienated himself from the responsibility of taking care of his family. The two of you worked so in sync, he would be of no help—or at least that was what he had told himself.

“I wasn’t the best grandfather.”

“You think?”

“I know.” He smiled at your attitude; snappy as always, the only difference was the way you now recoiled in embarrassment at your slip ups. Using his fingers to get rid of the ash, he tapped on the back of the cigarette before taking another drag. “Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn’t.”

Not even a noise of acknowledgement, your vocal chords had closed themselves shut at the man’s sudden mild vulnerability. Out of all the things you expected him to ever say to you, a ‘thank you’ was never on the list. He was always sporting his characteristic cartoonish frown, speaking to everyone in a clipped tone with pointed words.

“You’re more important to us than you think.” He stepped on the cigarette butt. “That is one of the reasons why I can’t let you believe what happened to my grandson was in any way your fault.”

“‘Sorry?” You mumbled in confusion, his words pulling yet another frown onto your face; did you miss any pivotal points in the conversation? How had the conversation switched from his apparent familial issues to you?

“I know you feel guilty for what happened, even if you weren’t involved.” He sighed, not bothering to look you in the eye before continuing his speech. “You’re not responsible for your brother’s doing.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed in mild amusement, as if that wasn’t something you’ve been trying to tell yourself; all Bajis share their fuckups. But then again, of course he wouldn’t understand. “Easier said than done.”

This time you didn’t try to make up for the way had snapped at him. And bless the man for being able to read the room, because he didn’t push the conversation further. Deep down he knew you needed the outlet; you may have already cried, but all your anger was still pent up inside of you. And after everything you had done for him and his family, it was the least he could do for you.

“It doesn’t matter what we believe, we’re always responsible for everyone’s mess.” You scoff in dismay. “It’s like we were born for our families to have a provisional caretaker.

“So thank you for trying to tell me I didn’t break into Shinchiro’s shop, I know I didn’t, but it's still my mess to fix.” The aftertaste of the words laid heavy in your mouth, trickling down your throat like bitter bile tearing through the tissue. You didn’t like how they sounded; they were too impersonal, too selfish. You took a deep breath, holding yourself upright in spite of the pang in your chest. “Not that i wouldn’t have taken care of Shin if someone else had been responsible for what happened, I lo– I– I care too much about him to just leave him be but its just—”

You cleared your throat, “If I had made sure I knew where Keisuke was going or, or if I had actually tried to listen to him when he told me he didn’t know what to give Manjiro for his birthday then maybe– just…”

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence without breaking down the walls of the dam you thought you had finally managed to piece back together. You didn’t want the responsibility of rebuilding them back up, you don’t think you’d be able to do it as quickly as you’d want to. But you weren’t venting your sorrows to the wind. Mansaku Sano was still standing next to you, hands locked behind his back as he waited for you to continue, and though he was well aware of the times in which he had to remain quiet, he also knew when it was time to speak up.

“Then what?”

“Then,” you swallow, “then none of this would’ve happened, and he would’ve been okay.”

Your body itched for another cigarette, pawing at your skull for you to smother down the tears spouting from your eyes, even if the smoke would make your eyes teary once again. But with Mansaku Sano standing next to you, you didn’t dare touch a single one; it didn’t matter that you had just finished spilling your pent up emotions, you drew the line at smoking with Shinichiro’s grandfather. The thought sprouted a melancholic smile on your lips; Shinichiro would have a field day when he finds out what just went down.

The only thing left you had to ground yourself was the cold metal of your lighter, already starting to heat up at the warmth of your skin. You ran your thumb over it once again, the pattern already engraved in your mind. The habit had probably developed out of your need to be comforted by familiarity—of course the lighter was the right candidate, from its colour and texture, size and temperature, you had everything about it memorised like the back of your hand.

“It’s a really nice lighter.” You hadn't realised you were playing with it until he spoke up; twirling it between your fingers over and over again, flipping it open and close, lighting it up before shutting the lid and extinguishing the flame.

“Thanks,” you sniffled, and right after you finished speaking, your voice hoarse and tired, you regretted ever doing so. You felt like a child once again; like when your mom tried to comfort you after you had scraped your knee, or when a couple of older middle-schoolers had beaten your friends up. A child like when the day was finally over and you had to go back home from a play-date, or when your favourite toy had fallen inside the river while walking over a bridge. You regretted speaking the minute you had discovered your voice sounded as weak as you felt, and yet, at the mention of your beloved trinket, you felt the warm giddiness wash over your body forcing you to speak. And so, once again like a child, you did. “I got it at a summer festival, Shin got it for me.”

“I thought you said you wanted to come visit him.”

For a minute Keisuke didn’t speak. He looked straight at the ground, feet planted on the floors like roots had grown out of him as he held your hand.

Earlier this morning he had clung onto your waist while angry tears rolled down his cheeks. The moment he caught sight of you putting your shoes on the genkan he had broken into a run, letting his body smash against yours, and almost making you lose your balance. Both you and your mom had tried your hardest to calm him down for what felt like hours but to no avail. He persisted, begging for you to let him accompany you to the hospital.

Outside of Shinichiro’s room, it was a whole other story. All of a sudden he had decided he didn’t want to see him eye to eye. His reaction made you internally groan in frustration. Had you listened to your own gut feeling telling you Keisuke wasn’t ready to come with you, it would’ve saved him the stress of making a choice for himself. Instead, you were too weak to his puppy dog eyes and wobbly pleas, and now his eyes had started to water as he tried to hold back his own hiccups.

“I promise Shin-nii isn’t angry at you,” you cooed, kneeling down to the floor and looking up at him. When had he gotten this tall? When had he grown this much? Were your efforts enough to shape him into a decent person? “and if you truly don't feel comfortable we can go home, I promise I won’t get angry.”

He rubbed at his teary eyes with his free hand before nodding at you, trailing behind you as you stood up and knocked on the door.

“Hey!” you poked your head into the room with a smile, one that faltered as you tried to keep your mouth from falling open in awe once you noticed how the sunlight streaming from the window kissed every inch of Shinichiro’s skin as he quietly read the book you had given him as a joke. He looked up at you, pearly whites all up for display, and mumbled a soft mumbled a soft ‘hey’ right back at you; he looked so pretty he could be mistaken for an angel. “I brought Keisuke with me, ‘that okay?”

He hummed in response, marking the page he was reading before setting it aside. Even after the events that took place at the shop, you knew he wouldn’t mind your brother visiting—he had a soft spot for him after all. The verbal confirmation was more for Keisuke’s sake, who prompted by it, let go of your hand and walked into the room, a tinge of fear staining each step he took.

Shinichiro grinned, gently waving his way. And though the both of you had always found some sense of comfort in the warmth of his smile, it took less than a second for Keisuke to burst into tears. Sobs wracked his body as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, frantically drying out his cheeks with his forearms in vain. Tears kept pouring from his caramel eyes down to his cheeks until they stained his striped shirt.

At the sight of his distress, Shinichiro tried standing up as quickly as possible, almost ripping off his tangled IV. Thankfully, you managed to stop him before he could; the moment your brother had started crying you were already by his side wrapping your arms around his fragile figure.

Much like you had done the past few days, you combed his hair with your fingers while shushing his cries. It had become almost like a habit, Keisuke running to you in the middle of the day, hugging you close while you dried his tears for him. You’d think he’d ran out of tears by now, but something you didn’t take into account was how similar the two of you were, always feeling everything too much, all at once.

“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, “you’re okay, and Shin-nii’s okay, see?” you asked him, holding his tear streaked cheeks and motioning his face to meet your gaze, waiting for his breathing to even out before you coaxed him into looking at Shinichiro. “We’ve got you, the two of us, we've got you.”

He smiled at him once again, though you could see a twinkle of sadness in his eyes, as extended one of his hands for him to take. Warily, he warmed up to the invitation, wiping the remaining tears from his face before dragging his feet to the edge of the bed, asking if he could sit with him in a very un-Keisuke nature; it was unusual for him to ask before acting on his impulses.

Shinichiro softened once he felt Keisuke nuzzling his cheek against his chest. He ran his fingers through his dark locks, and as he did so you couldn’t help but think how his hair kept getting longer and longer with each day; hopefully no one from the school office would call you letting you know it was time to chop it off once classes were back in session.

In between hushed whispers, they talked amongst each other for a while. At first, Baji kept giving one word responses, still insecure in spite of your reassurance, but it wasn’t long before he started to loosen up, giggling between sniffles at Shinichiro’s questions and mocking his ‘honorary-brother’ back with teary jabs.

It was a solid dynamic they had been able to build after years of trust and consistent interaction; your two favourite boys extending their love to each other like they were flesh and blood. In that way, the two of them were similar, fiercely loyal and willing to give themselves up for those they loved. You were grateful that Shinichiro was there for Keisuke as he grew up, unknowingly making up for everything you lacked.

The mumble of your name caught your attention, popping your nostalgia blown bubble. Keisuke and Shinichiro alike were beckoning you over, the latter extending his arm as the two of them scooted over and patted the free space next to him.

He held your hand like you were a princess stepping onto a carriage, gingerly helping you keep your balance as you toed-off your shoes. You let out a sigh once you plopped yourself on the bed, letting his arm curl around your shoulders while he kept your hands interlocked, rubbing the skin with his thumb. In spite of the giddiness warming your stomach, you forced yourself to roll your eyes in response when he teasingly asked if you were comfortable, pretending to be bothered by his apparent clinginess

“‘Your sister made you try the jell-o cups already?” he asked Keisuke, the younger boy looking up at him through puffy eyes and wet lashes, and once he shook his head in response he whistled, turning towards you as if disappointed. “You haven’t made him try ‘em yet?”

“‘Came straight to see you.” You brushed off, pretending you didn’t feel his body tense beside you and smiling to yourself in subtle victory when he gulped.

“You should’ve gone to the cafeteria first.” He scolded jokingly, clicking his tongue as if that would help him hide his blushing cheeks that hurt from his own shy affection. Soon after, he switched his attention to your brother, ruffling his hair before speaking, “Remember those jell-o cups you used to share with Manjiro and Haruchiyo? The ones they sold at the konbini?”

“Yeah, but they don't have ‘em anymore,” Keisuke pouted, brows furrowed in thought. His sharp canines poked at his bottom lip, tilting his head up at Shinichiro and grinning. “Mikey almost fought the cashier guy when we found out they stopped selling them!”

“Yeah, I remembered that.” He chuckled, recalling the time he had heard the employee complain about Manjiro’s sudden aggression on one of his morning milk runs. “But guess what?” he sat on his forearms, dragging out the silence to build anticipation. He waited for the two of you to raise your heads from his chest, sharing an evident impatience as you urged him to continue. He took a deep breath before grinning once again. “They still sell ‘em over here.”

“No way! Really?!” The boy stood up in less than a second, forcing you to grab onto the neck of his t-shirt to prevent him from falling flat on his ass while he cried in glee, tears seemingly forgotten. Those jell-o cups in particular had been a staple of everyone’s childhood; you had been eating those snacks for years and years. You can clearly remember the clear disappointment in his face when he told you they had been discontinued, his somberness rubbing off on you.

