#wasn’t sure what paper texture to use but. i tried LMAO

[tarteggs]

playing around with the wind waker art style!

[secondhand-trash]

Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter. 

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

-

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth. 

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

-

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did. 

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two. 

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around. 

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there. 

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?” 

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes. 

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice. 

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself  

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank. 

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning. 

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

-

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes. 

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser. 

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper. 

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face. 

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric. 

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

-

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you. 

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list. 

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus. 

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

-

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.” 

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom. 

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate  conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

-

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

-

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You’re right.”

-

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

[chocosvt]

tea and dango

pic credit

⚬ pairing: ghost!jihoon x reader ⚬ word count: 996 ⚬ warnings: none! ⚬ genres: plain fluff + uses prompt, “it’s two sugars, right?”

✧✎ synopsis: this is jihoon’s only night to spend with you, in the physical world that is, and you remind him of what it’s like to be alive. 

✧✎ a/n: this is for my valentine gram, taylor ( @gallivantingheart​ )!! i decided to use ghost!jihoon from my past fic, second life, bc he is so sweet and i cherish him! consider this drabble as fitting into the night that him and mc explore the town together, and mc shows him everything that’s changed! ik i’m posting this kinda late lmao but i am an Excessive Proofreader. enjoy!

Jihoon followed you down the sidewalk, keeping as close as possible with his fingers pinched tight into your jacket. Despite the lack of free-roaming people, he still felt a bit scared, exposed, like someone might be able to cast one look at him and convict that he was indeed a ghost. He couldn’t help but glance at his new clothes every few seconds to make sure they weren’t turning translucent, or that his hand hadn’t suddenly disappeared from his sleeve, leaving behind a horrifyingly empty air. Luckily, no such thing had happened.

This was his only night amongst an entire year he could leave his grave inside that closet. This was his only night to be with you in the physical world and experience the modernized changes he hadn’t gauged for nearly a century. It was easy to be led by you, because you knew each and every turn; all the stoplights, the park benches, water fountains and food stands—they were printed like a pocket-handy map to your memory. 

Suddenly, Jihoon slammed into your back.

You’d stopped, staring across the street at a line-up which had begun from a small dango shop sandwiched in between a laundry mat and a tattoo parlour. He saw you smile excitedly.

“Jihoon, sit here if you want,” you grasped his cold hand, pulling him toward a bench, “I’m going to run over there and stand in that dango line.” Pulling out a coin purse from your jacket, you started to rifle through your change, “I’m sure I can buy two dumpling sticks—three on each. Any thoughts?”

He sat down on the bench, leaning his face into his shoulder to wipe off an itch. How strange—he hadn’t gotten an itch since he was alive. So many sensations had escaped him since then.

“I don’t remember much about it,” Jihoon admitted, “but if you like it, I will probably like it too, I think.”

Jihoon watched you take your place in line. 

Dango… the word was slightly familiar to him. He tried to pull the moment forward as he shifted his eyes to the moon. Jihoon remembered something about a dango shop that his old best friend, Soonyoung, had taken him to during a vacation in Japan. There was a golden, sugary type of sauce that he could faintly taste. What stood out to him though was the obnoxious smacking sound Soonyoung would make when encasing his mouth around a whole dumpling. Jihoon shivered. He’d hated that sound.

Turning his head away from the dango shop, he found a comfortable light coming from the glass behind him—a tea house, not very busy, with only two visible people inside, a boy and a girl. They both seemed shy, fidgety, evasive of the other’s glance. A first date, Jihoon wondered.

He supposed that this autumn night, in a world that was living, breathing, and energized, could also be considered a first date, with you. 

The thought had Jihoon blushing. It made him feel kind of sick, but also heart-fluttery, and thrilled, and like he could run across the street right now to kiss you so everyone would know you proudly belonged to each other. He’d almost forgotten how love could pump you full of spontaneous, often unexplainable urges.

Jihoon grabbed a drifting paper square off the sidewalk and pulled out the pencil he’d moved from his aged clothes to his new ones. He observed the boy through the glass, watching all his actions, awkward gestures, how he shifted from the table and started looking at the menu behind the counter. Then, Jihoon held the paper against his knee and began to write.

“I’m back!”

About five minutes later, you were sitting next to Jihoon on the bench, your hand holding a napkin with two dumpling sticks coloured in pink, white and green. Both you and Jihoon ate quickly, sliding off each dumpling with your teeth, biting into its particular texture, tasting a mild sweetness. 

