this could've been a longer story but the daiya fandom is not at its peak anymore so i decided to sum it up into this one shot but it just doesn't have the right vibe </3 i did finish it though so im posting it, not proofread
she/her pronouns for reader
wc: 1.7k
You met Narumiya Mei in your first year of high school.
You went to Inashiro for their track team. During middle school, you harbored some honorable records and thus managed to score a scholarship - your parents would've never afforded to send you to a private school otherwise.
You were excited for your new school life - focusing on your club activities and training hard, getting new friends...You never thought that Narumiya Mei would become part of your life.
He was your classmate. He had charm, you had to admit, and soon enough your whole class seemed to be infatuated with him. But you could see past that.
"And then I got the guy with my ultra super awesome changeup-"
"Changeup? What was that, again?" A smug grin appeared on your face as you watched Narumiya's smile drop. You were now in your second year, and he had gotten into the habit of bragging to you whenever he did something "cool".
"I've told you tons of times, (L/n)!! Are you stupid or something?!" "You've seen my grades, Narumiya. I think that answers your question." You watched the blond grit his teeth.
Narumiya was someone who did not need to worry about his grades - his future lay in baseball. Yet ever since your first year, he wanted to compete with you in every single subject. He just never failed to get the hint - that academically speaking - you would always be superior.
"She's so infuriating, Masa-san!!" Was Narumiya's most common phrase when he arrived to practice. And everyone knew that they were in for a long rant about Narumiya's so-called 'enemy'. They had started placing bets on when their ace would realize that he was most likely head over heels for you.
If one of them even hinted at something like that, Narumiya's face would twist and turn into a look of grimace, and he pretended like he was about to throw up.
But the thing is, even he was not so sure why he was so keen on speaking with you. Everyone else always enjoyed talking with him, he just had tons of charisma, you know? But, you. You. You never smiled, genuinely, only grinned smugly whenever you somehow gained the upper hand. You didn't know the rules of baseball despite attending a school that regularly went to Koshien - and the rules wouldn't stick in your head no matter how many times he explained them to you.
And you. You always focused in class, wrote your notes diligently, raised your hand way too often. You would only ever look at him to glare if he was whispering too hard with some other (female) classmate. "Jealous?" His smug grin would ask you - and you would raise your hand, outing him to the teacher for disturbing class.
You never came to any of the baseball team's games. He always asked you, even invited you, but you always said that you weren't interested. Sure, Narumiya knew that you had your own club, in fact, he heard that you were one of the track team's most promising members. But everyone else found time to come to the games, at minimum the finals, why didn't you?
Seriously, who came to Inashiro and then claimed to not be interested in baseball?
He would occasionally see you running around the campus. The track field was high quality and had plenty of space, yet you would always warm up by running around the school grounds. Why, he did not know.
He did once ask you, but you just shrugged. "I enjoy watching the other clubs being hard at work." "Even the baseball team?" "No, not the baseball team."
You were strange.
Maybe that's why he always seemed to spot you in crowds. You were different - and not entirely in a bad way.
''(L/n), do you have any friends?''
Your brows furrowed - you did not like what he was implying. ''What kind of question is that, Narumiya? I have plenty of friends.'' ''Is that why you are always sitting alone and reading a book?'' Your eyes darted up from your book. Narumiya was sitting on the chair in front of your desk, facing you, and resting his head on your desk.
''Are you trying to imply that I'm a loner?'' ''Well, you are always alone, aren't you?'' ''No, Narumiya. I'm always with you.''
That afternoon, Inashiro's ace pitcher couldn't focus in practice. He was always surrounded by people, whether or not you were there. He hadn't even realized that he did spend a lot of time with you.
''Masa-san, I think she's a witch.'' He had announced in the bullpen. ''Hah? That's a new one.'' His catcher had answered, kind of curious to see what Narumiya had on his mind this time. ''Yes, she's a witch. And she's put a spell on me.''
The school year seemed to fly by. The baseball team went to Koshien in the summer, got defeated, and tried again in the fall. Yet they had lost in a game that was supposed to be a guaranteed win. And yet again, you were not there to watch. Narumiya tried to spot you in the bleachers, even though he knew that you wouldn't be there.
''You aren't bragging about your latest game.'' You pointed out, closing the lid of you lunchbox. ''We lost, (L/n). There's nothing to brag about.'' The blond whined, glaring at you for reminding him. ''Really? You didn't do even one good play?''
Narumiya thought back to the moment he had disagreed with his catcher - his first mistake. It all just went downhill from there. ''No, this time there really isn't anything to brag about.''
''Ah, is that so? So are you still crying yourself to sleep every night, then?'' Narumiya narrowed his eyes at your words. ''No! I've gotten over it already!''
He had never realized, but you actually knew quite a lot about him. ''I think she's a mind reader, Itsuki!'' ''Mei-san...you've been classmates with her for two years...'' ''She can read minds, I'm telling you!!''
Whatever helps him sleep at night.
You were now both third years. You found it hard to describe your relationship with Narumiya. On the outside it really did seem like you were friends. Because you did often eat lunch together, he would tell you about his baseball team and you would always find something to make a witty remark about.
But you did not have his phone number, you did not talk about what either of you did during the weekend, you never laughed at his jokes.
You weren't sure how to feel about him.
You never decided to be friends. And thus, you think that you aren't. Because Narumiya was out of reach for you, so far away.
Yet you found yourself reaching for him. Hanging onto the little thread he was handing to you, which he would eventually just cut down. Because you just weren't meant for each other.
''She was quiet today.'' Narumiya's expression was difficult to read, but he seemed distressed, at least in Itsuki's mind. You held such power over him, Itsuki was worried that they would one day lose a whole game because of you.
''Who was quiet?''
Narumiya was about to throw another pitch, but instead dropped the ball on the ground. He looked at you, his mouth wide open. ''(L-L-L/n)?!'' His hand trembled as he pointed at you.
''Yes, it's me. You look like you've seen a ghost, Narumiya.'' You were clearly fighting back a laugh. This was the first time Itsuki had ever seen you - and you did not match Narumiya's stories at all. You were beautiful.
Suddenly Itsuki understood why Narumiya paid so much attention to you.
''W-w-what are you doing here?!'' You had never shown any interest in baseball, yet here you are, standing on the field. You are wearing your track uniform - seems like you were in the middle of warming up.
''Oh, me?'' You pointed at yourself, acting like you were confused. ''Yes, you! Don't play dumb!'' At this point, Narumiya had stomped over to you - his pitching practice long forgotten.
''Oh, I'm here to see my little brother.''
''Huh?''
''You know. My little brother. The one who joined the team this year.''
''WHAT?''
Itsuki connected the dots. But for Narumiya, it seemed impossible. ''Who's your little brother?!'' ''...(L/n)? Do you not know your first years by name?'' ''No, I do not! Point them out for me!'' He grabbed your shoulders, turning you towards where all the first years were currently running.
You squinted your eyes trying to spot your younger brother in the crowd. When you finally did so, you raised your hand to point in that direction, and Narumiya desperately tried to follow your line of sight. ''Him, over there. The one with (hc) hair.'' ''That's one of our most promising rookies???!!!!!!''
He turned you around, shaking you around lightly. ''You claimed to know nothing about baseball! And now you are telling me that a super rookie is your little brother?!'' ''Did I claim that? Oops, I lied.'' You stuck your tongue out at him.
Narumiya's hands left your shoulders - slumping down. ''I can't believe you have lied to me all these years...''
You laughed. Oh, you laughed for a long time.
You had started the game of acting dumb because you enjoyed the reactions Narumiya gave you. And, because you wanted to kick him off his high horse - to you, it seemed like you were successful.
''I'm so hurt, (Y/n)!! How could you!'' Your laughter stopped. Did he not even notice that he called you by your first name? It was a stage you thought you could never reach.
''Mei-san, the coach will get angry at you if you don't get back to practice...'' The younger catcher tried to grab the ace's attention - who just continued sulking. Itsuki gave you an apologetic smile, but you just shook your head. You were used to Narumiya being like this.
Your little brother had noticed you and came to talk to you, but instead he was startled by their team's ace pitcher. ''You-! Why didn't you tell me that you were related to (Y/n)?!'' Narumiya had pointed at him, accusing him of withholding information. In truth, your little brother did not even know that you were ''friends'' with Narumiya Mei.
Sighing, you had flicked Narumiya's forehead. ''Don't drag my dear little brother into this. I was the one playing with you this whole time.'' Narumiya held his forehead, refusing to admit that it actually hurt, though his expression said otherwise.
''Then...as an apology, will you come to our next game?''
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ the idea of dropping a bucket of baseballs on your feet doesn’t sound too enjoyable, until Yakushi’s ace helps you out.
—
word count - 1.0k
warnings - swearing
note - sanada needs some more love🙌
—
It was very hot today.
Today was one of the hottest days of the year so of course, there was game. Of all teams Seidou High could’ve played, of course, it was Yakushi High. To say you were miserable was an understatement. Even as you found shelter in the dugout, the summer heat seeped in and settled. Heat waves danced across the field of Seidou’s main baseball ground, blurring your vision as you came out of your daze and reminding you of what was going on.
It was bottom of the 8th and tensions were running high between both teams as the score remained the same, 5-3 with Yakushi in the lead. This was just a scrimmage game, but an important game nonetheless. Testing out each teams’ strengths and weaknesses was a vital part of assessing who would carry the team to nationals, and who would be left behind.
Leaning over the dugout’s railing, the sun caught on your face and caused you to squint against the light. You focused back on the game in front of you as Yakushi’s ace set up to pitch, his expression rigid and brows furrowed.
Sanada Shunpei was a dangerous pitcher, with both his pitching form and the way he alone could raise the team’s morale. He could rally his teammates together with a simple throw. That was something you could respect him for, and something that Miyuki grumbled about whenever the topic of Yakushi was brought up.
Sanada raised his glove and chin, lips parting to let out a breath as he scuffed at the mound with his cleat. You watched his routine, laser focused on his fiddling and quirks. As he kicked at the dirt, his dark gaze lifted and locked with your own, a chill running down your spine despite the boiling temperature. Sanada’s glove dropped to reveal a shit-eating smirk on his lips after catching your stare.
‘Oh god, this is so embarrassing…’
Maybe it was the heat waves affecting you, but your face felt like it was on fire while you suddenly found your shoes very interesting.
The pitcher wound his arm back and released the ball, throwing it right into his catcher’s mitt, the sound of the ball making contact ringing throughout the field. Kuramochi, who had been up at bat, grumbled after swinging at the ball. He sulked back to the dugout, glancing over at you with a frown etched on his face, “Why do you look like that?” Kuramochi asked curtly.
“Excuse me?” you jumped to your feet and spat at him.
Before he could answer you, the team was already in the middle of switching to get out on the field. Kuramochi scurried off, tossing his batting gloves and helmet, and in turn swiping his cap and regular glove.
“Asshole,” you mumbled under your breath.
The game came to a close, a final score of 6-3 with Yakushi High holding off the batters from scoring anymore runs. Bat after bat and pitch after pitch, Seidou had barely held onto the game and Yakushi’s aggressive plays.
To say the boys were pissed was an understatement. Jun appeared to be fuming, smoke bursting from his ears, while Ryosuke gripped at his bat, the whites of his knuckles in stark contrast to the wood.
After cleaning up the grounds and both dugouts with the other managers, you hauled a bucket of baseballs to the storage building. The weight felt like you were carrying bricks in your trembling arms, making you lose balance with every step you took. You tipping over and spilling the balls was the most probable outcome in this moment.
“Manager!”
A deep voice boomed across the pathway and caught the attention of anyone in the radius. You turned your head around to pinpoint the owner of the yelling, and found that Sanada Shunpei was currently staring you down. He appeared to be waving you over.
Yakushi’s team was huddled on the sidewalk, waiting for their bus to arrive and take them back to their own school. For some apparent reason, the ace had broken away from a conversation with his coach and tried to get your attention. Quite literally, your hands were full. If any of your upperclassmen caught you slacking from your duties to chat with a player from Yakushi, the scoldings would be never ending.
