droaxa + 18plus + she/her + writer + daydreamer + lover of literature + just for fun
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hello! this blog is yandere and angst centered + suggestions and whatever I feel like writing in the moment. my inbox is open, and even if it takes me a while, I'll get to you! i'm a little inconsistent and tend to take long breaks, this is a hobby for me. comment or reblog if you've enjoyed my writing, I also post my recs so keep an eye out for that on my masterlist! best wishes!
credits to @chrisssiren and @strangergraphics for dividers
desc. a misunderstanding between you and your crush spirals out of control, will he push you into the arms of another or fight for you?
tags: BIG misunderstandings and angst, hurt with comfort?, self-doubt, kind of paranoia, angst, angst, and did I mention angst, crying, fem reader implied, 1.8k words
a/n: i'm slowly chugging through all the requests i've gotten this past year, hope you gusy were excited for this!
crush x reader pt.1 crush x reader pt.2
A few days had passed since your altercation at the cafe, 5 days to be exact. 5 days filled with doom, gloom, and copius amounts of icecream.
Now you sat in the darkness of your room, your comfort show playing on the overheating laptop on your lap, and your hand buried in a bag of chips. All you did these days was wake up, go to class, eat , and go to sleep. Other than Jacob, you didn't really talk to anyone else despite the barage of messages from Hayden and Lindsay on your phone.
This semester had been such a whirlwind of feelings, and now that it was coming to an end, you wouldn't share a class with Hayden anymore, a comforting and frustrating thought.
You wanted to throw something at him, yell, pull the answers out of him for questions you didn't even know yet. But you also wanted to ask him with made him choose Lindsay over you, how they even got close in the first place, if you ever stood a chance.
But you were always somewhat of a coward and decided to ignore it all, with the semester closing, you went on break, plenty of time to heal or do whatever bullshit self-help course would take your mind off the cluster fuck that was your life.
On the other hand, Jacob, one of your only lifelines in storm you were charting was slowly making his way into your heart. He was a comfortable constant who held you close and let you ruin his shirt with salty tears all night after the confrontation with Hayden. He was funny, quietly kind, and lighthearted in a way that didn't make you question his feelings for you.
As you contemplated everything, the door to your dorm slammed open. Standing in a comically heroic pose at the doorway was not other than Jacob. You sniffled, croaking out a quiet "Hey."
Jacob melted at the visual of you wrapped in your blanket on your bed, face small and hidden in the plush of your fuzzy hoodie. He softly closed the door behind him a clack, and approached you like one would a skittish animal. "Haven't heard from you in a bit, did you eat today?"
You shook the bag of chips at him and he clicked his tongue, "Real food." You scoffed, "I can't, still heartbroken remember? Pretty sure one of the rules is to only eat junk food."
Before you could react, he snatched the bag of chips out of your hands, holding your back by your forehead as you tried to grab it back. Your face heated up a little at the contact. "Nice try," he snickered, "but get up and dressed, we're going out."
You glared at him, "I don't want to go bar hopping again, my head still hurts from the last time." He laughed at that, removing his hand from your face, "You think i'm an alcoholic or-"
"Yes." You interrupted him, he raised an eyebrow and continued, "No. I'm not, but I was going to say that we should go get dinner somewhere nice. You know bring up those spirits of yours!"
"The only spirits you're raising are the ones in your glass," you mumbled. He huffed, pulling you out of bed and towards your closet. "Get dressed," he insisted, "and meet me downstairs in 15 minutes, I'll go change too."
You groaned a reluctant 'Ok' and sluggishly looked through your closet. One foot out the door, Jacob yelled your name. When you looked over, his arm was raised, flexing his delectable muscles that streched his t-shirt, "Hope that made you feel better!" With that he shut the door.
You just stood there with a random shirt in your hand, mouth gaping like a fish as you processed what he just did. You shook your head and realized that you did tell him you liked a good bicep to look at, but this was the next level.
Shaking your head you got ready, putting on a moderately fancy outfit, and did your makeup and hair as quick as you could, staying minimal due to the time crunch.
When you looked in the mirror, you felt different. After a week of sweats and hoodies, this was a welcome change and you finally felt confident enough to smile. Wow, why did you ever think you were ugly? You thought back to Hayden and Lindsay, oh yeah, comparison is an ugly thing.