“Yeah!” Shinichiro exclaimed back, scooting closer to your brother and placing one of his hands on the bed railing behind your brother, aiding you in your task of preventing Keisuke from falling to the ground. The memory had suddenly made its wake into his consciousness after mulling over ways to comfort your brother and coming up empty handed, until he had suddenly turned to his bedside table where an empty plastic cup sat with a flimsy disposable spoon. “Manjiro and Emma got a bunch from the cafeteria to take home, you could do the same.”

You were almost taken aback by the speed he used to turn his face towards you, surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash before he asked you with as much excitement he could muster, “Can we?! Please, please!?”

His pleading words made his bronze eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. You smiled and nodded without a shadow of a doubt that you’d do anything in your power to keep the toothy grin you missed on his lips.

“Does that mean I can go get one now?” He pleaded, tilting his head and yet again putting on display the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Please? I haven't had one in years, I wanna know if they’re the same as I remember.”

“Knock yourself out.” Shinichiro said before you could respond, ruffling Keisuke’s hair before the latter jumped down, ignoring the fact you didn’t give him a proper response before running off to the cafeteria.

You sighed unimpressed, turning towards the man beside you and letting yourself slump against his figure. His chuckle only made you roll your eyes.

“What? Were you planning to say no to him?”

He knew you too well for your own good.

“Shut up.” With a gentle push you force him back down on the bed, elbowing him lightly in the process and pressing your head back against his chest. You almost hum in satisfaction when he let himself fall back down without resistance, caving in under your touch. “I could’ve said no.”

“Yeah, right.” This time, he was the one rolling his eyes, mocking your mannerisms and chuckling when you smiled, hoping the apparent ‘nonchalance’ would mask his now increased heart rate, and the faster beating coming from the vital sign monitor.

“I could’ve!” You tried to sit up in retaliation, pretending to be annoyed, yet you didn’t resist when he pulled you back down. He held down his own giggling once he felt you cuddling up closer to his side, tracing random patterns on his dotted hospital gown and realising too late how close both your hands were. The proximity made you nervous; even if the two of you were practically laying one on top of the other, holding hands felt like a foreign act of intimacy.

Subtly enough, you tried reaching out for the tip of his fingers, moving what seemed like less than a millimetre per minute. Soon enough, he took notice of your plan; hesitantly, he moved his own towards you, letting your fingertips rest against each other for a couple of seconds, like he was asking for your permission, before interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You really can’t stay away from me, can you?” he teased, gaze focused on your entwined hands through his lashes as he felt too shy to look anywhere near your face. It seemed that hiding the pink-ish blush staining his cheek had become his number one priority; you were so close, so everywhere, he wouldn’t want it any other way, even if the closest he’d get to you would be through friendly teasing, bordering the line of ‘definitely, a 100% and unmistakably platonic’ flirting.

In your mind, you were desperately scavenging for any semblance of a comeback, preferably witty and with the same energy he was giving you.Instead, all you did was sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You blamed the gusty confession on a moment of weakness, likely born out of your depleting energy mixed with the way his hand fit against yours like two perfectly carved puzzle pieces. You weren’t sure why you had said what you did, the way you did; voice softening as the longing you had suppressed your whole life coated every syllable that rolled down your tongue.

He hummed in response, giddy and satisfied, before backtracking in confusion. The lack of sarcasm or annoyance lighthearted mockery caught the two of you off-guard, though it seemed to have a bigger impact on him as his body tensed up for a moment. If you were to look up at him, you’d probably see his head tilted to the side, with warm cheeks and the ghost of a frown clouding his features.

And that’s exactly why you don’t.

Not like this; you wouldn't allow yourself to do so, wouldn’t even dare. Not when the stakes were this high, multiple worst outcomes served on a silver platter for you to choose because once you look up at him he would notice the way you see him, like he hung up each individual constellation up in the sky on his own and then all of it would be over for you.

For the both of you.

“Do you, uh,” the slight shake in his voice made you gulp, like you had an inkling of a very possible question he could ask. Maybe this would finally be the end of your friendship which, to your own dismay, could be very easily broken by other things that weren’t death itself, “do you know if Keisuke has talked to Manjiro yet?”

You cleared your throat, holding back the sigh of relief, and shook your head. “I don’t think he knows how.”

“He’s scared?”

“I think so,” you pondered, “they’ve been friends since forever, I think he’s scared of losing…him.”

Knowing that both you and your brother’s situation overlapped in so many ways felt weird; both Baji siblings were scared to lose their respective Sano brothers. It sounded funny, almost cute, like both Bajis and Sanos were meant to stick together generation after generation. You would’ve giggled at the thought, explain the parallels between the two relationships to Shinichiro and laugh at the silliness of it, yet the fear that had taken possession of your body the last couple of days lingered at the thought.

Scared of losing him.

You almost choked on the words sitting heavy in your mouth, like you had confessed to a crime. Had you been alone, maybe they would’ve urged you to cry.

“Hey, ‘you okay?” You hadn’t realised that the worry had bled onto your face, dripping down your cheeks and coating your eyelashes with sorrow until he spoke up, tearing you away from your trance. But you couldn’t help it, the lingering torture you endured at the hands of your brain replaying past events, from the bailing your brother out of jail as he sobbed to having Wakasa answer the call for you, Kazutora crying in your arms and Shinichiro blaming himself for his own accident, the more you felt like losing yourself in his embrace, tightening your hold on his hand. “You left me there for a second I thought–”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m–” you stuttered, “I don’t think I’m okay, I–”

Rejection after rejection, you’ve seen what felt like an infinite amount of his confessions go sideways, and yet he handled each and every one of them with grace. You’d attribute his resilience to the amount of first hand experience he’s had with it, and though at first it had taken a big toll on him. By now, rejection was nothing to him. He could make a fool of himself in front of anyone and he really wouldn’t care; he has told you so himself.

But you were not Shinichiro, and you could never be him.

You were resentful and impulsive, oftentimes reacting way before you think. You were impatient and whiny, though you tried your best to suppress that particular trait to no avail. You were a selfish, self-destructive being that somehow managed to keep the insecure neediness brewing inside on the down low.

And you could go on. You could go on because you were stubborn, volatile, melodramatic and a part of your brain really does think you were just setting yourself up for failure listing every single negative character trait that comes to mind. But it didn’t matter because that just further proves you're not Shinichiro Sano, that you were never going to be Shinichiro Sano because you were weak.

Too weak to answer the call, too weak not to try and escape uncomfortable situations, too weak to hold back the urge for a smoke, too weak to forgive Kazutora, too weak to confess your feelings for your best friend even after bawling your eyes out at the thought of a life without him.

Too weak, too weak, too weak.

Being weak is all you’ve ever known.

The thoughts poured and they wouldn’t stop, crashing against each other like the same bumper carts you rode along with Shinichiro at the funfair with your siblings. Back then, you were all smiles and laughter, and right now you wondered if the two of you would’ve held hands if it wasn’t for Emma sitting in the middle of you both.

And he was so warm next to you, not pressuring you to clarify whatever word-vomit you just spewed instead of a proper comeback. So sweet as he squeezed your hand to let you know he was there to help in whichever way he could to lull your worries to sleep. So kind as he took care of you when you should be the one taking care of him. Always so him.

You had no right to be a coward, at least not in front of one of the strongest and bravest people you’ve ever met. It wasn’t fair. Listing your flaws from the top of your head would never justify your body preventing itself from spilling the truth just so you could try and grasp at the fragile strings of self-pity to sew yourself back together as unspoken words necrotize your tongue.

The same way you wouldn’t dare look at him, you wouldn’t dare stay away from him. It’d kill you just to try. So fuck every martyrish thought in your head, fuck the burned cigarette butts stained with indirect kisses, fuck the many nights the two of you spent stargazing in his garden, the infinite amount of chocolates you bought him for valentine’s day to make up for the emptiness of his locker; and the countless times he had dropped everything he was doing for the chance to spend just a couple of minutes with you. Fuck the worn out red koi fish engraved on your lighter and the possibility of breaking the promise you two made of never straying away from each other.

“I can’t stay away from you,” you took a deep breath, “I think I’d rather die than live a life without you,

“The sole idea of losing you almost sent me over the edge, and even after you were out of surgery I was a mess,” you stopped yourself again, giving yourself the chance to swallow down the knot in your throat; it didn’t work. “I was going insane without being able to talk your ear off because even when I talk about something you couldn’t give a shit about you still give a shit, you give so many shits when it comes to me, too many,

“You’re loyal and gentle and charming and you’re always smiling, and it's like, it's like you're absolutely everything good and even then you genuinely have no idea how wrapped around your finger I truly am,

“And I don't think I’ve ever properly thanked you for existing because I don't think I’d be the same person I am right now if it wasn't for you, and even if I'm not perfect, I- I wouldn't trade myself for a better version if that meant you wouldn’t be in my life.

“So, yeah, I guess you’re right, I don’t think I can,” you let your shoulders sag, like the confession finally burned years upon years of cover-ups and excuses and fake scenarios you had come up with before bed stored in the darkest depth of your brain. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to stay away from you.”

Pensive, he melted further against the pillows, letting his muscles melt at the sound of his own sighing. Even if you weren’t directly looking at him, you hear his smile reverberating throughout his body, and the sole idea of him possibly reciprocating your feelings made you impossibly giddy; a little too giddy. It was easy, after all, to get your hopes up once you lose yourself in him, his warmth and comfort. And for less than a second, you can see your hypothetical future with him pass right in front of your eyes, forcing you to accept a premature victory. But as the silence between the two of you started to drag itself out, you couldn't help but reluctantly welcome the acrid heartbreak tearing through your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you tensed up, “I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, it's–,” he blurted out tongue tied as if your words had snapped him out of a trance, mirroring the same giddiness you had displayed with the same hint of hesitancy, “no one has talked about me like that, I guess it just caught me off-guard.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I don’t– don’t think I'd be able to stay away from you either– not that I want to, of course it's just– sorry give me a minute.” Looking off to the side, he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat and pinching his cheeks, the skin already stained with all sorts of shades of pink. For him, it was inevitable not to become all shy and flustered, the least he could do was bite his tongue so as not to break into a fit of giggles, prevent himself from swinging his legs and twirling his short strands of hair like a lovesick middle schooler. All because of you. “Just, um, just to be clear before I look like an absolute fool, not that I don't look like an absolute fool on a daily basis, but this is a confession, right?”

You raised your head up in confusion, tilting your head and furrowing your brows. Had you not been so baffled by his self-explanatory question you would’ve fawned over this version of him, giddy and soft and in love with you because just by looking at his eyes you could tell he was looking at you like you hung the moon up in the sky—it was easy to decipher; after staring at him the exact same way countless times, you were bound to familiarise yourself with such display of devotion. And had he not looked this adorable, you would’ve teased him for being so painfully and hopelessly dense, but you didn’t have it in you to do so, only managing to nod in response.

“So you like like me?” He continued, waiting for your reassurance, either a nod or a smile, or any signal that he was right. “So you are in love with me?”