With that in mind, you casually ignored the calling and turned around, continuing the struggle to the storage building. Your grip on the bottom of the bucket felt as if it was slipping, and it didn’t help that the blistering heat made your hands sweaty. Panic spread and your heart immediately began to race, all of the bad outcomes coming to mind. Both of your feet broken, lots of pain, but worst of all— all of the balls that you collected in this unbearable heat spilling everywhere.
As you began to accept the fate of having a cast on both of your feet, two hands came into view and grabbed the bucket from your grip with ease. Too much ease. You looked towards your savior, a thank you hanging on the tip of your tongue until you saw who it was.
Sanada Shunpei.
The bucket was held in only one of his hands by the thin handle. He made it look like it weighed nothing as he held it by his side. “Saved ya,” the boy grinned.
It became painfully apparent to you that with each interaction you had with this guy, he would become more and more of a pain in your ass than before. It also become apparent that he had only two expressions; a total pissed off scowl and a cocky smirk from ear to ear.
“My hero,” you grumbled sarcastically, the heatwaves making you more irritable than usual. In retrospect, he really did just save you from a whole lot of trouble, but you weren’t going to admit that.
Letting out a harsh breath, you stared up at him through your lashes, brows creased ever so slightly. “If you want to keep being helpful, carry it over to the storage,” you paused before adding, “…please.”
The heat must’ve bothered Sanada a lot as well since his cheeks were rosy with a blush, his flashy grin morphing into a cute smile that reached his eyes.
ace of diamond | falling in love with sanada shunpei
yet another comfort character voiced by hiroshi kamiya ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)
for age purposes, yakushi is a university team in this drabble!
neither you nor raichi can pinpoint the exact moment when you went from classmates, to friends who warmly cared for one another beyond chatting between class breaks
perhaps it was when raichi admitted (a little ashamed) that he needed help with passing exams, because low grades would prevent him from going to baseball tournaments, and his request was met with nothing but genuine understanding and kindness (he was no longer ashamed, then)
or when he invited you to watch his next baseball game as a thank you, and suddenly you were attending every game and wholeheartedly cheering for your university team
or when he introduced you to his team-mates and dad, proudly boasting that he had passed all his exams thanks to your invaluable help - you knew better than anyone that when raichi put in the effort, he was capable of tremendous growth in surprisingly short amounts of time
from then on, your friendship was sealed. and with it came the rest of yakushi, who enthusiastically welcomed you into their circle; they were proud to have such a fervent supporter, and you fit right in with them as you too took an interest in baseball
as raichi's other closest friend, sanada was someone you got to know quickly. as a strong and focused player, he was a counterpoint to raichi's explosive energy. while sanada had been influenced by raichi's deep passion for baseball and was driven by the desire to play more, his presence on the mound sufficed to soothe the nerves of the rest of his team and give them confidence that even missed plays could later be turned into new opportunities to win
sanada was enthralled by you as soon as the two of you met. he had got the chance to talk to you as you walked with the team on the way back to university, raichi insisting that of course you could stay, since he was the one who asked you to come to the game!
judging by your open friendliness and enthusiasm to learn more about baseball, sanada could easily see how raichi and you had become such good friends. not only that, but sanada had glimpsed just how passionate you were about your own interests when his other team-mates fired a little too many questions your way to get to know you better. his heart skipped a beat right when you asked “what about you, sanada-kun? how did you start playing baseball?” your passion was something that he admired, it reminded him of why raichi had become such a dear friend of his, how passionate people inspired him to give his very best
when he was not pitching, the intense gleam in sanada's dark eyes turned into a bright and inviting light. after you had been introduced to the baseball team, sanada left a lasting impression on you - you had been drawn to his self-assured and well-meaning ways, his smile at once playful and sociable. he spoke highly of his friends and believed in them like no other; he wanted to get stronger to be a reliable ace for the team, to contribute to raichi and raizou's dream, which had become the team's dream too. you could see how father and son had adopted the entire yakushi team
your fondness for the yakushi baseball team only kept growing from then on. you cheered for your new friends tirelessly (a little louder for sanada, it seemed) and sometimes even met up with them after practice. and sanada, too, had been thinking about ways to see you more often. the more he got to know you, the more he wanted to spend time with you, the harder he worked to impress you from the mound (though we wouldn’t tell anyone, for fear of his stupid—mostly in an endearing but sometimes troublesome way—team embarrassing you or him)
sanada started to attend the lectures that you went to. though he was a science major, you found him following courses that had nothing to do with his subject - and his enjoyment of them warmed your heart like no other. he would come up to you and offer some excuse, “i heard that this series of lectures is really good” (the person he had heard it from was you, though), then ask if he could take a seat by your side. you would stay chatting after classes, sharing thoughts and impressions, and sometimes you would text each other facts about the subject that you found out on the internet in the evening. his natural warmth and extraversion, his readiness to help out and reassure his team-mates, his genuine curiosity for your interests, made you fall harder for sanada day after day
“sanada-kun, i started reading the book that that professor recommended last time, and it’s so interesting!,” “sanada-kun, i caught a baseball game on TV last night. i tried to see if the pitcher had any cutter balls!” sanada’s smile softened as you told him all about the baseball game you had watched, his heart thumping loudly along to the sound of your voice. he invited you to attend a baseball game with him then, one that he wasn’t playing in, so you could watch it together and he could provide commentary. of course you accepted, and the warmth in sanada’s smile made your chest ache in the best of ways
during the game, sanada realized how happy you were to be spending this time together, how brightly you grinned at him, and he wholeheartedly hoped that his feelings might not go unreciprocated. you started spending even more time together after that. you would stay by sanada’s side after games, sit together in lectures you attended together, have lunch together with raichi, laugh at each other's jokes, and be proud of each other's accomplishments. sanada would walk you back home after lectures when you ran into one another at the end of the day (not entirely by accident)
everyone on the team could see how close the two of you were, to the point that the rest of yakushi started teasing sanada relentlessly when you were not around. funnily enough, raichi was probably the only one who did not pay attention - when he was with the team, he was too absorbed in baseball to truly care about anything else happening around. raizou was secretly rooting for sanada and you though, it reminded him of his own youth
the confession was sweet and easy, so natural that you barely needed words - the soft look in sanada's eyes was enough to make you understand what he meant. you were walking home together and he asked you if you wanted to spend time together the upcoming weekend, just the two of you. “of course, i would be really happy to,” you smiled at him, your heart racing so fast that you thought sanada could sense it somehow. but you were not embarrassed. on the contrary, there is nothing you wished more than for sanada to know how appreciated he was, how loved and supported by everyone around him
“so it's a date?” you nodded, taking his hands into yours. “yes, please.” “so you will be my girlfriend?” he squeezed your hands, looking deep into your eyes. “yes!” sanada grinned back at you and lost no time in pulling you into a hug. you held him tight, hearing his heart beat just as fast as yours, and breathed out a chuckle into his chest. “you struck out on this one, shunpei.” “i’m not the ace for nothing,” he laughed fondly and ruffled your hair
next time you came to watch yakushi play, sanada made sure that everyone could see him take your hand and plant a cheerful kiss on your cheek. his eyes were shining with pride
warnings : fem!reader, cussing, more astral references guys i cant stop., violence mention, lmk if i forgot anything, tooth rotting fluff, miyuki and ryou are presidents of kuramochi bully club (eijun is a honorary member), if the fandom is dead i will cry
w/c : 3.6k
kuramochi youichi has witnessed the ever changing inconsistencies life brings with it.
he's seen many people cry over jobs lost, family members gone, or friends who have left; he likes to think he's pretty observant and can tell when something is wrong with people, or get a clear read on their feelings before they know them themselves.
that skill, however, does not apply to himself. when it comes to his own emotions, he is, for lack of a better word, clueless. this, he comes to realize in his 2nd year of high school, after the devastating loss in the finals.
life brings with it many inconsistencies, junior high youichi notes.
most of the friends he had in his younger days he doesn't talk to anymore, some of his grades aren't as good as they used to be, and he himself has also changed over the years.
the one constant in his life– other than his family, however, were you (and his atrocious (your words, not his) yellow hair).
the young girl he met at the playground at the age of 4, when he accidentally ruined your sandcastle with a stray ball.
you didn't cry or scream, like any child would, instead you accepted his apology and got to work on rebuilding it all the while smiling softly. he couldn't deny he felt bad (it looked like it took a while to build, the castle was more of a palace with a town to accompany it), so he stuck around to help you instead.
that started the lifelong friendship between kuramochi youichi and [name].
you accompanied each other to 80% of the places you went, people started thinking of you as the "constantly bought in pair, do not separate" type of oddity around town. if youichi was in one place, there was a high possibility you were somewhere near, and likewise.
dating rumors started spreading at some point, but they were quickly shut down by both of you.
and yet.
when youichi started going around doing his 'punk stuff' and getting into fights, you were there to patch him up. who else would he go to? even though you tried stopping him, very nearly bashing his skull in with your words (stars forbid there be any weapons nearby lest you actually do it), he continued ignoring your efforts. if you were as worried as you said, you'd cry for him, wouldn't you? shed a tear or two? but you never did.
then he got scouted for seidou and you joined shortly after him, through the entrance exams. it's not that you were simply following him– seidou was actually one of your choices even before youichi got scouted, it was a lucky coincidence that you ended up together even in high school; but it was comforting knowing even in a different place with new faces and surroundings, there was still something that resembled home.
he joined the baseball team, and here, you admit, you followed after him– as a manager.
it wasn’t too hard to adjust to the managerial duties or the daily practice sessions, you’ve been helping youichi practice since the day you met him, and the way of the scorebooks was properly explained to you by your fellow managers– thank the universe for them, seriously. the only thing you were having slight trouble with was the fact youichi didn’t seem to be doing too well at the start.
with what was left of his previously-bad-reputation in his system, you were afraid he would pick fights he couldn’t possibly win. all of the 2nd years are so tall and strong– with the exception of kominato– and youichi was.. well, for lack of a better word, a twig. yeah, he picked fights in junior high, and he actually won most of them, but junior high kids are still just that. these are middle schoolers who’ve been on an extremely strict baseball training regimen, which youichi has just started. with his aching muscles and exhaustion, he really would get his ass beat.
so you continued watching over him, from the sidelines this time.
(and, yes, watching over him entailed taking care of him also. it was like second nature– to listen to him complain about minor setbacks, to study up on massage techniques so he can get some relief from his aching muscles because he's youichi and you’re you, to patch up his wounds. all of it was like second nature. you cared for him and in turn, he cared for you.)
wherever youichi went, so did you. wherever you went, so did youichi.
those were facts– laws known by almost everyone the pair of you acquainted yourselves with, mostly the baseball club and your families, but those 2 are almost the same thing, if you were being honest.
the facts you were well aware were true continued to be proven time and time again, even more so when neither of you went to nationals.
which you think would be obvious with how you were the team's manager, so if the team didn’t go, neither did you– not as anyone important, anyway.
at the first lost chance, you didn’t cry. you didn’t just shrug and move on either, you simply took a deep breath and with the words, “maybe next year” you smiled at your seniors and friends and left the stands.
that night you headed out to the seidou baseball grounds alone.
in the lone serenity under the stars, you sat on the mound and cried.
not for the loss that could’ve been a win, not for losing the chance to go to nationals and experience the thrill, but for the 3rd years who lost their final chance.
but wherever you go, youichi goes– and on that cloudless night where he first saw you cry, he promised you he would take you to nationals.
you, in turn, promised to tell him a secret when he does.
he thinks if you smile at him like that again, he might just do anything you ever ask him to.
it is in his (and your) second year of high school when kuramochi youichi has a realization, one he can’t simply shrug off.
mundane things concerning you and him that used to be normal and done without a second thought now had his hands shaking ever so slightly, his heart rate spiking, and his cheeks feeling just a tad warmer.
which would all be okay and simply shrugged off, had it not been for sawamura and miyuki, the bastard duo (and ryousuke, purely because he enjoys bullying youchi).
