anxiety has a tendency to spread, as sanji discovers unexpectedly early one morning.
warnings: mentions and descriptions of anxiety and related symptoms; unhealthy eating habits; small implied mention of disordered eating; slight angst, comfort, light fluff (please lmk if there are any i should add!)
word count: 3k
sanji runs a hand through his damp hair as he steps out of the washroom, unsuccessful in warding off a large yawn. though the early waking hour is by no means unusual for him, he is but human, he thinks to himself with a slight chuckle; some mornings are just going to be easier than others.
shaking his head slightly as though attempting to scatter his thoughts around him like the water droplets that fly from his hair, sanji starts to make his way towards the kitchen. he needs to start prepping for the many meals of the day if he hopes to stand a chance at keeping up with luffy's incessant hunger. his fingers itch for a cigarette, anything to help stave off the remaining sleepiness in his system, but he resists the urge. while he knows he has little to no hopes of quitting, nor does he really want to, smoking this early in the morning feels like crossing a line-- not before breakfast.
it's as he's walking across the planks of the deck in the 4 AM darkness that he hears a sound he would recognize anywhere: the sound of a stomach growling.
sanji's eyebrows furrow as his thoughts about the day's menu are entirely forgotten. his head snaps towards the cluster of barrels from where the sound came-- a stowaway? he wonders briefly, but they've been out at sea for days now. there's no way someone could have gone unnoticed for that long. the growl is followed by a vaguely familiar soft sigh, causing sanji’s brows to furrow further.
he's at the barrels in a few long strides and can't stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards when he peers over their tops to find-- you. you're sitting on the deck with your back leaning against the barrel in front of him, eyes unfocused as they gaze across the distant horizon.
your name escapes his lips in confusion before he has completely processed your presence. you jolt slightly in surprise, clearly not expecting to have any company, before tilting your head upwards to peer at him.
"sanji?" you ask in your voice that he never fails to swoon at. a pause, and then, "is it that time already?"
sanji can't help but smile at your question. you truly are so sweet, so adorable-- he relishes the sight of your wide eyes, your slightly parted plush lips, your mussed hair. you're still in your pajamas, which isn't unusual in and of itself (you tended to get ready for the day after eating breakfast with the rest of the crew) but something about seeing you like this, alone in the early hour, feels more intimate than the two of you had been before. which, granted, was not at all, but that's only all the more reason he feels grateful to be here with you now.
he makes his way around the barrels languidly before leaning against the merry's railing, facing you with a warm expression. "indeed it is, sweetness. good morning."
he watches as a small smile forms on your lips. “good morning," you say, and sanji struggles to keep his thoughts from spiraling into bliss.
“you’re up early,” he comments casually with a friendly smirk, though a concerned quirk of his eyebrow gives him away. “to what do i owe the fine pleasure of your enchanting presence, my dear?”
the corners of your mouth turn upwards at his question, but he notices the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "just couldn't sleep, i guess," you respond with a shrug, breaking eye contact to stare back out at the dim horizon.
it’s clear you aren't being completely honest, but sanji doesn’t want to push you to share if you don't want to. after all, it isn't like you guys are particularly close or anything. actually, he isn't sure if you could be considered "close" to anyone in the crew, with the exception of maybe luffy.
it isn’t that you didn’t trust them, not exactly-- despite the brevity of your time with the straw hats thus far, you’ve been through enough harrowing experiences together to know that you’ve got each other’s backs. but trusting someone with your life is one thing, especially when it’s already been proven in battle, and trusting them with your feelings is entirely another. it just hasn't been long enough yet; you’re still getting to know them.
at least, that's what he hopes it is, anyway. with the way his eyes seem to cling to you like flies to fruit, he isn't sure what he'll do if the truth is actually that you disliked him.
"anything i can help with?" he offers, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. he wants to help, but he also doesn't want to impose if you don't want him around.
to his relief, you meet his eyes again and smile. "that's kind of you, but no." you don’t say anything for a moment, holding his gaze with unreadable eyes and suddenly sanji feels as though he is gazing upon anubis instead, his heart being weighed on your scale to determine his worth. after a couple of seconds that span eternity, you say, “honestly, i’m just feeling a bit... not great.”
“not great?”
you break eye contact with him to look down at your stomach, silent for a moment again. “just anxious,” you finally sigh, your hands moving to rest at a spot right below your rib cage. “i feel it right here. it feels like... like pressure is building up, but if i press down on it then it's like i can get it to release," you demonstrate, causing a growl to emanate from your torso as though you had simply pushed air out of a bag. you exhale with slight relief again, hands still firm against yourself, before looking back up at him with an abashed smile. "i think my anxiety gave me gas," you half-joke.
sanji forces himself to ignore his ecstasy-- you’re opening up to him! he had just been thinking about it, too! you trust him!-- and to focus on your words instead. it gets easier as you continue, his frown deepening at the sound of your stomach growling again as he remembers what drew him to you a few minutes earlier.
he pulls out a cigarette with the slightest tremble in his hands-- breakfast be damned. you had just unwittingly reminded him of the fact that he’s only human for the second time this day already; some things are harder to deal with than others.
he takes a long inhale of his cigarette, letting the smoke permeate through his system and dull his nerves before slowly exhaling it in a thin wisp. "sweetness," he starts when he finally feels grounded again, eyes full of concern as they meet yours, "i don't think that's anxiety."
you seemingly can't stop yourself from releasing a short, incredulous laugh, lips curved in a smile but eyebrows furrowed and eyes guarded. "what?"
"at least, i don't think that it’s only anxiety." he holds your gaze steadily despite your spike of wariness. when he speaks again, his voice is sincere. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to say you didn't know what you were feeling. it's just--" he pulls away from the railing to crouch in front of you, faces now at the same level. the cigarette between his fingers creates a soft haze in the air between you. "when was the last time you ate?"
sanji feels the guilt spread through him again and attempts to fight it off by taking another long drag of his cigarette. he turns away from you to puff out the smoke, lost in thought.
now that he's thinking about it, you didn't show up to dinner yesterday. or lunch. your absence hadn't been odd; in the not-quite-two weeks you had been aboard, you had eaten with the rest of the crew a whopping total of four times. instead, sanji had noticed you opted to grab your dish and eat in the open air of the deck, taking shelter under nami’s tangerine trees if the weather wasn't accommodating. but he can't even remember you stopping by to make a plate for yourself yesterday. and thanks to luffy, he hadn't noticed any discrepancies in leftover food (that is to say, there was none as usual).
you had been there at breakfast, but he can't recall you grabbing anything except a mug of coffee. how could he have failed to notice? when was the last time he had seen you eat in front of him? it's been maybe two days since, he thinks, hating that he isn't certain. this had happened under his watch. and that too, with you. the person he’s trying to get closer to, to befriend and become a trusted confidant of at the very least, and at the very best... well, he finds you very attractive. but he would never cross that line unless he was wholly certain you wanted to, too.
you're silent as well, seemingly thinking back to find the answer to his question. he watches color creep up your cheeks as something dawns on you, realization and embarrassment fighting for dominance over your features. "i ate last night. at like, ten," you finally respond in a meek voice, looking everywhere but his face.
he can’t stop himself from glancing towards the kitchen. “what'd you eat?” he wonders.
you remain quiet for a moment before sighing again. "you're right. i'm hungry. i... i hadn't realized."
he narrows his eyes at you without malice, seeing through your attempts to escape answering him. “what did you eat?" he asks again, his voice’s volume softening to match yours.
you wring your hands, still refusing to look his way. "a couple of almonds," you say eventually, sounding chastised.
"and?" he prompts.
you don't respond.
"okay," sanji says, feeling his hands tremble again as he takes in your words. "okay," he repeats, "what about before that?"
"um, i think right after you cleaned up for lunch? i stole a slice of cheese, the one with the peppers in it." he can see you’re struggling to keep your expression neutral, but he isn't sure which emotions you’re fighting off.
he does know which ones he’s struggling with, though. sanji feels his stomach turn with guilt and trauma at your words. "and before that?" he asks, his voice low.
"coffee, at breakfast." your hands still but they and your eyes remain on your lap.
he exhales your name softly.
"it had milk and sugar in it," you say defensively at his meager response, voice somehow even softer.
sanji lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle before taking your hands in his. he doesn't say anything, waiting, until finally you look up to meet his eyes. "why?" he asks when you do.
you look confused. "what do you mean?"
he raises one of his hands to tentatively cup your cheek, eyes full of tenderness and concern. "are you... unhappy with the way you look?" he asks carefully, trying not to word it in a way that could be misconstrued. when your eyebrows furrow deeper, he hurries to add, "because you’re-"
"no," you cut him off before he can undoubtedly shower you in praise, "no, it's not that." and then you add, cheeks flushing, "um. thank you, though."
sanji offers you a brief smile, his hand falling from your cheek and rejoining the other with yours, before frowning again. "is it my cooking, then? sweetness, if there's ever anything you don't like-"
"no, not at all," you cut him off again, this time with more certainty as you shake your head. "i love your cooking."
“then?" he prompts lightly when you don't say anything else.
one of your feet begins to flicker back and forth like a light switch against the deck, giving away your restlessness. you’re back to looking everywhere but at sanji, at his eyes. "i'm just... not hungry."
as if on cue, your stomach lets out another low growl, causing your blush to deepen in embarrassment. sanji wants to smirk at you, poke fun at how cute you look flustered like this, but the noise reignites his guilt. reminds him how you’d gotten to this state without him even noticing.
"your stomach says differently," he simply states. sanji pulls his hands away from yours before standing up and offering one back to you. you don't hesitate to take it, and he effortlessly helps you rise to your feet. "c'mon. let's get some food in you."
your wince at his words doesn't go unnoticed by him. he gives your hand, still in his as you both make your way towards the kitchen, a short squeeze before murmuring softly, "wanna tell me about it? you don't have to if you don't want to."
to be honest, he's surprised you've been so receptive to him thus far. he doesn't want to push his luck, your grace, because if he did-- if he made you feel uncomfortable, if you began to avoid him because of it-- well, it would feel crushing, that’s for sure.
the nervousness in sanji’s chest continues to blossom as you say nothing for a few steps. however, it’s swiftly replaced with concern when you do respond, your voice heavy with exhaustion. "like i mentioned before, it's because of my anxiety." you sigh once again, weighed down by your words. "sometimes it just gets... bad. i don't know why. i'm not even really sure if there is a reason, to be honest. it just happens every now and then."
the two of you have reached the kitchen by now. he silently holds the door open for you before leading you to a barstool at the kitchen island and walking around it to the sink to wash his hands. he holds his cigarette between his lips as he begins to gather ingredients from various shelves and cabinets and places them on the island between you.
“the anxiety makes me feel... full, i guess?” you continue. “i don't feel hungry, and i definitely don't feel like eating. and i feel so nauseated because of it, too. thinking about eating makes it worse. so does seeing or smelling food." you sigh. "i know i have to eat. i guess... i just didn't notice that i hadn't really eaten recently.”
sanji turns away from you, taking a final drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out and tossing it away. “you didn’t notice?”
“...i guess i didn't want to notice." you sigh for what seems to be the millionth time and sanji feels his heart twist. “noticing means admitting something’s not... okay.”
sanji hums once you trail off, signaling to you that he heard you and understood.
you start up again after a few moments of silence, restlessness shining through once more. “it’s not really that big of a deal, though. you don’t have to worry-- don’t worry about it. it’ll pass. it always does, eventually.”
sanji doesn’t respond, instead staring at the amalgamation of ingredients he had gathered specifically for you. his eyebrows draw together as he mentally rifles through countless recipes, determined to find the right one for you at this moment. something light, since you hadn't eaten properly in a little bit. no strong scents, either, except maybe ginger since that’s good with nausea. a variety of flavors and textures, to keep it fun. it’s early, so breakfast foods-- that means the bananas, yogurt--
"are you mad at me?” you ask timidly.
he freezes, mouth slightly parting in surprise before standing straight, his attention now entirely on you. "of course not, sweetness.”
"you seem upset.”
sanji takes a beat to process your words. he thought he'd been hiding his reaction well, but apparently not. "i suppose... i’m upset at myself,” he finally admits to you.
you frown. “why?”
he offers you a consoling smile, “you haven't been eating well and i hadn't noticed." he realizes you’ve reminded him for the third time that day that he’s only human-- as much as he wants to keep it to himself, to not burden you with his thoughts, he knows he stands no chance at resisting you. who could?
“but i didn't even notice," you insist.
he feels his adoration of you helplessly grow at your rebuttal. “true, but it isn’t your job to make sure all of our crewmates are well fed and healthy. it is mine."
“fine, but we're pirates,” you shoot back almost immediately. “we should all be taking care of ourselves-- i should be taking care of myself."
he chuckles at your fervency, the warm sound filling the room. “i get the feeling you’re not going to let me win this one."
"i didn't realize there was anything to win,” you grumble, making sanji laugh harder. when he glances over at you, he sees you're smiling, causing his own to widen.
sanji works in a comfortable silence for a few moments, his smile remaining on his face as he feels your eyes on him. he takes a step back when he’s done, admiring his handiwork before proudly presenting you with a small bowl and steaming mug. “made especially for you: peanut butter yogurt topped with diced bananas and granola, served with a cup of ginger herbal tea.”
simple, but he knows that’s always best when feeling nauseous. the cold yogurt should help settle your stomach, and the peanut butter provides extra protein which he had heard could help with nausea, similar to the ginger and bananas. and the granola ties it all together with its crunch.
you give him a genuine smile as your eyes glaze over the meal he had prepared before looking back up at him. “thanks, sanji.” you pause for a moment before adding, “are you okay?”
“what?” he asks, taken aback, then chuckles slightly. “aren’t i supposed to be asking you that?”
only you, he thinks to himself affectionately. only you would share something you’d been struggling with and then ask him if he was feeling okay. ever thoughtful, ever sweet.
his question seems to embarrass you and sanji can’t help the warmth that spreads in his chest as your ears turn red. “maybe not... one hundred percent, but better.” you meet his eyes again, your smile returning. “definitely better.”
his own smile grows uncontrollably wide as he leans over the island to place his hand on yours. “then, sweetness, i’m okay, too.”
