you’re so tired that you don’t even flinch when the front door clicks open. iwaizumi’s home.
“i’m back,” he calls out routinely as you hear the thunk of his sneakers and gym bag hit the floor. his socks slide across the hardwood, making his way to the living room in search of you.
you’re passed out on the sofa, drifting in a confusing haze somewhere between consciousness and sleep. the day took a heavy toll on you, enough that the back of your eyes burn like static and it’s hard to think straight. “welcome home,” you muster out, voice weak as you rub your eyes to keep them open.
iwaizumi frowns, that concerned little thing he does whenever he senses your discomfort like clockwork. “long day? did you eat dinner yet?”
“yeah, long day. i was too tired to cook, sorry.”
he shakes his head, grabbing the throw blanket off the arm of the sofa and gently tossing it over you. “don’t force it. get some rest. i’ll take care of dinner,” he whispers softly, courtesy of your throbbing head. pressing a kiss to your forehead and turning off the distracting TV, he disappears into the kitchen. you hear the subtle clanking of pots and pans in the background before you succumb to the forces of sleep.
your eyes blink open to the sound of running water and dishes clinking in the sink. iwa (somehow) hears you stirring and stops where he’s at in the pile of dirty dishes, coming over to the living room with a warm plate of food that he places gently on the coffee table. “you feeling any better?” he asks, tucking your blanket up higher. “you should try to eat something.”
he puts the plate of food in your lap and you try your best to get some fuel in your system. a few measly bites of chicken later and. . .
“not hungry?” he smiles understandingly. you shake your head. he takes the plate back without pushing. instead, he lifts the blanket and slides underneath it with you, pulling you into his side. his thumb starts a soothing rub along your shoulder. you just woke up, but you already feel the drowsiness start to kick in again as the warmth of his body dissipates into you.
“thank you, iwa,” you murmur, slowly drifting off to sleep with your head against his chest.
osamu sighed at your answer, his head dropping backwards while he closed his eyes. the poor man’s been sitting in an uncomfortable chair for the past twenty minutes. all the while your fingers were tracing his hair. osamu had just went to get his hair done — which was very much needed considering how much time it had been since his last appointment. however what you did not expect was for your boyfriend to come home with his hair natural again. and saying that seeing him with dark brown hair for the first time didn't have any effect on you would be lying. for as long as osamu's been sitting here, you've been tracing and touching his hair, your nails scratching lightly at his undercut while you admired his new hair.
"i take it ya like my hair like this ?" he couldn't help the smirk growing on his lips, his eyes fixated on your face as he scans your reaction. "mhm" you tilted his head back as you hummed, nails grazing at the nape of his neck and his upper back. “you look so good ‘samu. . .”
and with that, you lightly bit his cheek, making him yelp in surprise.
uni!train ride with kuroo as your personal shield ; fluff
the university train was entirely packed due to a sudden downpour, forcing the evening commuters into a suffocatingly tight space. you were standing near the doors, losing your balance every time the car lurched, when kuroo suddenly shifted his weight.
he stepped closer, completely cornering you against the metal partition. he placed his left hand flat against the glass right above your head, his massive frame creating a physical barrier between you and the rest of the crowded train.
“don’t fall over, shortie,” he teased, his signature grin firmly in place.
“i’m not falling,” you muttered, looking down at his chest because his face was entirely too close.
the train suddenly screeched around a sharp bend. you lurched forward, your hands instinctively grabbing the fabric of his jacket for balance, your forehead bumping directly into his collarbone. kuroo let out a sharp, breathless oof.
when you looked up to apologize, the sly, teasing captain was entirely gone. kuroo was staring down at you, his golden eyes wide and completely dark, his jaw locked tight. a deep, violent shade of pink had exploded across his face, spreading rapidly from his throat all the way to the tips of his ears under the train’s dim lights. he looked completely short-circuited by the sudden proximity.
“kuroo?” you whispered.
“uh,” he cleared his throat, his hand on the glass trembling just a tiny bit as he slowly lowered his arm, wrapping it securely around your shoulders instead to pull you firmly against his side. he stared hard at the digital station map above the door, his chest rising and falling in heavy, panicked breaths. “the train is… really unstable today. yeah. just stay right there so i don’t have to carry you off the platform.”
n: bro i haven’t eaten a thing, idk how i thought of this.
tattoo artist! iwaizumi hajime x nail artist! reader
oh no! you own the nail salon next to iwaizumi's tattoo shop.
what do we do? him!
my masterlist
warnings // reader is female im so sorry it just flowed out of me, swearing, mentions of drunk men, smoking, kys jokes, a gun, mentioned AI once but u need to understand i will never use it
miyako's notes // i shat this out bc i couldn't stop thinking about tattoo artist! iwaizumi but i couldn't sit and outline a whole story for it IM SORRY
shoutoutz to @dumdogs and @lilylilylilylilysstuff for enabling me
Summary: You're an independent woman working as a lawyer that is stuck in the capitalistic grind to support your son - Artem the black cat and your reading addiction but quite content with her life. What happens when you run into Sylus with his charm in a chance encounter that is dead set on courting you. Or, in other words, what happens when an unstoppable force (Sylus) meets an immovable object (Non-MC)?
Part 2
A/N: Hello! I am back with my random burst of inspiration for writing and this is what I have so far. I saw a few posts talking about Sylus with an older woman and that got me writing. Sylus in this is 26 and reader is 36. I am supposed to finish grading papers yet here I am. Reader exhibits ADHD traits and a smoking addiction (stay safe guys!)
It was just another regular day in your life where you were stuck at work, wanting time to move fast so that you can go home and cuddle with you cat as you read some novels. Some would say that was a sad and boring life for a 36 year old single woman but you couldn’t care less. You were happy and content with your life (except your job but that was because of your stupid boss). Your boss was on your ass wanting you to finalise the draft for the upcoming major investment into your company. Tired of trying to force yourself to work, you decided to take a quick smoke break and grabbing a drink from the cafe nearby.
You made your way out of the office building and found a somewhat quiet spot near the sidewalk and took a cigarette from your purse and that was when you noticed that your lighter is out of fuel and you forgot to buy a replacement. Of all the days, it had to be today. Cursing yourself, you were looking around to see if anyone around you might have one and that’s when you spotted him - An incredibly tall man with silver hair and sunglasses looking at his phone like it personally offended him. He wore a suit with red blazer that had black tiger stripes. He sure had an odd sense of fashion paired with an aura of a man who thought everything was beneath him.
Deciding that you were only going to ask if he had a lighter and not for his first born, you decided to slowly approach him.“Excuse me. Hi. So sorry to bother you but do you by any chance have a lighter on you?”
The man stared at you with a scrutinising look, like you indeed had the audacity to ask for his first born like the wicked witch of the East. But a second later, he reached into his suit and handed you a very fancy looking lighter.
Not wanting to waste any more of his time and your break, you quickly lit your cigarette and handed the lighter back to the man with a thanks. Walking back to your previous spot, you took a few drags from the cigarette while mentally making a list of all the things you needed to get done so that you can leave this hell hole asap. Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice that the fancy lighter man had walked to stand closer to you.
“I am Sylus.” He introduced himself without a preamble, snapping you back to reality.
“Sorry?” You said as you didn’t catch him the first time, making him repeat himself. Once you registered what he said, you reciprocated by introducing yourself to him.
“Long day at work?” He asked and you figured he was trying to make small talk for some unfathomable reason. Small talk cost you nothing other than the loss of depleting brain cells but eh, what the heck, sure.
“You could say that. Just a boss that can be a bit of a dick. Nothing I can’t handle though. You look like your driver ditched you.”
“What makes you say that?” He inquired, looking intrigued at your assessment of his situation.
“You were looking at your phone like you were ready to murder someone and now you’re here at the sidewalk making small talk with me in your rich fancy suit.” You replied with a shrug. You had the habit of people watching and observing things that other people usually don’t notice or register.
“Rich fancy suit?” Now he was just smiling at you or rather your words which should have made you self-conscious and filter your words but your brain said not today.
“Yea. I mean yeah this is a bougie law firm and everyone might wear something that looks expensive but only a rich rich person who does not care about other people’s opinions would wear…that.”
“What’s wrong with that?” He turned around and leaned on the wall to fully look at you.
“The design is definitely a choice, I’d say. It’s not for everyone and nor can everyone pull it off.” You really should stop talking but you were just digging your grave further and further.
“So, you’re saying I’m pulling it off?” He asked with a smirk, clearly fishing for compliments.
“Weirdly, yeah.” You replied with a small smile of your own as you snuffed your cigarette butt on the sidewalk. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Sylus. I unfortunately have to get back to my job. I hope you’re not stranded for too long, though.”
“It was nice meeting you too, Miss. I hope we meet again.” He said extending his hand for a handshake that you took. He definitely had a sharp handshake that a lot of those business gurus talk about on instagram.
“Well, you never know.” Was all you said as you made your way to the cafe to grab a cup of hot chocolate before going back to your desk. You did not think too much about this encounter unbeknownst to you that this five minutes might change the trajectory of your life as you know it now.
it is every player's dream to wake up in the world of their otome game but not you, you're not the mc or the heroine of the game that was supposed to be you. in some twisted joke the universe decided for you — you get to live and survive the ruthless n109 zone where your main love interest resides.
── commissioned by @jamjyro
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ content warnings. isekaid reader + nonmc + gun violence + depictions of disposing corpses + anxiety + coercion + blood + angst + there will be a part 2.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ notes. hey you all, it's been a long time since the last time I've posted. thank you very much for the patience and the support that you had given me through this difficulties of my life. i'm still adjusting and little bit struggling. once again, thank you very much for still sticking in this ghosty blog of mine.
Bang!
Shots are fired. Followed by the familiar deafening sounds of heavy machine guns rolling outside and the screech of wheels. You jolted awake that you almost roll and fall from your makeshift bed. What the hell is happening at this hour and in broad daylight? That was expected cause you live in the N109 Zone but you were still not used of the people here exchanging bullets.
But why? Why here? You want to scream in frustration as you crawled in the floor of the building you decided to be your base, a temporary home after being isekaid in a game that you play every single day. It's almost unhealthy from how you obsessed with it and then when you wanted to quit, you got thrown inside the game. What a stroke of luck. Funny. Ha-ha. The game fucking sent you to the unforgiven land of N109 Zone. How the hell can you survive when you got the survival skill of a hamster.
It was going to be fine if you possessed the body of your MC that you spent hours customizing to look like you or somewhat closer to what you look like and only to stare at a mirror and see your real life reflection cluelessly staring.
You spent the first hour agonizing on how you can survive. Thinking how nice if you have a somewhat useful Evol but you don't. You were fucked. You were clueless in where you are at first when you woke up in the middle of the road at first.
No clue in your surroundings until the gunshots came and the angry shouts. Superfucked. And that’s when you realized you were in the N109 Zone. Ultra duper superfucked. The tall buildings, moldy walls in the dark alleyways and there was some sort of shadows lurking in the walls.
It was hard for your first days. You were cold and hungry. Exhausted and clueless on where to start until you remembered Elysium. The place were information are exchanged and under the protection of Sylus.
Yeah, Sylus. Your main in the game and you didn't know what to feel. Knowing that you're not your MC and realized that MC is probably the custom avatar of the game. A far cry from your supposed MC or you. Technically you were MC when you're playing but this time you are not. You were starting to believe that you are not truly MC which is true.
Enough of that, if you want to survive you better start relying on your own and learn a few tricks to save your ass. You don't want to die in a foreign land, let alone a land in a fictional game that you're currently in.
You were about to embark in a journey when you remember you didn't have a trade. Elysium was for intelligent information, assassination and trade of arms and other illegal stuff and you don't do illegal. You can't even handle a gun or pull a pin on a grenade. Hacking? Not a plausible idea. You were only good at organizing documents in a computer.
You stopped in your tracks. Careful at your surroundings, your shoulders slump as you agonize on what trade you can offer in exchange for some lump sum of money or shelter or food or all of the above. You were good as a dead meat. You badly want to cry until a light bulb appeared in your head.
The game was basically your manual on how to survive the game or how to live in the N109 Zone. Although people like you won't survive long. It's either to rise in the ashes or drown in the murky waters.
You already finished the main story, starting from Sylus first appearance which made your heart go thump-thump and spent money that almost your whole salary in a month. You read the anecdotes, his myth. You knew everything about him. His personal life and his connection with MC and how he rules the N109 Zone. Onychinus was the top of the hierarchy here. You know how the Elysium operates so that's what you're going to do. Exchange some information about the future canon events that is yet to happen.
The problem is — it was suspicious. You can't really crash in Elysium and tell Aislinn, the bartender about it. Knowing she directly reports to Sylus and the reality that you weren't your MC — you were surely going to end up with a gun to your head. A stranger revealing secrets, it wasn't a ideal way but you really want to live and that weighs more than anything than the fear and so, standing in front of the Elysium — you entered with death’s hand at your shoulder.
For the better, it turned out good. You didn't reveal anything, someone beat you to the punch of revealing and opportunity opened up to you. Even the N109 Zone was lawless and chaotic, some gangs and organizations really didn't want to leave trace of the transactions that occurred in the hidden areas or the docks and warehouses that the deals takes place.
One of the patrons were looking for someone who can take care of that and you volunteered without a second thought. Your safety will be compromised with that line of work but they only is to keep your mouth shut and deal with the bloodied mess — you took it without hesitation. It was rare for someone to take that but you really need money to start or provide yourself with some basic needs and thus, you ended up in your current situation.
Bullets are flying everywhere and you're going to end up as a casualty if you don't move. You grabbed the classic Smith and Wesson handgun you keep even you don't know how to use it but only when the times comes you need to protect yourself. You didn't know it will come to this point.
You intentionally picked this place for your base. It was the abandoned place far from the chaos of the main zone and it wasn't really ideal for wars because it was very far and the terrain wasn't that good. Broken concrete roads and it can be really hot in the mornings. The surrounding buildings are covered with moss and the fauna was slowly taking over. It wasn't ideal for you to live in the area but it provides safety except now.
A stray bullet pierced to a glass window near you. The glass shatters as it broke and falls near your feet. Without a second thought you immediately crawl. Grabbing the small bag you keep under your bed when you need to run immediately. You grip it tightly as you stand up and bolted away from where you are. The building was still sturdy but the previous gang wars and the Chronorift Catastrophe left it to be abandoned like the other surrounding buildings.
As you descended from the stairs, you held the gun close to you. Your fingers finds the hammer of the gun and hearing the familiar click, you swallowed hardly. Tapping your varsity jacket pockets to check if you have the extra magazines in case you need to reload if you — you hope not, you have to fire in case of self defense.
God, why must you be transported in such a hostile place. You would accept to wake up in a hospital — preferably Akso Hospital and be declared as someone who had amnesia and is truly clueless of what's happening and maybe you can get a glimpse of Dr. Zayne.
You could have gone to Linkon City but you didn't have an identity with you and getting out of N109 Zone needs a special entrance and exit to be granted in order for a individual to leave. The No Hunting Zones was also a way to leave but there's a reason why it was a no hunting zone. It crawls with Wanderers and as a civilian with no Evol, there's a higher chance of you being butchered or succumb to the Flux Nexus.
You're basically a NPC in this world and that sucks more than anything. Where you isekaid here because your main was Sylus? A deepspace tunnel opened and it brought you here. You didn't want to know. It was really disheartening that you have to be here because your main was Sylus. It wasn't like you were hating him or being disappointed. You were basically thrown in a den of lions.
Somehow you managed to survive on your own by being the lackey or you like to call yourself, a cleaner for some of the powerful organizations. You have learned how to remove bloodstains without a trace. The bodies were taken care of by whoever availed your services to clean. You make sure the scene of the crime were spotless as if nothing happened and it was just the same cold and moldy warehouse or alley.
Anyways if you can't get out of this mess, you can kiss your life goodbye.
A sudden burst of adrenaline pumping in your veins made you maneuver the steep stairs and crumbly walls with such ease. Your palm sweaty as it slides in the cold railing. Your body felt like iron as you bump in the walls at every sharp turn. Not bad, self. You want to pat yourself in the back for being able to do such things at your plump stature. You feel like the main protagonist from the movie you used to watch and was it the reason you were here in the N109 Zone? You got the prowess for combat? Such tall tales and that was later proven wrong.
You were good at evading not fighting. That's what you're currently doing right now and you almost let out a breath of relief as you pushed the door in the ground floor. Stumbling in the process as your two feet became unsynchronized. A bullet flew right by and it almost sent you tumbling backwards. You badly want to cry. You're not really built for this.
It seems that your escape route hasn't been intercepted and they're far away from it. You can just run and go for it. Except when you're about to breakthrough — out of the corner in your eye — you caught the glimpse of him.
Sylus.
You can't be mistaken. It was hard to miss him. His name was spoken in whispers. In harsh words and in contempt because there's nothing more cruel than the one who rules the N109 Zone. The leader of Onychinus.
You avoided Sylus nor get involved with him. A civilian or rather a powerless human being in his world cannot survive and you cannot risk making enemies at the same time. You kept a low profile in the duration of your stay.
But to see your main love interests breathing and fighting his enemies in flesh made your chest bloom with warmth. The screen was your boundary between him and you. It was the closest you can ever have him. Pressing your fingertips in the cold screen of your phone and hope you can feel his warmth and hoped he can feel yours too.
He was so close and yet, out of your reach.
Suddenly, you were glued in the floor. Your body refusing to move despite your mind screaming for you to run off. Your legs are frozen. You cannot get involved with him. MC exists in this world andthey were destined for each other. He's waiting for her and you left that with the game's dynamics.
The sound of heavy rifles being loaded and the static ringing in the area and Sylus, there wasn't even much of a tremble or quiver in his movements. He was precise and calculated as he draws his gun. Easily replacing it with a new magazine. His dark glasses perched on his nose. He slides the rack before the sound of gunshot fills the air.
Wait, it's morning. Sylus should be asleep at this time and was only active in the night. Does this means he was overwhelmed and clearly ambushed? You run towards a nearly dilapidated beam. Assessing the situation and when you got a closer look, you notice the damp part of his dark collared shirt.
It wasn't visible but with the morning light and his movements that sways his leather jacket, you can see it. You remembered that Sylus can heal himself but he still get wounded and to get that wound — it must be deep for him to heal properly and he's currently bleeding under his clothes.
You did say you weren't going to get involved the moment you realized you weren't MC. Such matters would have sucked and in the time of care you deeply felt for him. Love will get you killed. Indifference will save you. That was the reason you survived upon being isekaid in the lawless land of N109 Zone.
Alas the moment you had fallen in love with Sylus that even the tiniest voice concern of why you shouldn't save someone just because they were in danger or rather they were the danger, it didn't matter.
Arriving at a resolution, you raised your gun. Pointing at him with a slight tremor in your arm and your palms sweaty that you might slip as you push the trigger. You can do it. You really can do it. You take a deep breath and with a exhale. You push the trigger and with a loud bang that resonated in the area — you hit your target.