Finally ready, you grabbed your keys and phone, rushing down the stairs to meet Jacob. When you reached the lobby your eyes widened at his appearance, he was more dressy than usual. Switching out his usual sweatpants and funky pattern socks for a button up shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves and black slacks.
He grinned when he saw you, crossing his arms and scanning his warm eyes up and down your body. "You clean up nice." He said, was his voicce always that deep?
You smiled bashfully, still a bit flustered from your previous interaction. "Could say the same for you." He stuck his elbow out for you to take, "How about you let this well dressed gentleman take you out for dinner then?" You smiled and took it, "You can try."
Dinner with Jacob was more fun that you imagined. It was a nice place, not too fancy but enough that you had a waiter and small lamp and your table. Sometime between ordering food and playing footsies with him under the table, you forget about the whole Hayden situation.
After a round of ice cream at the local ice cream shop, he walked you back to your dorm, shoulders bumping and hands brushing along the way. But just as he was going to bid you goodnight at the front of your building, you spotted a familiar figure out of the corner of your eyes.
Hayden.
Before you could point him out of Jacob, he stomped over. As he got closer you noticed his dark circles and unkept manner, not before clocking his evident desperation.
He almost whimpered out your names as he drew closer, voice scratchy "Why haven't you been responding to my messages?" Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him, Jacob responded in your stead. "Back off man, she doesn't want to see you right now."
Hayden glared at him, "I want to hear from her, not you okay?" Before Jacob could respond, you stepped in, "It's alright, I've got it. Could you give us a moment Jacob?" The aforementioned grumbled, clearly unhappy with the request, but nevertheless wandered off to loiter near a lamp post not too far away.
You turned to Hayden, crossing you arms in a way you hoped came off as authoritative. "I'm giving you ten minutes to explain."
His eyes widened and he spoke hurriedly,"Thankyouthankyou, I'm so sorry, thank you." He took a deep breath, "Truth is, from the moment we first started talking in chemistry I knew that I had some feelings for you." he clenched his fists, looking up at you with tears in his eyes. "But I'm a coward, and I thought that If I got your friend's help I could win your heart over, and we both know how that turned out."
He let out a shaky breath, lip quivering. "But I like you, I really do. And I'll do anything to make it up to you."
You raised an eyebrow, hands trembling a little from emotion, "So let me get this straight, you invited my friend to every meeting we had to make me feel comfortable?"
He nodded, "Yes, I know it sounds dumb but-" You cut him off, "But what? Doesn't make what you made me feel any less real."
His eye widened and you felt your heartstrings tug with compassion for him. He continued, "And I'll do anything to atone for it, anything you could ever want. just please don't go to him, I can't lose you."
He grabbed your hands with his larger, warmer ones, resulting in you yelping in surprise, "You're one of the smartest, funniest, and prettiest girls I've had the honor of knowing and I want you to know that if you do give me another chance you won't regret it."
Jacob's ears perked up at your yell, rushing to your side, "Don't get handsy with her cause you're not getting what you want, loser." Jacob hissed, trying to pry your hands out of his grip.
Hayden fumed at that tugging you towards him, "What? Do you think just cause you ran over here like some white knight that she'd pick you?"
Jacob scoffed at that, "Big talk from the guy who didn't have the balls to ask her out, what, you need a cheerleader on the side for that?"
Hayden laughed sarcastically, "Well you-"
"STOP." You yelled, getting both the boys attention, "In case you both didn't notice, I might split in half if you keep pulling me." With both boys pulling you towards them, your arms were outstreched with you in between like some odd tug-of-war rope.
They both let you go at the same time, voices overlapping.
"Shit, I didn't mean-"
"Sorry did I hurt-"
"Shut up dude, I'm tryna talk to her."
You groaned in frustration and they both looked at you in silence, "Look, you both are great in your own ways but if I'm completly honest I'd have to say that I can't continue anything more with you Hayden." He opened his mouth to speak and you silenced him with a finger, "It's clear that you have things you need to work on and while I did like you for a time it's clear we're not a match."
"Don't get me wrong you're a great guy, I just don't think I could forget what you did." Hayden slowly nodded at this, eye downcast and obviously disappointed. "I understand," he began, "and I'm always here if you need me still. I just hope you're happy, I really didn't mean to hurt you."