Heyyy so I just recently found your blog and I love it so much, your writing is so good! I'm originally from india as well but I moved to america when I was very young, I speak another language too though, tamil? Are you familiar with it by any chance? I read that you were polylingual and I was just wondering :) What's it like speaking different languages? I'm taking Japanese now and progressing slowly but learning anyway! Sorry for such a long ask btw ((((:
Hi there! Yes I'm from India! Thank you so much for visiting this blog omg it's ancient and been a while since I updated on here! 😅 I use Quotev a lot for my writing these days.
And yes! Omg I speak Tamil at home! So nice to hear that you're familiar with it. I'm from Southern India so I'm familiar with a lot of languages down south, and being polylingual has taught me a lot of great things about languages and culture :) And Japanese soudba awesome! And dw about the asks omg I love long asks! Have a great day, hon! 💙
Author’s Note: I absolutely adore Akutagawa and think he deserves the world; and I can definitely see him as being soft with someone he has feelings for and whoop why not give his coughing a reason anyway lmao. Hope you enjoy!
Word count: 8k+
Pairing: Akutagawa Ryunosuke x Reader
Summary: ［Ａｋｕｔａｇａｗａ ｘ Ｒｅａｄｅｒ］: Akutagawa wasn't someone who hoped, he chased after what he believed he deserved, like a dog chasing after cars. Futility was part of existence, after all, and it was a fact he believed he had accepted. Every part of your existence was a bane to his, and he was cursed to have even met you. Love was nothing but a fool's curse, and Akutagawa hated being one. Especially when it was physically killing him in the form of lilac petals infused with blood. [Hanahaki AU]
Warnings: angst to fluff, soft aku, mentions of blood, swearing (because Aku ofc), softness, tooth-rotting fluff, some angst if you squint (Also Chuuya makes an appeareance bc I love that shrimp mafioso)
If Akutagawa could place together pieces of why he was aggravated by your very presence, it wouldn’t have led him to where he currently was. Avoiding your gaze, coughs multiplied by numerous ramifications, hands shaking, forehead breaking out into a sweat—he had never felt more obscenely weak than sitting before you on his bed, having your keen gaze observe his frail body. Numbness coursed through his veins and never before had he wished to disappear more than right then; it was suffocating to sit in front of you while you wordlessly judged him, deemed him moronic in that pretty little head of yours. He stilled momentarily before slapping himself internally; you were no such person. You wouldn’t judge another. The entire reason for his predicament right then was simply because of how perfect you were.
And no perfect human being would dare judge another. Especially not someone as broken as he.
“Is it…” You sounded so defeated, he’d have done anything to hear your giggles and laughter once again, but life wasn’t as giving to him. It had never been. “Is that person… me?”
Indeed, it had always been you. Ever since he had laid his eyes on you, ever since there had been that cursed deepening between the bond he shared with you, the moronic display of his own version of affection that on odd days caught him off guard—ever since he had coughed out blood infused with purple-magenta lilacs, he had known that it was you. He wasn’t familiar with the disease he carried, but he deemed it a fool’s curse to be caught with a feeling as hopeless as this. Yet, you were the one to once again aid him. You were the one who had told him what was happening and it had thus become inevitably clear to him as if it wasn’t clear already; Akutagawa “Rabid Dog” Ryuunosuke was hopelessly, carelessly, irrevocably, and painfully in love with you—a commoner, a medical student, a moron.
*
The first time Akutagawa saw you was when he was returning from a minor mission. It was something Higuchi herself could have easily handled, but there wasn’t a chance the dog was letting his subordinates handle an entire subgroup on their own. Intimidation was something Akutagawa did best, and it was the one thing he looked forward to when concerned with minor missions such as these. Not that anyone minded that he tagged along; however, once it was done, there was no more reason for him to waste any more time around the area. Returning to the car, he merely had to just stand near the vehicle for Higuchi to come running and start the engine, heading back to the headquarters.
A sudden break harshly pulled him out of his reverie and that was when he saw you—on the other end, hands outstretched and a pleading look in your eye. It wasn’t that he was always quick to anger, he knew there was a reason why you were stopping traffic, and when he craned his neck to look at what you were shielding, the answer was clear. There was a man, frothing from his mouth, shaking uncontrollably on the ground and there you were, wearing a white coat, hair pulled behind you in a messy bun, eyes far too tired to be seen in such broad daylight, begging him to stop his car so that she can at least move the man.
“What should I do, senpai?” Higuchi asked, her voice cold. “Should I ram into—“
“No,” Akutagawa leaned back and watched, “This doesn't concern me.”
“Looks like the man is having an epileptic attack.” The blonde woman said, blinking.
It didn’t matter to him what was happening with the man, but when you pulled yourself over to the window by which Akutagawa sat, he was alerted. You knocked twice, albeit pleadingly at his window, before he turned to Higuchi who easily read the look he gave her incorrectly. Pulling out a gun, she threatened to shoot you before ordering you to back away, but you stood there, staring right into her eyes expressionlessly. Akutagawa blinked before wondering where else he had seen eyes as devoid of fear as yours before lowering his window.
“What do you want?”
“That man is dying,” You said, “You’re the Port Mafia, right?”
Higuchi hissed before shoving her gun forward, but you paid her no heed.
“That’s right. Back away while you know what’s good for you, peasant.” Akutagawa said, looking away from you.
“The Port Mafia loves the city, correct? I’m sure whoever your leader is would agree that saving one man is also in a way keeping the peace. Help me take him to a hospital, and you’ll never see this peasant again.”
Just before Higuchi could try to intimidate you once more, Akutagawa stopped her. It was not the kindness of his heart that decided to go with your pleas. It was not anything to do with a positive emotion at all, it was simply the fact that the nearest hospital was 500 meters ahead, and a frail person like yourself couldn’t possibly move a dying man on your own. You immediately turned to the epileptic man and ignored the helpless, ignorant onlookers before putting one arm under his shaking one, and attempted to pull him forward; however, a long, dark cloth-like substance wrapped itself around the man before pulling him inside the car forcefully, earning a gasp out of you. You stared at Akutagawa before nodding and following him inside. You sat beside the dying man before offering him a piece of metal and placed it in between his mouth, to prevent him from biting his tongue off in shock. Akutagawa watched you from the rear-view mirror without a word, wondering if he was doing something idiotic or if he was actually carrying forward the legacy his organization aimed to keep.
“Senpai,” Higuchi whispered, “Are you sure… this is fine?”
He didn’t answer her but instead turned to you. He noticed that your white coat was no ordinary lab coat, you were a doctor. This explained why you looked so tired and why you wanted to help a random man on the road, but what it didn’t explain was how unfazed you were with Higuchi’s threats earlier; this was what alerted Akutagawa in the first place. The eyes you wore maliciously, the eyes devoid of emotion, especially for a young doctor—it wasn’t ordinary.
“Is there a reason why you’re staring at me?” You asked, turning to him.
“How dare you—“
“Shut up, Higuchi,” He scolded before turning to you with a snarky smirk, “You’re a doctor. Surely, you should know you can’t help everyone you see. You saw the people around you, those are the people you’re trying to protect. Your efforts are futile if it’s thankless.”
“So are yours,” You answered instantly, not meeting his gaze. “Just living is thankless, and yet we thrive. It’s both fascinating and utterly stupid.”
The car stopped and you instantly ran out before calling in someone from the hospital to help you carry the man away. Akutagawa couldn’t forget what you had said; the words slipped out of you as if you memorized them, it was marvelous how effortlessly you had replied to his attempt at minor intimidation. It wasn’t enough for him to be allured by you but the moment Higuchi attempted to drive off, you rushed back and knocked on the window beside his face once more. This time the tired look in your eyes was more than evident, yet the chapped-lipped smile made him queasy. Akutagawa wasn’t always the receiver of such positive reactions from the general public, so this change was bizarre.
“Even though it’s futile, or worthless, I like doing it. And you helped me. So, thank you… Uh…”
“Akutagawa.”
Your smile only widened before you tilted your head a bit, “Thank you, Akutagawa-san.”
His eyes landed on your nameplate inches above your coat pocket and he memorized your name: (l/n) (y/n). He watched as you skirted around and walked into the hospital, not a word was said thereafter. He could feel Higuchi kickstart the car and drive them back to base, but as much as he’d have liked to stop thinking of you, it was, as you had said, futile.
*
The next time Akutagawa saw you was in a place he’d never expected to find you in. He stilled in his movements when he spotted you walk into the Port Mafia building, guided by two other armed men, before rushing forward to know what you were doing there. He noticed Koyo Ozaki, standing in front of the room you had just entered and he stopped before her, a questioning look in his eye. She blinked at him before wondering what he wanted, Akutagawa wasn’t the type to exchange pleasantries after all.
“Are you looking for the other runt? He’s inside—“
“Why was she here?”
He should have understood that a pronoun with no prior mention to a name would barely hold any meaning to someone like Koyo. She continued to give him a blank stare before wondering if he was referring to you, the girl who had just walked in to talk to Mori. She could have wondered how the rabid dog knew someone like you, but it wasn’t her place to care. Shrugging, Koyo knew that whatever she said didn’t matter right then.
“She’s the daughter of one of Mori-san’s old enemies. He’s trying to recruit her,” Koyo waved her hand callously in the air, “Either that or she’ll be terminated. It’s not really my problem so I don’t know. I’m here because there’s something I need to tell him after.”
What he couldn’t understand was how you were linked to the Port Mafia. Your father was one of the enemies? Did that mean you were an enemy? Were you still linked to your father or had he been terminated beforehand? Not knowing these details, but merely remembering the way you had smiled at him angered him, and he felt a raging cough begin to itch at his throat. Koyo watched as Akutagawa coughed into his hand, feeling the familiar itch that only managed to grow till it burned his nostrils.
“There’s a name for such a disease,” She said, eyes cloudy, “But, I can see you haven’t caught it yet.”
The black-haired man narrowed his eyes at the cryptic words the woman said, before turning to find the door opening. You walked out, this time with no one but Nakahara Chuuya behind you. Your eyes widened when you spotted Akutagawa and a smile adorned your features. You approached him before nodding at him, as to acknowledge him. Chuuya blinked before scratching his chin.
“You know each other?”
“Yes—“
“Barely,” Akutagawa said, in between coughs, “What’s she doing here?”
“You should get that cough looked at, Akutagawa-san. I’d be happy to—“
“Shut up,” He threatened before glaring at you, and then turning to Chuuya, “What’s going on?”
Chuuya shrugged, “This girl’s some hot shot’s daughter, but since he’s dead, Boss decided not to worry about her. Besides, she’s harmless. No ability, just a med student.”
“Nakahara-san, if you would please drop me back from where you rudely picked me up, I’d be grateful.”
Chuuya groaned before shutting his eyes, “Uh, you know, Akutagawa, why don’t you drop her off? You two can catch up—“
“I don’t know her.”
“—and I don’t care. Thanks. See ya!”
Koyo let out a sigh before wandering inside the room Mori-san is in. You turned to Akutagawa before letting out a sigh yourself, and bowing slightly. He watched you with annoyance plastered all over his face, wondering why in the world you were all of a sudden everywhere. Ever since meeting you, you’d been plaguing his mind like some sort of disease, it was angering. He clicked his tongue before leading you out of the building and finding Higuchi’s car. Higuchi had ensured that Akutagawa would have an additional pair of keys with him at all costs, which came in handy just then. Akutagawa hated the position he was in, completing menial tasks that were assigned to someone else first—Chuuya always pushed minor work on to him whenever he felt like it, and now, he was stuck with you—someone he felt agitated around, someone he believed, even breathing felt like carrying a boulder on his shoulders.
“I’m very sorry about this,” You said, just a moment before stopping in front of the car, “If I had known Nakahara-san would simply push this on to you, I’d have refrained from asking him—“
“You think I can’t do something so simple?” He snapped, glaring at you.
“N-No, that’s… I know it’s a burden.”
Akutagawa gave you a look, which was either a mix between confusion and fear—an unusual look for him to sport on his face, having never been used to feeling such intense positive emotions before. You were looking at him, afraid to be a burden? This was his job. There was no burden, there was no blessing. It was all worthless in the end.
“You’re not important enough to be a burden,” He snarled, getting into the car, “Stop worrying over idiotic things.”
“We all worry over idiotic things,” You said, smiling and getting into the car yourself, “I think it’s a part of who we are.”
“Don’t group me along with the likes of you.”
You stayed quiet for a second before nodding, “Yeah,” Akutagawa paused momentarily at your sudden acceptance, “You’re right.”
What did you mean by that? What did you mean by your words? Why did they sound so heavily laced with an emotion that triggered the worst of responses from him? Suddenly, he felt the urge to either slam his hand against the steering wheel out of sheer anger or just stare at you, attempting to decipher any meaning from the words that had just slipped out of you. What a bane to his existence, when answers seemed more confusing than anything Dazai had put him through. Perhaps, you understood from his silence that he was curious about your origins, but now was not the time to unveil anything of the sort. You carried your own burdens, dark and menacing as they may be, but the only solace Akutagawa found in that second was when you turned to him with those very callous eyes and smiled instead.
“Thank you, again.”
This time, he did not fight back. This time, he glanced at you as if you were an enchanting representation of everything he had been missing in his life. With eyes like his, he had never imagined that a smile could even be possible—that anything positive could be linked to the way his mind worked. He had been broken beyond repair, or perhaps that was his assumption, but then again, with the way you were looking at him right then, Akutagawa felt an emotion he hadn’t felt in a desperately long time.
He drove in silence but figured that it was the silence that made things weird for you; he could notice you trying to fill in the gaps with baseless talk, commenting on the weather, talking about patients from your med school, everything and anything that distracted him from your mysterious origins, yet, every time your words would reflect against the barrier of quiet he had put around himself, Akutagawa felt his mind land back on discovering about you. The drive to the hospital wasn’t long, but it felt like one the longest drives he had ever taken. He stopped there, before noticing you still in your seat. You were supposed to get up and leave yet there was this aching hunger in him that demanded you answer his unasked questions before going. You turned to him before blinking a few times, and before you can say anything at all, Akutagawa began to cough. It was something he carried wherever he went, and the confusion he felt around you only made it worse. This proved that you were merely a disease, an error in the making. There was nothing he would get from you apart from violent chest burns and a waste of time. You reached forward to touch him out of worry, but he grabbed your wrist so harshly you winced, pulling away out of instinct. As he coughed, he turned to you with a menacing glare—warning you to never attempt to do that again.