He really can't say he was at his wit's end. He was Sylus. Ruler of the N109 Zone and being defeated at this foolish game of foolish people who wants him gone is a humiliation that will haunt him at his death. There's a rule among the residents of this land. It's to kill or be killed. And Sylus isn't going to get slaughtered like a lamb.
The sun's high and he was in a little pinch. His eyesight is made for the night and not in the light. He gives these men who managed to use their cards against him to corner the Onychinus leader. They were really pooling their meager resources to kill him but it wasn't enough although he can give them credits for getting a little smarter and Sylus isn't the one to back down from a fight.
He can give them a little recognition of such feat for injuring him. It was a stray bullet that found its way on his abdomen. He can heal — sure but being repeatedly injured, it stops. His shirt was soaking his blood and his enemies were closing in and then, in some twist or fate or luck or another person thirsty for his blood scrapes him by the shoulder with a bullet.
A stray bullet, maybe but whoever shot him and hitting the one who's closing him falling at the scorching road with a thud must be an amateur or was just really lucky for wounding him and maybe killing the other.
Before he can turn around to look at this one who's brave enough to take a shot, they grab his hand. Pulling them with force of urgency. They run, evading his enemies and although Sylus isn't the one back down from a fight, he knew he needed respite.
Turn after turn, him returning the rounds of bullets to his aggressors. He takes a look at this mortal who dared to save him. Navigating narrow alleyways and taking every sharp turns without pausing like you know every part of this place.
The gunshots have stopped, deciding that you successfully shaked them off. You take a look at his face. “There’s a nearby exit here. They probably don't know about the area and you will be safely get back in your own. I'll be going now. Goodbye.” You say with such firmness before running in the opposite direction without looking back.
You disappeared quickly in his sight. The black and white vision of you in your varsity jacket, boots clicking in the distance. Sylus was left with a strange feeling.
Who was this stranger who saved him and only to disappear on him?
Someone could have used this as a chance to curry favors from him. A chance to rise in the top cause the Onychinus leader never left being indebted to others and such act of saving him can bring fortune if he deemed you worthy but alas, he was only left in the abandoned street with no signs of life besides him. Reeling in the sensation of the stranger's soft hand that previously held his wrist.
No data found.
The screen of his laptop glares at him. No traces or evidence that stranger existed. He hacked every database around the world and no record are found about your identity. Are you a spy? A ghost? He knows you weren't a figment of his imagination that one morning. You were warm and you spoke to him.
You must have one cause despite being nonexistent to others or how much a person hides their identity — there will always be traces of a past of how a person lived no matter how much they try to bury it. The Onychinus searched for any activities that might have linked to you and why did you hole up in that kind of building.
He went back there. The buildings were riddled with bullets. Blood stains in the walls of what violence had occured in there. Investigating and leaving no spot untouched just to get a trace that you were there and you exist. What else could you have been doing there? Maybe you were running away from something or you just didn't like anything that relates to the ruthlessness of the place.
You were a mystery he wants to solve and any day now, you will appear. In the most of convenient or the most unwanted places but Sylus was sure that he will be meeting this stranger again.
“Boss, the scene's spotless. Kieran and I been searching for hours at that warehouse.” Luke's voice can be heard behind him as he stared at the screen. Sylus raises a brow. There's always a spot that's left untouched and he's been living in the N109 Zone for too long that after a bloody showdown, there's always dead bodies and shell casings littering on the cold floors.
Since when these bunch of nobodies started to clean up after themselves?
Well, this have been a occurrence of lately. Crime scenes are left clean. No bodies and not much left even a tiniest speck of blood. Whoever cleaning up these scenes are a professional. It's also hard to found out of whoever doing these are a group or individual but he can appreciate the cleanliness much it was a hassle for his operations. Everyone's evolving in the N109 Zone and he needs a little bit of an entertainment before the boredom catches up to him.
The district warehouse were huge. Larger than what you usually received from the organizations who avail your cleaning services. It was a mess but nothing you can't handle. Upon setting foot in the damp and cold warehouse with the scent of blood and gunpowder, you assess the mess.
Letting your OTTO fly and survey the scene. Scanning trails of blood that you have to manually clean and hidden dead bodies to be disposed of. Securing that there will be no marks or traces of DNA that will point the instigators of this conflict.
Scan completed.
Your OTTO cheerfully chirps at you and you began to slide the gloves in your hands and securing the shoe covers in your feet to avoid footprints that will link to you. You take the plastic sheet from your crate before rolling it to the moldy floors. This is where you will be putting the dead bodies and put them on the body bags you brought. Individually wrapping them up like spring rolls.
It was tasking for a individual work but doing it for months made your body stronger — strong enough to haul bodies heavier than yours. You began your work, stacking them up like building blocks and rolling them with a huff as you struggled cause why men looks like they're light and only to find out they're heavy with that kind of body. Even in death they were still dead weight.
After hauling the last body, you made your way to the blood trail with your handy cleaning tools along with a special solution. You were quick to learn for your trade of cleaning crime scenes for the organizations that pays you a lump sum of money enough to sustain you and sometimes they will throw an extra to a job well done which you always do.
You can always use the referral for your services. The quietness of the warehouse didn't bother you much. It was once a quiet night to work in and you doubt there will be anyone after such bloodied mess. You only focused on scrubbing the dried blood from the dry floor and sweep the dust to conceal the scent of your special solution. It wasn't that pungent but it didn't hurt to be extra careful. Discretion was your specialty.
The OTTO encircles the area and the humming sound coming from it was the noise you can hear while you busy yourself. Halfway through when it got too quiet and your OTTO was missing. You stopped in your tracks.
You remained crouching with a brush in your hand as you raised your head. Listening to any telltale signs or noise that you're not entirely alone in this warehouse. Perhaps the heavy footsteps or a puff of breath. Anything that may harm you but nothing and you thought that maybe your OTTO malfunctioned since it was really a old model that you managed to salvage cause you can't still manage to upgrade it.
You were about to finish anyway and so scrubbed the floor a little harshly until the blood has separated from the floor before sweeping dust all over it before you walked towards where you hear your OTTO humming.
It was behind the crates, you can see your OTTO was blinking lights and was roughened in the edges with claw marks. The sight of your half destroyed companion send shivers down your spine. It feels like you were surrounded but when you look around there was nothing. You swallowed. Your hands inside the gloves were starting to moist. The pit of your stomach feels like sinking.
Something dangerous is near and you can't really pinpoint where it is. You try to balance it out. The pros and cons of leaving for your safety but your job was still not done. You couldn't really risk losing the source of your living in the N109 Zone and besides you faced fear many times before. What's the harm of risking another?
Deciding that you really can't leave your job, you grabbed your broken OTTO and decided that it really needs a replacement and it's been long and it should rest for being your companion for a long time. Still, seeing it destroyed pains you.
Now you have to manually check that they will be no evidence that you've been here after your OTTO’s broken.
A step and sudden jolt of uneasiness strikes you again. Raising your head, you caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette in the upper railings. The sound of flapping wings followed by a rather loud caw. Black feather slowly descending towards you and landing in your outstretched palm.
God, any minute now or seconds he will be appearing now.
Snap.
A swirl of black and red mist appears in front of you and just like that — your main love interest, leader of Onychinus and the one who rules the N109 Zone — Sylus stands before you.
Scared? Not really. You were blinking back tears because he was so close and your mind really decided to replay what he had gone through. Dying in the hands of his sorceress and not granting him death unless she allows it. Then, they found each other again. Both immortals dying in each other's arm and again, two children fighting to death and escaping to another planet and only to separate once again and he's here in front of you.
Standing tall and immaculate with the air of authority in his stature. Head held high and you can see the subtle glow of the Aether Core in his right eye. The reds of his eyes glimmer in the dim lit warehouse.
You take a step backwards, cradling your destroyed OTTO closer to you. Not daring to speak a word or look in his eyes.
“Just when I thought these fools has learned to be careful.” He muses. A faint smirk in his lips as he looks at you and the pile of dead bodies you were about to dispose behind.
“Maybe. I'm the only person here though. Cleaning out the mess.” You shrugged. Cradling your destroyed OTTO and walking towards your “cleaning van.” You gently put your companion in a crate before grabbing the brush again to continue cleaning. Wiping the sweat off in your forehead with the back of your arm.
Sylus remains silent. Following your every movement under his gaze about this person who was unintentionally ignoring him and going back to your job. Not even an ounce of fear behind those tired eyes. Were you feigning ignorance of the truth that you saved him? The leader of Onychinus and the feared man of the N109 Zone. That matter didn't seem to bother you.
“Do you know that when people save someone they expect something in return?” He began. Baiting the person in front of him for a favor. “It’s a chance for them to rise in this wasteland.”
“I’m managing.” You pragmatically answered even when your heart is beating fast cause you know secrets in this world and you really don't want to involve yourself with Sylus. You were living quietly and you badly want to get out of this world or maybe ask him to get you a identity to live in Linkon but that would raise suspicions cause why would you ask for a identity. It's either you're a criminal or someone who doesn't belong in this world.
He also didn't belong in this world but wherever MC is, he follows. A flower who still bloomed beautifully in a different soil.
His expensive cologne wafts in the air. His shoes scraping the dust in the floor. His coat swaying every movement and it's enough to intimidate you and you hope you're calm in the outside.
“Oh really.” His voice lowers into a timber and oh, it was really different from his secret times and tender moments, you want to squeal so bad if it wasn't for the implication that he's already smelling your bullshit.
“You want to go home. Why is that?” You swallowed. You cursed the goddamn Aether Core in his eye that can see the desire of someone. It's true. You've been wanting to go home since you got isekaid here.
“I’m not from here. Just a terrible luck.” You confessed under the intensity of his gaze but still withholding the secret you have. You're not easy to crack but Sylus can read you like an open book.
He hums in understanding. Not forcing you to give the details of your life cause he will be the one to know it. “I don't like the feeling of being indebted from someone below me.”
“You’re not indebted to me.” You briefly paused. Daring to steal a glance before focusing the task in your hand.
“My body choose to move that day when I could have run. I have no intention of saving you.” You say in a matter-of-factly. “I don't want to involve myself to someone powerful and if you feel indebted.” Swallowing the imaginary lump in your throat. “There is one thing you can do.”
You look at him straight in the eyes.
“Leave me alone.”
Sylus raises his eyebrows. He can't brush it off why you were so adamant not being involved with him when people got the leverage to do business or something simple as favor they rush but you — you were rushing to get out of his hair.
Leave you alone? There is really something wrong and Sylus sharp instincts knows better than to grant it. To call it quits. You were also calm and composed when facing him aside from the sudden beats of your heart that he can hear.
You didn't also run the moment he made his appearance which people usually do upon meeting him. Maybe is it because you know he can't harm you after saving him that one morning. N109 Zone wasn't really that barbaric and there's sliver of morals that are still practiced.
You can't kill someone unless they're the first to draw blood or unless it was contractual and the killing is ordered. Sylus has disposed people that betrayed him or were hindering his plans.
Besides you look amateur but Sylus isn't someone to really judge based on how you look. It was finding the value of someone and with some pressure you could be a coal turning into a pearl with the right pressure.
You didn't quite grasped how the N109 Zone works and you choose the job to clean the aftermath of every shootouts and doing the dirty work of disposing corpses. You were only surviving base on your skills and Sylus can use some of your talents.
“That would be impossible, dove.”
His eyes narrowing, clearly intrigued cause it was looking into a blank slate but is packed with so much color.
He can see how you freeze for a second. Hands trembling like you were hiding a secret and the next question confirms his suspicion.
“Who are you?” Ruby red eyes stares at you. Waiting for you to crack and this where Sylus would have normally put you in a gun point. Forcing you to reveal yourself but can you really? Will he believe you? That he was only a pixelated character in a game. A otome game that doomed you for loving him? Whereas you were supposed to be the MC, the player but when you saw your reflection you were just you.
Nothing special like the MC. Not a badass hunter. Not someone's childhood friend. Not someone's bride or a princess. Not a knight nor a queen. Not a sorceress who didn't allow her dragon to truly die and be destined together with every lifetime.
You were you. A regular human who didn't possess a extraordinary power. You were someone who was flawed. Trying to survive in a place that won't be merciful to someone weak.
“It’s none of your business.” Closing the doors of your van after hauling the dead bodies to dispose of with a loud thud. If you were somewhat decent you wouldn't have shown Sylus such hostility. You know what he's capable but being cornered by him — yeah — you should be squealing or be flustered cause it was Sylus, you were in no position because you were in a dire situation and your existence doesn't contribute to the storyline of this world, including MC and his.
You also can't really tell him you're from the other world. It might be catastrophic. You don't really want to stray from canon events and the first step is to stay away from Sylus.
You were about to open the door of your van to get away. You were an inch of pulling that handle until thin red and black mists coils around your wrist. Preventing you from moving your hand.
You look at him in disbelief. Scoffing as you try to pry the tendrils of his Evol wrapped around your wrist. “Really?” You take a step forward. “Is this how you treat people who disagrees with you!?”
Sylus remains nonchalant. Although there's a hint of amusement and curiousity behind his eyes. You weren't perturbed at all with his Evol but he can give you the benefit of the doubt. “Not really. Usually they end up dead.” His hand moves manipulating it to pull you.
“Assuring but can you let me go? I really don't want anything from you. Let just call it quits, please?” You pleaded. The sleeves of your varsity jacket crumples as you try again to get out of his grip. “I still have to finish my job.” Biting your lip anxiously as you desperately look at your van. The bodies are going to rot now before you can dispose of them.
“The twins can take care of it.”
“How can Luke—” Your eyes widens, biting your tongue at your slip up. You forgot that no one really knows what the twins names are except Sylus. They were his henchmen after all and a stranger — you was the final nail in the coffin.
“Interesting.” His lips curve into a smirk and you know what it means. “You and I are going to have a long conversation.” Giving you no room to retaliate or defend yourself. It was useless anyways, no one really escapes him and you hope that you can still get out. Alive.
The hallways were dark. The warm light of the wall sconces was the source of the light. You get the idea that Sylus is taking you to the dining room where he once eviscerated someone after a disagreement and finding the other person was trying to take both sides and Sylus does not like traitors.
You were walking behind him. His Evol long deactivated cause he knows you can't run even as you try to look around for possible escape routes and you really can't even you want too. His windows are a no-no. You don't want to plummet to your death from the top floor.
Sylus pushes the door. Inside were the sleek black marble top table with two candles lit in the candelabra. A deep red velvet chairs upholstered. Everything was Sylus's taste that you saw in his bond memories where he and MC stays. Your remember their little banters and how bossy he was.
It brings a smile to your face as you take the surroundings of the room. Luke and Kieran were probably wrecking your van. They were making you jobless in the Zone. You hoped that your van will still be returned in one piece.
“Sit.” He orders you and you complied without hesitation. Sylus can be impatient and being stubborn will probably get your neck choked. Settling in the chair, it was remarkably soft. You can't remember the last time you sat in something plush. Concrete stairs and crates in warehouses were your chair. The cold floor of the temporary base you set up covered with a old mattress was your bed.
Sylus stands behind the counter. Pulling glasses to pour a drink for himself and to you. “Let’s get started with a simple conversation.” The glass clinks as he puts on cubes of ice. “I ask you a question and you will answer me.”
“Okay.” He hears you murmur. Your posture was rigid. Legs bouncing out of nervousness in the chair. Chewing on your lips and your hands were hidden in the sleeves of your jacket like you were put in a straitjacket but he knows you were scratching your skin.
You were guilty as you look. Actions don't lie. Or maybe you were anxious. He got something to ease you up. “Here.” Nudging the glass in front of you. The amber liquid sloshing with the ice. You take it. He's probably making you loosen your tongue which is maybe going to work.
His eyes follows your movement. Bringing the glass of whiskey in your lips and your nose scrunches at the sharp aroma. He watch as you look at him before breaking eye contact and taking a swig of the drink and the reaction was immediate.
Sharp violent coughs shook your whole body. Your eyes watering as the liquid burned down your throat. You used your arm to cover your mouth while you coughed. God, what kind of humiliation the universe is putting you through and in front of Sylus.
“Who are you?” He began to question you and you glare at him. Wiping the corner of your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket. “A stranger.” Coughing up the last bits as you try to draw out the bitter taste.
You really don't want to lie but you were not in your world and you were afraid that you were going to disrupt the timeline of this story. You didn't want to be a huge spoiler or accidentally trigger a effect that will rip the balance of this world.
Sylus looks at you blankly. “What are you doing in the warehouse?”
“Trying to make a living. I can't survive here unless I do something.” Rubbing your knuckles in your eyes.
“Let’s get back to my former question. Who are you?” His voice are dripping with venom and you watch the subtle twitch of his hands and the next thing will be is he's blowing your head off.
“You want to know? I'm just some unfortunate soul who got here.” Pursing your lip in a thin line. Conflicted on how to process your emotions. You were scared, frustrated and angry. You shouldn't have saved him.
“And now you’re going to ask why I knew Luke and Kieran.” You paused for a bit. The confession is going to give you a headache. “You're a pixelated game character on my world.”
And the headache begun. He only raised his brows like you were just messing up with him. “I know how ridiculous it sounds but it's true.”
“You don't believe me? You're Sylus Qin. You're a wanted criminal in Philos and you escaped from Tartarus.” You began to explain. Legs bouncing anxiously with every tick of the clock. Sylus was practically a weapon ready to fire at any moment.
“Want to know more? You manipulated Miss Hunter to kill you when she was a sorceress and you were a dragon. You were ostracized from your own kind. You can't die unless she allows you to. You were also children too. Fighting to death in the arena with the other children and when it's down to both of you — you made the decision to escape and she did too but you two got separated.” You revealed. “Is that enough?”
He didn't say anything else as if convinced. “How did you end up here?”
“I don't know. I just woke up in the middle of the road.”
Sylus didn't press anything more. As far as he knows you're an anomaly.
”Can I leave now?” You asked. Thinking this interrogation is done and you really don't want to disrupt this world. Afraid that if you interfere some butterfly effect would activate and all of this world are going to be doomed. The plot was really important and every decision of the characters either make or break.
You waited for his response. Thinking of the van that are being used by the twins. You hoped that they know where to dump the bodies and your van isn't being banged up. The source of your income and means of survival rests on how they treat your van.
“I'm afraid that's not going to happen.”
“W-waa—what? Why!?” Eyes wide in disbelief. Your brows are raised and with the little shot of that alcoholic unnerved you in ways that you didn't know you can.
You look at him like you hit your head (which you already did by thunking your forehead in the top rail of your chair) and find that he's real ugly but he's not. He's hot. Infuriatingly hot. You can't count how many times you fantasize kissing Sylus and moisturize that dry lips of his.