“so, have you finally admitted your crush to yourself? or are you, perhaps, still in denial?”
for how much miyuki claims to hate having people in his business, he himself sure loves to poke into others. youichi feels his eye twitch.
“what–”
“what crush are you talking about, miyuki kazuya?!”
great. now the other one’s here too. and you seem to have noticed the commotion, since you’re turning his way (he wouldn’t have noticed, had he not been staring at you this entire time) with an eyebrow raised in question. youichi does an exaggerated eye roll while tilting his head towards both annoyances at his sides, and with a giggle you turn back to furuya.
“why, didn’t you know? our dear kuramochi has a–”
“aaand that’s where i’ll cut ya off,” youichi said, slapping his hand on the brunet's mouth, “i don’t have a crush on anyone.”
“but, kuramochi-senpai, you’ve been staring at [name]-senpai for the past 5 minutes. i’m pretty sure you didn’t even blink!”
now his other eye is twitching. he thinks he can actually feel the vein in his forehead bulging the more sawamoron continues speaking.
“i was not!”
“were too, we all saw,” his pink haired senior said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, his intentions written all over his face clear as day.
“i wa– okay, since you’re not gonna listen to me anyway, i’ll just prove there’s nothing between us. on either side. never was, never will be,” said youichi, getting up from his spot on the bench, which had sawamura falling over as he was leaning all his body weight on the green haired shortstop.
he makes his way over to you with an easy goal in mind: have a calm and collected conversation, without triggering his (seemingly) symptoms of illness so he doesn’t worry you, turn around and leave.
question is, what is he gonna talk to you about? conversations with you usually flow naturally, but for the first time ever, youichi finds himself nervous at the prospect of talking to you. his frustrated fast paced steps gradually slow down the closer he gets to you, contrary to his thoughts which are speeding up– he finds himself unable to keep up with his thought process for the first time ever in your presence.
and he doesn’t know why.
for the first time since he befriended you, he realizes the mere thought of you renders him unable to think properly.
sensing his presence you turn his way and his thoughts come to an abrupt stop. all he hears is white noise– like his brain got unplugged and it’s showing one of those black and white static screens– until you utter his name.
“youichi! i was just about to go over there to check what the commotion was about. I’m pretty sure i heard eijun ask about a crush or something. does he like someone?”
why do you want to know whether the first year moron has a crush or not? “him? nah. i don’t think he has the brain capacity to pull someone,” he says offhandedly, a little late to realize you took a liking to his roommate.
“youichi!” you repeat, though angrier than when you greeted him, “don’t say that! he’s just a guy. i think he could be a good boyfriend to someone. he’s nice.”
he finds his frustration growing at that, and still, he doesn’t know why. then you seem to notice something behind him because suddenly you’re grinning and waving. when he turns his head he finds it’s the previously mentioned first year and tanuki bastard and his blood boils– he tries, really, he does, to not let his thoughts bleed through his expression, but with the way miyukis smirk widens a tad, he believes he might have fucked up.
“anyway, what did you need?”
“huh– oh, i was just wondering if you needed help with anything, since you were just standing around here,” he internally apologizes for lying through his teeth, but he can’t have you finding out the real reason.
“mm, not really. jun-san did most of the heavy lifting we needed done already, so unless you wanna stay late to help us collect the balls, nothing much.”
“ah, alright. i’ll stay to help, then. i’d hate it if our poor managers did all the hard work.”
“now you’re just making fun of me.”
“me? why, i would never, who do you take me for? miyuki?”
“you’re even worse than kazuya.”
this is okay, youichi thinks. this is how it’s been for the past 13 years, this is how it should be. friendly banter. you bully him, he bullies you, you take care of him, he takes care of you. that’s how it’s always been.
he chooses to ignore the slight shake in his hands and the sudden warmth on his cheeks.
the next day you’re not in class and his only conversation partner (read: professional bother) is miyuki kazuya. which isn’t necessarily unusual, but usually it’d be the three of you engaged in conversations initiated by you, and now that he’s alone youichi misses you more than ever before.
“are you gonna answer my question or not? are you, perhaps, too shy~”
“if you don’t shut your damn mouth soon i will literally take this pen and stab you with it.”
“how scary~” the tanuki bastard let out his very tanuki like giggle and youichi nearly snapped his pen in half, “come on, you can tell me! i’m your best friend after all!”
“the absolute audacity you have to call yourself that. you know very well my best friends are ryou-san and [name],” though, he can’t particularly deny he has began considering miyuki a close friend as well.
“i believe i’m still a better person to talk about this than either of them. unless you’d prefer to discuss it with sawamura?”
the shortstop lets out a deep, heartfelt sigh of pure annoyance, and miyuki celebrates his victory. only in the depths of his twisted little soul, of course, but celebrates nonetheless.
kuramochi turns in his chair to stare at his friends desk, and with a frown so deep it genuinely concerns miyuki, finally speaks what’s on his heart, “.. i’ve been wondering about this for a while, but what makes you guys think i like [name]? i personally don’t think we’ve done anything to make it seem that way, we’ve always been like this, so–”
“you haven’t,” kuramochi looks up then, only to see the brunet more serious than he’s ever seen him be outside of baseball, “you haven’t always been like that, don’t lie to yourself. had you said that to me last year i wouldn’t have questioned you– granted, i hadn’t known either of you for long back then, but this year you both started acting differently towards each other. it’s not much noticeable to people who don’t know you, but since i spend nearly every waking moment around you guys, it’s about as clear as sawamura wanting the ace number.”
“different?”
“you.. really haven’t noticed? kuramochi, you can’t be serious.”
he slowly shakes his head in denial, thoroughly confused on not knowing what it is he should have noticed. he thought he was supposed to be observant, what happened to that?
miyuki, with his mouth hanging open in disbelief for mere seconds, decided he was nice enough to lead his one (and only) friend in the right direction, at least. if even that fails he might just have to straight up out kuramochi to kuramochi himself.
“you became more.. nervous? flustered, should i say? around her this year. you get fidgety and your hands shake after physical contact sometimes– yes, i noticed, stop staring at me like that. sometimes– actually, pretty often you just stare at her with hearts in your eyes.”
“i do not–”
“oh you do. you stare at her like she hung the stars in the night sky, like she’s what makes the sun shine. you look at her like a man in love would.”
that was kuramochi youichis final straw, he thinks.
a week after kuramochis one-on-one eye-opening talk with his friend, he starts to notice that maybe, perhaps, theoretically, the tanuki bastard might have been right.
the keywords being the verbs expressing his uncertainty.
each passing minute he spends with you, however, he finds himself running out of verbs.
he’s caught himself staring at you very often these past few days. which would be good and all, were you not quite literally staring at him also.
these new occurrences end with both of you looking away with cheeks that are just slightly more tinted than they are naturally, and (usually) miyuki rubbing his forehead in annoyance.
if his newfound realization gets in the way of his practice, coach kataoka will have him sit out the fall tournament for sure. he can’t have that happening, so he shrugs off whatever awkwardness this caused between you to focus on getting to nationals.
he did promise you he would take you there, after all.
with that thought in his mind, he feels his lips curl into a smile, and his fielding starts to look less half-assed than before.
okay, so maybe the tanuki bastard was right, youichi thinks, so what.
it’s normal to have an eeny weeny crush on someone you know better than you know yourself at some point in your life, is it not?
which would be all shits and giggles, were it an ‘eeny weeny’ crush, rather than a ‘oh my god she’s in the same room with me how do i breathe why is she so beautiful oh my god call an ambulance oh my god?’ crush.
he slams his head against his desk, lamenting whatever it is he’s done that got him here. why can’t he just see you the way he’s seen you before?
wait. how exactly did he see you before?
sure, you were always beautiful and nice, helpful to a fault, generous and extremely smart, but have you always sparkled like you do now?
yes. yes you have.
to kuramochi youichi you’ve always sparkled and shone brighter than the lights in rooms you occupied, brighter than the full moon in the night skies and the sun during daytime.
you entered the classroom and upon hearing you greet him his head snaps up and– is that a fucking halo?! (it is a figment of his imagination fueled by the many shojo mangas jun made him read) why are you glowing?
miyuki can only sit back and observe from his seat behind kuramochi as the shortstop looks at his life-long friend as if she herself hung the stars, brightened the days and nights– as if she put the planets in orbit.
and if the planets in the question were kuramochi youichi and [name] was the sun, then perhaps you have. youichi somehow finds himself sucked into your atmosphere, somehow always orbiting you, always in your presence or not far from it. you are always in his thoughts and in his heart, a part of you is always in his conscience and he can do nothing but accept it, embrace it. he is kuramochi, but he is not youichi without you. similarly you are [l/name], but never [f/name] without him. if only he would’ve known sooner that neptune’s slow departure from the solar system symbolized his common sense leaving when he’s around you.
in your second year of high school, with a lot of hard work, you make it to nationals.
during the victory announcement, youichi could’ve sworn he saw a tear stream down your cheek, but it could have just been a trick of the light.
that night you once again meet under the tranquility of the stars on the diamond, but this time, it’s on a more positive note than last year.
“so, what’s the secret i was promised?”
you freeze for a mere moment, as if you yourself have forgotten you ever made him such a promise, then the shock clears out of your eyes and you turn to look at him.
“can’t we push the due date a bit?”
“wha– no! what was it all for?!” he’s waving his arms around to exaggerate his point, “i’ve waited a year for this, wondering each day what could possibly be so special, and now you tell me to wait more?! man..”
you watch his lips curl into a pout and his brows furrow and you know.
“.. not that i wouldn’t, i’d wait however long it takes, if it’s you..” you know.
you feel your face heat up slightly, even though it’s exactly what you predicted he would say. you reach out and your fingers tap against his cheek first, then you place your palm against the warm skin (it continues to grow warmer under your touch, you note).
“thank you for fulfilling your promise, youichi. i love you.”
he can physically feel his heart skip a beat and his neck very nearly break with the abnormal speed he turns his head at. blood is rushing to his head and all he hears is white noise (or perhaps that’s just the cicadas) and your words on a loop in his already you-filled brain. stars, what have you done to him? he thinks he might short-circuit.
but, then again, this could just be a normal, friendly ‘i love you’, as you usually say. he shouldn’t get his hopes up, nor be weird about it, lest you catch on and start distancing yourself from him (not that you would do that, since you didn’t after he threw lizards at you when you were 7).
“you’re welcome,” he smiles, “love ya too, stupid.”
you shake your head and he pauses, “no, youichi. i love you. always have. that’s the secret.”
“.. i’ve always loved you, too..? what do you mean,” he shakes his head to mimic you, then raises an eyebrow in question, as if not agreeing he loves you was a crime (at this point, it might even be).
“i’m in love with you, idiot,” you resist the urge to just smack him at this point, “have been for the past 10 years.”
he’s struck by lightning. hit by a truck. squashed by a rock, even. he can’t even properly describe the bolt he feels striking him upon realizing he is, in fact, an idiot. and so are you, apparently.
idiots in love, as ryousuke once said. now he knows why.
the shortstop grabs you by your shoulders and shakes you back and forth with an almost crazed look in his eyes, “oh my god. i’m in love with you, too! oh my god!”
there’s a sudden sparkle in your eyes and you grab onto his arms, “oh my god! i thought i was going insane whenever i saw you acting like a schoolgirl with a crush!”
he momentarily wonders how much money miyuki will rack up for the bets placed on who will confess first, but that’s an issue for tomorrow.
for now, youichi thinks, the only issue is finding out if your lips are as soft as they look.
(they are.)
ੈ✩₊˚TAGLIST : @gabirii @heroesfan101 @celandinee @wizardclown @solxima // ask/comment to be added/removed! (if you're in bold i can't tag you)
The quiet walk back to his dorm was calm, with the lingering chill of autumn leaving him in a thick hoodie and sweatpants. There was a bite in the air and his cheeks were pink while his hands took comfort in the pockets of his pants.