“Akutagawa-san, I—“
“Don’t,” He took a raspy breath, before coughing again, “Don’t touch me!”
He gripped harder, knowing full well that the pressure was enough to hurt you. Yet, you sat there, worried eyes plastered toward his form. He hated it. He hated when you directed such a look toward him, he hated being scrutinized by your apparent kindness. Who were you to direct it toward him anyway? A nobody. A peasant. A moron.
You pulled back quietly, but he wouldn’t let go. You stared at him before letting out a breath; it wasn’t sympathy that pushed you to do what you did next, it was the only human emotion you didn’t feel too ashamed displaying out in the open—care.
“Akutagawa-san, normally when I study I go to this cafe in central Yokohama,” You pursed your lips, wondering if this information would even make a difference, “The silence there, the… the atmosphere of the place makes it too easy for me to relax and just read. And they have great tea, too!”
“What useless information.”
You smiled a bit before shaking your head and opening the door, “I hope I see you around, Akutagawa-san.”
When you got out of the car, Akutagawa wasted no time in driving back. The fact remained: he stayed there any longer, he’d merely be wasting time. Yet, for some reason, your presence lingered in the seat that you were sitting in earlier, and when he thought of that he felt the sudden urge to cough yet again. However, this time, he felt a tad bit different than general. The cough that carried over began from his chest, phlegm that was never present before manifested out of nowhere and he thought for a second if he had been out in the cold for too long or if he had eaten something to have caused such a reaction, but the image of your bitter smile marred with those callous eyes of yours catered to create a tornado within his chest that left him a breathing, aching mess of disgruntled coughs that radiated a new weakness. It has to be a cold, he thought before continuing on driving back.
Gin never asked her brother to accompany her when she took evening walks, but that evening since he was also quite free, the siblings decided to get some tea together. He always merely followed after her, since she knew the place better than he ever did; yet, Akutagawa did things differently that evening. He walked alongside his sister, mumbling something about a quiet cafe in central Yokohama, and Gin paused.
“How do you know about that?” She asked, “It’s one of my favorite places to go to.”
So, you weren’t lying. It must be a decent place if his sister approved of it, hence there was no reason to not go. It wasn’t as if he was going there to see you—the last thing he wanted was to see you and have you invoke that disgusting emotion in him again. The mere thought of you made him want to cough some more, but he was well hydrated that evening. He followed Gin toward the central streets, finding a lone cafe toward the end of the street; he walked inside, but when his chest ached, he realized you weren’t there.
“The tea here is really good.” Gin said before going over to sit at a table.
He took a few seconds before seating himself across from her, feeling the urge to cough once more. Pulling out his hand, which was nestled in his pocket, Akutagawa coughed violently into his fist, alerting his sister. As he coughed, he could feel phlegm build up in his fist but the second his eyes landed on what he had coughed out, Akutagawa froze. Mixed with his own blood sat a tiny petal, a purplish-red hue on it and he couldn’t tell if it was the blood that gave it that color or not. When he breathed in, he felt as if something were lodged in his chest and the more he coughed, the more he coughed out the petals as if there was a live plant growing inside him. Excusing himself, Akutagawa headed inside the cafe’s bathroom before finally allowing himself to cough freely. Four more petals shoved themselves out of his throat before his eyes leaked tears that burned his skin. What was this new sickness? Was this an ability?
His eyes widened. He had understood. It was you. Ever since he had seen you, he had been infused with a different cough. This was your doing. You were trying to take out the strongest rabid dog in the mafia for your own intentions; perhaps, it was because your father was Mori-san’s enemy, perhaps you wanted revenge for something that happened in the past. Perhaps, your smile meant nothing, after all—it was all a farce so you could take him out, and Akutagawa had been the fool and fallen for your trick. He washed his hands thoroughly before knowing full well that the next time he’d see you would be him barging through your apartment door, demanding answers for what you had done to him. Whether he’d kill you or not wasn’t too clear yet, but he was sure of one thing.
He felt like he would die if he didn’t see you. Thinking of the petals that he had coughed out, Akutagawa was more than sure that death was imminent.
*
Your hands were shaking and you could barely breathe; the anxiety rappelled from inside your mind and held a vine-like grip all over your body. You knew it was futile to try and breathe or get any studying done with the way you were being, but you had to try. Tears leaked out of your eyes and it felt as if waves were crashing inside your head and every inch of you was drowning and you did very little to try and hold on to the limited reality that was visible to you. You breathed in heavily before another sob cracked through your throat, sinking your entire body to the ground. Your books lay scattered everywhere and you tried to swallow some saliva to soothe your aching throat, but your body wasn’t listening to you and neither was your mind.
So, at that moment, when the door barged open and black cloth-like arms wrapped around you, pulling you to the air, you let it take you. You shut your eyes before the sobs only multiplied, now you were both scared for your life and desperate, but no part of you would run. You were held in place until a familiar voice pulled you out of the reverie you were in, bringing you back to where you had been before the breakdown happened.
“What’s wrong with you?” Akutagawa asked, narrowing his eyes.
He hadn’t expected to find you in such a pitiful state. Surely, if you were a mastermind of deception, you’d be a little more prepared. You didn’t look like you were anywhere close to prepared, you didn’t even look like you were willing to fight. When you opened your eyes, he saw it again—the hollow, empty shells that they were despite the sobs that broke through your lips. Had he scared you? No, you had been in that pitiful state even before he got there. He felt his chest burn once again and that made him think of your ability—the one you had apparently used on him.
“Akutagawa-san…” Your voice was raspy, and it was then he realized it might have been holding on to you far too tightly to deem comfortable. “…please…”
He didn’t know what you were asking for but he let you down and waited. Were you going to give him the answers he needed? Was everyone going to be made clear? What was it that you did? What was your master plan?
“I’m… I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” You said, letting out a bitter chuckle, “And… my door… You broke it.”
He turned to look at the door and he had indeed broken it down, but that wasn’t the problem. He looked back at you before noticing that you were standing up now, walking toward your kitchen. He couldn’t understand why he let silence envelop both of you right then, but no part of him was complaining. Strangely, being around you had calmed his chest and there was no cough that radiated from within. He followed after you before watching you carefully, noticing you wipe the remaining tears that had stained your cheeks.
“I… I get anxiety attacks around my exams. I feel like I’m never good enough. No matter how hard I work, how much effort I put it… It’s all…” You bit your lip to stop it from shaking, “…I’m not going to stop, though. I won’t stop. I want to be a doctor. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’m going to do this. I have to.”
“Why does your father know the boss?”
You stilled for just a moment before continuing with making tea. You pulled out two cups, one for him and one for you, and despite not knowing him enough, the silence that he so well carried with himself was strong and special. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, an eerie thing to feel so loudly, and during every third breath, Akutagawa felt breathless.
“My father was an assassin,” You said, “Gave up that line of work and became a drug kingpin here. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been told I was useless if I didn’t do as he told me to. I did everything. I… everything.”
Akutagawa’s eyes widened. He watched you as you effortlessly made tea and poured it into his cup. A small dash of honey, and chamomile tea bags, and a kitchen where the aroma was enough to intoxicate a blind person. He had never imagined drinking a tea like this and yet, no part of him complained.
“You killed people.”
You looked barely 20 years old. So that could only mean you were a child assassin. After all, it was an easier profession for children.
“No one expects a child to kill, especially if she’s smiling.” You smiled sweetly, yet the callous expression in your eyes never faded.
You turned to him a second later before Akutagawa coughed into his hands, multiple petals falling into his fist and then to the floor. You froze as you realized what this was, your hands flying to his now bloody wrist. He caught the bruise he had given you the other day and made no attempt to stop you. You opened his palm and found more lilac petals, covered in phlegm and blood and you stared. Akutagawa didn’t understand what your look meant but waited nonetheless. When you looked up to meet his gaze, he could swear that the callousness in your eyes was slowly fading.
“Akutagawa-san…” Your voice was a whisper, “This is the hanahaki disease.”
“What is it?” His voice was coarse, again from the intense coughing.
“It’s… It’s a sign you’re in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same for you.”
“Love?” His eyes widened as he repeated the preposterous word, “L-Love, you say?”
He pulled his hand away from you, letting the bloody petals fall to the floor. You looked at him pleadingly before he coughed some more, slapping the tea from the counter and spilling it everywhere.
“What a useless emotion!” He screamed, “Love!? That’s what’s gotten me weaker?!”
“Does it anger you that you can love?”
He clicked his tongue before pushing you away, wondering what in the world he was even doing there in the first place. He had gotten to know who you were, he had gotten to know what your deal was and yet—every part of him wanted more. It was quiet desperation that he couldn’t quite understand or grasp to his fullest capabilities, and this inadequacy left him aching on the inside. You stared at him before pursing your lips, what more could you tell someone who refused to believe that no one could be broken enough to not love?
“Your anger and emotional outbursts usually result when someone penetrates to the core of what you don’t like about yourself or still cannot accept.”
“Get rid of it,” Akutagawa threatened, “Get rid of this… this thing!”
You wondered if he knew what he was talking about. Did he even know where these emotions came from? Did he even know why he was feeling this way? Had he ever acknowledge that he could feel love for another person? You slowly got up from where you were pushed to and let out a shaky breath.
“Akutagawa-san…” You began, “There is a way to remove it.”
“Good. What is it?”
“The person has to love you back.”
“How useless—“
You threw yourself at the man before noticing him turn fiercely rigid. While it was miraculous that he didn’t outright push you away, it was also a tad bit disappointing that he stood as if was waiting for it to be done. The first time you saw Akutagawa’s face, you had seen that he was someone who was constantly running. Either from his past, from his pain, or toward a goal he would never reach, Akutagawa’s journey revolved around his own imperfection. It was a desire that dug so deeply into you that it gave you every right to see yourself in them. After all, you had broken off such ties after your father’s demise. Yet, no part of you, physical or otherwise, had forgotten what killing had done to you. It had robbed you from a chance to live a regular life, and here was another person, going through the very same thing.
However, to see that he had developed a disease that proved limerence in such a deep context could only mean that there was still hope left for you as well. After all, it was the deeply broken that knew how to love best. For they knew what was constantly at stake, and they know the pain of devastating loss. Pulling back, you made a vow to yourself. If you eventually did become a doctor, if you eventually did end up saving more lives than you had ended in the past, it must and should begin with Akutagawa. Because only then could you truly save yourself.
“I’ll help you,” You said, earnestly, “I’ll make it happen.”
Kindness, as worthless as he believed it was, did not assist in making someone stronger. It never worked with him, it never persuaded him as much as hate and pain did, yet, there was something to intoxicating about kindness that made him crave for more. As he looked into your eyes, Akutagawa saw a radiance he had only dreamt of seeing before; a radiance he had grown to believe did not exist in the world, a radiance he had attempted to protect in the past. Inching closer, Akutagawa felt the constricting in his chest increase as he closed the distance between you and him, yet, he paused. He couldn’t move a step further. You smiled a second later before holding his hands, bloody and messy, it didn’t look like you cared.
“So, who is this person?”
*
The next time Akutagawa saw you, he wasn’t expecting to see you. A careless slip in a battle deemed him worthy of a strong injury; he was distracted by the lilacs he had been coughing out and didn’t see an incoming blow, which scraped him at his left hip—missing the bone. While he knew he could allow Higuchi to help him, every part of him ached for you. Pushing aside Higuchi, he got into the streets walking toward your apartment. He remembered the way as if it were the back of his hand, and it led him to you, painstakingly. He wanted to move faster, he wanted to see your face despite knowing that the injury wouldn’t necessarily kill him. After all, you had said you’d help him.
The person has to love you back, you had said; and how ironic that was. Akutagawa went chasing after people who would constantly deem him inadequate; he would never be enough, and that was what this disease was telling him. It was practically ending his life because he would never be enough—and what more proof would he need? Every inch of his body craved for another and yet, the other person knew nothing of his growing limerence. It was killing him and yet, there was nothing that could save him except his own demise. What an ironic way to die, he thought, as he reached your door. You had fixed it the day after he had broken it down, and ever since, he believed that reaching you would require him to use a softer approach. Soft like your skin—the very same skin he had bruised the first time he had touched it.
You opened the door and your eyes instantly widened; Akutagawa took one step further, but your arms wrapped around him before pulling him to your chest, his chin landing on your shoulder, your hands wrapped around his back. You could feel his heavy heartbeat before dragging him to your bed. Just as you were about to remove his jacket, he stopped you—not allowing you to touch it.
“I…” His raspy voice scared you, “I… don’t want to hurt you.”
“How would you—“
He didn’t let you finish and simply removed the jacket himself, before laying on the bed; you carefully placed the jacket around the chair and got to work on Akutagawa. You carefully removed the shirt that was stained with his blood before bringing in all the required materials needed to clean his wound first. You didn’t hear a wince from him the entire time, knowing full well that it would sting him beyond belief. It was as if he was used to the pain, and wasn’t moving because somehow this pain had been familiarised. You felt your heart go out for him, but your hands continued working on his wounds. You sat beside him to his left, where the wound was, and continued dressing the large gash, before momentarily feeling his right arm grasp your wrist. You looked up to find Akutagawa staring into your eyes, some sort of pleading look embedded in them.
“Does it hurt?”
He shook his head before freeing you, and it was then you realized how soft his touch actually was. Unlike the last time when he had bruised your wrist, Akutagawa’s touch was almost feather like; they say soft feathers cannot make a cruel bird kind, but Akutagawa had led his entire life believing he was nothing but cruel and it took him one touch, just one touch at your wrist to learn that he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was the wound that was making him think this way or if he was finally seeing things clearly, but the view he had by sitting right beside you, gazing into your form as you cleaned his wound, was the only thing he believed he’d want to see for the rest of his life. Dazai’s approval meant squat if it meant being able to sit beside you in absolute silence; if life allowed him to meet you, learn of your existence and perfection, then there was some redeeming quality in him that gave him the right to be sitting by you.