You wanted that when he was on your screen and now, you're not, maybe a little. Get a grip! You tell to yourself but you dread about this — of not being able to leave. You're going to be in the front row and watch the world fuss about MC. The next days are going to be the start of her story with Sylus. Their first meeting.
“You're an anomaly in this world.”
Your heart drops. Of course, you're an anomaly. Sylus must have analyzed you or searched for your identity and to only find nothing.
“You know a lot about of things going around here and I can't have you running around with that kind of information.” He reasons, taking a step towards you.
“I'm basically a NPC in this world. I don't see the relevance of me being here.” You counter. Pressing your forehead in the back of the chair because you really didn't want to be involved with him.
“What if I say, I don't want to?”
“You really don't have a choice here, kitten.”
“Fuck.” You muttered, running our reasons to use. “I have a job around here. I can't have you bossing me around. I won't also ask for a compensation.” Referring to your destroyed OTTO and your van that is going to be thrashed by the twins. You can always start. You survived your first day and managed to live this long.
Sylus can see the reluctance in you. Mixed with the desperation of not wanting to get involved with him. He's a dangerous man. Money isn't really a problem for him and he can get you a nice place to live and a brand new van and the latest OTTO catered to your needs. When in reluctance, give them the assurance.
“Is cleaning up dead bodies and blood that fun?” Your eyes flickers towards him. “Not really but it keeps my stomach full and meets my basic needs. Shelter I have plenty.” Rubbing your arm in an attempt to comfort yourself. Eyes a little droopy and your lips curled into a frown.
Living in the N109 Zone with no means of being the strong was your struggle. It was life or death for you.
“I have a proposal.” When you can't convince someone, you put the stakes higher. Sylus continues as he noticed you tilt your head. Interested at the proposal he was about to make.
“You will be provided everything you need. You shall never starve or work for your food. I will give you shelter. You can hole up in one of the rooms here. I have plenty. You will have a identity you desire. A clean slate for you to start somewhere new.”
“That's preposterous for someone like you, Sylus.” Shaking your head as you try to think about what to do before looking back at him. “I can't be near you. I'm a walking spoiler.” You swallowed as if there's something stuck in your throat.
“If information is what you want of future events, I can't tell you about it. I won't disrupt the natural order of this world.” Pulling your jacket and standing up. Putting back the chair in its right place.
“The only mistake I did was to save you.”
“Is that so?” He hums.
Thinking of what he should do about you. “Such trivial matters don't bother me. You're not really disrupting anything and I won't ask for information.” You can see the brief flicker of light passing through his right eye where the Aether Core is placed.
“Work for me. You'll get more benefits than what you wished for.”
He watched as you hesitate. You will still have a choice with the proposal he suggested. You are free to operate around his area and maybe he'll take you as a secretary. It's unlikely you'll betray him. You're smart for your own good to betray as someone powerful like him.
It didn't take long for a few seconds for you to decide.
“Fine.”
The smirk on his face grew wider.
You gave the arrangement six months.
It shouldn't be too long or less. You wanted Sylus to make it shorter because any time soon or any day, he and MC will cross paths and even you wanted to witness their long-awaited reunion — you just can't.
Because what kind of bullshit of people telling you that you are MC in your world and to find out you were the anomaly in this world even you accepted it that you really can't be MC with the game having her life determined and the routes of the story written. MC may have your face in the game but you can never be her.
It sounds bitter but this was your reality. You're not about to witness their love when you have a life to live. A few months staying under his base is the thing you have to live through. You didn't understand why Sylus has to take you under his wing.
You did say you weren't tell him about the future happenings or any information that will about to happen. Probably he's getting bored and what's a little fun to observe a anomaly for his entertainment.
That's your sentiment but you know Sylus isn't that cruel to treat you as one. He may have his reasons and you will never know any of it.
The least you can do is stay put until there's a change of events. It's a matter of time before the story line of the game will start to happen and when MC has grown curious about the N109 Zone and Sylus.
The Onychinus base was huge. Well, huge is an understatement. It's a whole fricking building and despite that doing nothing means you're penniless. Sylus did tell you that the commodities in the building are free to use but a week after almost exploring the whole base — you found yourself restless.
You've been on the run the moment you were transported in this world. Always thinking for ways to survive. Hustling to get by and earn that money that was essential for your job and puts a food in your table. You were always on the lookout for jobs that needs your specialty. It's pay per transaction and you take pride in your work.
Abandoning your livelihood means abandoning your security. There was no discussion about it between you and Sylus even he did say you will work for him, there was really nothing about the job description and you hate to think you were freeloading to him.
So you did what you know best — accepting a clean up job. The pay was huge. The bigger the money they offer the messier and complicated it was but you didn't care. Money is money. You take the keys of the van Sylus owed you after the twins has trashed it like you expected.
You begin to drive towards your destination after picking up a new stash of cleaning supplies you have hidden in one of your hideouts.
The building wasn't that ruined when stepped out of your van. It changed by the times and the lack of maintenance made it unsuitable for moving.
You began to unload the supplies from your bag. Securing the roll of plastic wraps and duct tapes. A makeshift cart that contains all of your cleaning materials with some strong chemical that's enough to knock someone out when inhaled.
The scene that greeted you were something out of a horror film or some sci-fi you used to watch back in your world.
Bloody was the least you will used to describe the scene. It was beautiful. If you can ignore the lifeless bodies impaled with ice spikes. The paleness of the blues of ice mixes with the red. Creating a almost whimsical look like a blood red moon.
You guessed that you find anything as visceral as this normal after cleaning up places. Murder with the use of Evol wasn't unheard of, you've clean plenty of it and disposed mutilated bodies that was almost beyond recognition. You've also thrown bodies or parts of one in a single trash bag.
Time is the essence and even with the structured ice Evol, it was starting to melt and when ice are thawed — everything's going to be bloody from here and so you began to take your trusty lightsaber-esque equipment that's good for cutting through metal, bones and of course, ice. As long they're solid it gets the job done.
The smell didn't even bother you. It was like meat that you left to defrost and forgot to take it out for cooking and it starts to go bad. It's worse for you the first time but the fear of not being able to survive gets you out of that disgust.
Pressing the button of your tool, it shortly crackles — bursts and emits a bright orange glow and then you start to cut through flesh and bone.
It's good to know that you're still capable.
After that work and clean up, you were done for the day, night. You still didn't regulate your sleeping hours even with the comfortable place Sylus provided for you at the base and paired with restlessness.
Driving back to Onychinus base made you uneasy, sure you move places to places and sometimes settled for months but a month in Sylus's base didn't feels like something you can live with. You were grateful but coming back to the base is still unfamiliar territory for you.
Attachment creates dangerous conflicting feelings and having known danger and how powerful attachment can be — you ignored.
It's the reason why you keep the interaction to Sylus minimal except when it's necessary and you can't avoid him without being too obvious.
You surely can't start catching feelings for him even he's your main love interest in the real world and when he's a game character. But how about when he's real and you're near him? That you can hear his voice, can touch him and talk to him? Can you not really fall in love? And there's MC.
But it's difficult when you're in his world and living in his base where any chance you can bump into him and it happened the moment you were about to retreat in your room. The hallways were big but it connects to everything.
You were about to turn when you almost bump into Sylus. The familiar outfit that he almost dons everyday in your home screen is what he wore. "Hey." You awkwardly greeted him. Gripping the hem of your sweatshirt that reeks with the scent of blood and chemicals for cleaning.
"I thought you might have escaped.”
Liar. He knows where you are and he knows your circumstances. You can't leave him. Not yet.
“As you can see, I can't. I'm powerless.” You murmur.
There's a moment of awkward silence but it might be you until Sylus broke it.
“Care to join me for lunch, dove?”
You didn't know why Sylus started to call you dove but maybe he was referring you to one like the dove MC rescued and was put in his care temporarily in the Nightplumes card. It didn't happen yet but the cards are connected to the future events after their meeting.
You refused. “No, thank you. I'm not really—” Your stomach betrays you, growling like you haven't eaten for days. “— hungry.” You finished to say with your cheeks burning hotly from embarrassment.
Sylus chuckles and you badly want to jump out outside the window and plummet to your death.
“Do you really find me insufferable?” He asks, his eyes narrowing although there's a lilt.
“Insufferable? No. I don't find you like that or anything.” He's many things but insufferable. You mumble, concealing the expressions that might show in your face as your brain panics.
“Good. It would be a bad thing if my guest finds me intolerable.”
Turns out Sylus has already set up the table in the terrace. His chef, you meet him the second day in your stay in Sylus's base and asked you what you wanted to eat. The Onychinus leader told you that you have permission to use the kitchen or ask the chef whatever you felt like eating.
You absolutely remember the terrace it was shown in the kindle of his first myth card where he taught MC on how to improve her combat skills. Knowing the terrace part of the base is where Sylus sometimes took his meals.
If you did suddenly get back home, you have a lot of things to brag as you take your sit across "Boss-man Sylus."
It's not like everyday is an opportunity to share a table with Sylus, the most desired love interest in your world.
“How was your work today?”
“Grotesque but it's nothing that I can't handle.” You shrugged, taking your cutlery and mimicking Sylus's gesture as he began to eat.
You have quite the appetite despite the scene earlier. Your stomach has gotten thick overtime as you took that line of work.
"I assume someone has gone rouge.”
“If you would put it that way.”
He hums. Gently twirling the glass of wine and the red liquid sloshed inside of it. He takes a sip before resuming on his meal. You had done the same and the taste of wine made your taste buds burst into these tiny quantities of flavors you can taste.
Amusement glimmers in Sylus's eyes. Watching you taste something that you're not accustomed to. You told him that back in your world you have a job that covers your expenses and an extra for some indulgence.
Your indulgence was getting all his cards.
“Do you find your room comfortable?” He pries.
“Yes, thank you.” You whispered. Meeting his gaze to show how sincere you are. You missed having a real bed not the make shift beds you have to temporarily sleep with.
“You really didn't need to spend much on me. I'm not staying that long.” Reminding him of your arrangement.
Sylus chuckles. “I'm not the one to forget, dove.” Leaning on his chair and crossing his legs. “You plan to go back in your job?” His eyes narrows at you.
“Maybe. I didn't really asked you about the details when you said that I'm working for you.” You told him. Putting your fork down cause you know where this conversation is being headed.
“How about as my secretary?” He says without a beat. The way he says it was the same as he speaks in the game and you would have accepted it within a heartbeat if it wasn't for the position you are in.
“Me?” You asked, hoping you misheard it or your ears was playing tricks. “Your secretary? You don't even know me that much to be entrusted with that kind of work.”
“I don't need to know what kind of person you are.”
“I know you're not the one to make stupid decisions and I'm not going to doubt your judgement but even I am an anomaly in this world there's a chance that I will betray you.” You say, gripping the table cloth. Well, there's no betrayal that's going to happen but it was an excuse and a reason not to get closer to him.
Sylus smirks. You can see the amusement flickering all over his eyes at what you said. You were getting more interesting as the seconds pass and Sylus likes who he deemed interesting.
“People who plan to betray me don't tell me they're betraying me. You’re selling yourself short, dove.” He pauses, crossing his legs underneath the table while he waits for your response.
He can see that you were still torn and hesitating.
“Take this offer and I'll make sure it will be worthwhile for the both of us.”
Is what he said and now, you're thinking that doomsday is already ahead in the game with you interfering. You hope that Sylus stays canon with MC and the original plot still intact.
May Astra or whatever deity send you back home before you disrupt the world with your existence.
miya osamu used to laugh at people claiming they "fell in love at first sight," until it happened to him.
it was his first year at inarizaki high, and he needed to have his and atsumu's application forms signed by the vice principal—which was stupid in his mind since it wasn't like they were going to be going out of campus every single campus. but he really wanted to join the club (plus atsumu was there and he doesn't have the heart to leave his twin just yet).
speaking of his twin brother, he was currently stuck in the restroom, fighting for his life after drinking spoiled milk.
and so, here he was about to knock on the vice prinicpal's door, mouth already open to excuse himself, before a loud scream echoed from inside the room. "The hell do ya mean denied?!" the voice was shrill and obviously upset about something, yet there was a strange tug from osamu's heart when he heard it.
another voice soon followed. this one was more mellow and on the quieter side. "senpai! don't yell at the vice principal!"
the vice principal's voice agreed. "listen to yer kohai, [last name]-san, it'll do ya some good."
osamu blinked, pocketing the surname he had heard for future purposes. he looked at his outstretched hand, ready to knock on the door. then, at the door itself, which hid the screaming match from him. then, back at his hand again.
he placed his hand back to his side and pressed his ear on the door.
"'m sorry but i don't agree to this decision at all!" you shouted.
"good thing my word's the decision then," the vice principal hummed.
"we're sorry, vice principal—"
"no!" you intervened, cutting off your kohai. "'ve been tryna make ta bakin' club legit since last year, but ya always turn us down."
osamu's interest was immediately piqued. baking club? inarizaki high doesn't have a baking club? why was that?
"an' i've been tellin' ya since last year: just enter the cookin' club."
a strangled cry came from you, which was followed by your kohai trying to calm you down.
"vice principal, bakin' is a science!" you declared. a loud bang and a startled yelp echoed. "we cannot be share space with the cookin' club 'cuz we'll be fightin' for every single ingredient, utensil, an' equipment!"
"[lastname]-senpai!"
osamu backed away from the door as a scuffle seemed to be happening inside. damn, you're really into baking to be fighting this hard for a club, huh? his heartbeat quickened as he continued to listen to your passionate monologue about how baking is superior to cooking (which he would have to disagree; they were both hard to do), how the baking club needed it's own space to cultivate, and how you'll never reach your potential if you were stuck doing omelets for the remainder of your high school life.
honestly, osamu was rooting for you to win... unfortunately, it seemed that you really angered the vice principal.
"that's it! a week suspension for ya, [lastname]-san! reflect on yer actions an' maybe i'll entertain yer idea."
"ya've been sayin' that since last year too!"
the door suddenly slid open and osamu swore his breathe just got stolen away. you looked absolutely radiant—too beautiful to put into words. even with a deep scowl on your perfect face, you'd managed to quicken his heartbeat like he had just finished a whole three sets of volleyball. when your sharp eyes landed on him, he corrected his posture, praying that his hair was having a good day and that there wasn't any seaweed stuck between his teeth.
though, before he could greet or have the chance to flirt with you, you sneered, "what'cha lookin' at, ugly ass dust feather?"
he blinked, caught off-guard by your insult.
yet he wasn't really offended by it. oh no, more like his heart soared through the air, backflipped in space, and crash-landed back into his chest. you were not only pretty, a baker (he assumed), and a mean senpai at that?
damn, you were a package deal!
you didn't bother apologising, turning to walk down the hallway, hair swaying with each step. after you, your kohai left the room, an exasperated look on her face as she bowed to osamu. "'m sorry! [lastname]-senpai didn't mean ta insult ya, i swear!"
again, before he could even speak, your kohai ran after you, scolding you for your brash behaviour.
osamu could only watch as you disappear from the hallway. his lips moved on its own, mouthing your surname like a prayer to the gods as his grip on his and atsumu's application forms tightened.
he wondered how piss his twin would be if he decided to switch to a none existent club.
is it cliche to use a baker! reader with osamu. yes. do i regret it. absolute not lmao
♡ a/n — airy get back into writing for other fandoms challenge START! ( starting with this drabble :) )
♡ word count — 835
♡ content — suna rintaro x fem! reader, goody two shoes reader, readers parents don't like suna, judgmental parents, probably ooc suna, not proofread
♡ synopsis — Suna Rintaro was trouble, maybe. But he was your kind of trouble.
Your parents absolutely despise Suna Rintarou.
They absolutely loathe your boyfriend.
Not because he's a bad kid, no, but because he just "looks like trouble," according to your mom.
Was it also because they caught you kissing him in your room when you thought they weren't home? Maybe...
You can still remember that day with mortifying clarity—your mom's gasp, the thud of a dropped grocery bag, the way Suna blinked like he was waking up from a dream, then immediately jumped three feet back from you. You’d never seen him move so fast.
You hadn’t even kissed him like that, either. It was soft, quick, all lips and little breathless laughs. Nothing worth a scandal.
But that didn’t matter. Not to your parents.
Not when he was involved.
You were their “perfect girl.” Their straight-A, curfew-following, college-prepping, never-skipped-a-day-of-class daughter. You always wore your seatbelt. You always said thank you. You always kept your promises.
And yet.
Somehow, this six-foot-something, sarcastic, sleepy-eyed volleyball player had slipped right through the cracks in your armor.
Because with Suna, it wasn’t about rebelling.
It wasn’t about defying your parents.
It was about the way your heart pulsed when he looked at you like you were a secret he was lucky to keep.
The way time slowed when his fingers traced idle shapes against your thigh beneath the lunch table.
The way the world felt muted until he was near, until his voice slid into your ears like your favorite song.
He never asked you to choose. Not once.
Never asked you to lie. Never pushed.
But you did it anyway.
You told your mom you were going to a study group—when in reality, you were curled up in Suna’s lap on his couch, his hand buried in your hair as you half-watched a movie and half-listened to him complain about his team’s early morning practice.
You told your dad you were at the library—when you were actually sneaking Suna in through the side gate and into your room, where his shoes would be neatly placed under your bed and his hoodie would hang in your closet behind the ones your parents bought you.
It was a rush. A terrifying, euphoric rush.
Every door click. Every creak of the stairs. Every time you shoved him into your closet when you thought you heard a car pull into the driveway.
Every muffled laugh behind your hand when he mouthed “this is so dumb” from between your winter coats.
Every near-catch made your blood sing.
You told yourself you were being careful.
That your parents would never think to check your room during the day.
That your friends, suna's teammates, and even Kita would never rat you out. (They didn’t. Ever. Even when your mom grilled them separately.)
You wanted to be good. You still did. You loved your parents.
But being good had never felt this hollow before.
Not after you’d tasted something more.
Because the truth was—Suna made you feel alive.
Not in the reckless, fast-burning kind of way. But in the way that reminded you you were your own person, not just someone who’d been groomed to check every box.
With him, you could be quiet. You could be chaotic. You could cry. You could laugh until your stomach hurt. You could exist without performance.
And yeah, maybe he wasn’t the kind of boy your parents envisioned for you.
He wore his uniform slouched, his hair perpetually tousled, his expressions unreadable. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t flatter them. He didn’t play along.
But he loved you like it was instinct.
He’d tug you away from busy hallways and press a kiss to your temple because he missed you.
He’d send you photos of stray cats with captions like “this one’s you” and you’d know exactly what he meant.
He’d catch your wrist when you were spiraling and say, “Hey. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” And he always did.
You’d watch the way he held back around your house.
The way he tried, even when he didn’t say he was.
He stopped swearing around your mom. He once ate the casserole she made even though he hated onions. He complimented your dad’s car. He called them sir and ma’am and left through the front door when they were expecting him—only to climb in through your window two nights later when he wasn’t.