When Jihoon told you that he’d enjoyed the dango, the smile you gave him was warm and kind.

“Now I’m thirsty,” you mumbled, wiping the corner of your mouth and looking into the tea house, “looks like I have a few more coins. Maybe we can share a drink and take a walk.”

“I’ll buy it,” Jihoon said, already standing up.

“Really? ‘Kay then,” you answered, dumping out some coins into his palm. “There should be enough for a tip.”

You and Jihoon had walked into a quiet park. He couldn’t hear anything apart from your shoes shuffling through the wet leaves and the breeze that cooled with the hour. He’d let you drink the rest of the tea, which you just finished swallowing with a satisfied sigh.

“That was exactly how I like it! And I didn’t even—hey! What’s that?” You exclaimed, pointing at the paper square. He didn’t want to keep holding it, making himself more and more nervous.

“It’s… um, for you.”

With a surprised expression, you took the paper and unfolded it. Jihoon wasn’t sure if you were going to like it. He wasn’t sure if you were going to cackle or wince or flash him a very fake smile pretending to appreciate the poem. His skills weren’t going to be extremely polished considering he hadn’t written for a century. But maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe the love he’d poured into each line was enough.

Suddenly, you’d cupped his cheek and kissed it. 

He felt his cold, stiff heart start to pound. Without thinking, Jihoon put his hand around the back of your neck, bringing you in for a second kiss soft against each other’s lips. You positively tasted better than the dango.

He gets up from his seat And he seems to think What would my girlfriend like? A piece of cake or a drink? His eyes start to glow He clearly knows what to do So he brings back a tea for their table of two When she looks up, she smiles at the sight He starts to scratch his neck It was two sugars, right?

✧✎ a/n: AS I ANTICIPATED I HAD TO CUT SOME SENTENCES OUT BC I WOULD HAVE BEEN GLARING OVER THE 1K MARK. i guess i added a bit of a twist to how the prompt was delivered teehee. this was a nice challenge for me and i rly enjoyed adding onto this world!! i hope u like it taylor!

[saltybaltic]

Natasha Romanoff X Reader -TROPE MINI SERIES

7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow X FemReader Fanfic

Synopsis: Part of the Fanfic Trope Mini Series. Reader insert with Natasha Romanoff using a good old fashioned, over used, over worked trope. First up: Seven Minutes in Heaven

Warnings: mild references of smut (lmao what even is mild anymore) language

Words: 973

“And it looks like our newest member of the team is getting cosy with ...”

You could already feel the anxiety rising in the pit of your stomach as Tony trailed off with a grin and dipped his hand into the bowl of folded slips of paper to pick out another name. Your heart had started to thud uncomfortably in your chest the second your name had been read aloud, but after a few seconds to actually digest what could be about to happen, you were now verging on a full blown panic attack. Irritation was making itself known in the back of your mind at the stupidity of the whole thing; a group of grown adults, superheroes and agents sat around at the end of a party, a little worse for wear and playing a game as juvenile as Seven Minutes in heaven. But you could barely focus on that as Tony selected a piece of paper from the bowl and started to unfold it. His shit eating grin only increased as he scanned the name before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it in the general direction of the trash can.

“Well?!” After several seconds of silence, it was Clint who spoke first.

Tony glanced at you with an amused smile before he shrugged and gestured towards the woman on his right, “It’s our very own Agent Romanoff.”

Nearly everyone broke out into the same grin as Tony, a few people murmuring to one another or exchanging a nudge of the elbow.

Your palms were actually sweating now and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the shock that was making you dizzy. You were brought back to what was happening as you heard a whistle.

“Someone’s eager.”

At Sam’s words you looked around to see Natasha rising to her feet, not even glancing in your direction as she made her way towards the supply cupboard at the back of the room that was being used for the ‘game’.

“Go on new girl.” Teased Clint, shoving you in the arm playfully.

Swallowing down your nerves, you slowly stood from your chair, downing the rest of your drink for good measure before following after the red head towards the back of the room.

“Seven minutes starts when that door closes!”

Was the last thing you heard before you stepped into the cupboard and Natasha abruptly slammed the door closed behind you. For a few moments neither of you spoke or even looked at one another, eyes trained to the ground as you tried to think of anything that would be appropriate to say or do. The silence quickly became unbareable,

“Look we should probably talk anyway.”