Nothing like a late night batting session. He had been in the indoor practice grounds alone, swinging off of a tee into a dingy net until his bucket was emptied. The resonating sound of bat meeting baseball filled the silence.
Now that he thought about it, Miyuki was alone the entire night. Normally, the grounds were scattered with members of the team either training or plain messing around. He hadn’t seen any of his teammates for some time now. After practice, everyone up and vanished.
Miyuki furrowed his brows as he continued the short walk back to the Spirit Dorm, now scanning the quiet area with a frown. It was like a ghost town. The vending machine was lonesome and the normal chatter from the dorms was replaced with the sound of crickets.
Normally, Miyuki would take a moment and relish in the silence. The star-dotted sky and orange leaved-trees, the cold breeze nipping at his nose and the flickering of a light post.
But then again, this wasn’t normal. Where the hell was everyone? The catcher peered around at the doors to each room as he neared the stairs that led up to the second floor. He felt like a dog, perking his ears to catch even the slightest sound of laughter or conversation. Miyuki’s frown deepened while his heart began to race. The cool, calm and collected Miyuki Kazuya was nervous. Letting out a harsh puff of air, he raced up the steps and to his room, fumbling for his key to unlock it.
He turned the cold knob, slowly pushing open the door. It was dark inside so he moved his hand towards the light switch. As he flicked his light on, he was met with a sight.
“Happy birthday!”
Cramped in his room was his team. With big smiles and little space, they cheered.
Miyuki felt a slight smile take over his frown, his pink cheeks deepening and a fuzzy feeling replacing his racing heart. He hadn’t expected them to remember it was his birthday.
Sawamura ran towards him with blazing eyes and a cartoonish grin. Trailing behind the pitcher, you carried a small gift in your hand.
“Happy birthday, Miyuki! How old are you now, 30?” Sawamura laughed loudly, hands proudly on his hips. The first year tossed an arm around your shoulders as you walked up, barking out another laugh.
Miyuki eyed you along with your present, “A gift? For me?” he smirked, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed his snarky expression.
Your eyes rolled as you tossed it to him, allowing him enough time to catch it in his hand. “Happy birthday, tanuki,” you huffed. The arm around your shoulder tightened as Sawamura shook with laughter, “Ha! Yeah, tanuki!”
You giggled as Sawamura went on— well that is until a knee sent him flying.
Kuramochi grinned at the first year now sitting on the ground, “Watch it, idiot.”
Miyuki watched the interaction then looked back to you. Fondly, he flicked your forehead, “Thanks.”
You rolled your eyes again before motioning for him to open his gift which was so finely wrapped with baseball-patterned paper.
He tore the wrapping and revealed a pack of baseball cards. The catcher grinned as he read over the cover before giving you a brighter smile.
“It was this or a stupid shirt that Mochi saw at the mall,” you snorted, rocking on the balls of your feet.
Kuramochi elbowed your side, “Hey! It was not stupid. It would’ve been sentimental and sweet,” he grumbled.
It would not, in fact, have been sentimental or sweet. The shirt had a corny print from some show that Jun and Sawamura watched, and you knew that Miyuki would’ve rather taken a ball to the face than wear it out in public. Personally, you like to think that you saved the birthday boy.
Suddenly, you found yourself squeezed next to Kuramochi. Miyuki wrapped his arms around the both of you, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Thanks, you guys.”
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Miyuki finds solace in the never ending ocean until he is joined by a hungry sea creature.
—
word count - 1.2k
warnings - tbh nothing
note - luv sirens and miyuki also i gave up by the end srry
—
The vast ocean was black with night and only the moon shining down on the waters illuminated the scene. Stars speckled the darkened skies overhead like splattered paint, numerous and uncountable.
Gentle waves rippled across the waters and kissed the white coast. As the tide tugged and lulled towards the shoreline, a hush sound echoed the vacant beach.
Beyond the seashore sat a castle atop a hill, overlooking the faraway horizon that touched the sky.
A stone path was strewn out haphazardly as the earth tapered off, leading to the hidden sands. Wild poppies and lilies danced with the salty breeze along the pathway.
Breaking the stillness was a man.
His careful steps led him down the hill. Through the poppies and lilies, and right where the soil turned to grains of sand. Where the ocean awaited and watched.
The sky seemed to open as he neared the gentle sea, the stars shined brighter and the moon’s light led him.
Led him where? He didn’t even know.
Miyuki found himself restless inside those cold walls where he was son of a duke and his fathers successor. His worth rested solely on the blood that coursed through his veins.
It was stuffy and entrapping him. He needed a taste of freedom, if only for a night.
His escape was in the form of a boundless ocean. It was each intricate star that was woven into the milky way. It was the way the air entered his lungs and then escaped from his lips.
With his gaze casted out on the horizon and the sea foam tickling at his feet, Miyuki was free from the chains of his lineage.
Only, he hadn’t noticed the head that emerged from the water— moreover the trained gaze that watched him from the depths.
She observed the lone man with stars in his eyes.
It stayed like that for many long moments; Miyuki lost in the world and the monster studying him.
Breaking the quiet was a soft hum, barely noticeable above the waves and breeze.
The voice flowed into a chorus of crooning and waves. A hymn of salty air and a hypnotizing lure.
Masking the creature was the dark of the night. A blanket of shadows was what covered this being made of hunger— of gluttony.
She was craving. He was astray.
Clawing past the essence of night, her sinful song reached the coastline and the man that stood there pensively.
The sound echoed throughout the opening and sweetly glided along with the coolness of midnight.
It was a noise that couldn’t be brushed away.
One couldn’t help but become entranced with the honeyed hum.
Miyuki’s attention snapped to the dark, calm waters. He gazed out into the darkness with wide eyes and raised brows.
The more he leaned into listen, the more his heart ached. He could feel his heartstrings strain for more, for the comfort of this voice. For the clarity it might bring.
He believed himself to be a willful man with constraint, a worthy man of his blood.
Yet, the way this voice nearly brought him to his knees. It was just wrong.
“Hello,” uttered a sweet voice over the echoing of a song that still rang out— like the choir in a stain-glassed church that had ceilings that reached the heavens.
For what reason did this pleasant sound call out from the inky waters?
Miyuki pushed the question from his mind as he tread into the water slowly, step by step until his pants were soaked below the knee.
“It’s not safe to be here this late,” Miyuki expressed, “It’s dangerous.”
He kept searching until the gleam of eyes finally appeared. Yards away was the face of a beautiful woman.
The darkness failed to shroud her enchanting energy, her captivating gaze. The way her lips curled into a sly smile made Miyuki gawk.
“What a gentleman,” she purred.
The man stared down at her with a curious expression. The stars seemed futile in the presence of this unearthly being.
Dark locks tickled his forehead as the wind began to catch and tug at him. His glasses hung onto the arch of his nose, sliding with each heavy breath.
The cold water was biting at his legs, frigid and numbing. The rocks that stabbed at the bottoms of his feet were trifling along with the pit in his stomach.
“Help me out of the water please… I’m so cold,” the woman implored. Her voice rose slightly, frigid like the cold sea.
She reached out a hand to Miyuki.
The sharpness of her gaze pierced his very being— as though she was inside of his mind and urging him forward.
He knew this whole situation was wrong. He knew he was a fool for giving into his desires but this women was a magnet, what with her cunning smile and the way the moon kissed her bare shoulders.
Despite wanting to grab her hand, Miyuki found himself frozen in place. His feet would not move.
“You are a siren, no?” he muttered ever so softly.
He knew the answer. He knew how dangerous this was. She could grab and drag him beneath the surface of the ocean where the moon’s light would fade. She could claw out his heart and prey upon him just like the others.
“I am no fool,” Miyuki stared down at the monster.
He was playing with his life by remaining in the territory of the sirens. The point of which the tide touched the shore was the border between land and sea.
The siren’s smile dropped into a frown while she brought her hand back beneath the water. Behind her, a scaled tail broke through the surface and curled like a scorpion.
“How boring,” she hissed, nose crinkling with distaste.
Despite revealing her true nature, Miyuki couldn’t help but be in a daze. This beast held both the land and sea in her blood. The ocean was her playground, along with the shores of the human world.
How freeing it must feel to swim the vast ocean with the wonders of the world below.
“Why do you stare, human?” she grumbled, claws digging into the wet sand.
Miyuki frowned slightly, tossing his gaze up into the starry night. He should head back soon.
He chuckled beneath his breath, the salty air filling his senses, “Sorry for ruining the fun.”
The siren furrowed her brows, her pretty features contrasting her nasty expression. If she could, she would grab the man’s ankles and claim him as her next meal. Unfortunately, the shore would most definitely prove this to be a hard task.
Her imposing tail swayed back and forth, a reminder of sorts that she was so different from the human standing in front of her.
She was made of salt and desire— she was the crashing waves against the sea-worn rocks, the prevailing thunderstorms that swallowed ships whole.
She was so unreachable despite being so close.
She was a child of the ocean and Miyuki was a child of land.
And he had to return to the castle before someone noticed he was missing.
summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.
━ chapter one: on my way to circle k
━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader
━ word count: 4.3k
━ warnings: none
━ masterlist
The Slurpee machine is broken again.
It isn’t that big of an issue, not particularly world-ending, no, especially since you get regularly held at gunpoint (or knifepoint) and occasionally used as a hostage.
But for you, working the night shift from eleven PM to seven AM, you kind of need the sugar boost. The Slurpees are easier on your stomach than the coffee is. Even if they do stain your mouth.
You sigh, continuing to stare at the machine; it whirs and sputters strangely and you set aside the cup to shut it off. You’ll also need to file the paperwork for it to be fixed. That seriously blows.
You get it unplugged just as the gust of wind hits.
You stumble. Shelves groan in protest. Several rows of granola bars and trail mix are sent flying.
Oh, great, who is it now—
You hear your name in a question, from a very familiar voice.
You spit out a mouthful of your hair. “Flash?”
Sure enough, in the flesh, the Flash grins at you, blue lightning fading from his body. He spreads his arms as he exclaims your name again.
In a blink, he is there, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off the ground as he squeezes the life out of you. Another blink and you’re on the ground, looking at him, his hand on your shoulder.
“Look at you, kid. It’s good to see you. I can’t believe you’re still working here.”
A stupid grin forms on your lips. “It’s not the same here without you eating up our inventory.”
He laughs. “I bet!”
You shake your head, fixing your hair and your shirt. Flash notices the state of the granola bars and trail mix, sends you an apologetic smile, and in the next blink, they are back on the shelves, neatly arranged.
“So, what brings you here? If you can answer that.”
He waves a hand, flitting around, emptying the sausage grill and making himself several hot dogs.
“One of the rogues got a little, shall we say, ambitious and wanted to try his luck here. Just trying to snatch him up before Batman finds out.”
“Let me guess—Trickster?”
He points a hot dog loaded with mustard and ketchup at you. “Bingo.”
“It’s dripping.”
“Aw, shit.” He shoves the rest of the hot dog in his mouth, grabs a napkin, and starts dabbing at the spot of mustard on his suit.
You watch him, amused, but also morbidly fascinated as usual at seeing him eat so much. When he finishes the hot dogs, he goes for the pizza. It makes sense when you think about it, that a guy who can run faster than the speed of light should need to eat so much, but it’s been a while since you’ve had the pleasure of watching him refuel. Six months, actually, since you returned from Keystone City.
You scratch your head. “I’m not sure why Trickster would want to come here. Batman, I think, is a worse punishment than you—”
“Agree, even if that’s also a little insulting to me.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?”
Flash nods. “This is true. Carry on.”
“Well… Gotham already has a joke-themed guy. I don’t think Joker is going to take too kindly to someone encroaching on that. Unless he’s back in Arkham. Though he might’ve escaped again…”
“Y’see, that’s what I thought. It’s gonna sound bad, too, but I’m kinda hoping those two take care of each other, then I can get Trickster back to Iron Heights without any issues. But—”
You crack a smile, guessing his next words immediately. “When is it ever that easy?”