“I mean, I wouldn't say I'm in love but if that's what makes you sleep at night.” The more you stared at his face, the dimples on his cheeks, the creasing of his eyes at your words and the giggle he couldn’t help but contain, the wider the smile creeping at his lips became.

“Will you say it then?” He prodded, moving closer to you, now unable to hide the twinge of pink that grew what seemed like a thousand shades per second.

“I don’t know,” your legs innocently dangled from the side of the bed, trying to win back control of the situation by cutting down on your proximity, and sitting up properly from your half-lying position, “will I?”

“Please?” he begged, cupping one of your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulling you closer until you could feel each other's breaths. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm from working non-stop at the shop offset by the tenderness he carried around for you.

And though you wanted to drag this on, enjoying the back and forth, you were so whipped for this man that you couldn’t stop your nonchalant act from crumbling as soon as you heard him once again let out a shy giggle after he nudged your nose with his.

“I love you.”

Voice dreamy and saccharine sweet, like confessing to your lifelong desire, you whispered, and just before your lips touched, through lidded eyes and uneven breath he whispered back ‘and I love you’.

After his own confession, you were unable to pay attention to anything that wasn’t him. All your senses were muted as his soft lips gilded against yours. The taste of the honey chapstick you applied almost compulsively melted against his tongue, and he wondered if like him, you could still faintly taste the strawberry chapstick you had gifted him a while ago; the same one he hadn’t stopped using since, going as far as asking the hospital staff to retrieve it from the pockets of the jeans he was wearing the day of the accident for him.

He bit back a whimper when he felt you bite down gently on his bottom lip, unable to ignore the way you smirk against the kiss once your hand makes its way up to the side of his neck to rest on his pulse point, in the perfect position to feel his heart doing somersaults underneath your touch. It made him want to melt right against you; the more you wandered down his body, the bigger the urge to hold you grew.

His calloused yet delicate fingers traced your skin, running from the apples of your cheeks down to your chin, coaxing you to fully give into him as he traced the tip of his tongue against your lips. He could feel himself grow hard once you gave him permission to enter, basking on the hidden whine you let out at the feeling of the warm muscle enveloping your whole body, drool pooling at the corner of both your lips.

Away from your face, he trails his hands slowly down your torso confidently ghosting the skin before the facade is broken the moment he almost freezes up once he gets to your chest. The blush on his cheeks deepened as you took notice of his apparent nervousness, laughing it off before he continued his path down to your hips,

He was sure he was ready to die right here in your arms the moment you softly suck on his tongue, his eyes almost rolling towards the back of his skull as you hands grazed his clothed dick. The teasing touch made him groan, the vibrations against your lips feeding the urge to get closer to him. And almost like he had read your mind, you shivered at the tight grip of his hips guiding you over lap until you were resting flush against him.

“‘Want you so bad.” He panted in between giggles, nudging your noses together and pecking your lips over and over again. You barely managed to catch your breath between his kisses; when he leaned away you pulled him in, and when you did so he tried to follow the path of your lips until they were once again interlocked with his. The two of you ignored the satisfying burn of your lungs like the feeling of your bodies close against each other was good enough of a replacement for oxygen itself. “–Waited so long for this.”

He pulled you down a little harder against him, bucking his hips against your. Mewling into the kiss, you wrapped both your arms around his shoulders, perhaps taking too much enjoyment in the minimal friction against your core. The sensation of him rutting desperately against you forced you to meet his attempts for more with an equal amount of want.

“You feel so good.” you cooed, whimpering as he sucked at the skin behind your ear. “Shin, Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Before he could stop himself, he was groaning at the praise, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck and refusing to come back up to meet your lips to hide the raging blush tinting his skin, spreading from his cheeks up to his ears.

“You like that? Like it when I say you're doing a good job?”

He hummed, though it sounded more like a whimper, and waited no time to pull your face back against his, connecting your lips again in a messy kiss, to, presumably, stop you from teasing him. He took the opportunity to indulge himself, once again tracing the outline of your lower lip with his tongue and nipping at the supple skin in retaliation.

In spite of your own reluctance, you broke the kiss first, finding the way he tried to chase your lips with his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, indescribably cute. You took a minute to fully take in this version of him, his breath uneven and with a thin sheen of sweat making some of his black locks stick to his forehead. His lips were puffy, glistening with saliva as they part involuntarily in an enrapturing appetite.

He looked so pretty like this, you didn’t think you’d have it in you to control yourself.

Once you had lowered the sheets covering his legs, one of your thumbs proceeded to draw circular patterns on his exposed thigh, chuckling at the way he flinched before relaxing against you. Gently ghosting your fingernails over his skin, you hiked up his hospital gown until you had full access to the band of his boxers, toying with the elastic but doing nothing aside from that.

“You want to do this here?” He pulled back, eyes wide and dazed with need yet frazzled at your sudden boldness, as if nearly dry humping in a hospital wasn’t bold enough. His hands played with the hem of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine every time his fingers grazed your skin. He looked like a deer caught in headlines, a way cuter version of Bambi, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose against his cheek before kissing him gently, once, twice, thrice.

“Only if you want to.”

“I do,” he swallowed, clearing his throat to keep himself lucid as he felt the tips of your fingers breaching the hem of his underwear, cold against the warmth of the covered skin. “Fuck, I really do, I need you s’bad I–”

“You fucking disgust me.”

Like a pair of surprised kittens, the sudden interruption had the two of you jumping away from each other, almost falling off the bed while desperately trying to pull the sheets back into place. In turn Shinichiro tried helping you regain your balance, grabbing your arm before you crashed against the floor, nearly pulling down one of the hospital monitors in the process.

“Don't you know how to knock?” You bit back, taking his comment more personally that you should’ve.

“Didn’t think it’d be necessary.” Wakasa crossed his arms in front of his chest, shifting the lollipop in his mouth from one side of his cheek to the other. Standing beside, Benkei held a teddy bear and a lavender flower arrangement, mixed along with baby’s breaths and eucalyptus. If anyone had to guess, the bewildered expression he sported only meant he’d rather have his friend die than see whatever blasphemous activities you were performing. But then again, he probably expected to see his friend bedridden and weak instead of the free front row tickets to your ‘dry humping a post-concussed Shinichiro’ expectale. “‘Thought the worst thing we’d come across was him sleeping.”

“Why did you think coming across me sleeping d’be the worst case scenario!?” Shinichiro butted in lightheartedly, though you wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him actually being serious. “Are you saying I look ugly when I sleep?”

“No, you dumbass,” Wakasa deadpanned; even with his usual unbothered facade you could tell he was grateful for the ordinary banter, questioning his stupidity with a hidden smile. “How’re we gonna talk to you if you’re asleep.”

“Wait, what happened? I didn't see,” Takeomi joined in, panting as he held a couple of balloons that had ‘it's a boy!’ written all over them. “These two assholes left me while I was getting something to eat.”

The two of you groaned at the sound of his voice, pressing the heels of your hands against while Shinichiro hid his eyes behind his forearm. Even if you wanted to be lowkey about the whole situation, sweep it under the rug to avoid facing the embarrassment over again, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone, not even Takeomi, and he wasn’t the brightest.

Shinichiro’s hair was a tousled mess and his skin was dusted pink. Both of your lips were puffy, glistening under the fluorescent lights, and your breathing was uneven still. No matter how much the two of you tried to regulate it back to normal, it seemed to follow the rapid rhythm of each other’s heart beat.

“Nothing happened.” You grumbled, willing to attempt a lousy cover up in spite of your friend’s, including Shinichiro, giggling. Once he found out, it would be impossible for him to let it go. But even so, it took a lot of effort not to join in your friends’ laughter; it was funny to fuck with him—not literally—his puzzled frown as he borderline begged for someone to let him only feeding in your teasing. Still, once he found out. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, talking about fuck–”

“Wakasa!” “Dude!”

The two of you exclaimed as the blond tilted his head to the side, making his earring jingle. A teasing smile stretched on his lips as the four of you waited for Takeomi to process what was just mentioned. Knowing the speed in which the neurons within his brain transported information, it’d take a little while.

To everyone’s surprise, it only took him a couple of seconds to do so. You could visibly see it in his expression, morphing into one of amazement the minute realisation hit him straight in the face

“Did’ya– No way, you finally fucked?” And though his lack of decorum made the two men beside him laugh louder and the two of you groan as if to muffle his voice, he paid your reaction no mind other than using it as an affirmative response to his question. “No way, congrats dude! Who would’ve thought you needed to almost die just to lose your virginity.”

“I hate you so much.” Shinichiro playfully complained, a stupid grin threatening to make its way onto his lips disproving his claim. Seeing his four best friends standing around him right after waking up from what could’ve been a tragic accident made him feel all sorts of things he found himself unable to explain. It almost made him want to cry once again—happy tears this time.

“Anyway, now that you’ve got someone to stay with,” you changed the topic, interrupting yourself to fix the stray hairs sitting on top of Shinichiro’s head before caressing his cheek with your thumb, “I’ll go check whatever Keisuke’s doing, I‘ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait no, don’t go…” You had to resist the urge to give him another quick peck at the way he dragged out the ‘go’, and instead, grabbed your phone from his bedside table to respond to the missed messages coming from your mom. “Don’t leave me with these people.”

“Very funny Shitty-chiro.” Takeomi fake laughed, letting himself fall on one of the chairs nearby, stretching his arms before fully slumping against the backrest and looking at you. “But’s fine, I left Haruchiyo in charge, Senju’s with them as well.”

“Well that doesn't make things any better, does it.” At your snapping voice, he raised his hands up in surrender, as if the idea of letting a 13 year-old in charge of two 12 year-olds didn't have multiple flaws. Doing a 180° turn, you turned towards Shinichiro, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

“Wait, before you go,” Wakasa interrupted, stopping you from slinging your bag over your shoulder. He took the bright red candy out of his mouth with a pop, using it as a little wand to emphasise his speech, before he continued. “Who confessed first?”

“Yeah!” Takeomi sat at the end of his seat, gaze switching from Shinichiro to you and vice versa. “How did Shinichiro confess to ya’?”

Again, faster than the usual processing speed of his cognitive skills, he managed to string the hints together, gasping at the silence that settled between the two of you as you tried to silently decide who should say what. Shinichiro opened his mouth like a fish, as if trying to come up with something to appease his friend’s reaction before giving up and averting his eyes, pointing at you with his thumb.

Wakasa’s smirk only grew the more Takeomi seemed to sink back into the chair in dejection. “‘gotta pay up Omi-omi.”

The ruffling of bills and the complaints birthed out of the apparent loser’s mouth distracted you momentarily. You were about to laugh at the scene in front of you, two of them waiting with their hands stretched out as Takeomi reluctantly placed the wrong amount in his palm, grunting when Wakasa noticed it wasn’t the amount they had agreed on, before it clicked in your head.

“Pay up,” you mumbled to yourself, “Pay up, pay up? Wait, did you three bet on us?”

“Kinda,” Benkei sent you a reassuring smile, counting the hundred yen bills that were handed to him once again; when it came to money matters, Takeomi wasn’t someone you could trust. “We bet on who’d confess first.”

“And you didn’t bet on me?!” Shinchiro exclaimed, a little louder than he intended.