At your sentence she slowly looked up from the ground to meet your eye, her brow arching in a way that made her look more intimidating than you would have liked, “Oh now you want to talk, when you’re literally locked in a cupboard with me.”

“Nat, it’s not that easy okay? I’m new here, I’m still figuring stuff out and working this out was just an added complication I didn’t need.”

Pursing her lips, Natasha looked up at the ceiling for a second and slowly pushed out a breath before looking back at you, “I’m sorry, I’m confused. Is this you trying to make things worse or make things better because honestly I can’t tell.”

“Obviously I want to make this better.”

“You just referred to me as a complication you don’t need, kinda hard to see a silver lining in that.”

Huffing out a frustrated breath, you took a step towards the other woman, “Figuring out how I feel about you was a complication. I didn’t exactly plan on this happening.”

“Sorry to throw a spanner in the works.” Muttered Natasha quietly, folding her arms across her chest.

Daring another step towards Natasha, you were now close enough in the tiny closet that you could raise an arm and rest your hand on the wall beside her head. She watched you with interest, eyes trained on your every move as you moved a little closer so your body was almost pressed to hers.

“Just because it’s complicated, doesn’t mean I’m not glad it’s happened.”

As you moved even closer, you rested your other hand on her waist, leaning in towards her so that your face was just an inch from her own.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “What are you doing?”

“Come on, it’s the rules of the game, we’ve gotta at least make out a little.”

Biting down on her lip to try and hide a smile, Natasha conceded a little and unfolded her arms so you could move a little closer, “Last time I kissed you, I seem to remember you telling me ‘you needed some time to figure things out’. Don’t you?”

“Well I figured out that I like you and if it’s alright with you, I’d quite like to kiss you back now.” You moved your hand from the wall to rest on the side of her neck, your thumb grazing the side of her jaw.

“Pretty sure we’ve only got a couple of minutes left now.” stated Natasha quietly, eyes drifting down to your lips as you closed the gap even further.

“I better get a move on then.”

Slipping your hand to the back of her neck, you tugged her towards you gently so that you were able to attach your lips to hers in a heated kiss. Even after drinking Tony’s liquor cabinet dry all evening she tasted amazing and you pretty much fell to pieces then and there as she released a moan into your mouth. Your contact was getting heavier and more demanding with each passing second, her hands moving to grab at your shirt and pull you flush against her. She had one foot resting against the wall behind her, leg bent at the knee and against your side in a way that made it all too easy to grip her waist and press your thigh against her pussy.

Slipping her tongue from your mouth, she snagged your lower lip between her teeth in a failed attempt to suppress a moan as she rocked her hips against your thigh and a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through her again.

You laughed quietly at her desperate action, one hand tightening your hold on her waist as the other moved to cup her jaw. In the short dress Natasha was wearing and only the thin lace panties between her body and yours, you could already feel how wet she was and it was making all other thoughts than fucking her up against the wall then and there leave your head, even if it was in a ridiculous game from high school.

Lowering your other hand to her waist as well, you held both of her hips in place as you guided them down with a push of your thigh into her. She gripped your shirt tighter as her eyes fell closed and she let out a low groan at your action. Natasha was certainly on board with your opinion that the direction the evening had taken was nothing short of idiotic but she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying her current predicament trapped between the wall and your body immensely.

“More.” Mumbled Natasha against your mouth, torn between continuing to kiss you and verbalising what she wanted, “Do it again.”

You weren’t given a chance to reply as her hand moved to the back of your head and she eagerly reattached your lips. However it seemed in this scenario that actions would speak louder than words and simply chose to do as she had asked, pulling her into you again as she rocked her hips harder against you. Natasha couldn’t get enough and was only able to moan in satisfaction into your mouth, the thin material of her panties combined with the texture of your jeans creating a friction that was making her toes curl. She was positive she must have soaked through your clothing by now and you would definitely be able to feel just how turned on she was against your thigh, not that she minded if it meant you kept grinding into her and kissing her hard.

You wanted to cry out in frustration as just as Natasha sucked your tongue into her mouth in an attempt to silence a moan, the dry click of the lock echoed throughout the cupboard and the door opened.