You had once believed the Flash to be just about infallible. After all, he is the Flash. This is the guy who, like you said, can run faster than the speed of light. He can canvas a city in under a minute. That’s how he takes care of Central City and Keystone City. (Well, the addition of the other Flash and Kid Flash probably help, too, but you know.)
But it’s not that easy. It’s why, you think, Metropolis has issues, even when they have Superman.
No rest for the wicked and all.
“Well, it’s still good to see you,” you say, a tad more hesitantly this time. Unsure if you can say that.
Flash looks back at you, sending you a warm smile. “It’s good to see you, too. How’s school?”
“No classes now. Financial aid doesn’t cover the summer, so.”
He frowns. “You’re still on track to graduate next year, though, right?”
You pause, surprised he remembered you saying that. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”
Flash nods, worries assuaged, then his gaze strays to the Slurpee machine, its lights turned off. “Aw, it’s not working?”
“Not today, sorry.”
He purses his lips, head tilting as he looks at the counter where the machine and your abandoned cup are.
“Wait a second,” he says, then the food that was in his hands is on the counter and he’s gone with arcs of blue lightning following him, a tingly feeling spreading through your fingertips and toes, like when you used to be a kid and dragged your hands across those old TV screens, feeling the static.
True to his word, in the next second, he is in front of you, two Slurpees in hand. One blue raspberry and another cherry.
You grin as he proudly presents the blue raspberry Slurpee to you.
“Thanks.”
He winks. “My pleasure.”
He collects his food again then gestures to the front with his head. Sipping at the ice-cold Slurpee, you follow him, sliding behind the counter.
“Time to head off?” you guess, ringing up the food he already ate, then the rest of the stuff.
He slips out a few bills from a hidden pocket at his hip. “Yeah, I need to go before—”
“Flash!” The door opens roughly. You balk as you see who it is. “Seriously? You can’t just run off. You’re just as bad as Impulse sometimes, I swear.”
Red Robin stands there, hands on his hips, scowling, doing a good impression of a teacher scolding a student, which is really weird for you, since you’ve always held a good dose of fear and respect for the Bats and this doesn’t really… go on par with that. And also, you’re pretty sure Flash is older than him.
Flash frowns. “Now that’s seriously uncalled for. I’m much better than he is. We were done talking, weren’t we? You’d call me if you found anything and it’s not like it would take me time to get there, would it?”
Red Robin doesn’t respond to that, mostly because he’s looking at you now. You’ve never seen him up close — any of them up close. Black fair falls sharply over his forehead, a black domino mask hiding his eyes. Not like a normal one; this one allows for more coverage under his eyes, going down to his nose, the end of which curves in a way reminiscent of a bird. But under the bright fluorescents of Circle K, everything else is easy to make out. Pale skin, a sharp jaw, a soft-looking mouth.
Great. He’s hot. And something else… something that niggles at you. Familiar in a way that bothers you because you’ve never seen him in person. Not like this.
You swallow nervously, giving him a half-hearted wave. The action jars him and he looks away from you quickly.
“Hey, don’t be mean to her,” Flash chides. “Seriously. Look at her. You’ve made her nervous.”
“Flash.”
He shoots you a troublesome grin. “Nah, don’t worry about him, kid. He’s harmless.”
“Flash,” Red Robin hisses out, his voice sounding stranger than before, modulated, in a way.
You compose yourself, giving Flash a look. “You know better than that. Perception means everything.”
“That is true,” he says. “But believe me. If fear worked as well as they’d like it to, Gotham would be the safest city in the country.”
A long-suffering sigh. Red Robin is turned away now and by the movement of his arm, pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperated.
“Hey, I’m not wrong,” he says to him, even despite you silently waving for him to drop it. “Look, fear is fine and all. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with nurturing relationships with the people you protect. That’s what I did with you, isn’t it, kid?”
“Yeah, but I’m also not, you know, from there…”
He collects his change. “Which is why it’s even more embarrassing that these guys make you nervous and I don’t.”
Red Robin huffs.
Flash shrugs, smirking. “Just food for thought. I’ll see you around, yeah, kiddo? Gotta get going before this guy gets annoyed enough to just tell Batman about me and then I’ll really have problems.”
Then he’s gone, blue lightning arcing in his wake. Red Robin sighs again and leaves without a word or backward glance.
You stand there for a minute, unsure if that really happened. But the signature Slurpee cup of blue raspberry, already sweating because the June heat in Gotham is unbearable and the AC is not up to task, assures you very much that that did just happen.
A little unsteady, you take a seat on the stool, shaking your head and dragging the cup to you.
At least you got to see Flash again.
You don’t see him again, which is what you expected.
What you don’t expect is the appearance of Red Robin the next night.
You’ve grown up in Gotham City. Like anyone else, you have a healthy dose of fear and respect for the vigilantes that prowl the shadows. You also, unlike Vicki Vale or any journalist or obsessive conspiracy theorist, have absolutely zero interest in interacting with them.
Usually, interacting with them means you are in grave danger.
(You had to unlearn some of that during your brief tenure in Keystone City; the Flash was a little bit different from them. Maybe more than a little bit…)
So, when Red Robin shows up at Circle K at half past one in the morning, you are… a tad wary.
It doesn’t help that he seems awkwardly frozen, too, as your voice catches in the middle of your perfunctory Hi, welcome in as you realize who it is.
For a minute, it is painfully, painfully quiet.
“Is there something—”
“Do you have any—”
You both stop. You purse your lips. Red Robin is… blushing a little bit? Holy shit.
“Go ahead,” he says, clearing his throat after. His voice still sounds off like yesterday—modulated.
You grimace. “Sorry, I was just asking if there was something going on? Should I lock down the shop or hide or something?”
He looks briefly confused. “No? I mean, no… Everything is fine. I was just wondering if you guys had any, uh—” he seems to falter, scrambling a little bit “—hot… chocolate?”
Hot chocolate in June? What a weirdo.
You keep your face straight, though.
Flash might’ve let you off the hook when it came to formalities but you’d be an idiot to think you could get away with that with these guys.
He exhales the briefest laugh at something, then—you, you realize, your expression, which should be perfectly polite, what the hell. He turns his head away as a smile curls his lips. That niggling feeling—which began as soon as you realized he was here—strengthens. You push it away for a second.
“I know. Late night. Don’t like coffee, so it’s a good alternative.”
How did he—?
Must be the detective thing.
You apologize anyway.
“Sorry. My, uh, friend’s like that, in a way,” you say, your tongue again moving faster than your brain can grapple with. He won’t care about the fact that your friend, Tim, is like that, too. Well, Tim likes the occasional energy drink if he’s staying up late because he doesn’t like coffee. Not this hot chocolate business. But maybe? Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually. Probably better than Red Bull, even if he doesn’t drink it often, maybe once or twice a month. And, anyway, it’s not the point. This guy doesn’t care. He probably couldn’t care less. You’re just trying to show him—oh, it doesn’t matter. This entire thing has gone straight to shit. All because he managed to read your judgment.
“Oh?” It’s a question but it’s a bit strangled. See? He doesn’t care. Poor guy. Probably trying to think of a way to get out of this. Well, you’ll do him one better.
“Uh, yeah… he’s—well. Doesn’t matter. Yeah, the machine is working. It’s over there.”
“Thanks.”
You nod and glance away, leaving him to cross to the other side of the store. You can’t help but watch him go, watching the way the heavy black cape swishes with his movements, boots soundless on the shitty tiled floors. He disappears behind the shelf, but his head is visible. A head of dark, dark hair that seems… familiar to you.
Ugh. What is with you?
It’s Red freakin’ Robin. You’ve glimpsed him and the others briefly. Shadows in the night, swinging from buildings, jumping from rooftops. Anybody who lives in Gotham long enough has seen the same. Doesn’t mean you know him enough to be this way, to be so bothered by something that won’t even come to mind.
You shake your head briefly.
You should think more on why he’s even here.
Though, it seems obvious, given what happened yesterday night.
Flash has a way of getting beneath your skin and inciting the most childish tendencies. You imagine his little comment about trust between vigilante and citizen bothered Red Robin.
Well, rest assured, you understand the position they are in. You enjoyed the way Flash visited you but they can’t afford that. Perception is gold. It is true, in some ways, that if it were as effective as they wanted it to be, Gotham would be less crime-ridden than it currently is.
(But that was also a conundrum with the corrupt government. So long as the systems were in place, crime would always happen, and it would take more than the Bats to fix that.)
Either way, they cannot afford for that mask to slip—metaphorically and literally.
There is a level of trust, you think, between the Bats and the people but… it’s not the same kind Flash fosters with his own.
You feel obligated to let Red Robin know that, with that, he has no obligation to do anything out of the ordinary.
So, that’s what you do when he comes back over to the counter, two small cups of hot chocolate in hand.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.”
He turns forward with a five dollar bill in hand. “I can’t just not pay—”
“I’m not talking about that.”
He is paying. You are moderately appreciative of what they do but not that appreciative.
“So, what else is it that I don’t have to do?”
You gesture between you two. “This. Come here to try and prove the Flash wrong.”
“I’m not—”
You try to level with him.
“It’s cool, man. He can be annoying. Annoying enough that he could make anyone want to prove him wrong. I get it. But he’s also a little bit of a doof when it comes to matters of the public. Though I’m betting he was trying to aggravate you more than anything. Either way, I get it. You have an image to keep up. Do what you have to do.”
“So, you don’t want me to come back?” Not an accusation. A genuine question.
You blink. “That’s not what I said. I don’t mind. I’m just… letting you know.”
“What do you know about it, anyway? Upholding an image? You seem very confident on the do’s and don’ts, despite being a civilian.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You guys actually refer to us non-vigilantes as civilians? Like, unironically?”
He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you with the emotionless white lids of the domino mask, lips pressed in a line.
You smile and roll your eyes, finally taking his five and opening the register. “I’m majoring in communication with a concentration in PR. Did an internship at Quickstart Enterprises last semester working with their PR department. You can say I know a thing or two about it.”
“What year?”
“Just finished my third. Starting my final in the fall. Look, I’m not saying you have to take my advice, I just wanted you to know. That’s all. I’m not holding it against you.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
You slide his change to him. “That’s all I ask.”
He picks up the cups, says, “Keep the change,” and then, he’s gone, dark cape fluttering, his figure swallowed up by the darkness of the night.
The only traces of his presence is the door slowly closing and the change still sitting on the counter.
These hero-types and their dramatic exits. Honestly.
You meet the Flash in your second week of work at Circle K.
The stipend from QE covered your housing and groceries but didn’t allow for much options regarding the latter. At least not the fresh produce kind.
So, you picked up a job at Circle K. Part-time only, which worked well with the schedule you had at QE. You typically worked evenings—not the graveyard shift you do now, which you took only because it paid better during the night—so from seven to eleven.
The Flash was different from the Bats in that regard. While Signal worked during the day, the rest of them worked during the night.
Flash told you he liked sleep, so he would take care of things during a reasonable hour in the evening to accommodate that, which meant you were beheld to his presence.
Frequently.
And the first time…
You have no idea what to make of the superhero currently raiding the sausage grill.
A larger part of you is suspicious, hoping that the Flash isn’t about to come up to you and say something arrogant about not being required to pay. A lot of the cops you get say something to that effect. It takes so much willpower in you to not roll your eyes.
But another part of you right now, the Tim part of your brain, is fascinated. Wants to ask some geeky questions about his power. Presumably, the fact that he is the fastest man alive means he has to eat a lot to sustain it, right?
Well. That one is a bit self-explanatory. At least if the way he’s stuffing his face tells you anything.
Suspicion wins out, though.
Keystone City is a nice enough city. Central City, across the river, is the same. They aren’t Gotham, that’s for sure, and sometimes you don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.
It’s mostly that Keystone City is situated in Kansas and across the Mississippi, in Mississippi, is Central City. These regions of the country, historically conservative, make you a bit tetchy. Not at all helped by the fact that for a very long time, Keystone City was suspended in the fifties. Or rather, what they thought were the fifties. Time passed normally outside of it until the Flash fixed everything.