“Doesn’t hurt.” He said, truthfully, before feeling the urge to want to touch you more. He wanted to be touched by you, and hopefully, he wouldn’t push you away as he had before. He wanted nothing more than to be gentle, feel your hair between the pads of his fingers, watch you as you studied, wrap you in his arms gently if he ever saw you crying again—Akutagawa wanted to wholeheartedly detach his anger whenever you were around and it was your existence that gave him the confidence that it was possible.
“I…” You said, “I don’t know your full name.”
“Akutagawa Ryunosuke.”
You gulped before pursing your lips.
“Is it okay if I call you Ryuu?” He blinked at you, “L-Like when we’re alone! I mean… I’m not saying I don’t like your name, I… just… well, you can call me (y/n), if you’d like! I just… I think… I like—“
“Do as you wish.”
You smiled a bit before taking the bandages in your hands. With the sound of your heart pounding the way it was, Akutagawa didn’t realize that it had been roughly 2 hours since he had last coughed out flowers. Perhaps, the pace with which it slowed meant something. Perhaps, it didn’t. He wouldn’t be able to tell for a while at least.
*
On odd days, Akutagawa found that his cough was getting better; a sign that presented him with an emotion he once believed was dead in him—hope. He remembered your words loud and clear that this disease called for the person he was in love with return his emotions for him to stop dying. However, the cough didn’t entirely stop. During nights when he missed your presence greatly, Akutagawa’s coughs were enhanced—lilacs poured out of his chest like a clogged waterfall let free, and his eyes stung with the intensity with which he remained a trembling mess of a person he thought he was. Despite learning to accept his emotions for you, on nights like these, Akutagawa was reminded of how weak he truly was, of Dazai’s harsh words for him that were imprinted in his very soul, of how inadequate he felt to even earn a disease such as this. When his hands shook, he felt the fear of dying—not of losing his life, but of never being able to see you again. And thoughts like this left him skirmish, it left him aching for his past-self, where he had never met you, where he wouldn’t have had to face such a metamorphosis that ridiculed him in such a manner.
Akutagawa was not used to hoping for love, he was only, in every right, a giver. He chased after everything he thought he deserved, yet never realized that chasing it was never the right way for him to attain it. On nights like these, where he begged for a power that would rid him of his emotions for you, he’d wake up regretting those very words for the prospect of being able to see you, protect you, stay by your side and earn your precious silence. Some part of him always yearned for something that enveloped him not in a sense of passion but a calm care. Akutagawa needed someone he could rely on to not always expect him to perform or achieve some standard. Someone who saw how quiet he was and respected it. Not that no one ever had, Gin had always admired his tenacity and intrinsically quiet nature. It was the expectation that his life now put on him that broke him, more than just a little.
The next day poured onto him excruciating pain. His chest and throat burned, and he could barely open his eyes. His sister who was living with him knew that his coughing had reached a dangerous point, yet she knew that meddling with his affairs would infuriate him more. Yet, the worry seeped out of her and she forced herself to barge into his quarters and at least ask him what she could do. It wasn’t like him to take a day off from work, but in his current state, even standing up could be a challenge.
“Nii-san,” She voiced, “Is there something I can do? Someone I can bring who can take a look at—“
“No. Get out.”
Gin pursed her lips before walking away quietly, recalling with everything she had if there was someone she had seen her brother speak to who could help. She contemplated calling Chuuya, or anyone else from the Black Lizard, but involving the Mafia would only anger her brother in more ways than one. Taking in a deep breath, she found herself walking toward her favorite cafe, wanting to bring back some tea for her brother—the tea she knew he enjoyed. Calming chamomile tea always soothed him, rid his anxieties, which might even assist in his coughs. While she had no idea the origin behind those coughs, she knew they were different from the regular tickle in his throat.
On reaching the cafe, she felt a mild tap on her shoulder, which she knew must have alerted her beyond belief, but the person whose eyes she landed on caused Gin to blink with confusion. She had seen you before, but she couldn’t understand where. You looked at her with an awkward expression, a quiet sort of worry seeping out of your bones.
“I… I know you’re acquainted with Akutagawa-san? I was… Well, I wanted to know how he’s doing?”
Gin’s eyes widened. Were you a friend of her brother’s? Not that she wasn’t surprised with her brother having a friend in the first place, especially that friend being a regular girl like you. She contemplated letting you know that her brother’s condition was deteriorating at a quicker pace than she had ever thought, but wondered if it was the right thing to do. What would Ryuunosuke want her to do? What would she do? Pausing for just a moment, Gin realized she was thinking too hard. She’d now do what any sister would.
“He’s not doing so well,” She spoke honestly, “If… If you can come take a look, I think he’d appreciate it.”
When your eyes widened with horror, Gin knew she may have done the right thing. You bit your lip and nodded, before following her out of the cafe; she led you to their shared apartment before also slipping in that she was his sister and not anyone you’d have to think too hard over. You blushed when Gin made it clear but refused to speak about it. Once inside, Gin nodded before leaving to work, knowing full well that her presence was no longer required. You jumped when you heard violent coughing coming in from a room with a closed door, and you slowly approached it, your heart pounding rapidly; however, just when you could feel your heartbeat in your ears, blinding you and depriving you of focusing on any other senses, your hands stilled before they could reach the doorknob. Sudden silence enveloped the room, and it slowly made sense to you on what was going on. With the way he was avoiding you these few days, with the way how he suddenly turned soft toward you, with the way Akutagawa helped you—your mind spat at you for never seeing it before. Tears filled your eyes before you realized that his disease was your fault, in almost every possible way, and instead of blaming you, he was taking it on himself.
“Ryuu?”
Akutagawa froze on the bed where he lay before staring at the ceiling. With the rapidity of his growing coughs, he was almost sure that you would never return his affections; he didn’t even want affection, in the first place. What Akutagawa wanted and needed never intersected, they were parallels that would never meet, yet somehow you were now standing opposite his door, calling him by a name no one would dare call him by.
And the strangest thing of all, he let you.
“What are you doing here?” Violent coughs only made his voice sound weaker than he felt, and he hated every second of it.
“Can I come inside?”
“How did you get here?” He sounded angry now, almost raging.
“Please,” His heart ached when you pleaded. He’d give you anything in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t understand why this was so hard, “I want to see you.”
His eyes widened. You wanted to see him? While it didn’t make sense, no reply from him gave you the assurance you needed to enter the room he was in, and the second his eyes fell on your form, Akutagawa felt breathless. He couldn't take his gaze from you. Your wide, wondering eyes were like soft midnight, star-glittered with forgotten tears. The curves of your body looked firm and sweet, nothing but inviting, sensual softness. If you were his... he might finally have the sense of ease other men had. No more spending every minute of the day striving and hungering and never feeling sated. But, was that even possible?
“The hanahaki disease,” You began, standing a few feet away from him, “It’s when you love a person who doesn’t feel the same,” He could hear your voice tremble, and he felt like scum for letting it get here, “I’m not sure entirely but…”
If Akutagawa could place together pieces of why he was aggravated by your very presence, it wouldn’t have led him to where he currently was. Avoiding your gaze coughs multiplied by numerous ramifications, hands shaking, forehead breaking out into a sweat—he had never felt more obscenely weak than sitting before you on his bed, having your keen gaze observe his frail body. Numbness coursed through his veins and never before had he wished to disappear more than right then; it was suffocating to sit in front of you while you wordlessly judged him, deemed him moronic in that pretty little head of yours. He stilled momentarily before slapping himself internally; you were no such person. You wouldn’t judge another. The entire reason for his predicament right then was simply because of how perfect you were.
And no perfect human being would dare judge another. Especially not someone as broken as he.
“Is it…” You sounded so defeated, he’d have done anything to hear your giggles and laughter once again, but life wasn’t as giving to him. It had never been. “Is that person… me?”
A fool’s curse, he had deemed it—love was nothing but just that. He was a dark, damaged individual with a past that deemed him unworthy of your gaze, of your silence, of your soft fingers grazing his hair in dreams that felt forbidden to even wake from; Akutagawa wondered why it was that he even fell for you, in such a short duration of time, with limited interaction, with wordless conversations. And yet, the answer hit him. He didn’t need much from you, only a smile. A smile from your callous eyes, eyes that were like how his once were; and when he was someone who couldn’t smile the way you did, you had won over life in a way he never had. This sight—this very sight of your victory over a life that had deemed you unworthy, captured his heart. In you, Akutagawa saw every single desire that he had locked away, that he had deemed irrational and asinine. And you wore the irrational and asinine parts with pride.
When he didn’t answer, the answer came to you. Tears leaked down your eyes as you reached forward and combed his hair, feeling him tense under your touch. Akutagawa wasn’t touch-starved, he didn’t starve for something he had no idea about. Yet, when your fingers skimmed through his hair, the need to breathe followed quickly after. He shut his eyes and leaned into your touch almost instinctively, before feeling you wrap your other hand around his neck and pull his head to your chest. You stood beside him as he sat on his bed, his head resting on the valley of your breasts. Your hold tightened and Akutagawa felt like he could die right then and there would be no regrets.
“Ryuu…” You cooed, rubbing your hands in his hair. You smelt divine, almost intoxicating and he wondered if opening his eyes would have you disappear. You pressed your chin to the top of his head and he felt so ridiculous, he wondered if he should push you away or pull you closer. You answered his question by bringing yourself closer anyway, pressing your nose to his hair.
“I’m so sorry,” You said, tears leaking out of your eyes. “I love you! I do! I love you so much!”
Akutagawa’s eyes widened, before he turned, only to be pressed into your chest more. He calmly lifted one of his hands, touched your arm and pushed you away slightly, and noticed your drenched face. He looked at you like you were a fool, before shaking his head.
“You said I’ll stop coughing once the person I—“
“Yeah—“
“I haven’t stopped coughing.” He said, eyeing you like you were a liar.
You shook your head before throwing your hands softly against either of his cheeks; you could see them turning red, but you didn’t mind.
“That was because you truly believed I couldn’t return your feelings, Ryuu. How will your disease know I love you if you don’t believe it first?”
Was it truly that simple? It marveled him at how much of a moron you were, feeling love for a murderer like himself, but you were crying for him—you were miraculously here in his apartment, holding him like your life was dependent on it. He was no fool, and he never really pushed aside what his eyes were seeing, so while he was slowly becoming aware that you returned his feelings, he wanted to scold you for the dumbest choice you had ever made. Yet, instead of doing any of that, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke did something else that took your breath away.
Reaching forward, he grazed the pads of his fingers across your cheek, wiping a stray tear that threatened to fall lower, and he tried smiling. Callous eyes and a hopeful smile—the only thing that got him to fall for you, Akutagawa now tried his best to return it, knowing full well he owed you at least that much. Your eyes widened at the sight he presented you with before you placed a shaky hand on his that was on your cheek. Leaning into his touch, you wondered if two broken people could ever love, yet, with the way he was smiling right then, you would be damned if you came close to calling him broken.
Leaning forward, boldly, you placed a kiss on his head, causing his eyes to turn to saucers with the unfamiliar action. You felt him tense up once again, and you held him close despite that, knowing full well that whatever was foreign to him wasn’t essentially bad, all you had to do was familiarise Akutagawa to love and he would learn to accept it better. Looking up, he pulled you down from the back of your neck and pressed his lips to yours—you could feel how dry they were, yet, that didn’t stop you from kissing him back. You could feel his hands tremble with the way he was holding you, not used to pressing softly, yet hard at the same time. When Akutagawa pulled apart from you a few moments later, it felt as if he was breathing for the first time. You allowed yourself to sit beside him now, enveloping the silence around you as if it were a comforting blanket. He looked at you so gently, slipping his arm around you and stroking your hair with a movement so soft you wondered if he realized he was doing it. He was capable of such softness that it presented as a strength instead of what he truly believed it was.
*
Nakahara Chuuya often finds himself in strange wine stores, looking for the wine he knew he could spend money on, wine more expensive than the one he had bought previously, keeping up with a mental game with himself. Walking out of the store, he spotted you—someone he believed he’d never see again, wearing a sundress and hair done up in a complicated plait that had you looking cute if he were being honest. He shook his head before focusing on getting home and drinking to some food, but just as he turned away, he turned back to you with wide eyes, almost dropping the wine he had bought, but he was glad he had his ability to prevent that from happening.
What the f*ck? Chuuya thought when he saw Akutagawa slip his hand in yours, in a movement so casual that it seemed almost out of character for a rapid dog to act like a Labrador in love. You smiled at Akutagawa who returned half of it before Chuuya wounded if he was looking at Akutagawa at all in the first place. A moment later, he noticed the man slip his arm around your waist before leading you away from the area, in such a nonchalant yet casual manner that it left bewildered Chuuya to just stand there with his mouth ajar and heart raging. How the f*ck does that runt have a lover? Chuuya’s thoughts weren’t jealous, or even close, but it was a pure shock that left him jaw-dropped.
Well, whatever, he thought, before heading home, reminded thanks to Akutagawa and his new girlfriend that Chuuya was to drink alone that night. Again.
Author’s Note: Being awol for so long could only mean I was drowning in Bungo Stray Dogs and am now a hoe for Chuuya and Dazai. No regrets. I’m on season three rn and I’m only going to go on and read the manga after this, so I’m just THIRSTY. Hope you like this!
Word count: 5k+
Pairing: Nakahara Chuuya x Reader
Summary: Ever since laying his eyes on you, Chuuya sensed a familiarity that almost suffocated him. The ever-growing sense of deja vu didn't disappear even as he had you locked in his arms, or even as he stayed away; there was no explanation to it, whatsoever. He wondered if love was an emotion that would constantly have him question every action, every thought, and every moment that occurred, but what did he know of love?
But then again, what didn't he?
Warnings: angst to fluff, soft chuuya, mentions of sex, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of blood, swearing (because Chuuya ofc), slight amnesia? ah, you’ll see, ig that’s it?
Even before you fell in love, you had always known that it was a bad idea. As unfortunate as you were, every time you felt a close connection with someone, it ended negatively. Whether it was the first boy you had ever kissed, who had broken your heart ruthlessly by kissing another boy a few days later, or the first person you thought you were in love with who had broken your heart by declining your proposal. Love had always left a remnant of displeasure and fear in your heart, and even without these experiences, you were certain that the concept of love was scary as it was. It wasn't as if Nakahara Chuuya was any different. Well, at least, he wouldn't be.