He was trouble, maybe.
But he was your kind of trouble.
And somewhere along the line, you realized you weren’t afraid of getting caught anymore.
You were afraid of a life where you didn’t have him in it.
Where you followed all the rules, ticked every box, and still came up empty.
Because being good never felt half as good as Suna Rintarou saying,
“I don’t care what they think. I can play nice with them for you.”
and meaning every word.
if you can't tell based off my other account ( @airybcbee ) I love suna
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˚✶ * sacrifices and compromises
or navigating valentine’s day with a very busy farmer
kita shinsuke x fem!reader
m.list / wc: 922
kita knew holidays were going to be rough as soon as he had ownership over his farm. even with the few farmhands he could employ, he felt bad for letting you down time and time again. and this valentine’s day isn’t an exception. sitting on the couch, you brought up the prospect of valentine’s day with your head laying in his lap, rubbing lotion into his extremely dry hands.
“if you’re busy though, it’s fine, i know the farm takes a lot,” your fingers smooth out the lotion between along his knuckles, moving his wedding ring to moisturize beneath it, attempting a soft smile, which kita could see right through.
on that night, he vowed to make reservations and send for your favorite bouquet of flowers and desserts. however, as the day grew longer, the sun slowly cascading across the sky, he realized only two of the three could be accomplished for the night. luckily he had ordered the flowers and treats the night before, secretly, as you were reading a book beside him in bed.
spreading feed out for the chickens, he can feel his anxiety start to worsen, wondering if you were sitting there feeling abandoned. his eyes stared up at the outline of far off trees, noticing the oranges and pinks dancing within the clouds, sunset. tossing out the rest of the feed, he figures he can just wake up in the morning and catch up, knowing you’ll only have so many valentine’s days together.
pushing the barn door open, he hurries to the small fridge in the back, a refrigerated cake hidden inside. a bouquet of flowers rest in a vase on top, his dirt-covered hands quick to grab both of them. kita can feel the dirt kick up on his boots as he races to beat the falling sun, wanting to meet you inside with enough time to possibly make your reservation.
running up the back porch steps, mud from his shirt gets on the plastic covering of the cake, smearing across it. sighing, he stands by the back door, realizing the circumstance he is under. kita always prided himself on how much he adored you and cared for you before buying the farm. and now, he stands there, covered in mud and dirt, spreading it across every beautiful thing he touches.
a part of him wonders if it’s better to come in empty handed, before realizing that that would be far worse. instead, he just takes in a deep breath, hand grabbing the door handle and twisting it. opening it, kita steps inside, kicking his boots off onto a nearby mat. the lights are off in the mud room and the kitchen, prompting him to turn the switches as he passes under the arch.
the kitchen instantly lights up with balloons scattered in the corners, streamers hung between them. you’re standing by the kitchen table with an assortment of homemade dishes that he had been admittedly craving. there’s a wide smile on your lips, eyes looking over his dusted figure. “what- what is this?” kita questions, setting the cake and flowers off onto the kitchen counter.
“i knew you were swamped, and as much as i love your commitment to it, we weren’t going to make those reservations,” you walk around the table, hands reaching out to rest them on his shoulders.
he backs up for a second, giving you a knowing look. “i’m covered in dirt, and you look gorgeous tonight,” kita feels his heel hit the wall, stuck in place as you stare at him with an annoyed expression.
“you think i married a farmer because i was expecting the cleanest of hands every night? i married you because you have a big heart, and even if everything isn’t perfect, i wouldn’t have it any other way,” your hands wrap around the back of his neck, feeling the sweat and grime that comes with it.
pulling him towards you, you plant a kiss on his lips, smelling the familiar earthy smells caking his clothes. he hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arm around your side. “‘m sorry,” his words come out slurred against your lips, arm pulling you ever so slightly closer.
pulling away, you stare up into his eyes, searching between every guilt-ridden molecule. “when we agreed on buying a farm, i knew what i was getting into. and yes, sometimes i wish we could have more time together-“
“and we will, as soon as things speed up-“
pressing your finger against his lips you shake your head, “let me finish. sometimes i do miss you, i really do. but you love this work, and i wouldn’t have it any different. you understand that shinsuke? we will get through this time, because it’s us.”
“can i talk now?”
“only if it’s the sweetest, bee-attracting words i’ve ever heard.”
“i can’t believe i ever got the opportunity to love you. and every day following this, i will work harder simply for the purpose of someday being exactly what you want. holidays, vacations, nights together, whatever you want or need, anything at all,” kita presses a kiss to your temple, smiling into the touch.
nodding your head, you smile back at him. “that was pretty good, now you want to eat before it cools off, or you just content with standing here?”
“as much as i am starving right now, you’re satiating enough.”
“ooh when did you get so smooth?”
“what? you didn’t always think i was this smooth?”
kita loves it when you wear a belt. you come down for the morning, dressed and ready to help with the cows that you so desperately wanted. a pair of jeans hugs your hips in just the right places and an old shirt of his is tucked into them, a leather belt tucked within the pant’s loops.
he’s never thought you’ve looked more attractive then when you grab a piece of breakfast off the table, leaning over the table with a warm smile on your face. the sun shines through the kitchen window, framing your face as you asking him ‘what?’ he pretends like it’s nothing, but he can’t stop staring at you.
kita loves to feel the buckle’s chilled feeling within his hand, pulling you towards him after a long day in the heat. he mutters something against your lips and you swear it includes something about a belt, but you don’t question it too much when his hands press against the small of your back. desperately unbuckling your belt and pulling it through the loops, moving slowly as you continue to taste the stolen blueberries on his lips.
summary: You ask Kita to marry you when you're children, because it only makes sense for your childhood friend to stay by your side for the rest of your life. You eventually forget your promise, but Kita always remembers.
notes: 13.3k words, author's notes, childhood friends, fluff, obliviousness, romcom/shoujo vibes, vague haikyuu spoilers, inarizaki volleyball team as side characters
You ask Kita Shinsuke to marry you during the spring when you’re both eight years old, a bundle of roadside daisies clutched in your hands that you proffer like a gold ring.
“Please!” you say, holding out the flowers straight in front of you, screwing your eyes shut as you bow. “Marry me, Shin-kun!”
It’s the only step to take in your relationship that makes the most sense, according to your childish logic. Your grandmothers have been friends since they met in high school, inseparable old women with an unchanging weekly appointment to drink tea in your grandmother’s kitchen.
Even your parents are close; your fathers were childhood friends and grew up splashing by the riverbank and racing alongside empty stretches of open fields. Family holidays are often spent together, so it was an inevitability that you and Kita would end up being friends.
The two of you were born in the same hospital, and as your mother likes to joke, “When we put you two down on the same mat to play, you started reachin’ for Shin-kun instead of the toys! Ya even tried to bite him, and he didn’t cry a bit, just blinked real slow and let you nibble on his arm.”
And so the two of you are close, too. In cool, misty mornings, Kita waits outside your door so the two of you can walk to school together; he has an umbrella that he shares when it rains and a hat when it’s too sunny, and never misses a day to see you. During summers, you’re both sent up north to his grandmother’s home in the country, nothing to do but spend lazy days in the rice fields and taking Kita’s hand in your own as you come up with your own elaborate fantastical games.
A lot of times it feels like your relationship is the same as when you were babies: you drag Kita around and he follows willingly, the voice of reason to every impulsive plot you come up with. If Kita is popular with the neighborhood grannies for his manners and mature demeanor, then you’re popular with the other kids for your cheer and athletic prowess at every neighborhood game.
“What do I gotta do to keep Shin-kun with me?” you asked Kaasan once, as she trimmed edamame in the kitchen with a pair of scissors. “Why’s he gotta go home everyday? I wish he was around forever.”
“Why don’t ya marry him?” she said mischievously, tapping her chin with her free hand. “That made sure yer Tousan would come home to me every night.”
Her words lit a spark in your brain. You can’t imagine a life without Kita; he’s been by your side since you were born. To lose him would be like losing a limb, unimaginable and devastating. And since Kaasan is one of the smartest adults you know, this must be the best way to keep him with you.
This is how you find yourself, on a routine weekend playdate exploring the nearby park, with flushed cheeks and clammy hands, stems wilting from the strength of your grip. Kita is sitting crosslegged in the field, flowers in hand, considering your words with the same gravity he considers everything in life, from the instructions of his teachers to laminated menus at the local diner.
“I’m sorry,” Kita says seriously. His eyes are wide and piercing, and you can see the world reflected in them. “But we can’t get married. You gotta be an adult to get married. And Obaasan always says when you want ta do something, you gotta take yer time with it, especially if it’s something ya care about.”
“Oh. But I like ya, Shin-kun,” you add helplessly. But you already know that Kita makes decisions carefully, and once he makes up his mind on something, he rarely changes it.
“And I like ya, too,” Kita says.
“But we can’t get married?”
“We can’t get married now,” he says. “Because marriage’s a big decision. Ya can’t rush into it.”
“Okay, but do you still want my flowers? They’re the best ones I found. The biggest and prettiest,” you add hopefully. The fat white petals of the daisies droop in your hands, as if they, too, are dejected by Kita’s rejection.
“Yeah,” Kita says. He takes your flowers with a solemn reverence.
“Let’s make flower crowns,” you say. “I wanna make one for Kaasan.”
“Okay,” Kita says.
The sting of his rejection passes like a summer rainstorm, brief and temporary. Kita is still your friend, the one nearest and dearest to your heart, even if he doesn’t want to marry you. There are other things to worry about, anyways, like your homework and what sort of bento Kaasan is going to pack for lunch tomorrow.
(You don’t notice the way Kita glances carefully at you through his eyelashes, gaze thoughtful as he considers your question).
Kita’s hands are deft as he weaves your flowers together into a crown, braiding stems together with a careful, slow ease. The flowers are spaced evenly apart, bright heads facing outwards. In contrast, your work is swift but a tad more clumsy, and you rip more than one petal in your haste to complete your work.
“This is for you,” Kita says, placing it gently on your head. He adjusts the band so it no longer rests so lopsidedly.
“Thank you, Shin-kun!” you say. “Does it look good?”
He nods seriously. “Real good.”
“I made ya one, too!” You hold up your flower crown. The flowers are spaced unevenly and your weaving is loose in sections, but Kita regards it as if you’ve presented him with a priceless treasure.
“Thank you,” Kita says. “Will you put it on me?”
In response, you plop it on his head, where it tilts sideways, one end closer to his ear.
“We’re matching,” you say, smiling.
You spend another half hour in the fields before you tire of your work, eager to present the fruits of your labor to your parents, as you’ve made flower crowns for both of them. Kita’s crown is still placed on your head when you turn to head inside, waving vigorously at Kita as he waves back before turning and walking down the sidewalk towards his own home. He only lives a few minutes away, but still, you stand in the doorway until you can’t see him, not even blinking, eyes burning, trying to preserve the memory of his dear back.
(For the next few days after that, Kita painstakingly presses and preserves the flowers you’ve given him. The dried flowers sit on a shelf in his room, and whenever he passes them by, he considers them carefully. Marriage, after all, is a big decision).
—
“Shin-kun doesn’t want to marry me. I asked,” you tell Kaasan the next day, sitting at the dining table with your reading homework spread around you, your collection of colorful pencils rolling across the surface.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Kaasan says. She’s across from you, marking her own documents, laptop and manila files organized in a neat square on the table. “Are you sad about it?”
“I was but, but I’m not anymore.”
“What if Shin-kun marries someone else?” she teases. “Would ya be sad then?”
“Why would he?” you ask. “If he doesn’t wanna marry me, then he definitely doesn’t wanna marry anyone else. There’s no one he likes more than me.”
Kaasan bursts into laughter, shoulders shaking as she tries to cover her mouth, documents forgotten. “Oh, I see,” she says in-between a gasp.
You make a doodle of a flower on your homework. Really, you can’t understand what Kaasan finds so funny, when all you did was tell her the truth.
—
If there’s one thing you know about your childhood friend, it’s that Kita Shinsuke is a creature of habit. Everything he does, he does with the same precision and meticulous care: his chores, his studies, and even the way he organizes his playdates with the air of an office worker planning meetings.
It’s one of the things you like about him, how dedicated he is to everything. Even if the same can’t be said for yourself, as you love spontaneity too much to deny yourself the pleasure of a sudden impulse, you try your best to respect Kita’s routine.
“I’m going to play with Shiori-chan and Jun-kun today, but I’ll come find ya after I’m done,” you tell him, grip loose on your backpack as you bounce down the road.
“Okay,” Kita says. He’s walking at a steady pace, and you’re careful to match your strides to him, even if you want to run ahead. “How long are ya gonna take?”
“Maybe a few hours? Not sure yet! But I’ll definitely see you before I go home,” you say earnestly. “Because being with ya is a part of my routine!”
There’s a small smile on Kita’s face at your words, as faint and lovely as a pattern of frost on a window. “But ya don’t normally have a routine. Does it even count?”
“Shin-kun, that’s mean,” you whine. “I try to see ya every day!”
“We’re neighbors, and our families are friends,” Kita points out.
“Still! The effort counts!”
“Well, being with ya is part of my routine, too,” Kita says. “I like seeing you every day.”
You can’t help but skip down the street at that, backpack bouncing on your back at your sudden burst of energy, and Kita watches you, smiling all the while. Not that it’s unusual, though; Kita is always watching like that, everything and everyone.
When you drop Kita off at his doorstep, you give one giant wave at him, promising to stop by as soon as you can, before you turn down the street and head towards the nearby park.
(Kita likes to watch you from the window whenever you leave, waiting until you’re nothing more than a dot on the horizon before he turns away. This, too, is a ritual).
Shiori and Jun are already waiting by the time you drop your backpack off at home and rush over to the nearby park, a good fifteen minute run from your home. They live farther inside the neighborhood than you, but attend the same school, so you know them fairly well. Not as well as Kita, but you don’t know anyone else as well as you know Kita.
After a particular explosive game of tag (Shiori was it at first, and she knabbed you by the tail end of your shirt) and kick the can (you’d like to brag you valiantly defended the can quite well, which was a water bottle donated by Jun, as you hunted down Jun and Shiori), Shiori finally turns to you with cheeks rosy from exertion, her mouth opening into a question.
“Kita-kun isn’t here with ya today?” Shiori asks. “I feel like you two are always together.”
“He had ta go home,” you confirm. “And that’s not true! We’re not together right now, aren’t we?”
“Why’re you always with Kita, though?” Jun asks. He’s a little quiet, but there’s something in his tone that you try not to bristle at.
“Whaddya mean? Shin-kun is Shin-kun,” you say. “He’s the best.”
“But Kita-kun is kinda… quiet. And he’s always in the corner, just doing his work! He doesn’t really talk to us unless he has ta,” Shiori says, hesitant.
“Kita is boring,” Jun says bluntly. Shiori blushes at his statement, but makes no move to disagree. “He doesn’t seem like a lotta fun. What do ya even talk about with him?”
You pause. Kita, boring? The idea has never occurred to you before. Kita is steady, reliable, responsible, and chides you sometimes like your mom might do, but he’s not boring. Boring is for things like schoolwork, and chores.
“Shin-kun isn’t boring. If you’re mean to Shin-kun, I’m not going to play with ya anymore!” you say firmly. “He’s real fun and super smart. He knows everything, and he can do anything, and he works hard!”
“Aw, don’t be mad!” Shiori says hastily, elbowing Jun, who grumbles. “We didn’t mean anything like that. I guess he’s just a little hard to talk ta sometimes.”
“If it’s hard to talk to him, why don’t we play together next time?” you suggest. “I’ll make sure ya understand how great Shin-kun is.”
“Yer bragging about him an awful lot,” Jun says again.
“Shin-kun is Shin-kun,” you repeat firmly, as if that answers the question. And it does, in your mind, but Shiori and Jun glance at each other and say nothing more.
The rest of the time passes well enough, though you are perhaps a little too enthusiastic to win in seeing who can swing the highest and then leap off, because even though you’re the clear champion, you’re left with scrapped knees that Jun winces at. You, Jun, and Shiori wave at each other before heading home, the setting sun its own reminder to keep your promise to Kita.
Still, by the time you meet up with Kita, you’re kicking at the ground, smarting from your friends’ comments you can’t get out of your head. You knock on his door, once, twice, and Kita opens it as if he’s been expecting you.
It’s hard to hide the expression on your face, but even if you weren’t terrible at concealing your emotions, Kita would probably pick up on it anyways, because he always seems to know how you feel. Not that you could tell him what’s wrong, because you don’t want to repeat those awful comments.
After taking a few seconds to observe you, Kita asks quietly, “Do ya want something sweet? Okaasan brought back some madelines.”
You sniff. “Really?”
“Yeah. Come on,” he says, taking your hand, chubby fingers secure around your own. “Let’s get some together.” He then glances at your knees. “And ya gotta do something about that.”
A few cakes and bandaids applied to your skinned knees courtesy of Kita, and your troubles are forgotten. Even Kita seems to look a little more relaxed in the presence of your smile again, a sunflower turning towards the sun it can’t help but follow.
You really don’t get why people are incapable of understanding a simple fact: Kita isn’t boring at all. In fact, he’s the most wonderful person in the entire world.
—
Elementary school comes and goes, with a graduation full of classmates that cluster around you, begging for one last photo together. Your bouquet wilts from how tight you’ve clutched it as you run from camera to camera, but when Kita sees, he offers you a few pink gerbaras of his own.
(He’s also the first to take a picture with you, your families cooing as they crowd you close together, but he’s never needed to be told to stick close to your side. It’s simply what’s natural, and he frames the photo, keeping it near those dried flowers he still hasn’t let go of).
You have a longer commute in middle school, but it’s one you still share with Kita. It’s a precious period of your day where the two of you walk to school together, side by side. He shows up at the same time at your door like clockwork. You’re usually scrambling with a last-minute breakfast or putting your uniform together, your blazer slipping down your shoulders while Kita looks impeccable as always, not even a thread out of place.
“Ya should have learned to be more careful now,” he chides, even as he reaches out to smooth away the wrinkles with gentle hands, fixing the uneven knot of your tie. “‘s not a good habit to be sloppy.”
“Aw, but Shin-kun,” you say, “Ya always fix it for me!”
“Maybe I should stop.”
“Noooo,” you wail as Kita spins on his heel, collecting both your bag and his in one smooth motion, while you dart after him. “Don’t do that, Shin-kun! Then I’ll be even more of a mess!”
One of the great changes in middle school, besides the advanced curriculum and different uniforms and the evolving roster of classmates, are the inclusion of more involved clubs.
Of course, you already know what club you want to join, and have known it since the beginning: you want to join the boys volleyball club as a manager. As it is, you’re assistant to the current manager, Yuna, who jumps every time you speak up behind her, taking in your enthusiasm and loud voice with wide eyes.