It gives Keystone an aesthetic old-timey vibe to it but with all the modern luxuries of the late 2010s, like phones and, you know, civil rights.
But things have been okay, for the most part. The people you encounter here at Circle K are amiable enough. (Well, except for the cops you get. You could go without dealing with those idiots.)
Though, admittedly, between work for QE and here and trying to keep yourself fed and (mostly) rested, you haven’t gotten out much.
The Flash, though… you haven’t directly encountered him. Not in your few weeks here. Sometimes when walking to the subway, you feel the sharp gust of wind, commonly associated with him as he makes his way through the city faster than a speeding bullet, glass windows and cars rattling dangerously in the aftermath of his path. On the news, when he takes down whichever rogue woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and in the newspaper. But nothing beyond that.
People speak fondly of him, for the most part. Rumors are solid sources of information but you just can’t help but be a little bit suspicious. There is such a thing as too good to be true, after all…
You reach for your half-empty cup of blue raspberry Slurpee. Though it’s the beginning of September, summer takes longer to leave the midwest, you’ve learned, and the summers here are loads worse than ones you’ve experienced in Gotham.
Before you can even get your mouth around the red straw, a breeze hits and you blink, finding the Flash in front of you, depositing mostly empty cartons of hot dogs onto the counter, with a few of them still full. On their way to being empty, though, as he crams more into his mouth. A cup of cherry Slurpee finishes it off.
The Flash points a half-eaten hot dog at you. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
You narrow your eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“No, no, not like that. You’ve just got this suspicion to you. This… paranoia. A paranoia that can only belong to someone from Gotham,” he says, nodding to himself.
Well, that’s—
Hm.
A bit embarrassed to be caught out like that—because it isn’t the first time—you attempt to make up for it.
“I’m from Metropolis, actually.”
Best to stay on the east coast. Even you couldn’t pass as someone from the west coast, like Star City or Coast City or something.
Flash grins at you. “Liar.”
You aren’t used to this kind of playful banter. Certainly not from a literal superhero, from someone who regularly saves the world with the likes of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman and more. You don’t think you expected the cold brutality the city gets from the Bats back home but… you didn’t expect this, either.
To get a much-needed sense of normalcy, you scan one of the hot dog cartons, adding them up on the screen.
“Was it that obvious? I wasn’t trying to be… I mean, I was, but, you know, I didn’t, um…”
You stop, cringing. Very eloquent and more than a little annoying, given your career choice. Can’t be like that when you get put on the spot. Even if it’s by a superhero. Especially if it’s by a superhero. Journalists are even worse, anyway…
“Relax, kid,” he laughs. “To tell you the truth, it was hard to miss but I’m sort of geared for that kind of thing, what with my choice in career.”
“Right.” You scan the Slurpee and take a drink of yours while he fiddles with some zipper in his suit. A deep red, with a purple tinge, a silver Flash symbol on his chest, and a cowl, but with the top free, showing off a shock of red hair, and his eyes still exposed. Pretty green.
“But I do have an unfair advantage,” he goes on. “I see a similar look every time I have a League meeting.”
You blink. “The League…?”
“You should know. Your caped crusader, Batman. Of course, that’s also because he doesn’t like me—and the feeling is mutual, trust me—but, you know. Schematics. He sits right across from me and that’s all I get, this classic brand of Gothamite suspicion on top of the usual wordless Batman disapproval.”
“Should you be telling me that?”
He hands you a twenty. You pop open the register to break it. Another breeze hits and the empty cartons of hot dogs are shoved into the trash, with him eating the last one and on his way to finishing the large cup of cherry-flavored Slurpee.
“I mean, what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know,” you say lightly, calculating his change. “I could go to the press. Breaking News: Strife within the League. Tenuous relations between Batman and the Flash.”
“Oh, really?”
“That’s the press. A common dislike will absolutely turn into that in their headlines. They would take it and run.”
“That is true. You a journalist?”
“Oh, no. Communications, with a concentration in public relations.”
Flash thinks on it for a second, finishing his hot dog, then the Slurpee. You partially expect him to get angry. It would be a justified reaction. He doesn’t know you and you don’t know him. You can admit that some of what you just said is a bit… imperious. Who are you to lecture him, right?
“You aren’t wrong,” he finally says, repeating his earlier words as the last hot dog carton and Slurpee cup disappear from the counter—thrown in the trash.
“But,” he presses, accepting the change from you—a few dollars—then dropping it into your tip jar. “I know you aren’t going to take that to the press.”
“How’s that?”
He points at you. “Because I don’t think you’re the kind of person to do that.”
“You’re appealing to my morals?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
“Not much work to be had,” you admit. “I was never going to. I was just…”
“Being nice and telling me I should watch what I say,” he finishes, grinning. “Which is true. All true. I just couldn’t help myself. What’s your name, kid?”
You tell him. He extends a hand.
“It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Keystone City. Hope you enjoy your stay.”
A bit bemused, you nod politely and say, “Thanks.”
Before he can say anything else, he visibly tenses, lifting a hand to the Hermes-like wings at his ears, then, in the next blink, he is gone, off to stop someone or something, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind that rattles the windows and knocks the candy from the shelves under the counter onto the ground.
━ chapter three: when i watch the world burn, all i think about is you / read chapter two
━ word count: 6.3k
━ warnings: brief mention of sex trafficking, description of blood, death, and injury (both in the first part of this chapter, then in the flashback after). allusions to stalking and a brief mention of animal/pet death, as well as another brief mention of suicide.
━ a/n: trafficking and blood/injury are the only warnings for the first part of this chapter; the rest of the warnings (including blood/injury) are for the flashback, which is the large chunk of italicized paragraphs towards the middle, so feel free to skip over it if need be. i posted a summary of what the first part and the flashback cover. everything after that doesn't warrant any warnings, as far as i know
━ masterpost
The next time Spider-Woman makes an appearance on the roof, you’re hurt.
The cuts on your side throb every time you swing, so you flub the landing again, landing harder than you usually do. The exhaustion dogging your senses doesn’t help.
It’s why you completely miss him.
Only until you hear the shuffle of feet.
You whirl around, one hand against your side protectively.
But it’s just Kazuya.
The look on his face is unreadable. Even to you. But his eyes are on your side, the suit stained with blood.
Crashed through a window tonight fighting some traffickers. The pop of gunfire still rings in your ears. You don’t usually encounter guns. That’s probably one of the things about crime here that remains true — guns are hard to come by. Most often, gangs are the ones with them. It wasn’t yakuza but some foreign players. Russian, you think.
Doesn’t matter much now. They were left webbed up in the alley, their guns still burning hot, their plans to kidnap their victims with them. The police will take care of them.
You have to take care of yourself now. Mostly by picking out the shards of glass still in your side.
You can’t even mime anything to him about not calling the cops before the back of your neck bursts into tingles.
You shoot to your feet.
He flinches.
You ignore the way the motion stabs at you and tense as the sound of a window opening makes it to your ears.
“Yo, Miyuki,” comes Kuramochi’s voice from the side of the house. “Did you roll off the roof and die?”
Silence hangs heavy. You landed too hard and made noise. The others noticed. They should be asleep by now, even Kazuya. It’s nearing two in the morning but it is the last month before summer break. Finals are coming up in a few weeks.
Kazuya’s eyes slide to your face, eyebrows furrowed now.
You look back at him.
“No,” he finally calls.
“Too bad.” Then the window slides shut.
You collapse onto the roof — quietly this time. Finally stationary, the rush of adrenaline wears off. Your side screams in pain.
Kazuya strides around you, heading for the hatch.
Just like last time, disappointment hits you hard. But after the night you had, it’s not just disappointment, but a wet sting surging up your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut. Now isn’t the time.
First, you have to climb back into your room, pick out the glass in your side without alerting anyone, then you can cry.
The hatch shuts with a quiet click.
You sit there for a minute, dreading having to sneak back into your room with the others awake. But the sooner, the better. With the arsenal of weird powers you received like making your own web fluid, sticking to things, the proportional strength of a spider, agility, flexibility, quicker-than-human reflexes, and your own sixth sense — spider sense — you have a healing factor, too. Your body will heal around the glass if you let it.
You had to learn that lesson the hard way.
The hatch clicks open. You whirl around, ready to leap off the roof but —
It’s Kazuya.
You falter, entirely flabbergasted now as you watch him climb back out with a first aid kit.
He stops a few feet in front of you, lips pursed, the look on his face conflicted.
Nothing happens for a minute.
You pluck up the courage, pointing at him, then yourself, and shaking your head.
“I don’t like you,” he agrees. “Not at all. But if you bleed out on our roof, we might not get our security deposit back.”
You smile.
“I’m not a monster, either, you know,” he adds begrudgingly. “Besides —” he sighs, kneeling to set the first aid kit in front of you “— if you died of an infection or something because of this and my friends ever found out I just let it happen, they’d kill me.”
Well.
You’ll take it.
You grab the first aid kit. It’s something you all keep close by just in case Eijun or Kuramochi want to try their luck in the kitchen. You have no idea how many times either of them have sliced their hands open attempting to chop something quickly like Kazuya is able to.
“Ah. Stop.”
You stop, looking up at him, blinking.
He eyes your hands. “You’re not seriously going to do that with your gloves on?”
You deliberate for a second. It’s just your hands. He doesn’t look at your hands much, if at all, you think. You… Yeah, you’re kind of guilty of admiring his hands sometimes. They’re just nice, okay!
Anyway… as you decide you will take off your gloves, the little voice at the back of your head remains quiet. So, it shouldn’t be an issue.
You peel off your gloves accordingly.
Kazuya nods, his eyes flickering away from your now-exposed hands, then he sits down, a few feet of space still in between you.
You wipe your hands two times with antiseptic pads, then grab the scissors, cutting the rest of the fabric at your ribs. No use in trying to save it. You’d need to sew it all up again no matter what.
Warm air touches the skin there, smeared with blood, still slowly leaking around the small pieces of glass embedded in the skin. Not very pretty, to say the least.
“What the hell happened?” Kazuya asks, looking mildly grossed out.
Well, you can’t mime that, so you just make a phone sign with your hand, then gesture at him.
“Check the news?”
You nod, then grab the sterilized tweezers and a piece of gauze.
The glass is embedded in your left side, so you raise your left arm, take a deep breath, then start.
He waits a minute, continuing to watch you pick out the glass. It plinks quietly onto the roof. You bite your tongue so hard it bleeds, your breathing rapid.
As the glass comes free, the blood starts flowing more rapidly. You hurry, heat swallowing you, making you dizzy.
The last one is the largest, a quarter of the size of your palm. You’ll have to use a butterfly bandage for this one.
You pause and take another breath, setting the tweezers aside then reaching for it with your fingers.
Kazuya keeps watching. You don’t know why. You know the look on his face. Horror. Disgust. Yet, he seems to force himself to watch.
You slip the shard free, pain flaring hotly, a noise escaping you. But it’s choked, overrun with pain. It doesn’t flag anything for him. You could probably say something softly in this moment and you don’t think he’d notice, his eyes stuck to your side.
A tad self-conscious now and also dizzy with the relief that you’re done, you grab the butterfly bandage, closing that one, ignoring the way your blood smears onto your fingers. Then you grab a piece of gauze, pressing it to your side.
You’ll need two of them at least to cover the whole area, the skin mottled from the glass. But your fingers are covered in blood, slippery from having pulled out the bigger shard and closing it.
“Stop,” he says when your fingers slip from the tape again.
You stop breathing, going very still as he raises onto his knees, plucking the tape from your hands, careful not to let his hand touch yours.
The blood on it still smears onto his fingers as he yanks a strip free.
You stare at him, your right arm crossed over your stomach, holding the gauze to your side.
“Let me do it before I change my mind,” he snaps.
You switch hands, ignoring the way it pulls at the cuts, and grab the second piece of gauze, layering both of them. Then you let him tape it down.