As soon as you opened your eyes, you noticed how the sun blossomed right outside your window. You knew from the telltale signs of dawn that it was your cue to leave; getting dressed would take less than 30 seconds, and heading out the door would take another 30. In less than two minutes, you'd be out of Nakahara Chuuya's hair, and live your life without the worry of any unnecessary attachment sticking to your psyche. However, for a moment, you lay there, admiring the lone tear that leaked out of his left eye, and you mindlessly wiped it away before it reached his cheek. You wanted to smile at his apparent softness, something you knew he'd try to hide with everything he had. You quietly got off the bed, careful not to throw the covers off his naked torso, and just as you were putting on your pants, your eyes darted to a very asleep Chuuya on the bed, obviously naked from the events of last night, before a thought crossed your mind—oh, how you'd kill just to linger around, but duty calls. A person so devastatingly afraid of love had no business to wish for fluff, it was just roll-call. A sigh exited your lips as you traversed on, mindful not to lay any loud step to awaken the sleeping beauty. To Chuuya, you were someone he had met just the night before, you weren't aware of his opinions on one night stands, but you were of the firm belief that they had to remain just one. Goodbye, Chuuya, you thought before sneaking out the door, almost as easily as you came in.
When Chuuya woke up, he smelt you. He felt a long-forgotten feeling at the back of his eyelids as if he had cried—but Chuuya stopped doing that long ago. He never cried again, he had seen and lived through too much even to consider letting his emotions loose. Yet, why had there been that feeling lingering behind that morning? His eyes searched for any sign of you but when he found none, his heart sank; he was familiar with one night stands, but he hadn't imagined that you adhered to such rules so stringently.
Ah, f*ck, he thought, as he sat up on the bed. He let out a shaky breath before feeling his eyes burn once more. His left hand reached forward and wiped off an incoming tear from his right eye before he frowned. What the f*ck? He thought before groaning. Something must've gone into my eye, he thought; desperate not to think of you. You had left behind your smell and as people say, memory and smell are intertwined. However, Chuuya didn't know that.
A short while after his shower that morning, Chuuya's phone rang indicating that he was needed elsewhere. The stupor that he had been transported into was over, and the feeling that he may have forgotten something had to be buried.
"Yeah?" Chuuya grumbled, ignoring his aching stomach; he knew he was forgetting something, something almost vital to his existence and identity, but his common sense reminded him that post-sex emotions can be overwhelming.
"Oh, rough morning, Chuuya-kun?" Mori's voice from the other end did little to ease his growing uneasiness.
"What is it, Mori-san?"
"I'm starting to worry about you. Chuuya-kun. You disappeared last night and just left. Regardless, your private affairs are your own, after all. I need you to look into something."
Took him long enough to come to the damn point, "What is it?"
"There's a large collection of ammunition that the mafia's stored by the bay. Rumor has it that someone's discovered that location and is intending on... borrowing our merchandise. I can't have that happen, you see. It's our produce, after all."
"Ah?! You can send someone else for something so small! Why can't you send the Black Lizards or something—"
"Oh, Chuuya-kun! I'm asking you because I know I won't have to ask again."
Chuuya hated taking orders from someone else, but he liked to believe he held some amount of agency in these areas. Letting out a long breath, Chuuya ended the call once accepting what needed to be done. It was simple enough, considering he didn't have anyone to kill or torture for information. As long as this meant he could work alone, Chuuya was glad. His life had reached a certain blissful limbo ever since Dazai's disappearance, not that he was complaining. Walking over to his hat, which was gracelessly laying on the floor, he felt the familiar smell reach his nostrils again—your smell, to be precise—and he almost froze as he reached to pick his hat. A sense of deja vu burned through his veins; strangely, these moments were occurring far too many times for him even to count. Some days, Chuuya could sense mornings repeat themselves, and nights disappear. Days would sometimes come to a standstill and sometimes, he'd lose them entirely. Time was breaking itself down rapidly, and sometimes, it grew numb.
Chuuya then did what Chuuya did best and ignored the entirety of it before letting his legs carry him to his next destination; he had always been a journey first, destination later type of guy, but Chuuya had mellowed down through the years. He wasn't the same free-spirited, arrogant 15-year old—he was now a man.
On reaching the bay Mori had mentioned, Chuuya's eyes narrowed when he spotted members of the Port Mafia having already been posted there. If people are here, then why'd Mori-san tell me to come here? Chuuya walked toward them before tapping a seemingly large man on his shoulder and waiting to hear from him.
"Ah, Chuuya-san! Thank goodness you're here!"
"What the f*ck's the hold up? If our guns are here, then just relocate—"
"We'd do that, but... there's a deranged person inside who's locked themselves in there! I think they've got an explosive and that could jeopardize everything! The guns, the dock, uh... Mori-san will—"
"Shut up, will ya?" If this was already annoying him, Chuuya could only wonder what the rest of the task would do. "Did you take a look at this deranged person?"
The man shook his head, "N-Not really. They've been here all morning, in fact."
"Oh? No one's seen this person get in?"
"I don't think so—"
"Tch, useless." Chuuya turned toward the entrance of the building and noticed how the shutters were closed.
"Also, one more thing, Chuuya-san," the man admonished, "There was a letter that was slipped out of the shutter. It was addressed to you."
This got his attention. Addressed to me? That's why Mori-san sent me here. Chuuya took the slip of paper before opening it, and on it was written with a neat cursive — 'I'm willing to speak to only Nakahara Chuuya, not anyone else. You do not know my ability, so if anyone approaches the building apart from him, I'll blow this place up.' A smirk landed on his face at the seemingly suicidal note that this person had written, and half of his mind wondered if it was Dazai who had played this ridiculous scheme. Letting out a breath, he waved his hand before walking toward the building and standing right in front of the shutters.
"Alright," He said loudly, "Open the damn shutters. It's me. Nakahara Chuuya!"
When the shutters did open, Chuuya stepped inside without a second thought; once he took close to six or seven steps inside, the shutters closed right behind him, keeping the light away. His eyes didn't waver, though. He had spotted the person in question's silhouette before the light left the room.
"This is mighty stupid," Chuuya said, laughing, "Blackmailing the Port Mafia? You're some idiot, aren't ya?"
"It isn't blackmailing, really," Came a familiar voice, and Chuuya froze. "It was a bad calculation, is all. I got a tip that there were illegal weapons here and I wanted to find out myself if that was true, but little did I know..." You stepped out of the shadow, with a sweet smile plastered over your face, "...that the Port Mafia was involved. By the time I could think of a justification, I trapped myself here and willingly gave myself to you."
It took him a couple of seconds to register what to say. He wasn't always thrown for a toss, Chuuya was sometimes quick-witted, but you seemed to have that annoying wit that reminded him of a certain suicidal moron. Your smile was infectious. But then again, so was the plague.
"You're not very smart, are you?" Chuuya countered with a straight face.
You only tilted your head in that annoyingly sweet way and said, "It wasn't a problem last night, was it?"
Chuuya's face brightened at the sudden recollection of your interactions from the night before. He turned his face away from you, not before regretting the action since that caused you to laugh at his sudden change in behavior. Chuuya wasn't shy, he didn't have a shy bone in his body—but, Chuuya could be put in awkward situations that made him feel bashful. Once your laughter ceased, he noticed how sullen your expression got suddenly. A dim look of hesitance plastered all over your face and there it was again—the deja vu—he recalled someone having written in a book he had once read that deja vu was simply a remembrance of the future. But then why had your facial expressions struck a chord in him the way that it had? Letting out a sigh, he pulled his phone out of his pocket before dialing the one person who could end this.
"Mori-san? Yeah, it's me. The issue's solved."
As soon as he placed his phone back inside his pocket, Chuuya chose to accept what he was feeling right then. Yes, it had been a one night stand with you, but something had been altered in the due course of time that he had spent with you. Ever since he laid eyes on you drinking alone in that bar, wine that he knew was cheap and low-class, ever since he had offered to buy you wine that you swore you'd love more than the cheap stuff you were drinking, Chuuya knew that interacting with you was a poison that he willingly swallowed, as if his life was dependent on it. Your quirky smirks, the way your eyes crinkled at the pressure of his gaze, the way you licked your lips after tasting the wine he had recommended, the way your eyes widened at the tenacity of the flavor, and the way your eyes met his, just a moment after, and a smile crawled its way to where a surprised look was—Chuuya was quite aware what this feeling was.
But, you had gotten out of bed hours before he could open his eyes. You had run away from the possibility of Chuuya getting to see those very reactions from you again. If you had denied him those experiences in the future, could Chuuya even ask them from you? It felt deeply insulting that you didn't choose to give them to him yourself, but for some reason, Chuuya didn't mind taking another step forward.
"What is it? You want me to repay you for saving my life?"
Chuuya scoffed before straightening his posture. "That's right. You owe me."
Your eyes twinkled at the teasing tone of his voice, "Oh? And what is it that I owe you, Nakahara Chuuya-san?"
"A date," He said, almost too quickly, knocking the air right out of you, "I want a date."
You were staring at Chuuya as if you were a blind person staring at the sun for the very first time. You weren't just surprised at his blatant honesty, but you were surprised that he had outright asked you out as if it were some demand. There was no hint of hesitation lodged in his voice, but that was Chuuya; he never hesitated before doing something he was sure would result in success. You had to give him more credit than that, honestly. You would have honestly laughed if your heart wasn't accelerating like a fawn running for its life, but at the same time, you were glad. More or less.
"I'm... surprised."
Chuuya scoffed before turning around to leave, "Yeah, I don't like it when I wake up to an empty bed. If we f*cked last night, then I'd like to know it was stellar. Or I'd rather it doesn't happen."
If that's the premise, so be it, you thought, a soft smile etched on your face. A smile Chuuya had seen many times before but simply had forgotten. When you walked out of there, no member of the Port Mafia followed you or even gave you a stink-eye, you were left to wander on your own. However, a hand gripped your wrist just as you were about to leave—your eyes widened to see Chuuya's intense gaze burning yours.
"Not a word to anyone about this."
It took you a second to realize he was talking about the ammunition and not him asking you out. When you blushed right then, you were glad he didn't spot it; or if he did, he didn't make too much of it. There was no need to say anything more, you knew when to meet him and what time as well. Just as the previous night. Chuuya never had to wait three days to know if someone was interested; Chuuya took what he liked because, for the most part, it definitely liked him back as well.
*
Unlike what most people believed about Nakahara Chuuya, he hated being angry. Even though he sported a constant frown across his face that he seemed to carry with pride, anger was quite rare for him to carry around with it. Anger made him feel vulnerable, dangerous—in a way that he didn't like; it deprived him of control, agency, dominance; it was a paralyzing emotion that rendered him helpless. He didn't need anger to get anything done—in fact, Chuuya was beyond that. However, that night, when he waited two hours for you to show up and you didn't, Chuuya felt a different sort of anger.
An ire born out of devastating humiliation was no ire at all. It was a rage nestled in a dark place, reminding him of the Corruption that he desperately wished to forsake. Chuuya not only felt humiliated for being stood up, he felt a deep, growing sorrow—a sorrow that didn't involve tears or screaming but silence, which was the worst indicator. Quietly, he left the bar where he had first met you and walked out only to notice that it was raining. One of the things he prided about himself was his ability to deduce things quickly—sure, he wasn't as witty as Dazai was, not that he'd ever admit that, but he was smart where he needed to be. Recalling details about you that most people would have forgotten seemed simple not because he was as talented as he thought he was, no, it was because you were impossible to forget. A drug that he just couldn't shake off.
His legs then carried him toward an area that seemed so familiar that he felt a wave of nausea itch at his throat. Chuuya clawed at his collarbones to stop the feeling from spreading but the nausea had reached his head and he felt as uncomfortable as when he had too much wine in a single night, on an empty stomach. Reaching a particular door that screamed at him for some godforsaken reason, Chuuya didn't bother knocking; the confidence bubbled inside his chest alongside the nausea. He spotted you on the couch, a bottle of wine in your hands—the wine he had recommended to you the night before—and your eyes widen at his sudden appearance.
"Chuuya!?"
"You f*cking stood me up—"
"How did you remember where I lived?"
Perhaps it was your choice of words. He was always good at guessing what people meant from the words they use, it had always been a certain gift he carried with himself. However, Chuuya didn't care right then. The ire rendered him blind. He rushed to you and knocked the glass off your hands, having it spill all over the carpeted floor before grabbing your collar and pulling you close. He was seething but for some reason, just the sight of you—surprised and quite possibly drunk from the wine—burned down his ire as if it were embers sparking off a tree trunk on a rainy night. Your silky robe slid off his hands with ease as he let you go, before darting his gaze away from you.
"Chuu—"
"I don't f*cking understand it either, alright?" He said, eyes stuck to the spilled wine on the floor. "I don't understand what this is, I don't understand why I can't let it go. I've had sex with women whose names I don't even bother to remember, but I can't forget your stupid f*cking face, or your stupid f*cking smile or the way you annoy the crap out of me. I can't forget how you'd rather drink cheap wine at the store and drink the wine that I f*cking recommended to you in secret, so I know there's something there, alright?!"
"Chuuya, I'm sorry—"
He looked at you with a deep frown, "What is it, then? Was the sex bad? Was it me—"
Your hands sprung to his face and it hit him again—the wave of deja vu—the feeling of your skin against his; it was intoxicating. He breathed in deeply, trying to recollect where he had smelt you before for it to have become so deeply rooted in his mind.
"How is it..." You began to mutter something under your breath but Chuuya's hand lifted your chin and forced you to meet his gaze, "Chuuya, I... I'm sorry. It's not that. It's not any of that. You're amazing. You're... I love you."
His eyes widened. Words that he normally would have run away from suddenly felt like home—he swore he had heard them before. He had heard them, from you, a long time ago and the smell of it resonated with the way you carried yourself. Apricots and honey, a smell so utterly natural yet devastatingly intoxicating, Chuuya was certain that whatever it was had to be love; because if it wasn't, then he didn't know what love was. Moving in, Chuuya's lips captured your own, and your hands quickly reached his hair before pulling him closer as if your life depended on it. A lovely trick designed by nature, Chuuya used it to silence you from uttering words right then. There was no need for words when action spoke so loudly. It didn't take long for his hands to reach your neck, pasting your body to his; and for this to lead further to a place of no return. Not that you minded, of course.