With that he gave you a tired smile and in turn you gave him your own wistful smile. He then walked away, shoulders shaking from holding back tears. You turned back to Jacob who had a hand stuck in his pocket, still obviously a little heated from the altercation.
With the chaos, his pant leg rode up a bit, revealing pickle patterned socks. You knew who you wanted, someone who wouldn't hide themselves. Someone who made everyday feel better than the last. Someone who made you smile, not cry.
You wanted Jacob.
crush x reader pt.1 crush x reader pt.2
a/n: I hope you guys liked the ending! I honestly didn't want our reader here to even up with Hayden because it's clear that he still needs to work on himself and while a whirlwind romance can be nice, the support that Jacob offered was more important in my opinion. much love guys!!
desc. youâre the new transfer student at UA and Tenya canât keep his eyes off you
tags: fem implied reader, nothing just fluff! 1.7k words
a/n: your pleas for more nerd content have been heard! i've been rewatching mha recently and just fell for tenya surprisingly even through i was a big bakugo fan the first time i watched, this mini fic was made from that! enjoy
The chatter in the hallway, invaded your senses as you stepped into the busy hallway leading to class 3-A. As a transfer student from another school, you were already nervous, but being so close to the students who you would usually only see in TV was surreal.
Finally, you came to a stop outside a gigantic mahogany door with a plaque next to it, displaying '3-A' in red enamel, atleast you were in the right spot, and not late! Taking a deep breath you slide the door to the right, revealing a room of what could only be described as the most promising heros that Japan had to offer. You eyes jumped from one face to the next, seeing students who you knew the names of, well atleast their hero names.
Everyone seemed absorbed in their own conversation, some students sitting on desks, while others stood, crowding certain people. But one person noticed, a tall blue haired boy who rushed to you the second you locked eyes with him. As he stepped closer, waving his arms in a strange robotic motion, he announced himself loudly, "Hello! You must be the new transfer student, I am Tenya Iida, the class representative!"
You smiled a little at his enthusiasm and introduced yourself, followed by him shaking you hand in a rigid motion, muscular arm flexing at the motion. His hand was much larger than yours, rough from training and battles, covered in scars that were proof of the hard work he had put in.
A few people had looked your way from his outburst, a pink girl with pink hair and horns, a black haired guy with strange elbows, and a yellow haired boy. As they drew closer the pink girl introduced herself and the others, âHi! Iâm Mina Ashido, this is Hanta Sero and thatâs Denki Kaminariâ
With the others drawing closer, Iida let go of your hand, seeming aware that he held it for a few beats too long.
You waved at them and repeated your name, this time the black haired guy, Sero, spoke up, âCanât help but overhear that youâre our transfer student, welcome to-â the yellow haired boy, Denki, interrupted, âclass 3-A!â
Sero frowned at Denki, âDude you totally stole my thunderâ
Denki laughed, âBe faster?â
You smiled what you hoped was the most inviting smile you could muster in this overwhelming situation, and Iida seemed to take notice, awkwardly sliding between Sero and Denki to get your attention.
âAnyway before they so rudely instructed me, I was tasked with showing you around the school and later your dorm room. Although I do not want to miss class, we are both excused for the first few periods to tourâ
You nodded enthusiastically, a tour around UA? Sweet! Letâs see what crazy stuff that this school is wasting tax dollars on.
Iida and you marched around for the next few periods, and by the end of the tour you were not only familiar with the amenities offered but also with Iida. Despite being a little stiff and awkward, he was a pretty nice guy. He seems real passionate about this hero stuff, and you could see from the way his eyes lit up that he was very serious about it.
Besides, he was also adorable! When you complimented his hair he froze up and stammered all cute, while you did use the verbiage, âundercuts are hotâ, you didnât expect that fussy reaction!
He tried to be a gentleman and compliment you back, only to have his eyes stuck to your face and his words trail away as his mind was clearly somewhere else. And when his attention did snap back to you he was redder than before.
âAnyway,â he announced boisterously, âwe better get back to class, our time together is almost finished!â
You giggled and followed his robotic motions leading you back to the classroom, only for the teacher to already be there. A tired older man whose scruffy black hair fell around his face and whose rough grey scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders. Acknowledging both of you, he nodded for Iida to sit down and beckoned you to the front of the class.
"Everyone, this is our new transfer student, she'll be joining us from today onwards so make sure you make her feel welcome."