He is vigilant not to let his fingers brush your skin at all. But you still feel an impression of him, in the way he smoothes the tape down, the heat of his fingers palpable through the thin adhesive.
“Whatever you did to get this tonight better be worth it,” he says gruffly when he finishes, moving away quickly. He tosses the tape back into the kit, then snatches up the bloody tweezers and scissors, swiftly cleaning them with an antiseptic pad. After, he cleans his own hands, looking away resolutely all the while.
You wave a hand at him. His eyes flicker back to you. You clasp your hands together then bow your head. Thank you.
“Whatever,” he mutters. “I didn’t do it for you.”
Still.
Kazuya lets out a big sigh, digging around the kit. He pulls out a pack of aspirin, holding it out to you.
You shake your head.
“Don’t be such a hero.”
You shake your head again. That’s not it.
“What? Worried I switched them out? I don’t care about you that much.”
You grin and shake your head.
“Christ,” he mutters, frustrated, suddenly jumping to his feet. “Stay here.”
He tosses another antiseptic pad at you — “Clean your hands, they’re still gross” — then packs up the kit and heads for the hatch.
Okay.
You have no idea what just happened. Or what is going to happen next. And considering how well you’re supposed to know him, that’s saying something.
Sure, he was rough with you — well, verbally, he was actually quite gentle when taping down the gauze — but… he helped. He didn’t have to. And Miyuki Kazuya doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to do.
I didn’t do it for you. I did it for my friends.
No matter the reason, one fact remains undeniable — he helped.
You clean your hands like he asked, smiling faintly. After, you tug your gloves back on. Best not to let yourself indulge.
A minute later, he returns, tossing something at you.
You snatch it out of the air, blinking as you find yourself staring down at the cracked screen of his old phone.
He cracked it last year, during an informal game of baseball with all of you. His father, still working to make things right with him, bought him his new one.
Curious, you click the power button. The display flickers on. It was only cracked; that was what he had said to his father but he insisted, said one rainy day would ruin it. He wasn’t exactly wrong.
Kazuya sits in front of you again. “There. You can text me. It should be connected to the Wifi.”
You nod, grimacing as you bring your elbows in, the motion tugging at your side. You still persist, unlocking it and opening the messaging app.
About the aspirin — it wouldn’t work on me. I need more than that. Like half a bottle of it for it to work on me.
His phone vibrates with the text. He blinks. “Why?”
My metabolism. It burns too fast through stuff like that, so I need more to feel the effects (;;)
“Oi, none of that now.”
Why not? (;_;)
He shakes his head. “Anyways. Why does your metabolism do that?”
I use up a lot of energy to do what I do every day. The strength, the webbing, the healing. It’s a lot.
His eyes track your words on the display of his phone, then flicker to you, to your side. A distant look comes on his face.
“So, you aren’t going to die.”
Most likely not. Thanks, by the way. For all your help tonight. Miyuki, right?
“How —”
Your fingers are already moving.
Your roommate (friend?) said it earlier. Thanks for that, too. For covering me, I mean. All of this, really. I appreciate it.
“Whatever.” He swipes out of his messages quickly, uncomfortable. “Speaking of, why don’t we check out what exactly warranted all that?”
I could just tell you through text.
His phone vibrates with the message, the banner appearing at the top of the display. He swipes it away.
“I’d rather get it from a trusted news source, no offense.”
Fair enough (^-^)
Eventually, noise fills the air.
“— confirmation that it was Spider-Woman who apprehended the men taken into police custody. The six men were found with guns and other weapons —”
“Six men?” he says, eyebrows raising as he looks at you. “Seriously?”
You shrug.
Gotta do what you gotta do. No matter how many there are.
He scoffs quietly and resumes the video.
“— as well as possessing sensitive private information about women in the area. Police Chief Amano ascertains that these men, suspected members of a foreign gang in the country for sex trafficking, were on the police department’s radar and that they had plans to take them in eventually.”
Your fingers fly across the screen, the click of the keyboard rising above the poised voice of a news anchor.
But when would ‘eventually’ come? Before or after those women were kidnapped and on their way out of the country to be sold off to the highest bidder?
He reads the message with a frown and doesn’t say anything.
“Chief Amano maintains his condemnation of Spider-Woman’s activities despite what she did tonight. This is in spite of increased support for her and decreased support for the police department. Especially as this comes after the police department’s failure to stop the killing of Asayama Itsumi by her manager, Endo Goiichi.
“Endo is currently in police custody, facing charges of first-degree murder, battery, and breaking and entering. After his arrest, evidence came out from an anonymous source revealing that Endo had stalked Asayama for months, with footage showing other incidents of harassment at their work place, as well as documentation that Asayama had even gone to the police department to report him. However, her case was dismissed and shortly after, she died.”
“You?”
You blink, the video paused.
“The source,” Kazuya clarifies.
In a way.
That was Delphi and their thorough work combing through hours of CCTV footage. Hacking the CCTV footage. They sometimes say they are your partner in crime and while you maintain you are not doing anything wrong, you can’t always disagree with that part.
Regardless, Kazuya purses his lips, not liking your vague answer, and clicks play on the video.
“A representative for Tokyo PD claims that the dismissal for her case was a faulty glitch in their internal systems. But many in online spaces are speaking up, sharing personal encounters where they were also dismissed by the police. Since the arrest, the country has been embroiled in tension. Many also point to Spider-Woman, saying ‘she is willing to take care of the ones forgotten or ignored —”
The broadcast cuts off as he closes it, an unreadable expression on his face.
Every breath you take feels heavier than the last.
Slowly, you push to your feet. He looks up at you but you turn your attention to his old phone still in your hand.
I know why you don’t approve of me. I get it. I wasn’t able to stop Asayama from being killed. She died because of me. How many others will I fail to save?
He reads the message, then looks up at you. You still can’t distinguish the look on his face.
“It’s reckless,” he says. “Dangerous. For the others. And…” His eyes flicker to your side, exposed to the air, covered by gauze. “For you, too. It makes no sense to go out there and face fights you can’t win.”
To him, maybe. But Kazuya was always more willing to cut his losses than you ever were.
Spider-Woman always gets back up.
He frowns at you. “This isn’t a comicbook. This is real life. I seriously don’t understand. Why don’t you just give it up?”
You shake your head and send it again.
Spider-Woman *always* get back up.
You set the phone down gently on the ground, then with one hand pressed to your side, you leap from the roof, swinging away.
The next couple days are unbearable.
You’re still healing, for one.
But the reminder of your first failure has you tossing and turning most nights. So, you can’t even get the sleep you need to help heal yourself and build up your energy again.
Instead, you dream of her.
You already know something terrible has happened when you arrive.
The stillness of the air, nighttime critters and bugs silent. Not because the sun is about to break the horizon but something else. Something darker, staining the air. The way your senses whisper. The sick feeling welling up in your chest as you sneak through an unlocked window into the apartment.
Right into the living room.
Copper hangs heavy in the air. Whispered prayers fill the silence. In a corner, a man hunches, leaned against the wall. The kitchen knife in his hand still glints with red.
In front of you, Asayama Itsumi, a thirty-year-old banker who lives alone, has a cat named Chobi, goes to a neighborhood book club every week, and dreams of publishing her own book one day.
She doesn’t move.
“What did you do?” you whisper, rage swelling inside you like a tsunami.
Endo freezes, whipping around. The white button-up he wears is smeared with blood. Something like a handprint stains his shoulder.
He raises the knife. Metal glints under the light.
Webbing catching his arm, pinning it to the wall before he can bring the knife to his throat.
You web his other hand. He struggles, and you glimpse long, red scratches in his cheeks as he starts to blubber, jumbled words you don’t understand — don’t care to understand. Begging you to… what? Let him kill himself?
“No,” you say. “That’s too easy. You deserve this. To live with it. You will.”
He starts crying.
You lunge, your knuckles catching his temple. He falls silent, knocked out by your fist.
Your fingers itch to do more but you turn, sliding back to Asayama’s side.
Relief courses through you when you find a pulse. Delphi said they were already calling the police when they’d alerted you about movement from Endo. But then you’d gotten caught up in a pile-up. A little girl stuck in her carseat while a fire burned through the engine. You got her out in time.
Maybe you can say the same for Asayama.
Blood stains the satiny blue of her sleep shirt. Your stomach heaves as your eyes find the wounds gouging her abdomen.
“Asayama-san, can you hear me?” you ask, yanking a throw blanket from the couch and tearing it into strips.
She stirs as you apply pressure to her wounds.
“Asayama-san. It’s me, it’s me.”
“S… S-Spider-san?”
You chuckle, the base of your throat aching. You told her she didn’t need to call you that. But she insisted, since you were helping her.
“I’m here,” you say softly. “I need you to hang out for a few. EMS should be on their way. We’re gonna get you taken care of, okay?”
Her eyes flutter. “C-Chobi. Chobi. Is he okay? Where is he?”
You swallow thickly as your eyes find the mass of fur near the end of the couch. Unmoving.
You finish packing the wounds and reach up to push her dark hair out of her face. Even through your gloves, her skin feels too cool.
“He’s right here,” you assure her, your voice shaking only a little bit. “Did a bang-up job on Endo.”
She smiles. “Chobi is… is a good kitty.”
“Very good kitty.”
Her eyes flutter again, head struggling to stay up.
“Hey, hey, Asayama-san, none of that. Come on. Stay awake for me.”
You scoot closer, your hands finding her cheeks. “Come on. Please. Please.”
Her eyes crack open, dark, dark brown eyes gazing up at you. “Spider-san… I’m tired.”
“I know,” you whisper, the reality of the situation sinking in, petrifying your insides. “I know.”
You glance at Endo, held up by his arms, head hanging low.
With the assurance that he will not see, you push back your hood and slip off your mask.
Asayama’s eyes take you in, widening slightly. The surprise of your actions puts a little more alertness into her system, which is what you were hoping it would do. That and… well, you owe her this.
A wheezy laugh escapes her. “Spider-san… you… you’re just a kid.”
“Hi,” you whisper softly, throat aching. Your name falls from your lips in the next second.
She repeats it, a soft smile on her lips. Her hand raises, wavering, and you quickly slip off your gloves then take it. Her fingers are cold. You squeeze them gently.
“Thank you,” she breathes. “Thank you.”
You know.
You know.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you in time.”
“But you did,” she whispers. “You did. I could die alone. With him here. But you’re here. You’re here, Spider-san, and thank you.”
Your throat closes up. You pull her head into your lap, running your fingers through her hair.
“Take… take care of Chobi, please,” she whispers
“I will,” you promise, your voice strained. “I will.”
You can’t say anything. Your throat aches, tears blurring your vision. You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip hard enough to break the skin.
She coughs and you turn her head so she doesn’t choke on the blood bubbling up inside of her. It splatters onto the wood and stains her lips and teeth. Close, your senses whisper. Close.
“It’s okay, Asayama-san,” you murmur, stroking her cheek soothingly, ignoring the tears on your cheeks. “Everything is okay.”
“I wish… I wish I could see the sunrise. Just one last time. What… time is it?”
You lift your head, blinking the tears out of your vision.
Like an answered prayer, the room is lightening, shadows from the blinds cast onto the walls.
You hold out a hand, webbing shooting from your index and middle finger, snagging the cord to the blinds on her windows. You pull it.
Early morning sunlight spills forth. Golden rays of light warms every surface in the apartment, seeming to wash away the darkness that had crept in.
“There it is,” you whisper to her. “Do you see it?”
“Yes,” she breathes, the sound wet from the blood slowly filling her lungs; her eyelids flutter. She feels so cold. “I can see it.”
You hear the sirens in the distance. Wailing. While the rising sun chases out the darkness for you here, others will wake to devestation, to the sound of someone lost. Someone who could’ve been saved.
Asayama whispers your name. “Watch the sunrise for me every now and then, okay?”
“I will.”
With the gold light of the sunrise on her face, Asayama Itsumi takes her last breath in your arms.