Acting quickly, Natasha had abruptly stood up straight from the wall and you had taken an equally hasty step back to put some distance between the pair of you. Not that it mattered as your messed up hair and crumpled shirt combined with Natasha’s smudged lipstick and hiked up dress said enough already.

“I told you!” Shouted Tony victoriously, turning away from you and Natasha for a second to grin back at the rest of the team, “I told you they’d be getting it on!”

You were distracted by Tony’s outburst momentarily but your eyes drifted back to Natasha as you felt her lean into you and set her lips beside your ear before speaking quietly, “To be continued.”

She shot you a quick smirk before side stepping around you and making her way out of the cupboard, giving Tony an amused pat on the chest on her way out.

“You all owe me ten dollars.” Announced Tony, earning him a collective groan as everyone dipped into their pockets.

As much as you had to admit your initial distaste for a game as stupid as Seven Minutes in Heaven, the only fault you were able to find with it now, was that seven minutes wasn’t nearly long enough.

[purplesurveys]

726

Do you have any stuffed animals from Build-a-Bear Workshop? No. I'm not aware if they brought it to the Philippines when I was younger or if it’s been brought here at all, but I don’t feel like I missed out since I never liked stuffed toys. When was the last time that you ate fruit? I tried a California maki (which has mango instead of avocado here) when we bought a box of varied sushi a couple of weeks ago just to give it a chance. It’s always been my least favorite roll because after I’ve had a wide array of innovative and creative rolls through the years, California maki just tastes so plain – and because it has mango. My taste test that day didn’t change my mind about the sushi and I still hated it, so I gave the rest of them to my sister. Can you pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time? Yup. It got popular to try in school for a time hahaha so I practiced until I perfected it. Do you listen to country music? The only country song I really enjoyed was Need You Now by Lady Antebellum; otherwise I can’t stand the genre. Are you the generic person? I don’t think it’s fair to call anyone generic. I like to think there’s always at least one unique or interesting thing about everyone.

Have you ever had your palms read? No. Do you know what a fuzzy navel is? I wanna say a hairy belly button but I just looked it up on Google aaaaand...IT’S A DRINK HAHAHAHAHA   Do you like peaches? Nope. It’s a no on most fruits for me. Do you have in fruit trees in your backyard? We don’t but I think some of our neighbors do. I know for sure someone is growing siling labuyo, but I forgot which one of my neighbors it was.  When was the last time your lawn was mowed? I haven’t heard the village lawnmower being used in a very long time, honestly. Understandable, since a lot of people don’t have to work right now. Have you ever been hit in the face really hard? My brother did this to me last year, which is why I have made the decision to stop talking to him entirely. I haven’t talked to him since March 2019 even if we’re under the same roof. Do you hate anyone? Right now I hate our local police more than anyone in the world, but I don’t feel this way for anyone I know in real life. Do you like fingerpainting? I don’t think I’ve tried it. I imagine I would hate the texture though. Are you sick? Nope. Do you use flashlights when there is a blackout? We used to but with more modern phones having built-in flashlights, we haven’t needed to buy actual flashlights anymore. Do you like black coffee? Sorry, no. Some cream and milk is always the way to go for me. Have you ever stolen from a store before? Haha unintentionally. I once walked away from a bookstore with a box of crayons and that was in 2004 when security measures weren’t very techy yet and nothing alarmed when I got out of the store. I realized I hadn’t paid for it when I noticed I was still holding the box and it wasn’t in a paper bag. Do you like the color yellow? I like the current trendy shade of yellow, but that’s absolutely it. It’s still one of my least favorite colors. Do you like calm, pretty colors or wild, bright, flashy colors? Pastel colors, which to me are calm and pretty. Do you collect coins? No. I’d be such a clumsy collector if ever, because I lose everything I own that’s as small as coins. When was the last time you rode a bike? The first or second week of the lockdown when I made a goal to learn how to ride the bike while on quarantine. Of course, that hasn’t happened. Have you ever walked on stilts? I don’t think so. Is there anything orange on your computer screen? I have a Bzoink tab open and its logo is orange, so yep. Do you use Dial-up? Internet??????? Welcome to 2020, my dude. I mean to be fair this survey was made all the way in 2008 lmao, but even by that point we had upgraded from dial-up to cable internet. Who was the last person that you called? Gabie, who’s really the only person I ever call. How many letters are in your middle name? If you mean my second first name, it has 8 letters. My maiden name, which is more understood here as our legit middle name, has 5. Do you collect seashells? Nope. Beaches here prohibit taking seashells, and I’m glad such a provision exists. Have you ever been to New York City? I haven’t but I can’t wait. I have an uncle living in Manhattan who has promised to be my tour guide once I get to visit.  Do you like to bake cupcakes? I imagine myself loving the work but I never have the time to do it or anyone to do it with. How old were you 10 years ago? I was 12. Do you age well? If aging well means I still mostly look 18 and hardly like a 22 year old, then yes I have been doing that. Seeing reactions from current freshies when they find out I’m a graduating senior was one of my favorite parts of my final semester in college hahahaha. How many lamps are in the room that you are currently in? There are no lamps in the dining area. What color is your keyboard? The keys are black but the spaces between them are gray. When was the last time that you clipped your fingernails? Around a month ago. I’ve actually been reminding myself these days to cut them again since they’re quite long now, but I always forget. I’ll probs forget tonight too. What about your toenails? Around the same time. But toenails grow slower, so I don’t feel the need to clip them just yet. Have you ever had the chicken pox? I have not, which means I’m just waiting for the day it hits me D: Do you like history? Yep, quite literally in my blood. Give me all the articles, books, electives, workshops, museums, etc on history and I’ll gladly be all over them. Do you wear deodorant all the time? Yeah. Do you tend to tangle things up? Not really. I want things to be as smooth-sailing as possible, because disarray would just overwhelm me. Can you unknot knots? Just super basic knots. When did you first learn how to tie your shoes? This was actually one of the practical tests that they gave when I was in preschool so I had to have my lola teach me when I was five. To this day, I have to admit I’m still clumsy at tying my shoes and 8 out of 10 times I can’t do it perfectly on the first try :(( How different is the world today, than it was 5 years ago? I don’t feel like racking my head for global events but as for personally, these days, I no longer have my maternal lolo around; we’re in the midst of a pandemic that has disrupted life as we know it; I unexpectedly have had no fucking clue when I’m graduating now; and we are now under a dictator and murderer of a President. What kind of car would you like to have? My ultimate goal is to have a Mini.