“Sorry man, ‘didn't have faith in you,” Wakasa folded the five crinkled bills in half before stashing them in his back pocket. “After your failed attempt I kinda accepted you weren’t going to win, Benkei was always betting against you, though.”

“But ‘ya admit it!” Takeomi jumped from his seat, waving his now empty wallet in the air like he was fencing with the worn out leather rectangle. “He did confess first!”

“Hell no, it only counts if it was a successful confession.”

“So the bet wouldn’t count if one of them got rejected? What's the point then!”

Wakasa groaned, pressing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, “It only counts if the two of them understand whatever was done was a confession.”

“But the lighter was him confessing!”

“Takeomi, that was the vaguest confession to ever be seen by the entirety of mankind.”

“What confession are you talking about…?” You interrupted the animated discourse with a question. In spite of enjoying the banter between your friends, you remained in the dark. Shinichiro had never confessed to you, or even remotely tried to do so. You were a hundred percent certain, after all, had he done so you were sure you’d be dating by now.

“The lighter you always carry around,” Takeomi responded, “the fish one.”

Instinctively, you patted the pocket where your zippo lighter sat, carefully trailing your thumb lightly over the red imprints as you pulled it out. It looked almost exactly the same way as it did during the summer festival. The only difference, aside from the way the metal reflected the cold hospital lights instead of fireworks and paper lanterns, were the couple of dents on the metal and the previously well-defined engraving softening over the years.

“S‘not just a fish,” Shinichiro chuckled, letting himself fall back on the bed while hiding his flustered state behind a seemingly lame explanation. At this rate, he was sure his skin could be permanently stained a pinkish-red. “It's a red koi fish.”

“Wait,” you snapped your head from the lighter to him, letting your mouth fall open in surprise, “you, you meant that?”

“What do you…mean?” Shinichiro poked, voice twisting and forcing the ‘mean’ to come out strained. Watching your shoulders tense up and, somehow, simultaneously relaxed made him wary of the whole situation, like the universe itself was playing a prank on him. And though unlikely, he wasn't ruling out the possibility of random cameras popping up from behind the door or through the window or maybe from underneath his bed with a huge poster reading ‘you’ve been pranked!’.

He had given you that lighter seven years ago, the engravings were probably faded by now, there was no way…

“Red koi fish mean romantic love, don’t they?”

It took him a couple of seconds to properly run your words through his brain, before his eyes widened in amusement mixed with the mild disappointment his seventeen year-old-self had forced himself to ignore after his confession had gone wrong. “You knew!?”

“Uh…yeah? We learned that in literature class.” You shrugged with a sheepish smile in an attempt to tame down the laughter that had started bubbling in your throat at his mortified reaction. He groaned at your response, throwing one of his arms over his eyes, the sound mixing with a cry as the movement pulled on the IV digging into his arm.

He licked his lips a couple of times and rubbed the skin above the needle in an attempt to soothe the ache. Stalling, he was trying to buy time before he asked anything that could potentially hurt him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Aside from flustered and pouty, slightly amused at his own failed attempt, he appeared to be a little sullen, perhaps even sad. It was obvious to you, though you didn’t know why; maybe he was blaming himself for losing the opportunity to get in a relationship with you way earlier. Or, maybe he blamed himself for putting any sort of pressure on you; back then, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how you felt about him, so maybe you had purposely ignored his advances because you didn't want him. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Less than a couple of minutes ago the two of you were confessing your love for each other, so if that were to be the case, when did your feelings for him start to change? “Did, uh, did you not like me back then?”

Looking at his hopeful yet gloomy expectant features, he appeared so small and vulnerable in front of you, you wanted to give him a hug. The question had visibly caught you off-guard, your brows furrowing as soon as he was done talking. Who would’ve thought that a seemingly innocuous event from your past would come back transformed into an apparent irrational insecurity. It prompted yet another silence upon the two of you. And though it felt eternal, it lasted only a couple of milliseconds, interrupted by both your annoyance and Takeomi munching on the chips he bought at an inflated price on one of the hospital’s vending machines.

“Do you mind?” You turned towards the obnoxious mistake you had chosen as a friend, snickering as he shrugged in questionable indifference, mumbling a muffled ‘go on’ before motioning you two to continue with a shake of his hand. But at the lack of positive feedback from anyone in the room he stopped himself to explain.

“What? It’s like watching a live romcom,” he shoved more chips into his mouth, “The ones we watch every friday, ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Okay,” Benkei clapped both his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention before he pulled Takeomi into a standing position and pushed both him and an amused Wakasa towards the door. “Seems like all of us are hungry, we’re heading to the cafeteria real quick, we’ll send Baji back up when we’re done, sounds good?”

“Sounds good, thanks, Benkei.” You smiled at him, watching the three of them leave and sighing in satisfaction when you saw the way the gentle-giant punched Takeomi’s arm once they were far enough for his complaints to appear silent. “But to answer your question,” you turned towards Shinichiro once again, sitting at the edge of the bed and resting your hand on top of his. You could see the way he visibly relaxed against your touch, the warmth of your skin coaxing his insecurities away little by little. “I did like you very much back then, too much for it to be considered healthy, I'm pretty sure…”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Well, I, you know,” you stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling the embarrassment for your younger self was all over you. Why didn’t you say anything? Well, in hindsight, you didn’t think Shinchiro had it in him to use a literary reference as a means of confession. Not because he was stupid, that was Takeomi's role, but because it was very un-Shinichiro. You had been witness to the countless failed confession attempts and nothing included anything as subtle and detailed as the lighter he had gifted you. Back then, he professed his brimming infatuation with an honest smile, the well-rehearsed question ‘would you go out with me?’ and absolutely nothing else. And though the ‘courting’ period included him acting all whipped and soft, he was usually very blunt when it came to asking people out, gentle but direct.

Although, thinking about it a little bit more in depth, he had always been very romantic, sometimes cringy with the shitty pick up lines, but during movie nights he had always chosen movies with clear romantic subplots, and you can recall that one romance poetry book he kept borrowing from the library, unable to finish it before returning it—at least that’s what you thought, by the amount of times he had taken it home.

When you were both in middle school and high school, he would watch couples holding hands with a gentle smile, sometimes going as far as spacing out and letting a dreamy sigh fall from his lips—he always brushed off the person asking the reason behind his sighing, but you were paying attention to him more often than not, so of course you knew—and of course, you couldn’t forget the many times he had shared hypothetical scenarios with the four of you, most of them consisting of him fantasising out loud the sort of dates he’d like to have with his hypothetical s/o or what he would do for them before being relentlessly teased by all of you.

So, in retrospect, him trying to confess through a pretty much evident symbol extracted from one of your favourite books was a very un-Shinichiro, Shinichiro thing to do, if that made any sense.

“I think…I might’ve gaslit myself into believing it was a coincidence, didn't wanna get my hopes up.”

“I thought, I– I thought it was pretty obvious that I liked you.” He chuckled, scooting to the side in order to make more space for you to lay, next to him, the same you had done most of the days you had spent here. “Everybody knew I did.”

“Wait, really? I thought you were being friendly!” You let out a laugh, watching him soften up even more at your obliviousness and simultaneously hold back laughter of his own. “Don’t laugh at me! You were flirtier with Wakasa than with me!”

“You can’t blame me!” He finally laughed along with you, interlocking your fingers together and pulling you close until you were squished next to him, and waited for you to get comfortable before continuing his spiel. “Waka’s my best friend, we’ve always been like that, and you know it.” He nuzzled his cheek against your head, muttering the words in the quietest way possible, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone but you. “Plus I couldn't flirt with you, I'd blush and cry afterwards.”

“Yeah, I’d’ve cried if you flirted with me as well.”

“Hey!”

“I mean it in a good way! Happy tears or whatever.” You sighed with a giddy grin, caressing his cheeks with the back of your hand before smushing them together, forcing a pout and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I promise I’ll forever be in love with you.”

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jujutsubaby · 10 months ago

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final round (part 1)

☆ pairing: eren x afab!reader ☆ summary: you have a very important interview coming up that basically dictates whether or not you have a job after college. and you're sure you're gonna ace it...as long as your arch-nemesis doesn't have anything to do with the interview... ☆ warnings: 18+, not nsfw in this part but has suggestive themes, former TA/student relationship, eren is kinda mean to you (but you're kind of mean to eren), a hint of power dynamics ☆ a/n: hiiiii my very first blurb on this site ~ yes this is my brain rot from trying to find a new job. also should i do a part 2? i kinda did this to tease the relationship a bit bc i didn't want my very first thing to be smut haha o(≧▽≦)o

you hear a ping from your laptop indicating a new email. you read the subject line:

Paradis Labs, Inc Final Interview - Next Steps

you couldn't believe your eyes. your dream company wanted to interview you for their final round and suddenly, you weren't able to even focus on hearing about your best friend sasha's latest hookup at delta phi last weekend.

"hey y/n? you listening? he took me to pound town and back...what's more important than this?" sasha inquired, snapping her fingers in front of your face.

"uhh..i got into the final round interview for paradis labs! AH!" you squealed.

sasha remained seated but elated. "i'm not the least bit surprised. you're the smartest, hottest girl i know after all", she winked. "but wait... doesn't you know who work there now after he graduated..." she trailed off, not wanting to illicit any alarm bells off of you.

you groaned, thinking about you know who. you knew him unfortunately very well in the worst way possible. the guy who was your TA last semester and absolutely crushed you while grading your midterms and finals. not only did he never answer any of your questions during class, he actively ignored you? and would only talk to some sleazy girls he was planning to hit on after the class ended. he had berated your final project, purposefully skipped over you on the waitlist queue multiple times during office hours, and you could've sworn he gave you the wrong advice once on a lab.

eren fucking jaeger.

you groaned just even thinking his godforsaken name out loud. "it's okay sash, paradis labs is like one of the largest companies in the nation. the odds of you know who being my interview is basically slim to none." you surmised unsuspectingly. you always had a way of attracting the worst luck, but you couldn't bear to entertain that for even a second.

~ two weeks later ~

okay, you got this. you've been studying for this final round nonstop for the last two weeks, you thought to yourself as you rode the bus to the elusive paradis lab headquarters. you've turned down every party, every study session, every potential "date" sasha tried to set you up with for this one interview. and you felt great about it.

you arrived at the headquarters 30 minutes early, thanks to your fear of being late, and you started to feel your stomach growling, clearly indicating that the glass of orange juice you chugged before you left was not enough. the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit your nostrils, and you found yourself at the paradis cafe at the lobby of the building you were interviewing at. you ordered your coffee and pastry, but as you're waited, you heard a distant, yet familiar voice in the background. you dared not turn behind you, because you knew if you saw him, your day was fucking over. you know exactly who it was. hell, you could recognize that laugh in a room full of people, easily.

ignoring the mild annoyance, you looked at your watch and started getting anxious. you grew increasingly annoyed and worried about bumping into you know who, and you just wanted to grab your stupid coffee and go upstairs and get this interview over with.