You smiled shyly and waved a hand, feeling awkward to be put on the spot, "Hi.."
Aizawa pointed out a seat for you in the back, next to a kid with half red and white hair and Iida, you spent the rest of the school day diligently taking notes, a bit confused on the coursework at times. Whenever your eyebrows furrowed, Iida would tilt his notebook for you to see, his detailed notes clearing up your confusion.
By the end of the day you were worn out, shoving your school supplies into you backpack as the pink girl approached you again. "Hey!"
You looked up at her at smiled, "Hey, what's up?" She rocked on the feet a little, her hands clasped behind her, "So I was thinking that I and some of the others would help you unpack? Unless you don't want to, which is fine too!"
Yes! Finally a chance for you to make some friends, "I'd love that! Who else is coming?" Mina listed off the people using her fingers, "Me, Iida, Ochako, Sero, and Kaminari. Oh I forgot you haven't met Ochako yet! She's really nice you'll like her."
"Well, Iida's gonna give a dorm tour anyway, so maybe in an hourish we can meet at my dorm?" Mina gave you a thumbs up and grin as she started to back out of the classroom, "See you then!"
Just as she disappeared from your sight, Iida walked up to you in the same robotic manner as before. "Well fellow classmate, are you ready to leave?" You shrugged your bag up your shoulders, "Let's go!"
The next dozen minutes were filled with Iida showing you to and around your new living quarters, you ended up talking to many of your new classmates on the way, including a short purple haired, or balled, boy who Iida whispered you stay away from if possible. When you asked why his eyes seemed to glaze over as if trying to forget something.
You also met an enthusiastic green haired boy who excitedly asked you about your quirk, noting everything down on a pad as you tried to answer his fast shooting questions. The barage only ened when Iida pulled you away from the boy, and towards the left wing.
Iida ended up pointing out his room awkwardly, "While the girls and guys wings are seperate, you are more than welcome to visit and ask me about anything, it must be hard adjusting as a new student." he suddenly became flushed, "Not that you can't handle it!"
You smiled, "Sure Tenya." The use of his first name flustered him even more, "Can call you that right? Sorry, I just jumped on it cause everyone else was." He straightened out his glasses that were already perfectly situated on his strong nose, "Of course, I would be honored."
The tour ended at your room, on the right wing of the building but the same floor as Iida's. Cardboard boxes were piled outside of it and approaching the boxes were Mina and the friends she had mentioned.
"Hey girl! Let's get this started" Mina hollared from where she stood.
The next hour consisted of everyone helped you unpack and you getting to know everyone better, Kaminari made a show of his quirk as he charged your desk lamp and Ochako introduced herself to you, offering up her socials and number if you wanted to hangout.
By the end of the hour you were completely unpacked, and your phone was full of new numbers. Everyone said their goodbyes and retreated back to their dorms exept Iida who waited for everyone to leave as he brought your last box of clothing in. "Well, I hope you had an enjoyable time, it seems that you hit if off with everyone!"
You smiled, "Thanks Tenya, honestly I wouldn't have had such a great first day if it wasn't for you." He beamed at that, puffing up his chest in pride, "It's the responsibility of the class rep," he looked a little shyer, "and your new friend."
"Well you're doing great so far" You grinned. Feeling a little gutsy, you stpped closer to where he was and notice his hands clench and unclench with nervousness, drawing attention to the veins in his arms. His deep blue eyes are locked onto yours as his mouth gapes a little, words unable to get out.
You lean towards him on your tip toes, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the warmth of his breath on yours. Drawing in closer, you swerve your head at the last moment to plant a peck on his cheek. Once you pull away he looks more awestruck than before, his face painted a dull rosy color as he stutters out a response, "Oh my, thank you- I mean that was nice, let's do it again? Nono not do it again hahaha, unlessyouwanttoofcourse."
You smile at him and giggle, "Of course, next time though." He stilled a little at that ad tried to compose himself, "Of course, next time." he said, "Maybe you'll join me in training during this next time? I'd be honored to help you get on track."
You nodded and he beamed at that, "Well, I will see you tomorrow then" he said as he retreated towards your room's door, not before pausing as he reached it. Quickly, he rushed towards you and gave you a hug, squeezing you between his muscular arms and broad chest.
Then as quickly as he came back, he ran out the door yelling, "That was for before!", the redish hue retaking is claim on his face.