When Chuuya woke up, he smelt you. There was no long-forgotten feeling, there was no remnant that he desperately needed to remember—there was just you. You were breathing beside him, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, looking as peaceful as he had ever seen you; a sight he believed he had seen many times before. The intensity of which made him wonder if this was what people meant when they said soulmates existed; perhaps, he knew you in a past life, and had reunited with you in this one. Whatever it was, he felt content. His hand reached to brush a strand of stray hair off your cheek before noticing you inch closer toward him, blinding him with your scent again.
As established before, Chuuya was good at guessing what people meant by the choice of their words. He instantly remembered something odd that you had let loose the night before, something that made him wonder if there was a reason why he felt so intensely for you. Reaching forward and placing his hand at the back of your head, he pulled you to his neck, feeling your arms wrap around his naked chest. Chuuya's gaze fixed at the wall behind you before trying to decipher just what you had meant by 'How did you remember where I lived?'
A second later, you stirred before looking up at him and he cocked an eyebrow at your emotionless stare.
"God help me..." You said, "You're so pretty."
"Don't call me pretty." He argued, and you swore he could kill you with his morning voice and you'd be glad.
"Hey," He began, clearing his throat, "What did you mean by... what you said yesterday?"
"That I love you? Aw, Chuuya... Don't you know what that means?"
"No, you idiot. You asked me how I remembered where you lived. Why would you ask me that unless I..." His eyes widened. "Unless I somehow forgot..."
"Wrong choice of words, I guess. Forgive me, I was down three glasses of wine before you got here."
Chuuya laughed at your words right then before pulling you closer, feeling more content with your explanation than the gnawing suspicion that raged inside his brain. He wondered if love was an emotion that would constantly have him question every action, every thought, and every moment that occurred, but what did he know of love?
But then again, what didn't he?
*
Blissful days were cursed, or so he believed; Chuuya noticed how quickly they passed. He could, on some occasions, watch the days as they passed, exiting his body and seeing himself interact with the everydayness of things. The only thing that brought him life was to return home to you. Even with the ever-growing blissfulness, Chuuya didn't malinger. However, he couldn't shake off the feeling that every word that exited your mouth was a red herring—something that you were deviating from a fact that he had missed. He hated feeling like he was missing an important detail, but each time you smiled at him or stole a kiss, Chuuya was taken back to the very moment he fell for you.
Suddenly, as if his mind was taking him somewhere else, he recalled something. He didn't know if it was entirely a made-up scenario or something that happened in a past life because if it happened in this one, he'd have remembered. He spotted you, stumbling in front of a broken wine bottle, the owner of the store screaming in your ear—and you were trying to sound convincing. Chuuya watched himself walk over to you, and turn to the owner of the store before quickly understanding what had happened. You had dropped an expensive bottle of wine, and you had no means to pay for it; it caused him to chuckle a tad bit before throwing some money (or more) at the owner, causing you to turn to him with wide eyes. "It's alright," he had said to you, "I've got money."
Chuuya watched as he walked away from you, but missed how you had removed one of your shoes and thrown it at the back of his head. He froze before turning to you with a deadly expression, but instantly blinked when he noticed how heavily you were blushing before thinking, 'Holy shit, she's cute,' before having you walk over to him and scream—
"What do you think you're doing, pretty face?"
Chuuya stared at you as you chopped onions without shedding a single tear; he had no clue how you had learned to art to do so, but boy, was he glad you knew how to cook. You reached forward before using your wrist to wipe off a tear from his eye, scrunching a bit before realizing the onions must have done it. You giggled before turning back to them, chopping them quietly. That wasn't it, Chuuya thought, narrowing his eyes. That wasn't how he met you. He met you at the bar, where he spotted you drinking cheap wine and he walked over to you and recommended something else. He didn't meet you in a wine store—he didn't have a shoe thrown at the back of his head. Yet... His hand reached the back of his head and his fingers grazed the area where the shoe supposedly landed, It feels like it actually happened.
He shook his head before entwining his hands around your waist, before kissing the back of your neck. He wasn't usually so affectionate, but you didn't mind. Every time Chuuya touched you, it left scorch marks that were welcome; it was passion breathing fire, reflecting the color of his hair, the aura of his heart.
"What're you thinking?" You hummed, unaware of how intensely Chuuya was watching you.
"Nothin'."
Blissful days were cursed, Chuuya knew this for a fact. He could watch happy days pass by with him barely breathing, existing, feeling; but the bad ones lasted ages. He remembered walking into his own home one day, drenched in blood, covered with soot and mud, the urge to feel human contact was strong just then. He knew he could call you, he knew that he could rely on you especially since you had said the words 'I love you' to him over and over again, despite him having not said it in return. He wondered if that bothered you, he wondered if that made you want to leave him but you made no sign so far that you were displeased. He watched you like a hawk, after all, with that growing suspicion that drowned him on nights like these. He rang you in a moment, before feeling the phone vibrate next to his ear, his eyes ghosting on a dark patch in front of him. He needed your hands, your body, the smell of your hair; he needed the familiar apricot and honey to cover his nostrils whole. He needed you, just before asking you why you lied.
"Chuuya? It's 4 a.m., what's—"
"I need to see you."
You were quiet on the other end, wondering if he had figured it out. He must've, you thought, a bitter smile formed on your lips.
"I'll be there in—"
"No," He wasn't going to risk it, "I'm coming to you."
*
Your eyes glanced all over Chuuya's bloodied appearance before hearing the sound of your heart break—it was a soft sound, like a twig snapping under the weight of a stone. Your heart fell as he gave you his hat and removed his coat before you threw it into the wash. You led him to the bathroom, having him strip, and let him sit aside while you filled the tub. You knew he was watching you, you knew he was going to tell you the very same thing he had always told you.
"We need to stop this."
You didn't know why, but you laughed. Every single time that it had happened before, you had cried and asked him for an explanation, or even threw things at him—but this time, you laughed. This time, you desperately tried being away from him until he magically appeared at your home, shocking you to your very core at how your powers were slowly slipping off of him. You turned to spot Chuuya's eyes fixed at your form before a nasty frown formed on his face. You touched his cheek before whispering, "The bath's ready."
He sat in the water before letting out a groan, indicating that this was what he needed before he could reprimand you and leave you once again. However, just as you were about to leave, his hand gripped your wrist, another action that shocked you, and he stared at you.
"Wash my hair."
You nodded wordlessly before following through with it, wondering where this was going. All the other times, Chuuya would leave instantly after saying those words. All the other times, he'd ensure that he wouldn't see you for another month or so—before realizing that he had never met you. You weren't a cruel person, you were just desperately in love, having uncovered an ability that you thought could save you from torment. Yet, it presented more than it took away. One of the things you admired most about Chuuya was his hair, of how soft and luscious it was despite it being coated with blood on many days. You admired how well he took care of himself on the days that he could, and how he'd managed to put on that responsibility to you as well. You only began taking care of yourself because of him; and in a way, he had saved you.
"I..." Here it comes. "I didn't meet you for the first time at the bar, did I?"
You were quiet. But, silence at an occasion such as this was admittance.
"I've met you for the first time an exact three times. When you broke the wine bottle, and when you were scrambling around during a case, that's when I learned you were a journalist. And then... And then the bar,"
You didn't answer.
"I was chasing this guy, this..." He leaned his head over and sighed, "...this guy who ran off from the Port Mafia with some documents or some shit. He... He found you, and I... I thought I lost you," You couldn't tell if he was angry or just overwhelmed, "That's when I left you for the first time."
"Chuuya..."
"I left you one more time after. I can't remember everything..." His eyes met yours, steady and intense, "...and that's thanks to you, isn't it?"
"Chuuya, I—"
"You have an ability," He said, finally, "An ability to make people forget you."
You sat there, behind him, with your hands sunken in his locks. Your heart was rummaging against your chest and you bit your lip enough to draw blood; if he asked you why what could you say? Was there even a reason why you did what you did? Despite having him forget you for a total of three times, he had somehow magically returned, somehow asking for more and staying longer than he did before. It was almost a curse than anything else. The more you used your ability on someone, the less of an effect it would have each time. It was only a matter of time Chuuya figured things out. And now he had.
After the bath, he silently wore a change of clothes that you surprisingly had. He wanted to ask if this was from the first or second time he had met you, but he didn't. He turned to spot you standing a few feet away, before meeting his gaze.
"You did that for me, didn't you?" He was expressionless. To see Chuuya this way broke your heart. "So that it doesn't bother me."
"Also because I genuinely wanted you to stay away from me." You let out a laugh.
"I didn't f*cking stay away, did I?" He demanded, taking a step toward you, "No matter what stupid trick you used, I kept coming back!"
"You were the one who left first." You snapped, gritting your teeth.
Chuuya bit back his words for a moment before turning away. This action always melted your heart, when Chuuya turned away from you because you had stolen his words away.
"Things are different now, aren't they?"
"Yeah," They were different. He didn't leave. "Yeah, they are."
Silence followed a deep revelation such as this. His eyes didn't leave yours and you stared right back—it almost reminded him of the shoe-throwing incident. He chuckled before earning a frown from you.
"For being played around like that, I should be the one glaring at you." He scoffed.
"Chuuya, I love you."
It was at that second he remembered something. He believed you'd leave him because he hadn't told you he loves you or even bothered to say it back even when you had said it multiple times before already. However, at that second, he remembered that the first person to say those words between the two of you was Chuuya himself. I'm not going to leave, he thought before letting out a breath. He kissed the side of your head before wrapping an arm around your waist.
"Don't f*cking do that again." He scolded you.
"I could have stayed away from you each time, but you're like... a disease." You laugh.
He rolled his eyes before raising his voice, "Who're you callin' a disease?! If anything, you're a goddamn manipulator. F*cking stupid."
He rested his head on your shoulder before smelling the apricot and honey attached to your skin. It was just as intoxicating as the first time.
"I ain't leaving so..." His voice was muffled with how his mouth was pressed to your shoulder, "...I love you too."
I understand I'm inactive as heck but life is just too much sometimes. For those of you who may be interested in poetry and some scribbles I push out on a daily basis, you can follow my Instagram! I'm die_ris on insta :)
Author’s Note: This is a short series, so I’m guessing it’ll have less than 10 chapters? Or around that, at the most. Also, how did you all like the latest chapter? Do let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!
Word count: 2k
Pairing: Ghosthunter! Kenma Kozume x Hanyou! Reader
Summary: Ever since you were born, things weren’t going your way. Being able to jump in and out of your body as a spirit might have sounded cool in theory, but in reality, you were just target practice for other spirits to take advantage of. Just when you thought you could get accustomed to living a regular life, meeting the ghosthunter of Nekoma turned your life around to a complete 360.
Not only did it demand that he worked extra hard, but it also gave him less time to be by himself. With volleyball actually interesting him these days, and Kuroo's constant nagging over how he barely paid attention to things with that gaming console in hand, Kenma knew that ghosthunting got in the way of several things that he was missing out on. The ability to see ghosts and spirits was passed down by the women in his family; and Kenma's mother was a ghosthunter, which meant he had to be as well.
It wasn't that he didn't have a choice, it was simply because there were phantoms out there that needed slaying. He had seen what they could do, even though he hadn't personally experienced it. He hadn't lost anyone close to him, no one close to him had been injured by a phantom or a ghost, so there was nothing that drove him to do so.
It was simply because it was Kenma's duty as part of a ghosthunting family.
And since there were such few numbers of ghosthunters, it wasn't the best thing to just give up on something that he actually considered an art. The only other ghosthunter he had met that was his age was the female manager from Karasuno, but she was all the way in Miyagi, and he was in Tokyo; there was no one he'd met in his area.
However, this was the first time he was meeting a hanyou. Kenma thought of you that morning as he was getting ready, as he wondered why your family had kept you in the dark about your status. Hanyou weren't common, and he was certain that his mother had once told him that as harmless as they were, their status of being half-phantom needed to be severed immediately. He wasn't sure why he didn't do it right away with you, since he hadn't ever met a hanyou before. He wanted to ask his mother, but having that conversation would drain him.
He was certain that you wouldn't be a problem. You didn't even know how to use your powers in the right way, and you barely knew anything at all. And as far as he saw it, the number of ghosts in and around Nekoma was only a handful. He hadn't witnessed a single phantom emerging in the time that he was there, just a few harmless ghosts that needed an exorcism.
All he knew about hanyou was that they were dangerous if a phantom was around. The difference between phantoms and ghosts were simple; the bad stories surrounding ghosts weren't about ghosts at all, but phantoms. Phantoms tricked humans by offering them something in exchange for something else. They strove to find a human vessel to incorporate so that they wouldn't have to go to the land of the dead. Balance needed to be maintained, his mother told him, and ghosthunters provided that balance.
The situation with a hanyou, however, was confusing. He knew that severing your ties with the spirit world wouldn't kill you, but he needed to learn why you were a hanyou in the first place before moving forward at all. If there was a source linked to your status as a half-phantom, then severing your ties with the spirit world would prove disastrous. He needed to understand why you were still alive especially when hanyou were supposed to have been dead.
However, that required a lot more effort than he thought it would. There were no phantoms, he believed there hardly existed any, especially in a place like Tokyo, so there was no need to worry.
What he didn't know was that sometimes ants come out from hidden corners when something sweet is exposed.
Kenma spotted you near your class speaking to your friend that used to eye Yaku-senpai funnily. Not knowing if you were entirely a threat did put him on edge, but it was alright for now. It was back at the end of his first year when he had removed his tanto, and it was now when he had seen you, which meant that things were relatively normal. The special trait about ghosthunter tantos and katanas were that they were indeed magical; they were embedded in the back of his phone and would only enlarge on his command. He had them with him at all times, which was why he had earned the assumption attached to him—Kenma is always on his phone.
When you spotted him, you waved at him, before your hand shrunk downward almost disappointed. He didn't know why you did that, but whatever it was, wasn't his problem. He turned away and headed to class, just before feeling a strange gust of wind flow in the opposite direction.
He almost gasped when he turned around and saw you had fallen down, or that your body had. Kenma's eyes widened before he instinctively tried to look for your spirit, before having no luck.
"Oh my god! (y/n)-chan!" Your friend screeched before Kenma clenched his fists and clutched his phone.