"one iced matcha latte with oatmilk for y/n!" the barista chirped, as you dashed to the front to grab the order. you heard the familiar laughter die down, but as you turned around to beeline to the elevator, someone's torso knocked you out and you spilled your iced matcha all over your freshly dry cleaned blouse and someone else's shirt.

"oh my god, i'm SO sor-", you stopped cold. wait, no. it's not just anyone's shirt i spilled coffee on. no it can't be-

"hey, doofus", eren glared. you detected a hint of playful mischief in his dark eyes, but it went away almost immediately. were his eyes always so mesmerizing? stop, what the fuck, don't think that! "always makin' a fuckin' mess, are we?"

you rolled your eyes. this could not be happening to you. matcha stained blouse, and you were hungry, and the worst person you knew was here. "fuck off, asshat", you retorted. "i literally have a meeting in 10 minutes and i look like a fucking idiot because of you."

"for what it's worth, you always looked like a fucking idiot." eren said.

you flipped him off before you beelined to the elevator, aiming to head to the change room immediately. you didn't have an extra blouse, but you were wearing a sleeveless black shirt underneath, which hid the stain well but it was a bit tight. even you had to admit your boobs looked amazing in it. tucking it into your loose grey slacks, you stepped outside the washroom and composed yourself. your interview was in 3 minutes, but you could do this. you knew you can. you passed eren's class last year, and that was with his ass constantly throwing you curveballs. this was nothing.

you entered the waiting room for the interview, waiting your name to be called in. shortly, a dark haired man wearing a white shirt and black slacks called you in. "y/n? there you are." he said nonchalantly as his narrowed in on you. "come into my office, please." as you walked next to him, you realized he's way shorter than he looked from across the waiting room.

"i'm levi, and i'll be conducting your interview today. please take a seat." he motioned to the chair across his table.

"hi levi. i'm y/n. i just want to say that i am so grateful to have had this opportunity to come onsite and be interviewed by some of the most magnificent minds of our-" you're interrupted by a loud phone call coming from levi's desk.

"i apologize miss y/l/n. let me just quickly answer that. they should know i'm in the middle of interviewing candidates..." he said, sounding slightly annoyed by the phone call.

he answered it, and you heard him groan and say "i'll be right there. send him to my office to take over." he looked over at you, partially annoyed and partially apologetic about the fuss happening. "i apologize. some brat fucked up the program we were releasing today, and now i have to clean up some one's mess." he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. you thought you heard him say that he's going to fire the brat at the end of the say.

"someone else will be coming to conduct the interview, but don't worry. he can be a bit much, but he's unfortunately one of our best recent hires in a while. i'm sure you'll be in good hands." levi said, before he grabbed his stuff and headed to the work emergency.

you were left a bit confused, but ultimately grateful that you had more time to calm yourself down after what happened in front of the cafe. out of all the people who work here, why did you have to run into him. you just can't catch a fucking break can you? you thought to yourself.

as if right on cue, levi's office door opened, and your thoughts were interrupted by the person who once again, occupied an unnecessary amount of thoughts in your head. your jaw dropped, and you practically had to stop yourself from yelling at the universe for this sick, cruel twist of fate that destiny was putting you through.

eren fucking jaeger.

you heard him chuckle deeply. "oh, this is going to be so much fun." eren smirked, his eyes staring at you deeply. he looked at you up and down, and suddenly, you really wished you hadn't taken off your blouse in the changing room, feeling suddenly exposed in this tiny hot (hot? when did this office get hot?) office.

you took a deep shaky breath and buried your head in your hands, groaning and letting out all of the bad emotions you were holding in. "eren, if you're just going to flunk me on this interview, just tell me right now. i'll go home and we'll both just move on." you pleaded. what else can you even do at this point? you should've known this interview was over the minute you heard his stupid laugh in the cafe.

"woah there, slow down doof," he said teasingly. he moved in front of you, partially sitting on levi's (quite expensive) mahogany desk. "you can't just leave an interview before it even started. and who said i was gonna flunk you on this? do you reaaaally think i'd do something like that?"

"umm, you literally did! last year on my midterm, stupid", you yelled exasperated. you were trying hard to keep your cool and calm disposition, but eren always loved to test your limits.

eren pretended to think about it for a second before he shook his head. "nope, doesn't ring a bell. anyway, first question of this interview: why do you want to work at paradis labs?" he asked.

"well, if you must know, i-", you started, before being interrupted by eren.

"i actually don't care. i don't know why anyone asks that." eren laughed, eyes skimming over the files on levi's desk. oh, you could slap him right now. your patience was wearing thin. "hm, well look at this here. your resume says you took a chemical engineering lab last year with professor zeke.?" he asked, knowing damn well the answer was yes. he tried to hold back the smile he had while he watched you visibly tighten up at the sound of the class. "care to tell me about that?"

"not really since you were my TA for that class and went out of your way to almost fail me." you retorted back, fuming at what was happening. no way was he trying to bring this shit up in the middle of an interview. but you were not backing down from this fight. it had been a long time coming. i'm not getting the job anyway at this point. might as well go out cursing eren while i'm at it, you thought to yourself.

"god, i don't know why you think that," he mused teasingly. "if anything, i helped make sure the other stricter TAs didn't grade your work. i dunno where you're getting this idea i hated you." he shrugged. you could swear he almost sounded...honest while saying the last part.

"oh wow, you're really too kind," you said sarcastically as you rolled your eyes. where does this guy get off?

"no, really y/n. i'm being serious," eren said earnestly. a slight genuine smile formed on his lips.

wait, is he? also, why is his smile so...cute? no, stop it, y/n! compose yourself! you quickly snapped out of your thoughts.

"you also ignored me every single time i came to your office hours and every time i came to your lab for help. you literally helped every single girl but me", you accused. you didn't mean to sound harsh and annoyed, but deep down, you felt your chest tighten up and you didn't know why. who cares if he helped other girls, he hates your guts anyway. why were you feeling so sour about it?

"don't give me that shit. i didn't help you because you were the cutest girl in lab and i couldn't make it seem like i was being inappropriate." he said without skipping a beat. eren wasn't sure what made him say it, but it was true.

your eyes snapped to him, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you momentarily forgot what you were even doing here as your head felt dizzy all of sudden. no way you just heard what you thought you heard. you jaw fell and you were at a loss of words to respond. "i...uhh...well.." cough. "um, o-o-okay..." you trailed off, desperate to find the words to respond to eren. you thought back to your class lat year with eren. was he ever really that mean to you? or were you just a bit desperate to do well in an important class? no, wait, he's just being asshole.

"well, if you liked me so much why did you hook up with those sorority girls after the semester ended?" you said incredulously. this was some big fucking joke and you were not going to lose this game.

"oh c'mon, y/n. don't act like you never had a one night stand before." eren explained, his voice lacking any hint of teasing or malice. "besides, you were the only one on my mind, anyway...", eren whispered under his breath so lowly that you weren't able to make out what he said.

well, actually, you haven't ever had a one night stand like that. in fact you never actually...had sex with anyone before. you've always been too focused in school to really date around, and the most action you've gotten was hearing about sasha's escapades. and you sure as hell weren't going to let eren know that.

"umm...well...", you said as you flustered your words. you took a bit too long to compose yourself and respond, which was all eren needed to connect the dots.

"oh shit. y/n...are you a virgin?"

"u-umm...of course not...i-i just...i just never found...or had the time...", you dropped your gaze. that's it, eren had just found his trump card, after he played the cruelest joke on you. you couldn't even think of a witty one liner like you usually did to get out of something like this. you were tired and shocked by eren's confession (which you didn't even believe fully). and not only that, but you were talking about your v-card with your worst enemy.

"hey, hey, hey, it's okay. i'm sorry, y/n. i shouldn't have brought it up, that was weird. and...", eren trailed off. he wasn't sure what to say next, but he said it earnestly and honestly. "i'm sorry for treating you like shit when i was your TA, and i'm sorry for bumping into you and spilling your matcha all over us," even though eren would've done it again if it meant he could see you in the form fitting top you currently have on, but he dared not to comment on that.

you sighed, partially out of relief and partially because you felt vindicated through his apology. your eyes glanced up to his, and both of your gazes softened. "so, you really do like me?" you teased eren, finally cracking a slight playful smile and releasing the tension in the atmosphere.

"shut the fuck up and don't make me say it again, doofus." eren mumbled, as he leaned closer into you. your heart started beating faster and you swear even eren could hear the pounding in your chest as you sucked in a deep shaky breath. you didn't mean to break eren's gaze and look at his lips, but you did and eren noticed. his smile curved up slightly as he leaned closer to you. you felt his hot breath near you lips, and just as his lips were about to crash into yours, the door bursted open to a slightly disheveled levi.

eren immediately snapped back to leaning on levi's desk, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. you prayed that levi could not see how flushed you looked or the goosebumps on your arm.

"how did the interview go?" levi asked eren.

eren gave a quick warm glance to you before he said, "y/n did great. answered every question with ease. i think we should extend an offer." you noticed the slightest hint of a smile in eren's professional demeanor, but you were more surprised that he'd do this for you. bit by bit, you felt your hard shell crumbling for eren, and you wondered how you will survive working at paradis labs after graduating.

eren walked you back to the elevator, his hand lightly touching the small of your back as guided you across the hallway. "well, i guess i look forward to working with you and picking back up where we started." eren said with a wink.

you turned around and touched eren's shirt, softly tracing the matcha stain you gave him. "hm, maybe i'll start off my first day dumping coffee on you first thing in the morning." you playfully teased, your breath accidentally hitching as you realized his chest was way harder than you expected it to be. oh my god, no way he's actually built under the shirt. embarrassed, you quickly buried that thought deep where it came from.

"hm, maybe i'll take you to the bathroom and make you help me clean it up," he replied, his eyes filled with warmth and invitation. something that was new to you, but you weren't complaining.

god, you couldn't wait to graduate.

#attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren x y/n #eren jeager x reader #eren aot #eren yaeger x reader #eren yaeger aot

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strafepanzer · 2 years ago

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haze | h.shinsou

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: mentions of shinbaku, fwb shinsou x fem!reader, no naughty stuff but 18+ conversation nevertheless, implied quirk usage

▸ ▸ ▸ word count: drabble-sized

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: playing with blog formatting and inserting into shinbaku. more to come probably! no edits

The smell of his favourite brew and the soft jazz wafting from the speakers make Shinsou feel somewhat at peace. Despite the time of night, you've agreed to meet him at your usual hangout: the cafe across the road from the apartment building you both live in-- neighbours, nothing more.

Never anything more. Not really.

You're in pyjamas: a worn gudetama set that he knows is soft as shit, a cardigan for warmth, and socks and slides. Cute, honestly. Any other occasion he'd make a joke at your expense, but it's 10pm and he did only text you 39 minutes ago to see if you were available.

It was a shit shift, but you seem to understand that he doesn't wanna unpack it, content just to be there with him, passively enabling his caffeine addiction.

Rather than being on him, however, your attention is on the TV mounted from the ceiling near the counter. It's muted, but there's no doubting the hero flinging himself through the sky in a series of explosions and a blur of black and orange, and there's no mistaking the stars in your eyes.