You’re quick to brag about it to Jun and Shiori, too, who are in a class down the hall from you, popping in for a brief visit during lunch, pulling up a chair to huddle around Shiori’s desk. You have an armful of snacks from the cafeteria, unable to resist spending a few yen on baked goods.
“Always felt like ya should be on the team and Kita should be manager,” Shiori says. “Didn’t realize it’d be the opposite way ‘round.”
“Why’s that?” you ask, curious.
“‘Cause of… um… Just, you know, the sorta impression you and Kita-kun give off is a little different—”
“It’s ‘cause Kita is smart and yer a meathead,” Jun interrupts bluntly.
“Jun-kun, ya better be ready to back-up what you just said,” you threaten.
“See? Only a meathead would say that,” Jun says. “Aren’t ya faster than Kita, too? And during gym class, ya were always the one ta spike the ball over the most. Just makes sense, right?”
“Well,” you huff, flattered despite yourself at Jun’s acknowledgement of your prowess, “Being on the court is cool, but being a manager is real important too. They do a lot of work behind the scenes to support the players, like helping plan scrimmages and researching opponents. Without ‘em, the players wouldn’t be half as prepared as they are.”
“And,” you add, “They get ta tell people what to do! Shin-kun’s always lecturin’ me about this and that, but if I’m the manager, he’s gotta listen to me for once!”
“There it is,” Jun says. “Knew there was another reason.”
“Jun-kun,” you begin, but a quick glance at the clock has you straightening up, plucking a few wrapped bread from your arms and dropping them onto Shiori’s desk. “We’ll settle this later, but I gotta get back to class. I said I’d spend the rest of lunch with Shin-kun. This is for you two, though!”
(Shiori and Jun both sigh as you burst out of the classroom, Jun propping up his cheek with his hand. It’s obvious from your smile that you’re hoping to see a smile on Kita’s face or hear, at the very least, a quiet thank you. You’ve always been predictable in that way, chasing after your childhood friend with all the clumsy, floppy grace of a lovesick puppy.
“I just don’t get it, not them, or Kita-kun,” Shiori says. “Do ya think they really don’t know how obvious it is that they like him?”
“Ya know how they are. Kita has it rough,” Jun says, and leaves it at that.)
You trundle through middle school, easily collecting friends with your cheer, a parade of people greeting you every morning when you step through the gates. Kita is just behind, by your side as steadily as the way shadow follows light.
Kita is liked well-enough, you think, but people always seem to have difficulty approaching him. Maybe it’s his mature demeanor, or his steady gaze they can’t meet, as luminous as snowfall on a winter night, quiet and all-consuming. Or maybe it’s the way he’s consistently top of the class, pulling perfect hundreds, and the principled student all the teachers uphold as the model everyone should strive to emulate.
“If only you could be more like Kita Shinsuke…” is a phrase troublemakers hear in their nightmares.
You maintain decent grades, too, but you still badger Kita for his notes, if only because he keeps such meticulous, detailed ones, and his handwriting is prettier than yours with how graceful it looks, like the work of a professional calligrapher. He beats you out easily in class rankings, much to your chagrin.
The real highlight of your day is volleyball practice after school, to the point your friends in class offer to take over clean-up duty from you so you can get to the gym early. Your duties mostly consist of helping keep track of scores during games, managing player statistics, and refilling and passing out water and towels.
At times, you’ll help Yuna and the coach contact other schools for practice matches. Your role is mostly to observe how Yuna handles being manager, in preparation for when she graduates and you take on the role yourself.
That leaves a lot of time where you can stop to watch Kita. If he’s watching everyone else, who’s going to watch him? It might as well be you, his childhood friend, and it’s a habit you’ve maintained since you were children. Besides, it’s easy for your eyes to follow Kita, and you seek him out in every room before you’re even aware of what you’re doing.
Kita is diligent and steadfast, going through every drill without a word that the other students complain constantly about. He never takes shortcuts, and always does what’s required of him. He even stays after to help collect the balls and mop the gym with you.
You’re proud of him. There’s no way you wouldn’t be, but when two other first-years are selected as regulars for the team, you can’t help but feel slighted on his behalf. During games, sometimes you’ll end up side-by-side, watching rallies, though Kita always scolds you if you talk too much and end up distracting the benched players.
“Don’t ya wanna be on court, Shin-kun?” you ask, hands behind your back. Right now, your team is hosting a scrimmage with a local middle school, and one of your wing spikers pulls a sharp cut shot that leaves everyone cheering.
“Everyone wants ta be on court, but only the players who’ve proven they deserve to be there can stand on it,” Kita says. “I only do what I’m supposed to, and if I do it well, then that’s when I deserve ta be on court. That’s the proper way to go about it.”
“If that’s the case, then yer definitely gonna be a starting member one day,” you say. “Because I see ya, Shin-kun. Ya work hard, and you’re careful with everything that ya do. You never skip practice, or take shortcuts during laps, and you always do all your drills until ya can do the motions in your sleep! You’re gonna earn yer place there, I know it!”
Yuna calls your name and you scamper off before he can respond.
(Kita breathes in. Breathes out. Like Obaasan told him, so long ago: “The gods are always watching.” Someone will always notice. Someone will always see him, but she never said that when they did, there would be a miniature sun in his chest, overflowing gold that he can’t keep contained).
—
Middle school passes with its own routine, one that you settle into. Kita and you walk to school together in the mornings, rain or shine, eat lunch in his classroom and share parts of your bento with each other (he’s always putting vegetables on your plate), and then you attend volleyball practice, where you’ll mop the floors and wipe down the balls with Kita’s help and then walk home together. Kita will drop you off on your doorstep, and then head off to his own.
There’s little deviation to your routine, at least until your second year during lunchtime, when a boy approaches you when you’re halfway through your anpan. You’ve pulled up a chair right across from Kita, your bento and notebooks scattered across his desk. Though you’re in different classes this year, you still make an effort to bother him daily, and eating lunch together is one of your rituals.
“Can I talk with you?” he says. You try to place where you’ve seen him before; maybe in the class across from yours?
You’re still chewing and covering your mouth with your hand, trying frantically to swallow before responding. “Yes? Did ya need me for something?”
“There’s something I want to tell you. In private,” he emphasizes, flicking a glance at Kita.
“Sure,” you say. “But lunch is almost over, so we should hurry. I’ll be back, Shin-kun!” you add over your shoulder.
Kita only nods, watching you scamper off without a thought in the world as to what your classmate could want now. Maybe about homework? A shared classmate?
(Kita’s hands are steady, even as he grips his chopsticks tight enough that his knuckles turn white. A lot of people have been confessing to you lately, but it’s not surprising, not with how well-liked you are. Not that you ever seem to realize what’s happening, how the easy, careless charm of your smile, the way you always face the person you’re talking to like they’re the only ones in the world, is dangerous).
The boy guides you down hallways and stairwells until you’re in the courtyard, standing in a little alcove that shields you from views of most of the windows. Including, you think, the gaze of your own classroom’s.
Clouds swirl overhead, grey and heavy, a light breeze stirring the grass. Is it going to rain soon? You glance up, just as the boy in front of you wrings his hands and takes several deep inhales.
“I wanted ta say… I’ve noticed ya from the very start of orientation! Yer always so bright and cheerful, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you since then. When we pass by in the halls, I always look at ya and…!” his voice raises in a shout. “And I wanted to say I like you. Please go out with me!”
Your mouth works before your mind does, but even then, all you can say is a strangled little “Oh… erm?” You remember his name now, Eiji, but you’re still too startled by his sudden words, all your thoughts scattering like birds. This has happened a few times now, but it still takes you by surprise every time. You? Liked? It’s strange to think that people think of you in such a way, that they could hold such expectations for you, when you’re just going about your day.
He’s still staring at you expectantly, and it’d be rude to keep him waiting any longer. Your tongue is still glued to your mouth, but you manage to unstick it to croak out, “I’m sorry. I appreciate your feelings, but I can’t return them.”
Eiji hangs his head. “I figured. I wanted to let ya know, anyways, but ya already have Kita-san, right?”
“Huh?” you squeak.
“Huh?” He tilts his head. “Ya and Kita-san. Aren’t ya dating? Everyone says you are.”
“That’s not—we’re just childhood friends,” you say hastily. “I mean. It’s not as if I don’t like him, but—we aren’t—I mean, I think—he’s just my friend.”
Huh? Wait a moment. What do you feel about Kita, then? All your feelings for him have always been rolled into one glowing ball that you’ve termed “like,” but people like each other in different ways. Is the way you like Kita different from how you like Jun and Shiori, or your own parents? What does “liking” someone even mean, then?
Eiji must see the confusion mar your face because he sighs. “‘s all right. Thank ya for yer time. But I hope ya and Kita-san can work out whatever it is you have. You don’t want ta be leading him on, or anything.”
Eiji heads in first, ducking his head and running away as you stand in the courtyard for a moment longer, eyebrows furrowed. A drop of something cold splashes on your head. It’s raining, the clouds sending out a shy drizzle as a warning, and so you hurry inside, distracted for the rest of lunch.
After school, you’re standing by your shoe locker glumly. The rain has transformed into a monstrous downpour, causing squawking students to brave the weather with only their bags over their heads, or hang under dripping eaves as the world is washed clean.
You’re one of the people who didn’t bring an umbrella, and so you’re stuck contemplating your options. You can run out and hope to make it home, or stay behind until the rain clears a little. Either way, you’re most likely going to be soaked, and a trek in soggy loafers is not on your list of enjoyable post-school activities.
“Did ya forget your umbrella?”
It’s Kita, and though he’s a respectful distance away from you, as he always is, you jump as if he’s whispered right into your ear.
“Yes!” you say, with more force than necessary.
“Ya should have checked the weather report,” Kita says plainly. He has a clear plastic umbrella in his right hand.
“I shoulda…” you say morosely. Eiji’s earlier comments are still swirling around your head, and you let out a long sigh. Are you hurting Kita, somehow? At least the rain is as miserable as your mood.
You expect more admonishments or another remark about your lack of preparation, but Kita only unfurls his umbrella and says, “We can share.”
The umbrella is small enough that your shoulders are pressed side by side, and you can feel, distinctly, the heat from his body. Kita doesn’t run hot, and he’s always at a consistent, mild temperature. His hands are always cold, though, and you like to rub his fingers with your own until they warm up. You’re hyper-aware of his body now, and how much of it you know. Stupid Eiji.
“What did that guy want from ya?” Kita asks.
“Just confessin’,” you grumble. “But I wasn’t interested. I don’t know why people are so caught up in romance. Doesn’t make any sense. Relationships? Dating? Marriage? ‘S all ridiculous.”
“I see,” Kita says simply. “Did he say something to ya?”
“Just…” You let out another sigh. “I don’t know, Shin-kun. Am I hurting ya? Do ya feel like I’m leading you on? If I’m hurtin’ ya, you gotta let me know.”
“Yer not hurting me,” he says. “Yer my oldest and closest friend, and you’ve never done anything wrong. Ya don’t gotta listen to people like that; they don’t think before they speak, or consider how their words affect others. They just say what they want, so what they say doesn’t matter one bit as long as you know what you believe in and what’s true ta you.”
“Aw, Shin-kun!” You fight the urge to fling your arms around his neck, and settle for slapping his back empathetically as Kita lets out a quiet little “oomph” with each strike. “Yer right!”
Eiji’s comments don’t matter, you decide. Your relationship with Kita is no one’s business other than your own, and people can think whatever they want. It doesn’t really matter if you aren’t sure of the exact nature of your own emotions; you like Kita, no matter what it means, and that’s all that matters.
(Kita has heard what other people whisper in the hallways. You’ve never asked him how he views your relationship, but that’s all right. You don’t need to. What he feels is something he has nurtured for years. Step by step. Day by day. Ritual by ritual).
—
It’s the last volleyball match of your middle school careers. Kita has never played a game, never been on the starting line-up, but still people flock to him for advice or for his analysis on the other team’s plays. He’s often sitting with you on the bench, watching, quietly exchanging notes with you.
He’s your assistant, you like to joke, though you think you feel more annoyed than Kita over the fact he’s never been chosen. Even though he practices more consistently than anyone else. Even though everyone relies on him. He’s not flashy, sure, but he’s steady, and that’s more important than anything in a game where even the best-laid strategy can go awry.
“Are you Kita Shinsuke?”
You spin around, and through the half-open gym doors, you see a man dressed in a track suit, with glasses and a keen smile. He’s not immediately recognizable as one of the other middle school coaches. But he still speaks with a surety that makes you wrack your brains, regardless, trying to place him. It’d be awful to have met him and forgotten his name.
Kita looks up from his clipboard, gaze tranquil and steady. “Yes.”
“Have you thought about what high school you’d like to attend? What volleyball programs are you interested in?”
(Someone is always watching. Someone will notice).
And that’s how you and Kita end up at Inarizaki, a bus ride and fifteen minute walk away from your neighborhood.
—
You say goodbye to middle school in a deluge of tearful farewells and congratulatory wishes to classmates who’re attending different high schools. You’re encircled by admirers, take so many pictures your mouth starts hurting from how often you’ve had to smile. You’re given flowers, last-minute confessions, invitations to lunch and dinner and dates you have to refuse.
You’re just not interested, you explain. You don’t have the time for such things, but you appreciate their feelings regardless.
Jun and Shiori are attending a different high school, so you’re sure to squeeze them extra hard during graduation, handing them flowers from your own bouquets, yellow roses with stems stripped of thorns.
“Let’s still hang out,” you say. “We’re always going ta be friends! Don’t be afraid to say hi!”
“I’ll miss ya,” Shiori says sincerely. “I’ll stop by when I can, I promise!”
“Don’t forget to invite me to yer wedding in the future,” Jun adds.
“Wedding? We’re too young ta get married! I’m not even thinking about that right now,” you say. “Jun-kun yer so weird.”
He only shrugs. Really, what an odd thing to say, though it does give you a disconcerting feeling that you’ve forgotten something, some hazy, half-remembered flashback to flower crowns and a distant spring day. But it can’t be too important or you’d have remembered, so you tackle Jun and Shiori in another hug instead.
Your favorite picture from graduation, though, is the one you take with Kita, an electric smile on your face, your arm looped around his, your bodies leaning towards each other like flowers sheltering in a storm. When you line it up with your elementary school graduation picture, it feels like a perfect set, a history of your life so far with Kita.
Outside of your new uniform, high school proceeds much the same as middle school did. You and Kita have a routine, the precious rituals you’ve built over a lifetime of knowing each other, and those aren’t things that collapse so easily.
In the morning, Kita shows up at your door, albeit a little earlier than he did in middle school, smoothing down your rumpled tie without too much complaint. Kita always gives you the seat on the bus, standing in front of you, your knees knocking together when the bus lurches around a corner. He always asks if you’ve eaten, and if you’ve run out the door without any food, he pulls out packaged bread that you much on.
You share your first year class together, which means you only need to drag your chair to Kita’s desk and place your bento in your lap to see him. You flick crumpled-up notes at him, but he only reads them, smoothes them out, and places them within his notebook, sending you no reply in return. You chatter about your day at every opportunity, about the difficulties you face in lessons or the petty squabble between new friends that you’ve made.
In the afternoon, you and Kita head to the gym after school. You’ve applied to be manager of the Inarizaki volleyball team, though it seems plenty of other students in your grade have the same idea. You hear it’s a popular one to apply for but near impossible to get the position, if only because so many people want to join just to get close to the boys on the team. Which is ridiculous, because the boys on the team are just like the boys anywhere else: a little sweaty, a little rude, and wholly ordinary.
Kita might be the exception to that, but that’s because he’s Kita. Even when he sweats, he smells nice, and he’s always polite, and he’s the most wonderful person ever. It’d be hard for any other boy to beat that, really.
Suffice to say, you manage to beat out the other candidates and snag the spot. Much like in middle school, Kita is on the bench, not having made the starting lineup again, and you’re lugging around water bottles and tracking scores in practice games.
After school, you and Kita head home together, side by side. You match his slow, steady pace, and sometimes if the weather is nice, you’ll take a longer route home, just to see the scenery. Kita walks you to your door, and you wait in the doorway to see him enter his own before you wave goodbye for a final time.
The one thing that’s different about high school, though, is the confessions. Not to you, though you still get your fair share of them and have managed to tune them out as mild irritations in your day, but to Kita.
The first is a girl from the class across from you, clutching at the edges of her skirt during lunch. She went to your middle school, you think, but you were always in different classes and didn’t share any friends.
“Kita-san,” she says shyly, in a tone so full of longing it makes you want to take Kita’s hand and pull him away in the other direction, “Can I talk to you in private?”
Your classmates snicker around you as Kita calmly stands and says, “Okay.”
You stare out the window, unable to relax, bouncing your leg so nervously that the entire desk shakes. More and more catastrophic scenarios arise in your mind—of Kita accepting her confession, of distancing himself from you, of deciding to move away to another country with this girl—before Kita comes back and says, simply, “She asked me out and I turned her down.”
Then there’s a second-year, two weeks later, who even brought food with him as if a love confession was a bribe. And then someone from your own class, who Kita shared his notes with, shouting so loud you’re pretty sure the kids from the class next door overheard. The confessions pile up, little by little, irritating and spaced far apart enough that each new one feels like a bucket of ice water thrown at your head, even though you’d hoped it wouldn’t happen again.
Because of course people would like Kita. He’s wonderful, and kind, and smart, and the best person in the entire world. But no one has ever confessed to him before, or shown much interest in him, romantic interest, until high school.
The thought of Kita, your best friend, spending more time with someone else or just liking someone more than you makes you feel sour. Sure, you don’t like the idea of him with a partner, but you also can’t stand the idea that your relationship will deteriorate because he chooses to prioritize someone else in his life. He’s always been by your side, and you’ve always been by his. That’s not a position you ever want to relinquish.
The last straw is a pretty third year who corners Kita after practice and clean-up, leaving you behind to wait near the gym doors, glowering at the rocks near your shoes, as if they’re the world’s worst criminals.
“Let’s go home,” Kita says, when he returns. The third year is noticeably absent from his side, and he looks as unruffled as ever.
“What did she want?” you say, not moving, twisting your hands together.
“She wanted to say that she likes me. And wanted ta know if I was free to go to a cafe with her this week.”
“Oh. What did ya say?”
“I told her no,” he says plainly. “Volleyball practice takes up most of my time after school.”
“She was pretty,” you grumble. “And real nice. You really said no?”
“I’m not interested in a relationship with her,” he says.
“There’s been a lot of people who’ve been asking after ya these days, Shin-kun,” you press. “You really aren’t annoyed by it?”
“It’s not annoying because it’d be wrong of me to treat those peoples’ feelings carelessly. It takes courage ta tell someone you like them, and I want to respect that courage and their feelings, even if I don’t feel the same.”
Good old Kita, thoughtful as always. But you still feel petty, and small, and wrap your arms around yourself. How is it that he can look favorably upon these others, when all you do is feel rotten? He could stand to be less honorable, let them know that he isn’t available because—because what?