He rushed to a lone corner before checking his bag for the little piece of jade his mother had given him, in case a spirit went loose and he couldn't find it. The piece of jade would act as a GPS almost and would lead him to the area where the spirit would be. He had to act quickly because your body had drawn enough attention as it is. The piece of jade began to glow on his palm before pressing forward and Kenma instantly ran toward the direction that it led. What the hell? Why is there some disturbance now?
His eyes widened when he spotted a phantom, clutching to your spirit form, right in the middle of the basketball court of his school. Kenma was panting now, and your spirit form was being squeezed to death. He was aware that it wouldn't be enough to kill you, but if the phantom devoured you, you were done for.
It took him a second to bring out his katana, the handle of it was a bright burning red, the same blade that was passed down in his family. The scabbard of the katana was a dull brown, but the blade itself was magnificent. It had a red hue toward the sharp end of the blade, which could practically cut spirit trails with ease. The katana was useless against people, and the red hue made it apparent.
"Kenma-kun! Help!"
He didn't intend on helping you; he was here to destroy the phantom. It was grotesque and large, the biggest he had seen in his life, but it was nothing compared to the training his mother put him through every weekend. The phantom resembled a mammoth, with arms sticking out from its side, one of which was holding on to you rather tightly. Unsheathing his katana, Kenma dashed forward before attempting to slice the phantom in half, knowing that it would be enough to scatter its essence back to the spirit world. His eyes widened when it had no effect.
You screened a second later as you were being squeezed some more, which made him wonder if you could feel pain as a spirit. She's not a spirit, his mind scolded him, She's a hanyou!
A second later, he realized it was a bit too late. No spirit would be after your spirit form if your body was left unchecked. Kenma wanted to rush and check on your body first, but leaving you here would mean abandoning you.
Shit, he thought before gripping his blade tightly and rushing toward the phantom's legs. He sliced off one leg, bringing it down, before jumping in the air and stabbing it right in between its eyes. Your spirit self fell down along with the demon, and Kenma walked over to you before pulling you up. He hadn't realized until then that his heart was pounding from the excitement, but your spirit self seemed unhurt.
"Thank you—"
"Your body is in danger."
Your eyes widened before you quickly ran toward the infirmary, knowing that you would be there. Kenma followed you simply because he knew that it would be too late. He knew that the phantom he had fought was a distraction and that the real danger lay in whatever was heading toward your body in the meantime. He had failed, simply because he had made the wrong decision.
He didn't have to worry about your spirit self. He knew that the true danger lay in allowing another spirit to possess your living body.
As a ghosthunter, whose primary responsibility was to prevent a spirit from possessing a living body, Kenma knew that choosing your spirit self right then was a grave error. He paused when he saw your spirit self pause, your hands were covering your jaw now, and Kenma followed your gaze. Your body was getting up on its feet and turned to look at both of you—your spirit and Kenma, before a sad smile sat on your physical body's features.
He knew that by choosing to help your spirit, he had failed the primary teachings that were taught to a ghosthunter. While he knew that the actual spirit that had now possessed your living body merely used the bigger phantom as a distraction, the real danger lay in your spirit form now lurking in the air the way it was. If you could be pushed out of your own body that easily, Kenma knew that the only option to avoid future mishaps like these was to figure out why you were a hanyou in the first place. As much as he wanted to avoid it, now it seemed, that he no longer could.
"What the..." You sounded terrified, "What is..."
Kenma knew he blew it. But, thankfully, he knew what to do.
"I need your help," He said begrudgingly, "Meet me at building 4's terrace after school."
You turned to him with a panicked expression, "What? What about until then? My body—"
"I can help you," Kenma promised, unable to look away from your eyes, "I need you to trust me, I'm your only ally here."
Your lower lip trembled and Kenma felt strangely sad for you. You were not really at fault here, whatever had happened was because you were kept in the dark about something you had no idea about. He looked at your wrist and noticed that you were not wearing the magatama beads around your wrist.
"What happened to your magatama bracelet?"
"It broke the first time I jumped..."
It's because she didn't have a replacement magatama bracelet that she was sniffed out like that, he thought, sighing internally. He gave you a worried expression before feeling an arm wrap around his shoulder. It was Kuroo.
"She falls even without the volleyball hitting her, huh," Kuroo teasingly said, "Such a strange girl you have eyes for."
Kenma's eyes widened and he deliberately chose to avoid your gaze. You stood there, suddenly feeling the freest you've ever felt, but in the worst possible way. It felt as if you were naked, and not a soul could see you. And with Kenma avoiding your gaze the way he was, your heart was inching toward breaking.
You've never been more terrified in your life at the darkness that presented itself in one of the brightest places.
Author’s Note: I just love the movie Whiplash? So I kinda started a series for Oikawa. Make sense? No? Okay. Lmao. Several instances in this story are based off the Motion Picture "Whiplash", one of my favorite films of all time. The music described in this story are mentioned out of research and are not fictitious.
Oikawa had lamented once after his first girlfriend broke up with him. Choosing volleyball over girls, he believed he had set himself straight. There could be no one as dedicated as he. That was until he met a rather self-destructive drummer with a sharp tongue, that is. Fury incorporated in a human being she was, and boy, did she throw him off for a toss. Then again, when passion clashes with passion—does it always lead to a positive?
[Slightly based off the Motion Picture "Whiplash"]
Warnings: slow burn, unrequited love, one-sided crush, angst, pining, mentios of blood and injury, bad parenting, toxic parent, tsundere reader, haikyuu manga spoilers, fluff
What Consists of Living
•
Taped Hands and Sharp Tongues
*
Regret makes us do better things.
When the stick hit the snare drum, the liftoff began. I started slowly at first, casually blinding my way upwards. I knew it. I knew from how the rhythm began that the sound I make will be close to perfect.
Perfect.
What a pathetic word.
There was no one around me. No one needed to be. My practice was solo—like the best of my performances. The cymbals cooperated with my every move, my every flow seemed to set the right tempo—I slowed down my pace. I held the cymbal with my left hand and played with it on my right, reducing the rhythm--picking it up with the snare once more.
My legs lost it—the bass drum sounded off the walls; my sound-tight music room was magical almost.
Magic.
They told me I didn’t have it.
I hit the snare with the sticks faster, faster and oh yes, much faster than any woman might have screamed to the man making love to her. Faster, my mind screamed as the cymbal trembled with my playing it. Faster, I screamed at myself as I bit my lip—harder and harder; sounding more inappropriate in my mind. The sounds blinded me, yes, that was possible. Sounds blinding people rarely occurred unless you could see sound; one doesn’t usually see sound. Unless you deserved it.
My hands were slowly losing their grip around the sticks. The damned red liquid oozed out of the holes caused with my intense beating—but I strove on. Faster, I screeched inside until all I could hear were the sounds the cymbals and the snare made. The bass drum was slowly blinding out of my consciousness. The cream colored texture of my snare now had red spots.
And the gold of my cymbals—splotched with red.
Faster! My physical self rarely made me proud—I stopped abruptly when I couldn’t feel the sticks. The rhythm died slowly—the liftoff brought back when silence enveloped the room around me. The cymbal stilled.
Blood poured out of my gashes onto my snare drum—droplets fell on my cymbals and a bit on my floor tom.
I breathed heavily, in and out; in and out went the breaths I needed to hold back for bettering my best. My tempo was nearly nowhere close to good.
Both my hands had gashes tearing open, begging to be healed—I ignored their cries as usual, I dipped my hand into the jar full of melting ice and winced; I needed to become numb to the calls of my physical self. I needed to reach a state where I can prove those who wronged me wrong.
Being underestimated is the best feeling in the world. I like the look on their face when I prove them wrong.
“[Surname]-chan! Your hands!” A dreaded fool cried out, before running off to call the nurse.
I wasn’t wet behind my ears, that damned fool. I needed this pain. I sought out this pain—don’t people see that it was pain that got me here? Pain that made me this good. No, I sighed before heading out. I was nowhere near good.
I walked to the infirmary for the antiseptic lotion and a spare set of tapes that I can tie around my hands. They numbed the irksome pain when I could practice some more. I was sure the time was somewhere close to 5:30 p.m., I wondered what that idiot girl was even doing out so late in school, that too, in the music room. I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t notice her. She didn’t deserve it, anyway. Regular. Annoying. Distracted. That was who she was to me.
“Your hands are bleeding!” The nurse screeched at me, before taking my hands forcefully.
She applied the antiseptic powder first and tied the white tapes around my hands. I stared at her hands, observing how she did it—I didn’t need her the second time. Aobajōsai had weird rules, nurses usually left the school once it was 4 p.m. I pulled my hands away after she was done with the tapes. She looked revolted because I didn’t let her tie them. They were nearly never tight enough.
I didn’t care.
“[Surname]-chan, I still haven’t applied the—”
I horded out, pulling the untied tape from its end with my teeth, to tie a tighter knot to hold it together. I could hear the nurse scream my name from behind me, following me, opening the damn door to tell me I was being irresponsible. But her voices were zoned out.
I almost bumped into some random bozo on my way out, weird hair—funny looking face that girls these days call handsome. His gaze fell on my mouth, which was still biting onto the tape attached to my palms.
“Move it,” I snapped.
He was surprised?
I moved past him instead and tied the knot a lot stronger than before.
“[Surname]-chan! That’ll cause an infection—”
“Don’t care.”
I don’t regret ignoring her. I don’t regret these. I’ve used up all my regret to keep my passion burning. Regret. Redemption. Sorrow. Guilt. Repentance. All of these were meaningless to me. Only passion survived.
But tempo.
Tempo was what lived.
Author’s Note: Oof thanks for the response on the previous chapter! I’m loving it so pls tell me what you think of this? The whole ghost/hanyou thing here is something I made up and just gave it a story on my own, so it might definitely be different from Noragami and Shintoism that I’ve just brushed up on! Let me know what you think!
Word count: 2k
Pairing: Ghosthunter! Kenma Kozume x Hanyou! Reader
Summary: Ever since you were born, things weren’t going your way. Being able to jump in and out of your body as a spirit might have sounded cool in theory, but in reality, you were just target practice for other spirits to take advantage of. Just when you thought you could get accustomed to living a regular life, meeting the ghosthunter of Nekoma turned your life around to a complete 360.
The nurse ended up giving you an entire bottle of electrolytes. The only reason you could lose consciousness from a volleyball hitting you on your head was simply because you were apparently not eating right, which you only ended up agreeing with despite knowing the actual reason. Mimi's crying face was a bit funny, but you weren't going to laugh at her. You stared at your now empty wrist before feeling dread settle in your lower stomach. You felt nauseous now when you thought of the trek that led to your grandmother's shrine, but it wasn't your grandmother that scared you.
It was the other maiden from the shrine; the one who had given you the magatama in the first place.
Sato Fujie was a good friend of your grandmother's, old enough to be your grandmother too, but she didn't really like being called that. As one of the oldest Miko in the shrine, she had every right to order you around because you were hanyou.
"I was so scared!" Mimi most definitely was. You didn't doubt that.
All you could do was offer her a helpless smile before muttering to her that you needed to head home. She understood right away and some of the boys from the club suggested that they'd even walk you home, but no, you weren't that exhausted. You could walk home yourself and you wanted the fresh air and the alone time. You looked toward the boys and noticed that the ghosthunter wasn't around, which meant that he hadn't left the gym at all ever since your departure. You didn't know if he spared your life or if he had left you off on a warning; what was your modus operandi now? What were you to do? Did you have to tell your grandmother that there's a ghosthunter in Nekoma?
*
"There are ghosthunters everywhere, you bird brain!" Sato screamed into your ear as she pinched at the end of it.
You had tears leaking out of your eyes now with how forceful she was being. Making a magatama that could keep your soul intact took days, and in those days, you were just as helpless as a newly born fawn in a field full of hungry lions. Her metaphors always did manage to scare you beyond the actual facts that were being presented, but you turned to your grandmother who watched solemnly. Sato and your grandmother were both Miko, and they wore the traditional attire that included a red hakama, a white kimono robe, and their hair tied with red hair ribbons. Sato particularly took more caution with her appearance, dying her hair black almost every week and attempting to look younger than she was. Your grandmother, on the other hand, embraced her age.
It was then the ghosthunter's voice rang in your head. His words had confused you, and now you couldn't hold back anymore.
"He told me that it's not safe for me the way I am. It's not like I can do anything about it, right?"
Sato and your grandmother both didn't answer. This proved that they knew something you didn't, or that there was something there that they were not telling you. This hesitance made you want to press on. You narrowed your eyes before looking Sato straight in the eye.
"Sato-sama," You said carefully, "What happens if a ghosthunter severs my ties with the spirit world?"
"We told you already! They sever your ties with the spirit world, and that's it." Sato said, aggressively.
What...? Something definitely didn't feel right.
"Will that kill me?"
Your grandmother's look hardened. Your heart dropped, and you were confused with what they were not telling you.
"He didn't do it," You pressed on, "He let me go and just told me it isn't safe for me the way I am. If he had used his tanto on me, what would have happened?"
"(y/n)," It was your grandmother who spoke this time, "Let it go."
No, you thought but Sato was already getting up to go make the magatama. You looked at Sato's back as she walked away, almost helplessly, before turning to your grandmother and giving her a pleading look. Your grandmother sighed before running her hand through your hair and placing the same hand against your cheek. You could feel how wrinkled she was, and you wanted to understand if keeping this a secret even had a reason at all.
"I know there's something else there, obaa-san," You said, pressing your lips together in the end, "Please, tell me so I won't make mistakes after finding out."
"(y/n)," You were hoping she'd say something related to the issue at hand, "The magatama will be ready in a few days. Please, do not remove it this time."
Your heart dropped in the blatant way your grandmother ignored you. You held your breath before picking up your things and just leaving the shrine. You didn't bother to give your grandmother another look, you were angry that they were keeping you in the dark, you were angry because it felt wrong wanting to go look for answers elsewhere. The only choice you had was the ghosthunter whose name you didn't even know.
The next day in school, you wanted to find out where the ghosthunter was. You knew that he wasn't a third-year, and you knew that he wasn't a first-year, which meant he was a second-year. You also knew that Mimi knew some of the second years from the team, and it would rather easy for her to find out who the pudding head was. However, your sudden curiosity might trigger something else in her head and you desperately wanted to avoid that. Therefore, the best way you could find out his name without involving anyone else was by taking a risk.