"You got a crush?" He asks, popping the lid from his takeaway cappuccino and licking at the chocolate sprinked froth.

"Huh? No!" You laugh, eyeing Shinsou off as he replaces the lid.

But there's a flush there, an embarrassment that wouldn't be there if he were wrong.

"You do, though. I can always tell." He teases, but he's right. He knew when you had the hots for the new barista 6 months ago, and he guessed about that hopeless crush you had on your tutor in college when the two of you ran into him at that bar last year.

"Doesn't matter. That guy is way outta my league." You sigh wistfully, eyeing the television longingly.

Shinsou snorts. "Bakugo?"

"No, his dad." You roll your eyes.

Shinsou chuckles, "he's not, though? I feel like people put that asshole up on a pedestal too much. He's just a dude."

A very hot, very famous pro-hero who Shinsou sometimes crosses paths with.

You give him a look and take a sip of your drink before placing it on the table. "What are you not telling me?" You narrow your eyes before your voice lowers conspiratorially. "Did you fuck him?"

Shinsou loves how fast your brain works. "Maybe he fucked me."

Your eyes light up. "Oh my god, I've indirectly slept with him?"

"Okay, this is beginning to hurt my ego."

You snort, an action Shinsou is absolutely smitten with. "I'm torn between wanting to know all of the juicy details, being jealous, and being mad you didn't tell me sooner."

"You don't tell me every person you sleep with." He shrugs, pulling a melodramatic gasp from your pretty lips.

"I do!" You're offended, brows pulling together and eyes wide. "You're the only person I've slept with in two years."

He blinks. This is... a surprising turn of events. That's as long as you've been hooking up.

Your fingers idly play with the condensation dripping from your drink, eyes downcast. He's hurt your feelings, and that hurts his. He's torn between smoothing it over and over-explaining, his too-tired-yet-wired brain jumping from A to B and back to A faster than he can actually compute.

Sometimes he forgets people aren't as free with their sexuality as he is.

"It..." he starts, growing frustrated with himself. "It happened twice. I don't think there was any reason, he didn't seek me out the first time or anything. And it's just sex, honest."

This isn't what he planned to talk to you about. In fact, he was sure he never wanted to tell you about the two of them ever, but his brain and mouth are clearly at war.

When he cautions a glance up at you, you meet his eyes with furrowed brows. He lets you process, feels that fast brain of yours tick, tick, ticking. But you dont say anything; no jests, no jokes, no cheeky predictions.

"I didn't ask you here to talk about Bakugo," he begins, trying to lighten the mood a little. "I just wanted to hang out. Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise, it's not like we're exclusive." You mumble just loud enough for him to hear. "You... like him, then?"

If it were socially acceptable to cackle like the witch from HR Puffinstuff, he would. "Like him? Babe, you meet him once, and I promise that little crush you have on him will fizzle away to nothingness."

"Mean!"

"He is! Extremely so!"

There's a soft smile on your face now, and it calms Shinsou some; he takes a drink from his coffee, savouring the bitterness as washes over his tongue.

There's a comfortable silence that follows, the kind that usually occupies the two of you in his lounge room as you both scroll on your phones and half watch shitty Netflix shows. It's crazy to him that you've hidden your crush on Bakugo so damn well, then again, he hadn't quite been forthcoming with his connection to the pro-hero.

A few moments pass, and you're slurping the last of your drink through the straw, shaking the ice around and tilting the cup so you can get the dregs.

"Is he bi?" You ask, trying to sound casual. Trying.

His interest is piqued, nonetheless. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean, I know I'm convenient, and you're up for anything, but does he exclusively sleep with men?"

Wow, okay, a lot to unpack there, but he explains: "I don't think he does, but the stuff we do might not be up your alley, sweetheart."

"I can--" you begin, too loudly. "I can do butt stuff, Hitoshi." You level with him seriously, voice lowered.

He can't help the hyena-esque howl that bubbles up his throat. "This is not a conversation for here." He spares a glance over your shoulder to the barista fussing about with the coffee grinder behind the counter.

You follow his line of sight, before your large, hopeful eyes are once again on him. "Can I come over?" You whisper, before taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

He's once again torn, mind not knowing where to latch: your teeth in your lip, the "butt stuff" comment, you practically calling him a slut.

The possibility of explaining the ins and outs of how Bakugo begs Shinsou to use his quirk on him.

Heavy lidded eyes drop down to your chest, tits pushed together as you lean against the tabletop to be a little closer to him. "Yeah, you're coming over."

#shinsou x reader #implied shinbaku #shinsou drabble #leese writes

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hotdamnhunnam · 1 month ago

Text

✨ Tag Game ✨

Okay so the weekend totally got away from me, but I am now doing this FINALLY, tho I know I’m sooo late to the party 🙃

Thank you all so much for tagging me lovelies 🥹💕 @whatever-lmaoo @honeydewwboo @daryldixonpls @puffins-muffins @songsforthesaints

Not tagging anybody, as I’m pretty sure that most of my tumblr loves have been tagged/played this game already! 😘

………………………………

I feel like my answers to these (especially re: tattoos/piercings) expose the fact that I’m pretty boring honestly 😅

last song you listened to? “Wait - Kygo Remix [2024 Edit]” 🎶 I love the original M83 song sooo much (@red-orchid I know you feel me on this!! 💞) and have also been loving this remix!

silver or gold jewelry? I love both, and often change it up to match my clothes, but lately I’ve been leaning into the gold layering that’s been trending, as my jewelry collection happens to include a bunch of different gold chains and pendants! 🌟

do you have any tattoos? Nope 🙂‍↔️ I’m too much of a baby about anything painful unless Charlie is inflicting it on me lol

piercings? Nope 🙂‍↔️ Again I’m a baby and thankfully there are enough holes in my body for Charlie to fuck already

currently reading or favorite book? Hmm I haven’t read anything (book or fic) in far too long but will say that the last fic I read is Part 4 of Breathe by my bestie @laurfilijames and that it remains my favorite fic I’ve ever read (though I’m currently woefully behind on it 🥲) and that it’ll be the first thing I pick up when my brain is in the right state to read again, and for anyone who’s not already reading it I highly recommend!! 💖

a hobby you would like to try? Sucking Charlie’s cock 24/7 (more a full-time job than a hobby I suppose but anyway that shit would be literal heaven 🤴🏼🍆🛐)

coffee or tea? I love both brews, but tea if I must choose! 🫖

favorite video game? I don’t think I’ve ever actually played a video game unless Tetris on my laptop counts as one lmaooo, even that I haven’t played since back in college though 😆

star sign? Capricorn ♑️🐐 and idk the other info sorry 🙈

who is your hear me out? Well I am a very one-track hoe who is thirsty for one man only (I know this is so atypical of me) — the one character of Charlie’s for whom I CANNOT bring myself to thirst is Bosie (fugly bastard in Cold Mountain 🤢), and his upcoming role in Monster is a whole other story (horrified to imagine him playing Ed Gein 🫣), but among the rest of his roles, I can’t think of any that are hear-me-outy lol… maybe this guy below?? ⬇️ (just came up in the gif search but wtf is this I don’t even know 😂 lmaooo would still smash tho)

#tag game #charlie hunnam #love and hugs ❤️

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flowers-of-io · 2 months ago

Note

I *can* tell you why Neztea: When his brother Set cut him up into pieces after killing him, Osiris' wife Isis assembled all the pieces and wrapped his body up, enabling him to return to life.

I *can't* tell you why it was Mithrax and us collecting the bits of Nezarec instead of Saint. I *can't* tell you why it was bits of Nezzy in the canopic jars instead of bits of Osiris himself.

I *can* tell you we went through the whole song and dance of Osiris being functionally dead and then functionally revived, as tedious as it may have been, simply because that's the myth of Osiris and that's what Bungie does.

Full disclosure: I'm still perplexed about why it was Nez brew as well, but I personally call as of yet unclear Savathûn shenanigans. One of the biggest motifs associated with her specifically is tea and teacups. Don't believe me? Go do a search on ishtar. Saint's got his suspicious mystery teacup. You know what bone china is made from? Literal bones.

(There's also the Calix Summus emblem, which once again points us back towards the hive and their alchemy and nezzy (with the pyramid line thingy coming out of the cup). Calix = cup, but calix also = calx, one of the products of calcination (if that doesn't ring a bell, look back at the context of the calcified fragments). Summus here probably means something like key or paramount, so... the most importantest cup. Check out the secondary part of them emblem! That's a syzygy!)

If I sound like a lunatic, well... that's fine. The fun thing about Destiny lore is that it *does* reward you for putting in legwork to understand the mythologies and theologies and philosophies it draws from, even if you sound like a maniac to most people.

If you're really curious and want to figure out what happened or is going to happen with Osiris, I'd start looking into the history of Osirian cults and their practices. You might find absolutely fuck all, but you might also find something interesting. I'd do it myself, but I'm balls deep in Hive names and writing systems for the foreseeable future. Oh, and keep an eye on Saint. I'm still not convinced he's gonna make it all the way to the end based on what we know about the story of the phoenix and the turtle dove pigeon

Last thing: If a garden grows in both directions and that garden is a metaphor for the story told in a parable, then the story probably requires as much tending in the past as it does the present.

Good luck, I love you, have fun, pirate books if you have to, and keep your third eye wide fucking open.

(A reply to this post)

First of all, I'm so sorry for missing this message somehow. I've been having issues with not getting (or overlooking?) notifications about new asks and it's driving me a little mad by now.

(Putting the rest under a read more, because it's A LOT)

Second of all, I feel so stupid lmao. Of COURSE it's the Osiris myth eh? I genuinely didn't make the connection AT ALL, despite noticing the damn canoptic jars and being like, huh, interesting! And then my brain didn't follow on it ever. What probably threw me off is what you mention, the fact it was Misraaks and us, and not Saint, collecting the pieces, and that these weren't even Osiris' pieces to begin with. And besides, he wasn't even dead.

There's quite a mix of symbolism in the whole thing here, overall? Nezarec is the Nightmares guy, which makes sense in terms of him being the cure for a guy stuck in a coma--but this acknowledges Osiris' status as *asleep*, not dead, which then throws off the whole myth thing. And remember that one piece of Nezarec is, or is in, the Delicate Tomb--and that gun is very long-time nuclear waste warnings-coded, y'know, the whole "This is not a place of honour" thing. "The danger within is repulsive to us" is as far as you could go referencing to "What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us" while not quoting it verbatim. (And also the Delicate Tomb states "within" because the danger--Nezarec--is literally inside the gun.) The name of the catalyst quest, The Form of the Danger, is a direct quote.

What interests me is the thought process Misraaks and Eido must've gone through to arrive at the conclusion that they should brew this ancient corpse and serve it as tea, but okay, let's suspend our disbelief and say they just studied the remains for a long time (which they did) and within the context of Nezarec being the Nightmares dude, it made some sense.

It's also really funny of Savathûn making *that* the cure for the coma, and very 5D chess for her. She could have reasonably assumed the Witness would go looking for Nezarec's remains when shit hit the fan, in order to have its powerful Disciple back; though how it wanted to revive him I'm not sure, seeing as it was the Traveler's laser beam that inadvertently did the job. But then of course we Guardians would try to stop it, and most likely succeeded, and once Nez's remains were in our hands, we'd obviously study them. And so we'd find the cure. It's so brilliant and so, so unserious.