As you stood in your empty room, flustered, even more so than Tenya, you only thought one thing.
misunderstandings, lil bit of angst, smut, fluff, mdni!
thinking about bsf!nanami who you've been infatuated with since you started your first year at college.
bsf!nanami who has been a constant since the beginning of your first year, a rock in the everchanging tides of roomates, friends, and classes.
bsf!nanami who is quietly kind and thoughtful, never failing to stop by your dorm to drop off a snack during exam season. Chuckling as he ruffled your hair, making a comment about the state of your room, and placing a small treat on your desk.
bsf!nanami who grew into a behemoth of a man over the years. after starting to workout in college, he went from a relatively normal guy to a muscular mouthwatering masterpiece. and unfortunately for you, was perfectly your type.
bsf!nanami who was basically a prince in your eyes, not in some cheesy over the top way or from his good looks, but in the small ways that warmed your heart. leaning down to tie your shoelaces, or offering his study guide when he could tell you were struggling on a unit.
while bsf!nanami was always cute to you, your feelings for him after all these years had spiraled out of control. somehow, you went from thinking about how cute he was when he talked smiled to hoping that he'd hold you down with those big beefy arms and fuck you like you needed. oops.
bsf!nanami, oblivous as ever to your longing stares, treated you the same as he ever did.
finally, in your fourth year you reached a breaking point. your friends were pestering you on going out with them so they could introduce you to a guy they knew. apparently he was your type, but everytime you even considered it, the image of bsf!nanami would appear before you.
"c'mon girl, nanami's eye candy, but he's too oblivious for you! pleaseee come out with us? you'll have fun!"
after a reluctant agreement from your side, mostly to stop her from saying please for the 100th time that day. you groaned as you got up, picking out a top and skirt from the closet to emulate the maneater you definitely didn't feel like.
In the middle of you doing your makeup, your door creeked open and a head of familiar blonde hair stuck inside, peeking shyly.
"nanami?"
the afformentioned man slid into your room, shutting the door softly behind him.
"sorry" he smiled apologetically is his charming way, "i just assumed i should come over cause you didn't text me"
you'd giving him a copy of the keys to your apartment as soon as you got your own, you trusted him more than yourself at times, always the responsible one out of the two of you. him sneaking in to watch a movie with you on a friday night was nothing new.
shit. you totally forgot. it was movie night.
bsf!nanami sat on your plush bed behind the vanity you were sitting at, warm hazel eyes tracing your figure through the mirror. or maybe it was your imagination. god you were getting desperate.
"i'm so sorry ken i forgot, i had so much on my mind tonight" you said as you patted a pretty pink lipstick onto your face, words coming our a little slurred from the application. you turned to face him, the nonchalant expression you had schooled melting a bit at the sight of him nestled in your duvet, all comfy. but being the spiteful little shit you were, maybe you wanted to make him a little jealous!
you had a feeling that you might die a little inside if he didn't care, perhaps urging you to go on your date like the amazing friend he was.
despite it all you steeled yourself, "and i'm going on a date tonight"
it was pindrop silence for a second. then kento spoke. "what? like now? is that why you're dressed up?"
forget jealous, he sounded upset.
"yeah," you replied, wincing a little at how fast you'd responded.
"why" kento asked, voiced getting more steely than you were used to.
"because i want to?" you said with a little bit of heat behind the words, frustration seeping out, "can't be single forever."
kento's eyebrows furrowed at that, "what's wrong with that, you have me."
you scoffed, "well i don't 'have' you ken, i want someone who i'm more than just friends with." your face settled into a frustrated pout, lips plump.
kento's eyes softened, "is that why you've been so mad at me? cause you want something more?"
at this point you reached a breaking point, standing up to fully face him and arms flailing in frustration. "well maybe it's because i'm so in love with you and i don't want to be just friends anymore!"
the second the words left your mouth you knew you fucked up, shutting your mouth as your eyes remained wide open.
"shit" said kento, almost dazed, still buried among the fluff of your bed.
your eyes welled up with tears and you took a step back, "that's all you have to say?" you'd fucked it all up now, and kento would speak to you again. fuck your life.
at the sight of your tears kento snapped back to reality, crawling on the soft mattress to where you stood near the bed, his built body a stark contrast against the fluff of your bed. large and warm hands held your tear soaked face, wiping your tears gently as they fell.