You knew that the fourth period, right before lunch was a relatively free hour. Students in your class were allowed to do anything—complete homework, talk to one another by keeping their voices low or even take a nap. It was a strange thing to let students do, but you were grateful for the free hour now more than ever before. Whispering to Mimi that you were going to take a long nap and that you didn't want to be woken up, she nodded furiously before giving you a fake salute.
Taking a deep breath, you exited your body.
As a hanyou, you always knew that exiting your body was the easiest. Getting back in was the tough part, but that wasn't in your head right then. You took a deep breath before moving through the corridors, checking through each door where the second-year classes were, and trying to spot a familiar ghosthunter. It was in the third class, a rather sharp 2-3, did you spot him.
His eyes immediately caught hold of your form before glaring at you, and you waved helplessly before quietly walking in. The boy straightened his back from suddenly slouching, and he looked rather anxious as you approached him. You peered into his notebook and noticed that his name was Kenma Kozume, and you grinned to yourself at how your plan had actually worked.
You shoot him a thumbs up a second later, before whispering, "Thank you, Kozume-kun!"
You heard him let out a groan before you skipped out of class, just going through the door.
Luckily for you, you could get back into your body without a hassle. Mimi apparently hadn't even tried to wake you up, and that had taken just ten minutes so the short nap worked as a perfect excuse. When the class took a break for lunch, you and Mimi walked out casually, with you being personally satisfied over a rather big win. However, you spotted Kenma Kozume, standing ahead of you two, a strange look in his eye.
"Need to talk." Was all he said, avoiding your gaze.
Mimi narrowed her eyes together before murmuring, "Why does Kozume-senpai want to talk to you?"
You shrugged before following Kenma, but secretly feeling your stomach drop at the anticipation. Kenma led you toward a corridor in the school where there were relatively fewer people, and he shot you a threatening look.
"You pull that move once again and I'll definitely end you."
You grin helplessly before rubbing the back of your neck, "Sorry. Does it really bother you that much?"
His expression didn't change, "I'm supposed to be hunting ghosts."
That's where you knew your cue was to ask him a question, "Yeah, see, now... That's what I don't understand."
Kenma blinked at you, "What?"
"I'm a hanyou, not a ghost. I can get in and out whenever I want, and it's rather convenient sometimes. I understand that other ghosts can enter my body while I'm away, and that's a legitimate thing to fear, but how am I a threat?"
Kenma looked at you like you were an idiot. You were almost appalled at the gaze he was giving you.
"Didn't anyone tell you that spirits can kill one another?"
What?
Your eyes widened at his sudden exclamation, which sounded like he was saying the most casual thing ever. Kenma's face didn't reveal what he was feeling, and if it did, then that meant he was feeling nothing. There was not a tinge of emotion on his face and you didn't know whether to feel worried or relieved that he was looking that way.
"What... I mean... I'm... safe inside my body, right?"
Kenma sighed. He licked his lips before thinking to himself if telling you what he was about to would be the right thing to do. Contemplating his own conflicts on speaking to someone like you, Kenma decided against it.
"It's not my job to educate you."
You were nearly close to pleading. You suddenly grabbed his wrist, shocking him and not noticing the rapid growth of red on his cheeks.
"Please, Kozume-kun," You said, "I know there's something wrong with what my grandmother and the Miko are hiding from me. I need to know what I am. I need to know why this is happening to me and why I feel so... so different."
Kenma could have empathized with you, he definitely could have. But he was trained to study the various types of ways that ghosts could manipulate people. The first method that ghosts usually used was to get the person to empathize. Strikingly similar to what you were doing right then. He brushed your hand away harshly before clicking his tongue at you.
"If you pull that stunt again," He warned you, "And there's a ghost nearby, I won't be responsible for what happens to you."
"Kozume-kun, I... If you sever my ties to the spirit world, will I die?"
He paused before his expression changed. He blinked at you as he raised his eyebrows. Clearly, whoever raised you had done a brilliant job in keeping you in the dark. Not only did they avoid telling you how much you were in danger, but they also refused to be honest with you about your own nature.
"Hanyou are the way they are because they almost died at some point. If you were born like this then you weren't even supposed to be alive," Kenma's words reverberated in your mind, "Think about that, and maybe you'll get your answer."
"Not supposed to be alive?" Your voice was barely a whisper.
Kenma turned away to leave before letting you rot in your own thoughts.
Not supposed to be alive.
Not supposed to be alive.
Then, you turned to walk away but the shaking of your hands was too severe for you to even take another step forward, Why am I alive at all?
Hey, I'm the anon that asked where you're reading mha. Thanks for answering but I can't find the app :/ Maybe it's because I'm in a different country idk. Thanks for amswering anyway though :)
OHH that's okay! It can be a bit misleading, it looks like this if this helps! ☺️☺️
Author’s Note: A long break of absence, but fret not! This is a short series inspired by Noragami ofc, and because Kenma is a sweetie. Let me know what you think of this! The chapters aren’t going to too long thank goodness lmao. Also, I’m on Quotev! I post a lot more of my fics on there, so if any of you want the link, hmu! Let me know what you think! :”)
Word count: 2k
Pairing: Ghosthunter! Kenma Kozume x Hanyou! Reader
Summary: Ever since you were born, things weren't going your way. Being able to jump in and out of your body as a spirit might have sounded cool in theory, but in reality, you were just target practice for other spirits to take advantage of. Just when you thought you could get accustomed to living a regular life, meeting the ghosthunter of Nekoma turned your life around to a complete 360.
There were over nine million people in Tokyo. However, only a handful of them was unfortunate enough to be called hanyou.
You were one of those unfortunate souls.
The night was pitch-black and moonless on the day you were born. There was no heavy gust of wind, there was no storm—the lights were out at your grandmother's home, you were apparently upside down inside your mother's uterus, a sign that things were not normal, and yet, the worst part of it all was how you were perceived after you were born.
Not a sound out of you; you were born asleep. Almost as if the world's chaos did nothing to wake your soul. You were sleeping so soundly, one could wonder what even caused the birth. Were you sleeping because you were content? Were you sleeping because you were aware of what the world was to offer you?
It was three years later did they realize why. It was because you could see spirits, and you could exit your own body as a spirit, whenever you pleased. While this new ability proved to be interesting indeed, the maiden from your mother's shrine convinced you that this power was evil. A human being was not to exit their body whenever they pleased, the spirit world was not to be accessed like that, it was not a welcome area and they definitely did not welcome tourists. While you believed they were marking your ability as something you had to fear, it only worked when they told you about ghosthunters.
Ghosthunters lived to exterminate the living world of ghosts. As simple as this job sounded, its similarities to exorcism scared you since you had the ability to become a ghost whenever you pleased. It wasn't that you could control this ability really well, only when you're allowed to use an ability could you learn to control it, however, the maiden from the shrine did assist in keeping this unfortunate ability of yours under wraps. Tying a sacred magatama around your wrist was one way, which you were specially allowed to wear despite being in school. So, whatever the fear was, as long as the magatama was around your wrist, you were just a regular human being.
You laughed and lived through your middle school years, avoiding the area of sports because you couldn't dare displace the beaded bracelet around your wrist. Despite it all, despite your unfortunate ability that you were forced not to ever use, you were happy—a teenager living the life of a teenager, away from any ghosthunter that might deem you a threat.
Apparently, hanyou were not particularly welcome by the ghosthunter race. They weren't a race per se, but the spiritual affinity that hanyou had despite being human beings was something that they considered impure, and anything impure needed to be severed. It wasn't that they were allowed to kill hanyou for just being hanyou, but they were indeed allowed to sever your ties with the spirit world; and because your grandmother, the Miko of the shrine your mother had belonged to before marriage, had never told you about what this severing would do to your psyche, you were cautious enough to listen to her about wearing the magatama around your wrist at all costs.
You were thankful that she did tell how of how vengeful spirits might take advantage of your hanyou self, and jump into your body when you were out and make use of this chance to wreak havoc. The thought of an external spirit inhabiting your body made you nauseous even as a child, so following a cautious lifestyle was rather stringent for you.
Everything was fine and dandy until your third day in Nekoma high school.
Your new friend, Katagiri Mimi, had a desperately pathetic crush on one of the volleyball players and had forced you along to the gym to watch them play. Despite having a strict rule to never go within ten yards of any sport, Mimi-chan was rather forceful that day since Morisuke-senpai was just amazing at everything he did. Perhaps, you were standing too close to where they were playing that you didn't realize a ball was approaching your head. Perhaps, your habit of playing with the beads around your wrist finally had the beads snapping exactly at the moment you needed them most.
Perhaps, it was fate that it happened the way it did; you could never tell.
"(y/n)-chan!" Mimi screeched, but you could see her.
You stared at her as she looked down and screamed at what looked like your body. You let out a terrifying sigh at the sight of the broken magatama, before wondering what your grandmother would say at how easily your soul slipped out of your body right then. You tried to remember how you would jump back into your body as a child, but seeing your unconscious body right then gave you full access to how your hair actually looked like from another person's point of view. It was tempting to stay outside for just a few moments longer, but it was then a person's gaze burned so hard into your soul that you froze.
People weren't supposed to see you.
Yes, you remembered this fact quite clearly. Only spirits could see spirits. And since you were a spirit right then, that meant only spirits could see you.
You gulped. There was one other race that could see you in your spirit form.
You looked up toward the volleyball net and noticed two cat-like eyes glaring at your form, eyes wide and gaze sharp, boring into your skull. Your breath was stuck in your throat as this boy glared the daylight out of you, making you wonder what in the world was going on but the answer was screaming into your face as you watched how his gaze was unwavering. Yes, only spirits could see spirits, but...
...so could ghosthunters.
Taking a deep breath, you jumped on your body but failed to enter yourself again. Mimi was crying now, and the entire volleyball team had huddled around your unconscious form. You had no idea what to do, but this blond boy's gaze had petrified you to the spot. What the hell should I do!? You screamed within your own mind before thinking of the least rational yet the only idea your mind could come up with.
You turned to the possible ghosthunter and screamed, "What the hell should I do?!"
His eyes widened just a tad bit before he looked away, almost as if he no longer could see you. You knew he was just ignoring you, you knew he was doing this just to make sure your spirit self stayed out of your body so that when everyone was away, he could come to chop you into little ghost pieces and end your miserable life. You were shaking now, and you were certain that your lower lip was quivering.
"Come on, ghosthunter-kun! I have no idea how to get back to my body!"
"Take her to the infirmary." The ghosthunter said, lowly, before everyone agreed.
A tall pale-haired individual picked you up, but you were right there. The entire volleyball team seemed to disperse, as one first-year whose name you remembered began with an 'I' started to apologize profusely. Mimi's crying could be heard all over the corridor, and now you were alone with the ghosthunter.
"You really can't hear me or—"
In one quick movement, you were pinned to the ground with something cold and sharp on your neck. As a spirit, you wouldn't feel things hit you but you could feel this boy touch you, pin you to the ground, and his weird looking tiny katana was pressing to your neck. You were scared it was drawing blood. Your eyes welled up with tears and he paused, just for a moment, before narrowing his eyes.
"I should kill you before you change my mind."
"W-What?" You were crying, just great, "What makes you think I can change your mind?! Y-You're practically pressing this baby katana to my neck!"
His eyebrow twitched with apparent annoyance, "It's a tanto."
"O-Okay..." You cried, tears leaking out of your eyes.
He looked at you as you cried, your cries increasing with intensity with each passing second. He was actually a tad bit cute if you looked closer, his hair was a funny shade, but it suited him strangely. He was wearing the Nekoma practice jersey and even though he was sweaty, he looked like he could snap you in half like a twig, despite the tiny frame he adorned so well. While his features were screaming at you, your heart was palpitations, even though you were sure you had no heart. A moment later, he pulled the tanto away before releasing you. You cried harder now, before sitting back up.
"You really have no idea how to get back to your body?"
You shook your head, "Are you really a ghosthunter?"
He chose to ignore you. "They'll think you're dead, you know. It was just a volleyball that hit your head. You should get back."
You stared at him in awe, "Aren't you supposed to kill me?"
He offered you a cheeky grin before saying, "I kill ghosts that threaten peace. The most you can threaten is a fly."
While you knew you had to feel offended by his remark, what you felt was absolute elation. You stood up right away, fighting the urge to hug this ghosthunter for sparing your life before you saw the tanto vanishing from his hands. You were confused as to what a ghosthunter was doing in the middle of Tokyo, especially in a school like Nekoma, but those questions were for later.
"Do you have any idea what I can do?"
He shrugged before looking at you nonchalantly, "Nope. You're lucky I found you, if it was any other ghosthunter, things would have been different."
While you were indeed curious as to what 'different' meant, since your grandmother never had explicitly told you what the fate of hanyou were at the hands of ghosthunters, you knew you had to get back to your body. Mimi was quite practically terrified of volleyballs by now, and her crush on Morisuke-senpai would have been entirely eradicated from the blatant display of how weak your composition was. However, just as you walked away, you felt the ghosthunter clear his throat.
"It's not safe for you," He said, "To be the way you are."
Your eyes widened at what he said before biting your lower lip, convincing yourself that speaking to your grandmother was your best bet before doing literally anything else. You walked toward the infirmary where your body was, and the entire volleyball team stood outside waiting to hear about your fate. While the school nurse did confusedly tell them you were breathing fine and were simply unconscious and even she couldn't understand why you weren't waking up.
You held your own hand before shutting your eyes and feeling warm all of a sudden. A moment later, you woke up.
"(y/n)-chan! Oh my god!"
Mimi crushed you with a hug, and everyone cheered. However, your heart was the one that felt a little bit broken. It's not safe for me? What does he mean? You stared at your now empty wrist before feeling for the first time that your grandmother had conveniently missed out on telling you something.
Hey uh. The actual art credit goes to lyrisenseless on twitter. Who doesn’t allow reposts it I read their bio correctly.
Oh dear! Don't worry, love. I've taken the post down!!
Please let me know if anything I post bothers you in some way, I'll definitely rectify it to the best I can! And artists need to be given the credit they deserve and if they don't want their art to be reposted then I'll definitely respect that! Thank you so much for letting me know!