And yeah, her and tea!!! I'm not sure how to connect Saint's teacup (if you mean the one from Quintessence) here, but "Dûl Incaru serves you poison in a fine tea set of Ahamkara bone" from Truth to Power is iconic. *Ahamkara* bone china!!

You're also so big brained about Calix Summus because I literally didn't know this emblem existed. (For the record, it was included in the January 2024 Prime Gaming bundle.) And yeah if we interpret the graphic as planets and orbits, that is indeed a syzygy... And yeah. Calcified fragments. Gosh this rabbit hole runs so deep.

Bro I NEED to know about what you're cooking regarding Hive names and writing systems!!!!! Your brain is so big and I want to pick it about everything lol.

Oh, I never interpreted the garden growing in both directions as a metaphor for the story told in a parable, but rather the paracausal forces' ability to change past and future + the Black Garden being a four-dimensional thing where space is time, but. BUT. The thing about parables and myths is they bend time, in a way. They connect the past to the present, and so by extension the future. Time there is always circular; they keep happening over and over, regardless of linear history. They aren't physically *real*, but they are true. (Also paging @svedupelle here bc I know he'll be interested.)

Thank you!!! My third eye is so open it's like half of my forehead now.

#reply #anon #i like my lore with coffee #season of plunder #big bird #pigeon dad #aunt savathûn #nezarec #destiny 2

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something-tofightfor · 2 years ago

Text

Black Days 1: Sure Don’t Mind A Change

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,500 (trying to keep these shorter than usual.)

Rating: M (language.)

Summary: The overnight shift at your diner is usually uneventful, but that all changes when a man you’ve never seen before walks into your section. After a few conversations with him, you can’t say that you aren’t interested in knowing more.

Author’s Note: This is Pedro Pascal and Merge Mansion’s fault.

Read the headcanon post for Tim here.

I don’t know how long this will be. I don’t know whether or not anyone cares. But here I am yet again writing for a character that has no backstory, under five minutes of screen time, and no business taking up so much room in my brain.

This isn’t smutty yet - but I promise it gets there. This is a set-up chapter.

Chapter titles will be updated with each post.

Here and here is some Tim artwork that has been in my brain constantly as I write this story. @stealyourblorbos is very talented and has encouraged me with this very much and I am very thankful. (She also made this incredible banner for me!)

The story gets its title from the song Fell On Black Days by Soundgarden.

“That guy’s back.” Micah sighed as she leaned against the doorway, both arms crossed over her chest. “I put him in your section tonight because I don’t want to deal with him.”

You frowned, closing your book of crossword puzzles and then standing. That guy? Your gaze drifted out toward the seating area. Who is she talking about? “Tell me again what the problem with him was?”

“He was an asshole. Barely looked up from whatever he was doing and got pissed when I told him that we were out of whatever it was he tried to order.” She flopped down into the open seat, reaching for the bowl of fries you’d been working through. “Good luck.”

It didn’t sound like a real reason for her to be upset, but you weren’t going to complain about finally having something to do after hours of nothing. At least it’ll be someone to talk to.

Pasting a smile on your face, you rounded the corner and headed for the only table that had someone sitting at it: the one furthest away from the kitchen. “Hi, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Is there anything I can get for you to drink?”

He was looking intently at what was in front of him - a file that was stuffed thick with papers and a notepad that you could see was filled with scribbles. He’s busy. Without raising his head, the man spoke. “Coffee. Black. Keep it coming.”

His voice was deep - slightly accented, though you couldn’t place it. When he finished, he sighed, the fingertips of one hand pressed against his forehead. Micah wasn’t kidding. “Do you need a menu? I can bring one with the -”

“No.” He set the folder down and raised his hand, removing the glasses he wore before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just the coffee. I -”

He finally looked at you then, and you were struck by how handsome he was, despite the fact that you could see the fatigue in his expression and in his eyes. Makes sense if he’s here at 2:30 in the morning with that kind of file.

“Just the coffee.” The man blinked twice and then looked back down, sighing. Alright then. After only a second or two, you turned away, heading back toward where the coffee pots were.

You’d brewed a fresh pot for the kitchen a little while earlier, and decided to use that for the man, since it was ready. After pressing the button to make a second pot for the dining room, you headed back to Micah, carrying a clean mug in your hand. “That didn’t take long. What’d I tell you?”

“He’s just tired, Em. It’s late. Hell, if I wasn’t here, I’d hope I was sleeping too.” You grabbed the pot, shrugging. “He was short with me, but it’s definitely not the worst I’ve ever had during an overnight.” She hummed and then went back to the crossword she’d started in your book, muttering the words “better you than me” as you moved out of earshot.

The man was bent back over the file and didn’t look up when you set the mug down. But he did glance at you when you started filling it, peeking up at you from behind the thick black frames he’d slid back onto his nose. “Brought you the kitchen pot. It’s a little stronger than what we usually serve customers, but you look like you could use it.”

His lips parted in surprise, but instead of speaking, he just nodded, reaching for the handle of the mug with his left hand. You assessed him with the same interest as all of the customers you served late at night, and as the man brought the rim of the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip, you stepped back. No ring.

“I’m making you a fresh pot just in case you need it, but I don’t want to bother you if you’re working, so…” You gestured to the papers on the table. “I’ll check back in a little while. We do have some pastries if you’re not looking for actua-”

“What kind of pie do you have tonight?” He straightened up completely, turning his head and tilting it up to look at you. “Last time I was in here, I asked about the Key lime, but the girl said you were out.”

“We’re out of it again tonight. Sorry.” Shaking your head, you put your free hand on your hip. “It’s a seasonal, so we only make a certain amount of it every week.” He frowned, but didn’t say anything else. “Lasted longer today than it usually does. I think we sold the last piece around midnight.”

He stared at you, lower lip pushed out slightly, and though you didn’t want to, you couldn’t help eyeing him right back. You focused on his face and the stubble that covered his cheeks - dark brown threaded with silver, the overhead fluorescent lighting catching more of the same on his head.

“Damn. Alright. Just the coffee then.” He swallowed, taking a deep breath. “And if you want to check on me every twenty or so minutes, that’d… that’d be good.”

“I can do that.” Giving him a nod, you stepped away from the table. “And the Key ime is great, but so’s the strawberry rhubarb, and the lemon zest’s not bad, either.” His lips twitched but he kept quiet, nodding once. Guess his mind’s set on that lime.

The rest of the night played out much the same as the first two trips to his table did. The man said only a few words in reply when you asked if he needed anything, but you noticed his notebook filling with ink-scrawled words and phrases as time passed.

A second table sat just before 4:30 am - three older men on their way to a fishing trip at Prospect Slough.

So you didn’t notice when the other man left until you turned to ask if he needed another refill and found only the empty table, a $20 stuck beneath the empty coffee mug along with a note that simply said “thank you” in the same handwriting that had filled the lined pages of his spiral notebook.

Weird. But at least he left a good tip. Tucking the bill into your apron, you cleared the table and checked in on the fishing party before taking the dirty mug into the kitchen.

Micah was finishing her side work and Jesse, the night cook was working on three plates of eggs and hash browns for your fishermen.

“Did he leave without paying?” She glanced over at you. “Seems like he snuck out pretty f-”

“No, actually he left a sixteen dollar tip for the coffee.” You entered it into the second register, cashing out and putting the extra bills into your pocket. “Didn’t wait for the bill or anything, but ..” You shrugged. “I can’t complain, especially after how slow the beginning of the night was.”

“You really should see what you can do about getting out of that lease so you can quit working here.” Micah put her hands on her hips. “This isn’t healthy.” I know. You think I don’t know that? “How much longer do you have?”

“Seven months.” You yawned, covering your mouth. “I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t press the subject, and when the two of you walked across the parking lot to your cars a little after 6, the man with the tired eyes that had consumed almost an entire pot of coffee wasn’t even in your thoughts.

—

But three days later, when he walked in the front door of the restaurant a little after 1 AM, your focus was immediately back on him.

It was slightly busier that night, so you were actually waiting near the main register, keeping an eye on things as people made their way in. But you hadn’t seen him park - nor had you spotted him crossing the parking lot. So when he pulled open the door and stepped into the lobby, his eyes locking with yours and a faint smile making its way across his face, it was a shock. But not a bad one.

“Hello.” He spoke first that time. The man gave you a single nod, one hand stuck in the pocket of his long, tan overcoat. “Should I seat myself?”

“You can if you want.” Pointing at the dining room, you smiled. “The table you sat at the other night is open and that’s my section. Micah’s got a couple tables to check on, so if you give me a few seconds, I can …” He waved you off, taking a breath.

“Don’t rush. Just coffee again for me tonight. Maybe an ice water with lemon, too?” The man sniffed, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “The ah, the first cup the other night was better, so if I can get another one of those, I’d… I’d appreciate it.” He shuffled back and forth for a few seconds until you laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, of course. I haven’t been in the back in a little while so I don’t know how fresh our pot is, but if it’s old, I’ll make a new one and then bring it out to you.”

He thanked you and then headed for the tables, turning to the side to let Micah pass. For the first time, you noticed the tattered briefcase he carried, his fingers clasped tightly around the handles. Hmm. I wonder if he’s going to become a regular.

You didn’t think you’d be upset if that were the case, because despite the fact that the man was quiet and a little stand-offish, he wasn’t needy.

You’d had your fair share of needy customers both during your time at the restaurant then and while you’d waited tables during high school and college. Compared to some of those people, the man that was settling into the far-off booth after shrugging off his coat and loosening his tie was a breeze. And he’s nice to look at.

Ducking into the kitchen, you saw that the coffee pot was in the process of filling, thanks to Jesse. While you waited, you turned and grabbed for one of the small carafes, deciding that because you were busier that night, you’d set the man up with his own refills. It made things more convenient for him - and it bought you time between visits to the table.

On your way to the dining room, full carafe and mug in one hand, you pulled the refrigerator open with the other and then grinned, shutting it before heading toward where the man sat. He already had the folder and the notebook open, the latter showing off a half-filled page of bullet point notes.

He didn’t look up until you set the mug and container down, the man’s eyes widening behind the lenses of his glasses as he locked eyes with you. “What’s this?”

“We’re busier tonight.” Resting one hand on your hip, you gestured around. “And I figured you didn’t want to be bothered again, so bringing you preemptive refills seemed like a good idea.” Pausing, you gestured to his papers. “That way I won’t interrupt you in the middle of something. You can work in peace.”

“I…” He blinked, frowning, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you. “That’s really thoughtful. Thank you.” Now tell him the other thing.

“No problem. And … I’m not sure if you’re interested, but …” Leaning in, you arched a brow. “There’s Key Lime in the cooler. I can bring you a piece if you want.” For the first time, you saw a genuine smile on his face as he nodded, the man’s eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Shit. Really?” You nodded once. “Yeah, I’ll take one of those, too.” I figured you would. “Can I…” He bit his lip, furrowing his brow. “Can I get extra whip, please?”