You shake your head, as if to clear yourself of your confusing thoughts. You try to pin a smile on your face, but it’s small, tight. “Okay. I get it. Let’s just go home, then. Before someone else tries to get ya.”
Kita doesn’t say anything for a while. He seems to be weighing his words in his mind, watching you with the same intensity he devotes to everything, and you hunch your shoulders, as if doing so will help you escape his scrutiny. Finally, he says, “Okkasan got some madeleines on sale last week. The kind ya like.”
“Ya can’t bribe me with cakes, Shin-kun! I’m not a kid anymore.”
“ Even if it’s yer favorite flavor?” he says.
“That’s not…” you say, pressing your lips together. “Well…”
“Ya can have as much as ya want.”
“... Fine,” you grumble.
“Not too much, though. It’ll spoil yer dinner.”
“Shin-kun!”
You swear you see him smile then, a brief flash like the glint of sunlight on water, but his face relaxes, falling back into its usual neutral expression.
(Kita’s just glad you’re the same as you always are. He’s had a lot more practice than you, after all, to exercise patience in the face of unwanted confessions directed towards someone he likes, even if you look awfully cute when you’re jealous).
—
Inarizaki High, you’ve come to learn, is a real powerhouse for volleyball, a school that regularly makes appearances at nationals, so practices are more intense than in middle school. Inarizaki also has its own marching band that comes to games, and the money to buy all its members, starting lineup or not, the same brand of athletic sneakers. And so there’s a certain pressure that comes with being manager and having to oversee a gaggle of rowdy teenage boys and wrangle them into practice and drills.
Everyone who makes it to the starting line-up, you’ve come to learn, is a bit of a personality. There’s Aran, who’s funny and reliable as their ace, and Omi, who reminds you of your grandmother, steady and stern. And, of course, there’s the upcoming batch of first years.
“Are ya and Kita-san dating?”
The question comes from one of your boldest newcomers, the starting setter, who has bleached blond hair and unrelenting cockiness in his own skills. The team is in the middle of serving drills, but he’s evidently taking a break from his current set, because he’s hounding you as you refill the water bottles, one by one.
“We’re not,” you say.
Atsumu curses under his breath. In the distance, you can see Osamu raise his eyebrows and Suna snicker. Is this a bet of some kind? But you’re used to these sorts of inquiries from middle school, the assumptions of everyone else.
You know what you and Kita are to each other. You’re best friends from childhood and… well, it’s better not to think about it too much.
“Did ya ever date him?” Atsumu presses. “Like in the past? Even just a little?”
“Hm? Not at all,” you say. “Shin-kun’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“Manangerrrr,” Atsumu groans, “Yer killing me here. I got my lunch riding on this. Yer really not together? Then why’re ya always hanging off each other?”
“We don’t hang off of each other,” you protest.
“Ya do! And Kita-san always gets this soft look on his face when he’s with ya, like–”
“Atsumu. Did ya finish your serving drills?” Kita cuts in, hovering somewhere over your shoulder, voice cold and direct. He must have noticed Atsumu’s absence on the court.
Atsumu visibly straightens under the force of Kita’s stare. As someone who’s been subjected to that cold stare for a majority of your life, you can’t help but pity Atsumu, who’s not used to it at all. “Er… ya see, Kita-san, I was just—”
“If you’re not finished, then why are you here?”
And with that, Atsumu trudges off back to Suna and Osamu, who both seem to be holding back laughter at Atsumu’s expression.
“Was he bothering ya?” Kita asks.
“Not really,” you say. “But I think the first years were bettin’ on whenever we’re together. Isn’t it a little silly? I don’t know why everyone assumes that.”
Kita gives a soft hum of acknowledgment, tucking a stray curl of hair behind your ear. “There’s no reason ta mind them. They should be focusin’ on practice, anyways.”
“Right, right,” you say. “Oh, Shin-kun. I just refilled the water bottles.” You pluck one off of the bench and hand it to him. “Have some. You’ve been running around so much, and ya gotta make sure yer staying hydrated!”
(There are few team dynamics that Suna and the others are quick to pick up on. For example, you’re popular on the team for your cheer and energy, but Kita is known for his cold perfectionism. No flaws, always diligent, never a single hair out of place.
Sometimes, it makes them all just a little curious to see where he trips up, because surely, someone like Kita must have one weakness, right? Whether it’s a silly habit, a dislike, or another person.
“I really thought they were datin’,” Atsumu groans.
“Too bad,” Osamu says unrepentantly. “Ya owe me yer lunch for that. I told you they weren’t.”
“Makes no sense! Didja see how he looks at them? And how they always dote on him?”
“That’s ya get for assumin’, ya scrub.”
“Yer the scrub!”
As the twins dissolve into another spate of bickering, Suna flicks a glance at you and Kita, the way he leans close to you, intent on catching every word, because he never gives you anything less than his full attention, no matter the circumstance.
When Kita glares at the three of them, though, the first years all jump and scramble to their feet, guiltily slinking towards the court to practice their next round of serves.
Troublesome. Just because Suna can pinpoint his weakness, doesn’t mean he can do anything with it).
—
It’s not until your third year that Kita is made captain, and he steps onto court for the first time, when Inarizaki down six points in a set during an Interhigh game. He’s subbed in for Aran, who rests on the bench alongside you and the coach, towel around his neck, hands folded in his lap as he intently watches the game resume.
“Are ya feeling okay?” you ask Aran, handing him a water bottle. “That was an intense rally.”
“I thought my hands were going to fall off,” Aran says, groaning. “But it’s a nice break. Can’t believe Atsumu kept settin’ on first touch.”
“He just trusts ya to always get the ball,” you say. “And he wants to make up for the point gap real bad.”
“Maybe he trusts me too much,” Aran grumbles.
Though you’re fairly friendly to everyone on the team, especially the third years, Aran is one of the people you’re most close to. It helps that he’s also friends with Kita and you’re in his class this year, so you gravitate towards his desk to trade silly jokes and steal pieces of his bento. Even though he groans, he lets you get away with it, and you’re sure to give him something from your own bento in return.
“Go Shin-kun,” you whisper under your breath, pumping your fist as he crouches and digs the ball with one perfect, fluid motion. “Ya got this!”
“Thought you’d be cheerin’ louder than that,” Aran says.“Haven’t ya been wanting him to be on court since our first year here?”
“I don’t want to distract him,” you say. “It’s his first time in a real match! Well, not that Shin-kun would get distracted by something like cheering, anyways.”
“First time in a match?”
“Yeah. Surprised no one told ya yet,” you say, eyes glued to Kita’s figure. He’s steady, reliable, and already the other players on court are relaxing their bodies, their focus sharpening. He’s lecturing them, you imagine, pointing out all the ways in which they’ve been overcompensating or slacking. “Never made it to the court in middle school. I knew he would, eventually. Shin-kun’s good, even if he doesn’t think so because he’s not flashy. But being diligent and doing things so consistently every time is real hard, and so that’s its own skill.”
“You’re… really paying attention to him, huh?” Aran says.
“Because he’s Shin-kun,” you say. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re up again, Aran,” Coach Kurosu calls. “Take yer number. We’re gonna put ya back in after this rotation. Think the team’s back on its feet, and Kita’s about to rotate to the front row.”
“Good luck, Aran-kun. I want ya to score at least ten points in a row!” you say, holding out your hands as he slaps them in a double high five.
“Yer asking for too much,” he groans, picking up the plastic sign with the number four emblazoned on it, raising it as he stands.
The whistle blows. Kita returns to you and the coach, covered in a light sheen of sweat, breathing harder than normal. Other than that, he looks calm, cool, as if this isn’t the first match in his high school career.
“How was it, Shin-kun?” you ask, handing him a water bottle. “Did ya have fun on court?”
“What I did on court was simply the product of all my practice,” he says. “No more, no less. But…”
“But?” you prod.
“I enjoyed it,” he says simply.
“Good! I told ya you would be out there one day! Next time yer out there, I hope you have even more fun, because we’re gonna go far! Take first place at nationals, even!”
You raise your hands in the same gesture you just did for Aran, both hands splayed out for a high five. Kita observes the movement, sets down his water bottle, and quietly, carefully, slaps your hands in celebration.
—
Your dreams at nationals end after three sets during your first game there. You’re walking off the court, away from whatever promises you’ve made, a stage you can only see for this one final time. The echo of your shoes on the hardwood, the parade of volleyball players chasing the same desire, the dome so high and so impossibly large you have to squint to make out the ceiling.
Inarizaki High stays until the end of the day, when the sea of crowds trickle into a stream of stragglers and most stalls close, the window to buy souvenirs shrinking. You want to stay until the last possible second but then the entire team is packing their bags, and the Miya twins catch you while you check for the location of all the players.
“Sorry, manager,” Atsumu whispers. He looks deflated, properly chagrined for once, none of the usual arrogance in his stance or words. “We were supposed ta show you the first place trophy.”
“It’s yer last year,” Osamu says simply.
“Then make sure you make it next year,” you say, clapping both of them on the back so hard that they jump. “I’ll be watching ya, okay? So don’t disappoint me! I wanna see ya take Inarizaki as far as it can go, and then beyond!”
“I promise,” Osamu says. There’s none of his usual relaxed, lazy drawl now, just a fervent honesty.
“Make sure ya come watch!” Atsumu says.
The last six years of your life, spent chasing after volleyballs and planning scrimmages, tracking player stats and filling water bottles, is over. You’ll no longer have to dedicate your afternoons to a gymnasium. You’ve managed to find a replacement, a kind first year named Ichika, so the team will be in good hands.
In the lobby, you run into Aran, who’s watching one of the last games of the day on a television monitor mounted on the wall.
“‘S disappointing, but I’m still gonna do volleyball after this,” Aran says quietly. “I’m thinkin’ about going pro.”
“Then ya better not forget me when yer pro, Aran-kun. I want your autograph. Maybe I can sell it for a lot of money,” you cheer.
“Don’t try one of yer get rich quick schemes with me,” he says, but he still slaps your hands when you hold them out in a double high five.
“You were good on the court,” you say. “So I know you can make it. It was a good game. A real good game, the most excitin’ one I’ve ever seen so far, and ya had a lot of good spikes.”
“Did ya have to say that now?” Aran says groaning, turning away, and you pretend not to notice as he scrubs at his eyes.
On the bus ride home the next morning, you and Kita sit at the front two seats. The bus ride home is quiet; everyone must be exhausted, because when you look back, all you can see are closed eyes and slumped bodies. Atsumu has an arm flung over Osamu, whose eyebrows are drawn in irritation. Suna huddles in a corner by himself. Gin’s mouth is wide open while Omi’s arms are crossed as he leans back next to him. Akagi is smushed against a window, and Aran’s head jostles with every turn of the bus.
But Kita is wide awake, watching the scenery flash past outside. Your hands rest lightly next to each other on the bus seat, just a centimeter of distance. It’s a strange thing to be aware of, but all you can think about is how his fingers must be cold, and you have to resist the urge to pick them up and rub them, curling up all your desire to touch him into your clenched fists.
“Yer not going to keep up with volleyball, right, Shin-kun?” you whisper. “This is yer last season.”
“That’s right,” he says. “But yer not either, are ya?”
“It was a good six years. But there are other things I want ta do. I’m gonna miss this, though.”
“I’m never gonna forget it. I wanted to stay on court a little longer,” he murmurs, voice dropping low as if his words are for your ears alone even though everyone else is asleep, “And show off the team, and everyone’s hard work.”
“I wanted everyone ta place first. Show all of Japan who we are,” you groan. “‘Cause everyone was good enough to make it! We got out too soon. But the other team was way too good too. Can’t believe we never heard of ‘em before this year.”
“But even if we can’t make it to first place, it wasn’t a bad experience. Built a lot of memories, and a lot of muscle,” Kita says. “I know the team always says we don’t need memories, but all our past actions make up who we are now. The me in the past that practiced and ate well and studied hard and got the me of today where I am now.”
You turn over his words. It’s true, after all. Everything you’ve built becomes a foundation for who you are now, and everything you want to build in the future.
“That’s just like ya to say! But ya know, I kinda like our motto. We don’t need ta worry about the past and the things we can’t change. We can only focus on now, and what we’re gonna do in the future. Because who knows what’s gonna happen tomorrow. ‘S exciting,” you say. “And Shin-kun?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for all yer hard work all these years,” you say sincerely. “I’m glad ya got to stand on court one more time, and that all of Japan could see just how awesome ya are! I wanted to show off and yell, ‘see? Isn’t my childhood friend the coolest?’”
Kita blinks, once, twice, and you wonder if you’ve caught him off-guard for once because he looks like a startled fox, fur bristling. There’s a faint pink tinge to his cheeks, but he only says, “But we wouldn’t get half as far without ya as support. If I looked cool, it’s only because ya and the others worked so hard to get us where we were. ‘S not just my effort alone. Ya were the one doing research and preparin’ all the supplies, so thank you for all of your hard work as manager.”
“Aw, Shin-kun,” you say, and this time, your hand reaches across the divide, forefinger loping around his own. Just this much should be okay, shouldn’t it? Kita has always had cool skin, but today, it burns with an intense heat that seeps into your skin. Or are you mistaking your own body heat for his? But isn’t it all the same warmth at the end of the day, because you’re always by his side? “I know all that! Ya should take the compliment. Ya don’t gotta find a reason for everything all the time.”
Kita laughs softly, a sound as gentle as the swirl of snow across a courtyard. “‘S habit. It’s important ta think through everything, and do it carefully and slowly. Especially for the important things. Ya don’t want to rush through those, even if no one notices.” His finger squeezes around yours. “I’m looking forward to seein’ what tomorrow looks like, after all that hard work.”
“Tomorrow will be good,” you say confidently, “‘Cause we built the foundation for it today. And ya don’t need to worry, Shin-kun. Even if yer watching everyone else, I’ll be watching ya, and I’ll see all the effort you put in.”
“I know ya will,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice, the fondness, how it colors all of his words, the way it always has.
—
March arrives in a froth of cherry blossoms and pink petals that get caught in your hair, long-winded speeches during the graduation ceremony as you bounce in your seat, your juniors crowding around you with a bouquet of flowers they pooled their allowances together to buy. The flowers are vibrant reds and pinks and yellows, as vivid as the team you’re leaving behind.
“We’re going to miss you, manager,” Atsumu says. His eyes are rimmed in red.
“He cried thinkin’ about you and the other third years leavin’,” Osamu says bluntly. “Like a baby.”
“And Samu couldn’t even sleep ‘cause today was the last day he could see ya all,” Atsumu responds nastily. “Made him all worried.”
“I’ll send you the photos later,” Suna whispers, discreetly aiming his phone at the bickering twins, who look like they’re one step away from escalating it into a physical altercation.
“Thanks, Suna-kun,” you whisper in return, shifting the flowers to rest in the crook of one arm. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t slack too much.”
Suna hums noncommittally, eyes sliding away from you, but Ginjima pats his chest, standing straight.
“I’ll watch out for Suna,” he says, voice already strained with restrained tears. “Don’t worry, manager! I’ll work hard, so ya won’t have anything to worry about.”
“Thank you, Gin-kun,” you say. “But watch out for yourself, too!”
With graduation comes a last minute wave of tearful confessions, of promises to stay together, and a request for buttons. You navigate skillfully around an obstacle course of classmates clamboring for your second button or any buttons at all, turn down a wave of confessions, and skirt around anyone who seems like they’re eying you.
Is Kita getting the same influx of confessions? You really hope not. It takes you a few seconds to spot Kita hanging back from the mingling crowds, at a careful distance. For a moment, all you can do is stare. He looks pretty framed against the trees, like an ephemeral spirit watching over humanity, forever separated. But unlike a spirit, you don’t want him to fade away to a place where you can’t be with him.
“Shin-kun!” you say, running up to him. You flick a quick glance at his jacket; all his buttons are still there. “There you are!”
Kita reaches a hand to your head, brushing away a shower of petals that must have settled into your hair in your journey to find him. “Did ya talk to the second years? They were lookin’ for ya.”
“Just finished!” you announce, waving your flowers in front of him like a baton. “They gave me these. Aren’t they pretty?”
“They really like ya,” he says.
“Well, they like you a lot too! Are ya gonna give me something, Shin-kun? Since it’s our high school graduation?” you joke.
Kita regards you for a long moment. Then, his nimble fingers reach towards his uniform blazer, tugging out the second button, before he holds it out to you, button lying flat on his palm. “This is for you.”
“Shin-kun?” you say. Kita, who has never looked anything less than perfect, who keeps spare buttons in his bag in case he loses one and has to sew it back on, who never does anything unnecessary, is handing you a button. His second button, the one he ripped out of his jacket.
“It’s customary to do something like this,” he says. “Ain’t it?”
“It is, but ya know, giving the button… it’s like…”
“You don’t want it?”
You quickly snatch the button from his hands, your fingers grazing against his palm, and it feels like even that momentary touch has burned you, like you’re marked by him in a way no one else can ever do. “I didn’t say that! I’m glad ya didn’t give it to anyone else, but…”
“Ya didn’t give yers to anyone else, either,” he says quietly. “That’s good.”
“I didn’t want ta,” you stammer. It’s Kita. Kita, your best friend and childhood friend. The one you hold near and dear to your heart, who’s always gone along with your whims. But right now, it feels like he’s one leading you along.
You like him. Of course you like him. But the shape of his feelings are different from what you expected, or thought they would ever be. And what are your feelings? How do you feel about Kita? Kita, who you adore, who you like, who is the most important person in the world to you?
“So there’s no one ya want to give it to?” Kita asks.
You open your mouth, and you don’t know what you’re going to say, because Kita looks so serious, and he’s always serious, but today, he has an intensity that he only gets when he’s focused, when he really cares about what he’s doing, and you’ve never felt more flustered to be on the receiving end of such a penetrating stare—
“Kita! Manager!” Akagi calls, waving his arms. “There ya are!”
Startled, you whirl around, waving back to Akagi, who’s running towards you, and Omi and Aran, who stand a little ways back.
“Let’s go, Shin-kun. The others are calling for us!” You scurry off, your entire body fever-hot. For now, at least, you’ve been granted another reprieve from having to think about your feelings.
(“I told him not to interrupt ‘em,” Aran says, groaning, watching as you high five Akagi, Kita trailing just a bit behind. “Did ya see how Kita looked?”
“He looked fine to me,” Omi replies.
“Are ya kidding?” Aran says. Once again, he has to wonder if he’s the only sane one on the team, a thought he’s had many, many times before.
It’s obvious that Kita cares about you in a different way than he does for the others, a special regard that you yourself seem oblivious to, whether that’s purposeful or not.
Kita is perfectly polite, kind, and meticulous, the sort of boy that parents absolutely adore. Aran would struggle to come up with a single bad word to say about him, not that he wants to. They’re friends. They’ve spent three years together. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something that most people wouldn’t pick up on.