You wake with tears on your face.
But even now, she looks out for you, because when you look at the clock, sunrise is only a few minutes away.
With a heavy heart, you slide out of bed.
The house is silent. Faint snores from Eijun’s room downstairs reach you. Birds start to chirp outside. You tiptoe into Kazuya’s room.
His head lifts just as you shut the door. “Hey.”
“Did I wake you?”
“No.” He sits up, squinting at you. “Are you —”
“We should watch the sunrise. It’s only a few more minutes.”
Kazuya studies you for a second then nods, pushing off his blanket and pulling on his glasses.
You let him pull open the hatch and go up first at his insistence.
Outside, the air is warm, the sky lightening to a softer shade of blue — twilight. You approach the edge of the roof, sitting down there, your legs hanging off. Kazuya sits down carefully beside you, keeping his legs crossed underneath him instead of hanging down like you.
You can sense him looking at you, concerned, but you keep your eyes ahead, watching as the horizon tints orange, the rest of the sky soon following. Deep orange, to a softer shade, yellow from the rays of the sun, the sky paling to a soft purple color.
Then finally, the corona of the sun peeks over the western horizon, brilliant in its glory. Gold washes over you, chasing away the cold inside.
“Hey.” Kazuya’s thumb brushes your cheek, where your tears leave trails. You didn’t even realize.
He turns you toward him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, brushing away your tears, looking so concerned that more come.
“What’s wrong?” you echo back, sniffling.
He was awake, too. Not an emotional mess like you but more subdued, you’ve noticed. Since last week, when he patched you up. You haven’t been back here since. As Spider-Woman, you mean.
“I’m just thinking about some stuff,” he murmurs.
“So am I,” you whisper and it’s not a lie.
You’re thinking of Asayama Itsumi. How her parents had to bury her. How they buried her with her beloved cat, Chobi.
How she won’t be the last one you fail to save.
How you came back that morning with her blood on your hands. How you spent the next three days in bed, refusing to say anything to any of the others, even if they knew something was wrong. First they thought you were sick, then that someone had done something to you — none of that was true. None of that could ever come close to the truth.
But while some of their patience ran thin, Kazuya remained at your side, holding you as you cried, never once demanding an explanation from you. You don’t know why. Other than the usual answer, that is, he is your best friend.
But maybe that’s the only answer. Maybe there isn’t anything else underlying that.
After all, you’d do the same for him, wouldn’t you?
Something in his face softens. “Come here. Get away from the edge.”
You pull your legs up, scooting back and closer to him. His arm comes around you, tucking you into his side. Your left side is still sore, though the cuts are on their way to scars.
Your chest aches when he leans your head on his shoulder.
He still doesn’t know. Can never possibly know.
But for now, as Kazuya holds you as the sun rises, this is enough.
And you’ll keep mourning Asayami Itsumi in your own time.
Kazuya has never liked seeing you cry.
This is something he didn’t learn for a while.
Not until later in your friendship, when you were older.
At thirteen, when he said something stupid, and your eyes had welled up with tears. It wasn’t a point in which he knew exactly what you meant to him, where he realized how lucky he was to have you, but even then, without the tools to know how or why, something inside him crumpled at seeing you cry.
At fifteen, when he undermined you on accident, when he walked right over what you wanted and thought he knew best. But by then, he’d started to figure it out. Figure out how much it meant to even have you in the first place. Especially as Chris hurt his shoulder and starting catcher landed right in his lap without a fight. As the others remained suspicious of him, distrusting of a first year catcher who had the skill to back himself up, sure, but outside of that, outside of a nasty personality, mediocre grades, and only one friend, what else did he have?
You.
He had you.
You’d been saying I love you since you were kids.
Back then, he said it, too.
But then, Mom was gone and so was Dad. They loved each other. Look how that ended up.
You’re my best friend, he would say. But never what really needed to be said.
You don’t hurt the people you love. Not on purpose, anyway.
But look at what he had done. He’d laughed in your face at the idea of you on the cheerleading team.
The hurt on your face stays with him to this day. Along with the tears that had followed, as you said, If that’s how you feel, don’t bother.
Don’t bother with what?
You’d just glared at him, tears rolling down your cheeks.
Then you were gone.
And he had no one.
And Kazuya isn’t saying he only apologized because he didn’t want to be alone.
Well, that is part of it, but that goes in hand with the fact that he wanted you with him. If it wasn’t you, then he didn’t care.
Then he realized something else in that moment and in the moments that followed after, in the hurt that made its home in his chest when you didn’t look at him during class, when you expertly avoided him. All of that, all of these feelings, it all sharpened into clarity. A realization that he had always subconsciously known but could never say. An irrefutable truth.
He loved you.
And he didn’t like seeing you cry. Didn’t like making you cry. You were his best friend. Is that how he repaid you? After years of support? Years of you loving him with no strings attached, never expecting anything in return. Sure, he supported you, too, it was never all just about him but this is the one thing, the most important thing, that needed to be said. Something that should’ve been easy. As easy as breathing.
He never said it.
Not until the height of the summer of your first year at Seido, when he realized that the miserable state of things with his senpai and the pitchers — none of it mattered. None of it compared to the feelings he had about you, with how he’d hurt you.
If you’d asked him to quit right there, he would’ve. He would’ve done anything.
But it’s not about him, is it. Or, rather, not in that way.
Kazuya went to you the night before summer regionals were set to begin and told you everything.
I’m sorry. I love you. I don’t want to sideline you, either. I want to support you. I’ll be your number one fan, from here on out. I promise.
You’d forgiven him.
Well, you cried first and that… that didn’t hurt as much because you’d stammered out that you were just happy to hear him say that. But then he really thought about it and oh, never mind. That does kind of hurt. How could he deprive you of that? Of the simplest truth he’s ever known?
The sky is blue, the grass is green, he loves you.
Something that should’ve been easy.
No, it is easy.
Loving you is as easy as breathing.
Saying it is another task entirely sometimes.
But as he gets older, he recognizes the meaning behind it and sometimes he thinks of how he treated you when you were kids, so mean, so cutting, especially when you had disagreements, and everything inside him aches.
You had your limits, of course. But most of the time, you let yourself be cut on his sharp edges, stubbornly, refusing to leave, bleeding out just for him. Because you loved him.
Sometimes he wants to go back in time and shake his teenage self. Tell him to just admit his feelings and realize how lucky he is instead of lashing out.
He guesses that’s just a part of growing up.
First year, he realized how much he loved you. Second year, he realized those feelings weren’t entirely platonic. Third year, he realized nothing would ever come of it and he would be lucky just to have you at his side as his best friend and nothing more.
And he is lucky.
He thinks of the meeting with the MLB scout in your third year of college, in April, right before school started.
Leo Mardon, an assistant manager with the New York Yankees. Plenty interested in trying to sway Kazuya to go pro in the US as soon as he stepped off the stage with his degree. Even if the signing rules were shitty, would be shitty until he turned twenty-five and there was not a cap on how much a team could pay him.
Kazuya’s grasp on English is good. More than good, you say. Your dad knows the language, having spent time in the US. You two were raised on an amalgamation of Japanese and Western media. He spent more time with your family than his own, especially after his mom died.
So, yes, his English is good.
But he wanted a buffer. Needed it. He asked you to interpret for him, to make sure nothing was lost in translation because while his English is good, yours is perfect.
The meeting was fine. Mardon complimented him endlessly, dropped several offers with the Yankees. But then he picked up on how close you two were.
“You two are friends?” Mardon asks, having seen he and you laughing while he went to the restroom.
You’re still smiling, eyes twinkling in a way that makes Kazuya’s heart do a weird wiggly thing.
“We’ve been friends since childhood.”
Mardon takes his seat again, looking interested. “And you have an excellent grasp on English and Japanese?”
Kazuya nudges and says, in Japanese, “Tell him about the other ones.”
Mardon tilts his head, curious.
Your smile turns a little exasperated but no less fond. “In Spanish, Korean, and German as well. I’m starting courses in Mandarin this term.”
Mardon blinks. “Wow. That’s… wow. That’s impressive. So, then, are you two planning for you to be his interpreter?”
Silence.
You look at Kazuya, stammering through a translation, though he already knows.
The truth is, he never considered that.
Why would he?
He’d assumed what you wanted once. He would never do that again. He would never… No.
When you two were applying for colleges in the beginning of your third year, you two agreed not to say anything about it. Mostly for him, because he didn’t want to hold you back. Didn’t want to coerce you into following him and he knew he’d get the urge to follow you, too, to wherever you went.
Just to be safe.
Just to be safe.
You both ended up at Waseda, anyway. From there, it’s been something like, well, if we end up here, then we’re meant to be here. He believes that.
But Kazuya doesn’t want to make the same mistake he made in your first year. So, he stays composed.
But you — you… You’re looking at him with a kind of wonder he’s never seen on you, like new possibilities have opened up.
“To tell you the truth,” you say to Mardon. “We never once thought about that. But that…” you look back at him, nudging his knee under the table. “Doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”
Mardon swoops in. “Well… the Yankees would be happy to accommodate you as his interpreter, if he’d like to come with us.”
And, Kazuya thinks, if the freakin’ Yankees are willing to do that, who else will?
You talk about it a little more. He makes sure you know he doesn’t expect you to follow him.
But then you say, “Is it bad that I’d like to?”
No, he says. And he doesn’t say he wants you there, too, he’ll always want you there. But not as a friend.
He doesn’t say that.
Instead he says, “I’ll take care of you. When we go over there.”
It’s the least he could do.
Whatever you wanted — it was yours.
But what did you want?
You still weren’t certain about your plans after graduation. Interpreting was the most likely path. But…
“It’s always been fun with you, Kazuya,” you had said to him that night. “So, if you aren’t tired of me yet, I’d like to go with you.”
And that was like saying he’d ever get tired of baseball.
But the difference between you and baseball is his age would kick him from the latter eventually. If he was lucky, and he means lucky, you’d stick around after that, too.
Mardon, in the interest of getting in his good graces, Kazuya is certain, leaves his contact information with you. Says he’ll get you connected with the organization and see about an internship.
So, that summer break, you packed up and headed to Seattle, Washington, where — Kazuya still finds this hilarious — you ended up shadowing the Mariners’ newest pitcher, Narumiya Mei.
You complained endlessly about him. About having to tail him from sunup to sundown. About how he was none too grateful, either, and pestered you with questions about Kazuya, then a couple insults about Eijun.
But you also sent so many pictures of the city, of Mount Rainier, the national park in Washington. Rolling mountains of green, snow-capped peaks, like something out of a travel magazine.
And you came back rejuvenated, having spent the second to last month of the MLB’s regular season experiencing the thrill of working there.
It was fun. So much fun, Kazuya, like you couldn’t believe. Even if Narumiya was being a brat the entire time.
So, you see. Kazuya is lucky. Maybe the luckiest person on this entire damn planet, to have you by his side.
But that was then.
Now, in your final year, he is… he is worried.
With how distant you are sometimes.
How it feels like you’re slipping away bit by bit.
You feel so far away, like you’re in another world, and you won’t talk about it.
Not even to him.
But turnabout is fair play.
After all, he’s out there on the roof, talking to Spider-Woman, and he hasn’t breathed a word of it to you.
Kazuya doesn’t even understand why.
It just doesn’t come out when he looks at you. It should. Should be easy. But it’s not. He looks at your face and keeps it to himself.
Maybe because… he knows nothing will come of it.
Even if seeing her hurt on the roof bothered him, the way she picked out the glass in her side without making a sound.
Even if something about her niggles at him, feels familiar in a way he cannot articulate or a way that even makes sense.
Even if, with that uncomfortable sense of familiarity, he suddenly found himself considering the weight of what she does, the responsibility on her shoulders.
do y'all also have mutuals whom you’re actually a fan of? like everytime u see them on your dash u just,,,,, “u go mutual that’s my mutual!!!!! i love u mutual!!!! i can’t even believe we’re mutuals i don’t deserve u!!!! keep being u mutual!!!”
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