Laughing, you winked at him. “I’ll see what I can do.” Takes his coffee black but wants extra whipped cream for his pie. Hmm.

A few minutes later, you were setting the pie plate and a set of rolled cutlery on the table, careful not to disturb any of the man’s papers. “Flag me down if you need anything else, alright?” He assured you he would as he reached for the napkin, his eyes on the slightly larger than usual triangle slice of pie and two extra dollops of whipped cream next to it.

You stayed busy after that, and though you visually checked on the table a few times, you never walked back over.

So when, around 3:15, you finally stopped at his table to ask if he needed a refill and to grab his empty plate, you were surprised to see that the man was packing his things up - the notebook and folder already tucked into the briefcase. “Oh. I’ll give you your check, then. I can meet you up front when you’re ready?”

He met your eyes again, the deep brown slightly less weary that time. “Works for me. See you in a second.”

Dropping the dishes off atop the stack from your other tables next to the back sink, you headed for the register. You were surprised to see the man already waiting - and Micah nowhere in sight. Good.

“Was everything alright for you tonight?” Taking the slip of paper from him, you brought up the check in the system, fingers tapping over the keys. “The pie taste ok?”

“It was fucking delicious. You guys are the only ones that don’t put toasted coconut on it.” He hummed in appreciation as he spoke, your eyes snapping up at the sound of his voice. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“I work overnight at a 24 hour diner. I’ve heard much worse.” He chuckled at that, your stomach lurching at the sound. I’d like to hear that more. You pressed your lips together in an attempt to keep from outwardly reacting, though you couldn’t help the sharp inhale through your nose. Dammit. “But I’m glad. I don’t know how often you come in here, but you’re much more likely to have luck with the lime in the middle of the week when we’re less busy or really early in the day, when people are still coming in for breakfast and lunch.”

“My schedule’s all over the place.” He gripped the back of his neck, the sleeve of his coat pulling up to expose the band of his watch. “Can’t really plan for anything right now, so it’s … luck of the draw.”

“Well,” you continued, reaching out to take the money he offered you. “Then I guess you’ll just have to keep your fingers crossed if you decide to come back.” He assured you he would, taking his change and slipping it back into his wallet. “Have a good night, alright? Get home safe.”

“You too.” The man set his hand down on the countertop, fingertips flexing slightly. “You only work here at night?” You glanced down at his hand, taking note of the small tattoo inked between his thumb and first finger - and didn’t try to stop the lift of one cheek in a quick smile at the sight of it. A hand tattoo? Interesting.

“I do. I have a regular job, too. But my sleep’s been fu… really bad for the last six months, so I just decided that instead of laying in bed and not sleeping, I’d do something productive with my time.” You wet your lips, glancing back over at the dining room - which was empty except for a table that Micah was taking care of. “I work here three or four nights a week, depending on what they need.”

You weren’t used to telling customers so much about yourself, but you found it easy to talk to the man, especially when he was looking at you and holding your gaze. I’m not telling him anything he wouldn’t know if he came in a few more times, either.

“Well then, I’m sure you’ll see me again.” Tapping on the counter, he pulled his hand back and turned toward the door, taking a half step before he stopped, twisting at the waist to look at you again. “I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Rockford.”

“You already know my name,” you laughed, pointing at the nametag hanging from your shirt. “But it’s nice to meet you, Tim.”

“Nice to meet you too.” He nodded. “See you around, yeah?” Telling him that he would, you watched as he walked out the front door and across the parking lot, the lights on a shadowy vehicle flashing on as he unlocked it. That was… unexpected.

Stabbing the ticket on the spike next to the register, you stepped away from the counter and back toward where Tim had been sitting.

The table was mostly cleared and clean, but there was another folded napkin beneath his water glass, the cup empty except for a couple half melted ice cubes. Picking up both, you unfolded the napkin and gasped when you saw another $20 inside, along with three words slashed onto the napkin’s surface in bold, black pen.

Thank you. Again.

—

Tim didn’t come in during your next shift, or the one following that.

But when you showed up to work the following Wednesday, there was a note hanging on the back bulletin board for you from one of the girls that had worked the night before.

Unfolding it, you read through the short message, lips twisting into a frown as you finished.

Some guy was in here around 3 am asking about you. Didn’t think anything of it at first, but he spent two hours making notes at the table. I also heard him mention a case when he took a phone call. Thought you’d want to know.

“Shit.” Scrubbing a hand over your face, you let out a long breath.

It was nice of Nicki to let you know that someone had asked about you, especially taking the end of the message into consideration. But if it was Tim, then … Rolling your eyes, you sighed and then started your shift, trying not to think about the implications of Tim being the one to ask about you - and it potentially being related to a case he was working. But why would… it makes no sense. What does he do that he’d have cases?

You had very little time to think about it during the first half of your shift. There’d been an event that night that had let out late, which meant extra tables to take care of. When you finally got a break a little after 2, you glanced over to the far corner of the restaurant. Oh.

The man was bent over his table, the fingers of one hand supporting his forehead as he stared at the papers in front of him. You could almost feel his stress, even from twenty feet away. It’s not my problem. Turning back toward the kitchen, you took a few steps and then stopped, tilting your head back and looking at the ceiling. Don’t avoid it. You don’t even know if Nicki’s right.

You approached the table slowly, keeping your eyes on Tim. When you were only a few feet away, he looked up, his brows rising in surprise. “Hey.” Tim straightened up, pushing everything to the side. “Finally getting a break?”

“Were you watching me?” Crossing your arms, you tilted your head to the right. “Because -”

“Not watching.” He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest, too. “When the other girl seated me, I saw that you had a couple tables in the other section, that’s all.” Tim licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Something wrong?”

You hadn’t wanted to lead with an attitude, but you couldn’t help it. “My coworker said you asked about me last night, and I guess I’m just wondering why. I’ve worked here for five months and hadn’t ever seen you before two weeks ago. Now you’re asking people about me when I’m not here, and I just -”

“Whoa.” He held up a hand, shaking his head. “I did ask about you, but it was only because I didn’t know if you’d get in trouble for giving me kitchen coffee, and I didn’t want to rat you out.” Oh. You took a breath, blinking as Tim reached up and removed his glasses, folding the arms closed and then setting them down on the table. “I didn’t even think about how it might sound, to be honest. I apologize. I -”

“No, I’m sorry, Tim. I just…” You rolled your eyes, trying to decide what you wanted to say. “It’s been a rough year, and I guess I’m not exactly ….” Trailing off, you covered your face with one hand. Don’t. Lowering your hand, you gave him a tight smile. “Nevermind.”

He stayed quiet for a few seconds and you did too, the two of you looking at each other intently.

He was studying your face, the man’s eyes roving over your features, deep lines etched between his brows. You used the opportunity to stare back at him, focusing on the patchy place in his beard and on the way the tanned skin of his upper chest was visible thanks to his top few buttons being undone. He was tapping one finger on his bicep, and the longer you looked, the worse you felt about your outburst.

But I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t because … “Um.” Head shaking back and forth, you sighed. “I’m technically on my break, and I know you’re not my table, but is there anything I can get you? We’re out of the Key lime again, but I can go and brew you some coffee if you want the good stuff.”

“I’m actually going to head out.” He glanced down at his watch and then looked back at you, smiling sadly. “I have a long drive tomorrow morning so I have to try and sleep for a couple hours.” He pointed at his almost empty mug. “I’m even drinking decaf tonight.”

You laughed at that in spite of yourself, taking a step back. “Tim, I’m really sorry about -”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled again, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “Can I ask you something?”

“I… yeah. Sure.” Stepping closer, you dropped your arms to your sides. “What’s up?”

“You said you have a second job. I’m assuming that it’s during the day.” Nodding to confirm, you cocked your head to one side. “Do you … have a day off?” A day off? Is he…

“I do.” You were wary, the second part of Nicki’s note in the forefront of your mind. “But -”

“I’m going to be direct, alright?” He shifted on the bench seat, scooting closer to you and gesturing with one hand. “I would like to take you out to dinner. I noticed you don’t have a ring on your finger, so I don’t think you’re married. But if you’re seeing someone, just tell me, and we can forget I asked.”

“I’m not dating anyone.” Is he really saying this to me? “And I get my schedule for this place two weeks in advance.” You don’t even know him. You don’t know what he wants or if you can trust him or - “You said your schedule was all over the place and that’s why you can’t get here earlier in the day, so how -”

“I have every Tuesday off unless they really need me.” Tim wet his lips, his eyes still on you. “I came in last night because I wanted to talk to you, but you weren’t here. Does that mean you also have Tuesdays off?”

“From here, yeah.” Heart pounding, you opened your mouth to say something else, but Tim cut you off, his smile growing.

“Good. Will you let me take you to dinner next Tuesday? We can go early. You pick the place. I live in Willow Creek, so I can meet you just about anywhere.” Willow Creek? For real? Tim reached for his notebook and pen, flipping to a clean page and scribbling a number onto it before he tore it free, folding it over. “Here’s my number. Think about it. Let me know what you decide.”

He stood and you stepped back, the man reaching down to pull his jacket on. “Tim, I don’t usually… I don’t date customers. It gets -”

“Messy? Yeah. I wouldn’t ever date anyone I met through work either. I get it.” He swallowed, picking up his glasses and sliding them back on before he turned to look at you. “But I hope you make an exception for me, because I’d really like to talk to you for more than a couple minutes at a time while you’re bringing me coffee.”

You didn’t know what to say.

He was being more direct than you’d expected, and his declaration that he didn’t date people he met through work gave you pause. It means that even if he is working some sort of case, it has nothing to do with me. Unless… unless he’s trying to throw me off. “I’ll think about it.” Ducking your head, you closed your eyes and let out a short laugh. “I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

“I know.” He was packing the briefcase, the man’s back to you as he worked. “I wasn’t even sure I’d get the chance to say anything, but…” Turning to face you, he shrugged. “I wasn’t about to pass on it, even if you end up saying no.” The man wrinkled his nose, his grip on the handle of his briefcase tightening. “But if you do say no, I’m going to have to find another place to go when I can’t sleep, and I’m pretty sure Denny’s doesn’t have what I’m looking for even on a good day.”

He could have meant the pie. He could have meant the coffee or the quiet. But I don’t think that’s what he means. At all.

“I’ll let you know, Tim.” He held the folded paper out to you and when you took it, the man winked at you, his smile widening. “Get… get home safe, alright? It’s late and I’m sure there are assholes on the road.”

“I will.” He threw a couple bills on the table and then looked at you from over his shoulder again. “I always am.” The man said your name as he moved past you and toward the door, nodding twice. “Have a good rest of the night.”

He was gone before you could reply, and even though you knew that you probably looked like an idiot, you couldn’t help staring after him, your fingers tightening around the folded piece of lined paper in your hand.

You were going to call him - and you knew it… the only question was how long it would take you to actually pick up the phone.

—

Tag list reblog coming soon.

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #merge mansion fic #tim rockford x female reader #tim rockford: black days #black days masterlist #tim rockford masterlist #pedro pascal masterlist #detective tim rockford #masterlist #black days

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