It’s just…
“Foxes mate for life,” he mutters, the fact springing into mind unbidden, from a nature documentary or class, he isn’t sure.
“Did ya say something, Aran?” Omi asks.
“‘S nothing. Let’s join them.”
It’s just a little possessive).
—
You squint up at the house in front of you, shading your eyes with your hand. It’s been a few years since you’ve visited Kita Yumie’s home, but it looks just as it did in your childhood: clean, small, well-maintained, curtains pulled back and windows open to let in a breeze, with a porch that you just want to sit on with a pot of tea.
The spring air is warm, inviting, as if winter had never shown its face and it’s always been such pleasant weather. Your suitcase rattles behind you as you pull it along the dirt road and up the house steps, knocking on the door.
It’s been a year since you’ve graduated college, and five years since you left high school. In the time since, you’ve landed a job at a wedding planning company, and you haven’t had time to rest. There’s always a last minute disaster to handle, an argument between the couple, or a mistake in booking. And just when you’re done smoothing out one problem, there’s always two more to handle, and a new wave of clients at your door.
But you’ve always wanted to work in hospitality, to connect with others, and the look of joy on your clients’ face when the wedding comes together gives you a satisfaction like nothing else. There’s something about connecting people, of watching people who want to spend their lives by each other’s side, that makes you feel as giddy as if you’re the one getting married.
You keep in touch with your classmates and the volleyball team members you once coached, though it’s still hard to wrap your head around the fact you know three professional volleyball players now. Osamu has a habit of giving you free onigiri whenever you stop by his shop, and Shiori and Jun still text you sporadically with updates on their lives.
But it’s Kita who you make an effort to call and text everyday. Even if you don’t live next to each other anymore, hearing from him is always a part of your daily ritual. He’s your best friend, and the two of you have only seen each other in person at family get-togethers during the holidays, or when you try to take a day off to see him on his birthday. It’s a little lonely to know he’s no longer just a few doors down, that if you looked out the window, you wouldn’t see him walking by.
Neither of you talk about high school graduation. You don’t bring it up, and neither does Kita, and your relationship is virtually unchanged. Even though you still keep his button, turning it over in your hands when you try to think about what you want. Even though you know both you and Kita are waiting for something. Even though you’re no longer a child and it’s been five years, and you’re just taking advantage of his kindness, because he always, always spoils you.
But there’s never been a good time to broach the subject, not with classes and now work, and you wonder if it’s too late now. If you imagined the whole thing, if you were wrong, if this is finally the one line you’ve crossed.
“Yer here,” Kita says, opening the door. “And yer early.”
“Hi, Shin-kun! I’m back!” you say, smiling. “The plane landed at the airport ahead of the scheduled time. Thanks for lettin’ me stay for the weekend.”
Kita is taller now, hair kept a little shorter than he did in high school. He’s dressed in a plain blue jumpsuit, muddy gloves tucked in his pocket. But he still has the easy, silent grace he always has had, the same intense stare and efficiency and purpose to his actions with no wasted movement. And he’s still Kita, dear Kita, and you know every inch of him, from past to present.
“Obaasan likes ya, so it’s no problem,” he says, picking up your suitcase before you can protest. “She started preppin’ your room as soon as I told her ya were visiting for a while. She’s out visitin’ friends now, though.”
“How’s the farm doing? Want me ta help out?”
“Farm’s doing great, so you should only help if ya want to. I know yer here on break.”
“It’s not a problem!” you say, flexing your arm. “I still keep pretty fit. And I’d feel bad if I didn’t help out at all, ya know!”
When you come downstairs after arranging your luggage in your room (Kita is right. Yumie still has your pair of faded yellow slippers set out, and she fluffed up the futon and set up a vase of pink flowers to brighten up the room), Kita is waiting for you downstairs. He pulls you into his arms for a hug as soon as your feet touch the floor, and you try not to squeak in surprise at the gesture, at the strength hidden in his arms.
“I missed ya,” he says. There’s a confidence to his movements, an openness that he didn’t have before. It would have been unimaginable as children, the idea of Kita hugging you first, as if you belong nowhere else but his arms.
You wrap your arms around him, his body as familiar to you as your own, sinking into his touch. “I missed you, too.”
And then he pulls away, leaving you with only the tingling memory of his warmth all over your body.
“Yer not too tired?” he asks. “Was yer flight long? Did ya eat?”
“I slept on the train,” you say, ticking off on your fingers each question that you answer, “The flight wasn’t too long, and I packed lunch that I ate on the way over. If I didn’t, ya would’ve lectured me again, wouldn’t you?”
“Yer an adult, with a difficult job,” he says simply. “I wantcha to take care of yourself. Ya used to walk out the door in the mornings without making sure ta eat properly.”
“You’re always like this, Shin-kun. But I promise I won’t give ya a reason to worry anymore. I’m not a kid, so I know how to be careful now,” you say playfully. “Why don’t ya show me around?”
The rice paddies sprawl for what feels like miles with pools that reflect the blue sky and billowing clouds, as if shards of the sky have fallen to the earth. New, tender green shoots shyly peek their heads out, the start of the growing season. You walk on the outskirts of the fields, the same fields you once visited as a child during vacation.
Even if it feels the same, the plants and the gentle hands working the land are different. Each meter of land and each budding stalk is a testament to Kita’s diligence, to the dedication and care he puts into each and every single action he takes everyday.
“It’s beautiful,” you say. “A lot nicer to look at than my cubicle, that’s for sure.”
“Do ya have any weddings coming up?”
“Yup! I have a lot of clients who’ve booked me for May next month. That’s when the wedding season gets busiest, so I figured I might as well take advantage of our slow months to come see ya. It’s been ages, Shin-kun.”
“Have ya thought about your own wedding?”
“Me?” you say, startled. “It’s not something that’s really on my mind. I mean, there’s so much work that goes into it. And can ya imagine me gettin’ married? It’s a little silly. I’m the wedding planner, not the person who throws a wedding.”
“I can,” Kita says quietly. “And ya used to want ta, didn’t ya? When we were little. Did that change?”
“Shin-kun,” you say. The two of you have stopped walking, and a spring breeze stirs your hair. “What do you mean? Did I say something like that?”
He takes a step closer to you. And wonderful Kita Shinsuke, your childhood friend, your best friend, the person you’ve always loved most in the entire world, pulls out a bundle of daisies from his pocket, green stem tied with a white ribbon, holding them out to you like a wedding ring.
“I want to marry ya,” he says plainly. “I’ve been waitin’ my whole life, ever since ya asked me when we were little. We couldn’t then, but we can now. I wanted ta make sure my finances were all right, and didn’t want to rush ya while you were still in school and settling into your job.”
“But–When did—How!” you say, words a jumbled mess. Your face is hot, hotter the sun, and you’re dizzy from the sheer intensity of Kita’s open, genuine affection. You take the flowers from him with trembling hands. They’re simple flowers, but you remember now, your childish eight-year-old self’s declaration, Kita’s response, an ordinary spring day. It was just a silly, impulsive choice, born out of the intensity of your affection for Kita, but Kita remembers, because of course he does. Because he’s always looking at you, as much as you’ve been looking at him.
“Did ya forget?” Kita says quietly, bringing your hand to his mouth, his lips ghosting across your fingertips, the promise of a kiss. He lowers your hand, but doesn’t let go, your fingers hooked over the edge of his palm. You can’t shake him off, you could never even think about it, because it’s Kita, Shin-kun, the most wonderful person in the entire world. “But I didn’t forget all this time, ever since you asked me. Even if you didn’t mean it, I did. I wanted to take my time, court you properly, ‘cause that’s just the right thing to do.”
“Shin-kun, ya said you didn’t want to marry me,” you protest, but your voice is weak even to your own ears. “I remembered that you rejected me!”
“I said we can’t, not that I didn’t want to marry you. I meant that we should wait until we were old enough to. Kids can’t get married, but adults can.”
“You weren’t very clear on that! How was I supposed to know what ya met?”
“That’s why I’m telling ya now. Marry me,” Kita whispers. “I’ve been waiting for you all my life. I can wait as long as you want me to, but I’m not as strong as ya think. I’m a greedy man when it comes to you.”
“Shin-kun, yer not being fair,” you whisper. “We haven’t even dated.”
“We don’t have ta get married right now. We can date first, get engaged. Take the time to plan everything, do it in the proper way. I love you,” he says. “I’ve loved ya ever since we were kids. If ya don’t feel the same, then you can tell me right now, and I’ll still be yer best friend. That won’t change. I’ll always love you, even if ya don’t love me in the same way.”
He’s impossible. He’s impossible, and this isn’t real, it can’t be. You bring the bundle of flowers to your face, the smooth edge of a waxen petal pressed against your lips.
You can’t hide it anymore, even if you wanted to. You can’t lie to yourself, can’t pretend that your feelings are anything other than what they are. You have to stop running, because Kita is waiting for you, right here, right now, and he’s not going to leave.
“I love you,” you say, voice choking. “Shin-kun, I love you. What are ya saying? You really think I wouldn’t feel the same way? I’ve loved ya since before I knew what love even was. Yer the most wonderful person in the world. I’d choose ya, again and again. I want to marry you, Kita Shinsuke, even if we gotta wait another ten years.”
The flowers fall from your lips as Kita cups your face, cradling you as tenderly as he’s always treated you, because he’s always going along with all your whims while never straying from your side. His lips are on yours, soft, sweet, and he kisses you. Again, and again, and again, an endless shower of kisses that rain on you, as if he’s making up for the years in which he couldn’t. And you accept his kisses greedily, parched earth finally watered, because Kita Shinsuke is the most wonderful man in the world, your best friend from childhood, and the person you love more than anyone else.
(“Yer really not going ta ask them out? I thought ya liked them. Yer young, Shinsuke. Ya gotta be bold,” Obaasan asks. She’s washing vegetables over the kitchen sink, shirt sleeves rolled up, as he chops radish on the cutting board, an efficient system for dinner that they’ve worked out ever since he moved in.
Ever since high school, she’s been slyly dropping hints about marriage, eyes drifting towards you meaningfully or inquiring about how your relationship has been going. But it’s Obaasan, so Kita dutifully entertains her questions every time even though he can see her ulterior motives, plain as day.
“I’m courtin’ them,” Kita says plainly, “In the way that works best for us. Datin’ would only make it more complicated, and I don’t think they want any of that yet, not with their job. ‘S no good to rush things. Ya taught me that.”
“Do they know that? What if someone snatches them up? They’re so cute, and they’re young and alone in a big city. Since they’re visitin’ tomorrow, ya gotta take the chance to say something, ya hear me? I want ta see the two of you at the altar soon.”
He thinks about the daisies he’s grown and picked that are now waiting patiently for your hands, the photographs from your childhood together carefully framed on his dresser, the years he’s spent by your side, nursing his feelings day by day, ritual by ritual.
“I’m not worried,” Kita says. “Because we’re important ta each other. Even if they didn’t love me like I loved them and married someone else, that wouldn’t change.”
Obaasan chuckles. “Ya know, the two of you really think alike. ‘S like yer meant to be. When you were babies, they used ta reach for ya on the playmat and chew on ya, but ya wouldn’t let go once they did. Clung to them like ya were afraid of them disappearing, like they belonged right by your side.”
“Obaasan?”
“‘S nothing. As long as the two of you find yer way to each other, it doesn’t matter how bumpy the road is. All that matters is that day by day, moment by moment, yer building yer life and relationship together. And as long as the two of you reach each other in the end, you’ll be okay.”)
You have an upcoming exam for pre-calculus, your boyfriend agreed to help you but sometimes you forget he's a devil in disguise.
You're sitting on the ground with a low desk full of review sheets. Tsukishima is on your side leaning against the bed. Looking through your notes.
"Is that supposed to be me?" He asked you to turn the piece of paper over to you, a small doodle of him was on the left corner of the paper.
"No it's supposed to be my other boyfriend" you said sarcastically before receiving a rough jab on your side.
"Of course it's you who else." You frown and rub your side gently. He remains quiet unlike him, usually he'd throw a sarcastically remark back at you. Curious about his silence, you turned your head noticing how his ears are slightly flushed red.
"Do you like it?" You asked tentatively, unsure if he'd respond honestly or joke around.
"Yeah, I do," he says, his voice quiet, his eyes going back to focusing on what you wrote for notes. And sighed, he turned towards you. His expression was unimpressed.
"(Name), how the fuck am I supposed to help if your writing is practically unledgable. It's worse than Hinata's geez" he says, trying his best to remain calm.
"No it doesn't, Hinata's hand writing is more like Morse code. Mine is just rushed- look that right there says uhh 'arithmetic sequence' see you can read it just fine" you say brushing off his condescending gaze.
"Yeah and the sky is purple" he says sarcastically.
"Purple is pretty close to blue don't you think?" You said leaning on his shoulder.
"You're such an idiot you know" he says glancing down on you then back to your notes.
"Yeah but you love this idiot so that makes you an idiot by association" he rolls his eyes but there is no bite to it.
"Yeah I'm an idiot for falling for you" he says leaning in, kissing your cheek. You look up smiling at him and he quickly puts your review sheets out.
"Don't get distracted" he says sternly, but his words don't match his actions. His hand is wrapped loosely around your shoulder, his fingers gently caressing the skin around your wrist.
You huffed out looking back at him "are you going to stop that?".
"Stop what?" He asked, acting as if he wasn't doing anything, at the same time his hand encapsulated your hand in his.
"Stop that" you said, trying your best to actually practice before tomorrow's test.
"I don't know what you're talking about" he says as he's now actively placing kisses on your neck.
"Kei, you know I love you but right now I need to study." You said trying to escape his kisses.
"Should've studied earlier." He said placing a quick kiss on top of your nose.
"Shshsh stop distracting me" you said trying to solve the equation.
Tsukishima continued to caress your hand every once in a while he placed kisses on the side of your cheek or forehead. You tuned him out, ignoring him while you tried to study.
After finishing the review packet. You handed it to Tsukishima to check the answers.
“I need something first before I check them” smirking, his finger on his lips.
“It's so annoying that no one would ever believe me if I said you act like this with me.” you said before gently placing a kiss on his lips. You can feel his smirk through the kiss.
“Why would you want others to know about how clingy I am for you?” He asked in an annoying clinical voice.
“Nevermind just check the answers” you said acting annoyed, but proceeded to lean on his shoulder as he went over your work. With a pencil he marked the correct answers with a check mark and circled the incorrect answers, he even marked the area where you messed up on the calculations.
“Here you only missed two answers” he said as he handed the packet over to you.
“You just forgot to square out the exponent, you should do okay on the test okay” he said quietly, watching you look over your mistakes.
“Oh okay thank you” you smiled and put away all the notes.
“Yeah you're welcome” he said, helping you put away your supplies.
“For distracting me the entire time?” You said sarcastically, glancing over at him. His smirk is not fading away anytime soon.
“You still did good though” he said sitting on the edge of your bed, he grabbed your arm pulling you in front of him.
“Next time start studying earlier, I came over to spend time with you not to see you put more attention to the review packets.”
“Next time I'm asking Yamaguchi for help”
“Mhm go then” Tsukishima said, raising his eyebrows.
“Don't be like that,” you said, hitting his arm.
“I know you won't because you enjoy being around me more,” he said, trapping you in his arms. Leaning his head on your shoulder. Your back pressed against his chest.
“Yeah I do, don't tell Yamaguchi though” you said.
“I can assure you he already knows you do.” He said softly nibbling on the top part of your ear.
“Okay stop that, it think its time for you to go back home”
“Mh but I think your mother wanted me to help her fix the lightbolt in the bathroom” he said, still having fun teasing you like this.
“Whatever, you're so annoying whenever you want to be”
“But you love it don't you?” He said, placing a kiss on your cheek.
“Yeah unfortunately…” you said looking up at him.
“I love you too, unfortunately” he said repeating the phrase.
“Whatever, go help my mom” you said, finally pushing him off of you
Side note: You guys got to read this before my tiktok followers got to!, I just wanted to thank you for interacting and reblogging my posts on here. TYSM!!
kenma has downloaded tomodachi life for the stream! definitely just to review it for the viewers! definitely.
post-timeskip, fem!reader, kenma is referred as “kodzuken” from chat, viewers does not know his real name, kenma goes live, fluff, hidden from public (well not for long lol), established relationship, hopelessly inlove with you btw.
his viewers does not know about his 6 months relationship.
user1 : HES ON EHS ON HES ON HES ON
user2 : he looks so good omg??
user3 : tomodachi life stream?? holyyyy
the chat flooded the moment he went on stream, the live titled “tomodachi life”— the viral game currently trending almost everywhere. when he loaded in, he customized his mii as a very unaccurate version of himself, just keeping his golden eyes and black hair as a hint. “what should we name him?” he asked, despite knowing what he’ll name it anyways. the name came up to him as “kenma”, where he argued the name was cutely fitting for the character.
user4 : HELLO KENMAAA
user5 : IT FITS HIM SMM
of course it does, it’s his name.
as they progressed into the game, he decided to make hinata, kuroo, and eventually adding another character when he said; “i’m gonna make another character to pair it with kenma.” he simply announced, and silently making you. the same eyes, hair, details in your face that he carved nicely; memorizing it as if it was imprinted in his memories, and it’s too detailed that some viewers is catching on quick.
user6 : aww she’s adorbss, btw is this guy using a reference or smth bro just points every detail possible as if memorizing something
user7 : wait hol on user6 is cooking but ngl look at hinata & kuroo, they’re practically the same in their rl lol
it was oddly quiet for a bit till he got into the name menu, “any suggestions for her name?” he reads the chat, feigning the act as once again, he already knows what the character’s name is gonna be; and then one comment stands out the most.
(username) : (name)!!
he paused for a second as he saw your comment on top of thousands, you must’ve catched on that he was making you and him together. a smile catched him almost as fast as he stopped it. “i saw someone said (name), i think that’s a perfect name.” he typed the name into the character. the personality came next, where he adjusted it as what he thinks you act like.
“okay, welcome (name) to the island.” he announced to the live as they spammed on the chat, “now let’s see what’s gonna happen when the miis get together.” it took him several hours to get them together; fast to make them fall in love, somehow incredibly long to get them to get married that he was almost irritated. the chat was laughing at when he was complaining.
user8 : kodzu isn’t having any form of chill 😭😭
user9 : relax ur not even ready for the minigame.