How loud is the volume on your computer? It’s in the upper half but not completely all the way through. Name 5 things that are in your room. A certificate of appreciation from a school I recently taught at, my book stand, my coloring books, my mock college entrance tests, a couple of neck pillows and several unopened face masks. Do you like the number 46? It’s insignificant to me. Have you ever left your handprint in wet concrete? Nope. Do you vaccuum? I haven’t tried it, no. When was the last time that you graduated from a grade? 2016 when I graduated from high school. Do you have a nickname? My relatives call me Byn but that’s my only nickname. Can you wiggle your ears? No but one of my uncles can. It was his favorite ~party trick to do for my cousins, siblings, and I when we were kids cause it always made us laugh. For many years we tried practicing ourselves but none of us ever learned how to. Have you ever been in a commercial before? I have not. Have you ever built a castle out of cardboard? I don’t think so. Do you really ever get too old for certain things? High school drama, for one. Some people haven’t gotten over it and still like to stir up shit, but it’s almost always those who only peaked in high school and are trying to grasp and claw for their glory days back.

Do you like apple juice? Just the one from a local brand, Zesto.  Can you whistle? Yes. Do you celebrate Christmas? Only because it’s family tradition. Do you have a New Years Resolution? No. How thick is your hair? Quiiiiite thick. It’s a bit to handle especially when my hair is supposed to be styled into a very intricate and elegant bun... a lot of the hair always falls out no matter how many thousand bobby pins are stabbed into my scalp before the end of whatever thing I’m supposed to be at. Have you ever wanted to grow a beard or mustache? I was curious as most kids are, so yeah I guess this thought occured once or twice. I don’t wish for this now. Do you use highlighters? For studying. Are you a very traditional person? I still view some things in a traditional way, like how my ultimate goal is to settle down, have a house, and raise kids or that I wouldn’t let my future kid get a tattoo or have their hair dyed until they’re 18...but studying in UP and living in an age where I get to meet people from different parts of the world who may live differently and see things differently than Filipinos do has certainly widened my perspectives. Do you feel awkward around certain people? With people I barely know but am forced to interact with, yes. Do you like bananas? No. Do you like Febreeze? I don’t think we have it here. How many children do you want? One or two. How tall are you? Barely passed the 5′ mark.