“what minigame.” his eye twitched as the chat spammed laughing stickers again, he has had enough cause this game has took six hours. and while he did manage to get them to be sweethearts in that time, although it’s pretty accurate seeing the first one to fall and who was incredibly inlove in the game was him. it was so bad that some viewers catched him smiling in the camera as he looked at the two’s interaction.
and eventually, after more hours, the two mii’s finally got the wants to marry status. and after his mii proposed (with a minigame that he didn’t think was hard), the two got married and the cutscene happened. and while so, he was smiling like an idiot. not noticing the chat going insane of his current expression that’s too happy as if he just won a ranked match, the difference is that this one is a dumb simulation that just happens to have his girlfriend named there.
user10 : i’m starting to think this a secret relationship planted into the game LMAO but that’s just a theory!!!
user11 : i wonder what’s going on that mind of his..
noticing he was smiling that hard, he coughed out. “what else can we do after they got married?” the chat spammed “baby” he paused, a little flushed as he imagined that scenario but coughed it off as he said, “oh, alright. and i’ll probably name it after our cat.” slip off. whoops. he just hoped nobody heard that because he is trying so hard to not make a reaction, but of course, nope.
user12 : IT???
user13 : STOP W THE IT, DID HE SAY OUR??
user14 : kodzuken has a gf real???
user15 : ngl i thought he was js like a smelly streamer that is womenless 🤷♂️🤷♂️🤷♂️
the chat was loud. when he saw the last comment made him slightly offended but he let out a quiet sigh, didn’t address it one bit for a couple of minutes— besides, knowing his fans they’re gonna find out about you one day or another; and it could be today from his slip up. so with nothing else to say, he just shrugged. “i got a girlfriend, yeah.”
the chat was getting loud and louder. when a notification came; from you. “what a slip off LMAOOO” and without any shame, he pointed the notification that had your nickname on the contact to the camera. “look, she’s laughing at it. everyone start hating on her.” he joked and smiled lightly, he could notice some that stopped chatting perhaps of the jealousy that he has a girlfriend but there’s thousands that supporting it.
and from that stream is how they knew kenma is his real name & the existence of his girlfriend that he loves so dearly much.
The entire Inarizaki team noticed how off Suna was once they got off the bus. "Don't forget your bag" Kita said calmly, handing Suna the bag. He didn't even say thanks before running off campus.
"Meet at our usual spot" was the message he sent you five minutes ago. Looking up you see Suna Running towards you Suna pulled you close to him. It was unusual for him yet you wrapped your arms around him, feeling his heart beating fast against your body.
"Is everything alright?" You asked, looking up at him. His eyes are full of desperation and longing. He chuckled against you as his arms made their way to your waist.
"Is it wrong for me to miss you?" He asked as he leaned in kissing your cheek.
"No but you've never been this clingy," you said, grabbing hold of his face. He leaned in to your touch. He wanted to feel you touch him. After being apart for an entire week of course he'd miss your touch.
"I missed you okay?" He said as his eyes kept glancing down on your lips.
"Did you even miss me?" He asked yet he already knew your answer. He smiled and pulled you into a deep kiss. Your lips colliding softly against his. His hands pulled you closer. After a few seconds you pulled away, breaking the kiss.
"Yes I missed you too Rin" he smirked at the response before pulling you into another kiss. As you melted into the kiss, your hands wrapped behind his neck. The kiss was interrupted by two voices.
"SAMU, LOOK I TOLD YOU HE'S WITH Y/N !!" Atsumu yelled from across the park, pointing towards both you and Suna.
"HURRY UP DUMBASS" Osamu said, dragging Atsumu away with his shirt.
Suna rolled his eyes at his annoying teammates and pulled you into another kiss. You try to pull back embarrassed to kiss him in front of his friends.
He finally breaks off the kiss, catching his breath and looking down at you. His fingers gently caressing your cheek before removing his hand away and taking your hand in his before dragging you towards a nearby bench.
"You're acting so different it's cute" you tell him, he doesn't show much reaction but you notice his lips curve into a slight smile.
"Just for you" he said before instantly regretting it. He thought of all the cringy couples he'd see online and how they are finally catching up to him.
Embarrassed to look at you he leaned his head against your shoulder. He looked down, staring at your hand before reaching towards it.
He tapped his finger softly against your hand, finding it amusing. He began tracing heart shapes and even spelled out his name and then yours. You just sat there laughing every once in a while when he purposely tickled your hand
He wouldn't admit this outloud but he enjoys these small interactions with you over any other kiss. Something about being the reason you smile and being able to see it at that moment does something in his heart.
Yes kisses are intimate and he loves them but nothing beats the two of you enjoying each other's presence in silence with gentle little touches.
And that is what he missed the most when he was on his trip. Seeing you smile because of him.
Side note: this is so cute, i genuinely forgot i posted this, if you want to see the original post its on my tiktok account, ty for reading ily guys!
fluff! just zayne being unable to sleep without you by his side, he's very lover boy coded here hehe
it's seven a.m. on a saturday and the other side of the bed of the bed is cold. zayne sleepily extends his arm out, but is met with silk sheets. taking in a few deep breaths in, he counts to ten in hopes that you come back.
but after five, he feels the sleepiness worsen. there is one problem: he can't sleep without you by his side. groggy, he lifts up the blanket covers and slips on his fluffy slippers, making his way to the kitchen where he hopes he will be able to find you.
you stand with your back to him, stirring sugar into your camomile tea. he drags his feet against the floorboards, his arms encircling around your waist as he rests his head on top of yours.
“your side of the bed was cold without you by my side, darling. come back to bed with me, please?” he complains, snuggling closer into you.
“i'm so sorry, my love. i only wanted to make some tea to help me fall back asleep.” you place your warm hands over his arms, soothing him.
“hm,” he hums, nodding without saying anything else, clearly ready to go back to bed with you.
“let's go back to bed.” you gently remove his arms off your waist but are met with a slight whimper of disapproval from zayne. “just for a minute, my love. i need to carry the mug back to bed and then i'm all yours, okay?”
you lead the way, with your boyfriend drowsily following behind. settling into the bed, zayne happily slips under the covers, looking at you with pleading eyes as he waits for you to finish your tea.
the tea is slightly hot, but you don't let it show. drinking this tea in slight discomfort is the least of your worries whilst your hard working boyfriend needs his needed rest. you place the mug down on the bedside table, letting your head rest against the pillow.
zayne pulls you close in his embrace, making sure to have you flush against him. he lets out a sigh of relief, and finally closes his eyes for a peaceful slumber with his beloved by his side.
childhood bestfriends caleb and nonMC!reader, who he's secretly in love with while she thinks he likes someone else
warnings. angst, fluff, rejection, she fell first he fell harder, caleb is down bad, groveling, miscommunication, caleb sucks at feelings, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, he gives her a nickname adjacent to pipsqueak
preview. "I love you," he says, pressing his forehead against yours. You want to tell him that it's not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you're sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room is not fair. "Then prove it to me."
wc. 8.4k (she's hefty...)
You proposed to Caleb for the first time when you were nine years old, with a flower ring.
The winter air had nipped at your flushed cheeks as you stepped into ice, holding it out to him. Your breath had puffed into the air like a dragon, and you nuzzled your chin further into the wool of your scarf to keep warm. It had been the only flower left after fall had faded away, yet its white petals stood brilliantly in between your fingertips, weathering against the cold.
The child in front of you was closed off. Eyes narrowed, fists balled inside his pockets, and usually adorning a solemn look on his face. Though, it had certainly gotten better since you first met him as one of Grandma Josephine’s adoptive children. Back then, he hadn’t even spoken much—only keeping MC tight at his side, as if she might disappear if he didn’t. He wasn’t rude by any means…just, cautious. Too aware for a child of his age.
But without a doubt in your mind, he was the most handsome boy you’d ever seen.
He’d raised his brows. “You just met me last week.”
“It’s love at first sight.”
He rejected you, naturally, but it did little to make a dent in your childish heart. Not when his purple hues gazed into your own, with a softness that didn’t seem intent on hurting you.
The next two decades becomes a perpetual cycle of this encounter—in which you learn that Caleb is a very caring person.
In that time, you learn a lot about him, aside from his gorgeous face. You find that he’s fond of nicknames. Pipsqueak for MC. Splints for you, when you launched yourself off a swing and broke your wrist trying to impress him. Safe to say, it didn’t impress anyone but your doctor, who was baffled you managed to fly so high into the air with your 11-year-old legs. Caleb held your other hand tight in the emergency room as you wailed helplessly, waiting for the doctor to ease the pain. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry just a tad longer to keep your hand in his.
“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”
“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”
“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”
He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”
The broken wrist is so worth it.
With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.
“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to.
By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.
“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”
“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”
You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”
“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”
It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter.
“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”
“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”
At this, your ears perk.
“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”
He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”
Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you.
The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.
Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb.
MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.
You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment.
Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.
MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.
“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”
“Awful. I went through war.”
Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”
“Yours.”
“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”
“Even you can’t save me for this class.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food? “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”
Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”
“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”
He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”
You shrug. “You tell me.”
His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”
“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”
“With your friends?”
“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”
He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”
You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”
“I’m done studying.”
“Liar.”
Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.
You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.
The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.
A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.
You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper.
He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.
Because he’s not Caleb.
It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.
You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.
But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.
“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”
He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.
You nod again. Smile again.
Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.
You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.
The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.
You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.
No messages.
Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.
Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.
And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.
[you]: hi
The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.
[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?
[futre hubs <333]: i can
You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him.
It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.
You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.
Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.
The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good.
But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.
You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.
Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble.
A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her.
You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.
“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“I told you to grab a jacket.”
“You nag too much.”
He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.
“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”
“You and your questions.”
“I want to know.”
He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”
You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”
“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”
“...Other than that.”
“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”
“Something else.”
“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”
Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens. “Splints?”
You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”
“I was just kidding around.”
“Jokes have some truth to them.”
“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”
Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.
Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.
But nothing comes.
The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.
You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct.
Caleb glances at you. Then away.
Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.
“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.
You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.
Another pause. God, it’s awkward.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”
Just not enough.
“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.
Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.
“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”
You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”
He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”
Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.
“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”
The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair.
Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.
“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”
Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.
Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.
So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.
The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.
The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.
“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”
He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.
Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner.
“I dunno.”
You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”
He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”
“Not hungry,” he mutters.
“Don’t care. Sit up.”
He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.
You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.
“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”
“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”
He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”
You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.
“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.
Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”
He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”
“Learned from the best.”
His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”
Your hand stills. “What?”
He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”
His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”
“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”
You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.
“Idiot,” you whisper.
He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.
“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”
“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”
You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.
“…Is she okay?”
It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.
“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”
You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.
“Like what?”
“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.
He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”
There it is. It’s always about her.
You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him.
“Does it matter?”
Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”
“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”
“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”
Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”
You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.
“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”
“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”
He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.
He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”
“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”
“You’re angry.”
You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”
You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.
“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”
“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”
“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”
“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second.
“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”
“I am now.”
“What has gotten into you, splints?”
“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”
Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.
“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”
But you’re not over it. Not at all.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.
“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”
The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him.
You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.
“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”
But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips.
“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”
You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.
A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins.
Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.
Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.
His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.
Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.
“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave.
You don’t wait to see if he hears you.
The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by.
You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.
If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?
Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.
You press it and shut your eyes.
Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.
Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable?
Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.
“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.
“No.”
He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”
You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right.
As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.
“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”
“I don’t read them.”
Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”
Silence.
“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”
You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone.
[1:41PM]
[caleb]: are you eating well?
[caleb]: i made this today
[caleb]: [image attached]
[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later
[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho
[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)
[8:13AM]
[caleb]: hi splints :)
[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it
[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining
[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3
[5:32PM]
[caleb]: ranked first today
[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/
[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol
[caleb]: hope you’re okay
[11:23PM]
[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid
[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then
[caleb]: i still don’t
[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that
[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…
[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then
[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say
[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol
[caleb]: it was never about her
[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person
[caleb]: miss you a lot
[caleb]: sleep tight
You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.
“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech.
“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”
“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”
You don’t respond.
Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.
‘I love you.’
The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.
Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.
Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.
Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.
Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.
You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.
Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.
“…We’re a mess.”
A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”
“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.
Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod.
Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.
“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”
Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”
“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”
He grins, lopsided. “You should.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.
You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”
He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”
“You nag too much.”
He kisses your nose. “Hm?”
“You’re emotionally repressed.”
“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.
“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”
Your jawline.
“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”
“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.
Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”
“I will,” he whispers, just as his mouth slots against yours, and a warmth blooms throughout your chest. You melt into him, like you always have and you always will. “I’ll prove it to you for the rest of my life.”
[⋆☕︎˖] synopsis : sometimes you feel like you and caleb are so different that you wonder how you're even together, but then he reminds you of all the things he loves about you wc. 1.2k
[⋆☕︎˖] tags : caleb x gn!non-mc reader, fluff, comfort, anxious thoughts, reassurance, utter sweetness, caleb soothes you through it all
a/n : this may be a niche scenario but listening to 'cup of tea' by the two lips sparked my brain receptors. i feel like a fairy godmother that stops by every once in blue moon to bring an ounce of comfort to those who need it ಥ‿ಥ
You had been feeling off these past few days.
It started innocently enough. Conversations with friends, casual talks with their partners, listening to them gush about all the things they did together.
Matching hobbies. Shared interests. Couples who seemed to move in perfect sync with one another.
And somewhere along the way, the thought lodged itself into your head and refused to leave.
“Do you ever wish we had more in common?”
Caleb glanced down at you from where your head rested in his lap, brow lifting slightly. “What do you mean? We have plenty in common.”
“Like…?”
“Like our mutual affection for each other,” he said, poking your cheek.
You rolled your eyes. “That’s a given. But honestly, thinking about it now, it’s kind of a miracle we even ended up together.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way,” he said easily.
Your attention drifted away from the movie playing in the background, your thoughts wandering far louder than the television ever could.
The couple on screen fit together so naturally it was almost irritating. They liked the same things, finished each other's thoughts, laughed at the same jokes. They moved through life like matching puzzle pieces.
Meanwhile, you and Caleb once spent forty minutes arguing over whether watching a nature documentary counted as 'quality movie night material.'
“I mean, look at everyone else,” you muttered quietly. “Every weekend they're doing activities together, going to classes together, hiking together…”
“Well, that's them,” Caleb replied simply. “And this is us.”
His fingers drifted absentmindedly through your hair.
“And I love us."
Your chest tightened slightly at how easily he said it.
“You say that now,” you muttered, playing with the hem of his shirt, “but what if one day our differences become too much? What if eventually we just… stop fitting together? What if the things we love about each other now just become annoying later?”
He looked down at you for a moment.
Then—
“Pfft.”
Your head snapped back instantly.
You smacked him in the stomach, and he winced dramatically. “Ow.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” you accused, sitting upright.
“I am,” he insisted, muffling his laugh. “Okay, fine. Let's say one day the thought of my cooking revolts you and you can't stand anything I make anymore.”
Your ears perked up slightly despite yourself.
“Well…” he hummed thoughtfully. “I guess I'd just have to scrap all my recipes and learn some new ones.”
“And what if the food I like doesn't agree with you?”
“Then I either learn to love it,” he shrugged, “or I spend another thirty minutes cooking something else for myself.”
You frowned harder while he fought back another smile.
“This is serious.”
“Most couples worry about communication problems,” he said. “You're over here preparing for the collapse of civilization because we ‘may' or may not end up liking the same food.”
You sighed, looking at the ground. “What if one day the differences become too much?”
“You really think we'd break up over a few disagreements?”
“Not a few,” you muttered. “Over time…”
He adjusted his position on the couch before opening his arms slightly toward you.
You huffed dramatically but still crawled back into the space he made for you, settling against his chest while his chin rested on top of your head.
“Having different interests is one of my favorite things about us,” he admitted softly.
You blinked.
“While it'd be nice to have more in common sometimes, I like seeing the world through a perspective I never would've found on my own.”
“Don't you ever get bored of the things I like?”
“Do you get bored when I ramble about my things?” he posed.
“No…” you pondered for a moment, “well, sometimes.”
He chuckled. “We're not going to agree with each other all the time, just like how we're not going to have the same interests either too.”
His arms tightened slightly around you.
“Do you know how depressing this apartment would look if you hadn’t gotten involved? If it were up to me, everything here would still be dark colours and plain furniture.”
You smiled a little despite yourself.
“Because of you,” he continued. “I find myself liking things I never would've looked twice at before. I go places I wouldn't normally go. I try things I never thought I'd enjoy.”
His voice softened further. “The world feels bigger with you in it.”
Your fingers tightened slightly against his shirt.
“I'll never get tired of hearing you talk about the things you love,” he said. “Even when I don't understand half of it. I like it because it's you, and I love seeing you light up.”
He rocked you gently in his arms. “I adore every little fragment that makes up you.”
“When I'm with you, it feels like I'm learning about the world for the first time. You leave little pieces of yourself behind in everything you do, and before I knew it, those pieces have become important to me too.”
Your expression slowly softened.
“So how can you say we won't work out when we're older?” he murmured. “All couples fight. We just start ours earlier, apparently over what to watch on movie night."
“I still wasn't watching that documentary,” you said, firmly. “Though the physics one was slightly less boring than the others.”
He laughed quietly before suddenly rolling the both of you sideways onto the couch cushions."
“Caleb—”
His face rubbed aggressively against your hair while you squirmed beneath him.
“How lucky am I,” he murmured into your neck, “that I get to keep discovering new ways to fall in love with you?”
The playfulness faded from your expression slightly.
“What if in ten years I'm not the same person you fell in love with?”
He stilled for a moment.
“Ten years is a long time,” he admitted quietly.
Your stomach sank slightly.
But then his arms tightened around you again.
“Who's to say I won't love the version of you ten years from now too?”
You looked up at him.
“I guess I'll just have the honor of falling in love with you all over again,” he reassured.
Something in your chest ached.
“I love you for you,” he continued softly. “And even if you change completely someday, I'll love whoever you become too.”
Your throat tightened.
His thumb brushed against your cheek. “All your sides, show them to me. Let me love all of them.”
“I've only ever wanted you,” he said. “When you're sick. When you're happy. When you're rambling about your hobbies. Even when you're angry at me.”
A grin hugged at his lips.
“Especially when you're angry at me.”
You groaned softy while he laughed.
“I want us to experience everything together,” he whispered. “Even the boring parts. Even when we're wrinkled beyond recognition and yelling at each other over what temperature the thermostat should be.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead before peppering more along your jaw and neck.
You squirmed immediately. “Stop, that tickles.”
“Never."
He locked his arms tighter around your waist and buried his face into the crook of your neck.
“I could never get sick of you,” he mumbled against your skin. “I want every part of you.”
Your heart swelled painfully.
“So show me new sides of yourself,” he whispered. “Let me love those too.”
Then he smiled softly against your shoulder.
“It's you I want to spend the rest of my life loving.”
a/n : and thus she awakens from her indefinite slumber. i always get inspired at the worst times (rip exam upcoming szn) but that means you might be seeing more of me in the next couple of weeks♪～(´ε｀ ). writing brings me a great deal of comfort esp when im going thru a rough patch. one of my goals when writing is to hopefully ease someone's heart and perhaps offer a bit of comfort to those that need it. I don't write often but i still appreciate everyone giving my work some love. as always ty for reading my sweet bbs!! (✯ᴗ✯)