"no no no" he cooed, in a way that you'd say to a crying child "please don't cry"
you glared at him through your tears, "kind of hard not to asshole" and pulled his hands away from your face, only for them to find a place on your waist, putting you ever closer to the warmth that was kento.
"i've been waiting for so long" kento said, voice dropping to a garvely tone that you only heard in the early mornings when he'd sleep over on the couch.
you stilled, eyes wide as a deer in headlights as the man in front of you said something you only imagined in dreams. is this real? "what?" you muttered stupidly, the remaining tears drying up on your face.
he pulled you closer by you waist, until you could feel his body heat and the warmth of his breath on yours. "i've waited so long," he muttered in a low tone, grip tightening slightly, "do you know how hard it was to hold myself back when you'd go wear your cute little skirts around campus? every guy we walked past eying you like some sort of candy"
he continued, breath heavy in a way you could tell he'd been waiting to tell you, "and you were just so sweet to me too, even when we'd just met," he paused, almost as if hesitating to say the next part, "when you called me ken" he almost groaned as he said it, "and i knew i was in love with you"
your mouth gaped uselessy at his confession before you strung a few clumsy words together, "i had no idea"
he chucked lowly, the type of laugh that vibrated the air around you, "how could you, i tried so hard to hide it, just be your best friend," he looked at you wistfully, "i didn't want to lose you if you didn't feel the same"
your heart tugged at that, kento was planning on just burying those feelings if you'd never said anything? always the gentleman.
"ken... guess we were just two idiots huh" you smiled, remaining tears gone and instead a soft smile decorating your pretty features.
he smiled back and this time pulled you even closer so your knees settled on the bed, hovering above your lips for a second before planting a slow and catious kiss on your lips, almost as if trying not to scare you away. you deepened the kiss by pulling him ever closer by his shirt and reciprocating with equal hunger.
he groaned into the kiss, on hand going to hold the back of your head, buried in your hair. it quickly turned heated, sloppy, years of longing and wanting being poured into the kiss.
when you pulled apart, a blush dusted both of your cheeks and you chests rose and fell in unison as you caught your breaths. kento tugged you towards him, this time to fall beside him on the bed, pulling you into his side. you rested your head on his chest and he wrapped his arm around you, bicep flexing delicously as he held you.
"so," you said, looking up at him cheekily, "i'm not going on that date?"
he raised an eyebrow and squeezed your arm, "you sure you want to go to him with your pretty lips all swollen like that," running his thumb over your mouth, "and as if i'd let him see you in this cute little outfit"
you smiled slyly, "what are you gonna do about it"
his eyes twinkled with amusement as he pressed a long kiss to the side of your forehead, "maybe i'll hold you here underneath me"
"got any other dreams of what you want to do to me?" you asked coyly, fingerd running through his hair, the oher hand on his chest.
"i don't have to, you're here with me" he admitted, "besides," his voice dropped an octive lower as he whispered in your year "you wouldn't even be able imagine the things iâd dream about you if i did "
a/n: ughh nanami is my fav out of all the jjk boys and this scratched an itch for me. let me know if you guys want to see any other characters!
Gentle!yandere who swears that he only watches to keep you safe! Of course he's watching you when you walk out of class and to your next one. Of course he's watching you at you shift and when you walk home after. Of course he's watching you while you sleep... it's to keep you safe!
Gentle!yandere who slowly joins the clubs and classes you're in, he can't exactly get closer to you if he's never near you after all. He struggles to get into your public cpeaking club, but after 3 nights of nonstop practice he finally made it! Only to sit in the corner and never talk to anyone, staring menacingly at anyone who speaks to you.
Gentle!yandere who slowly builds up the courage to talk to you. The man is a hulking beast of muscle and easily over 6 feet tall but a cute thing such as yourself gets him flustered. Of course he's nervous, what if he says the wrong thing to you! Like that he loves the smell of your hair, or that he also likes the show you watch before you go to sleep, or the things he does to underwear he stole from your apartment...
Gentle!yandere who becomes your friend, he's in most of your classes and you see him around all the time so why not? You unlikey friendship starts one day when you offered him a piece of gum, when your finger brushed his, he swore he got a little harder. But good at hiding it (you would have no idea how hard it would be to be around you if he had a reaction every time!) he started a conversation about the class with you. And by the heaven's grace you laughed!
Gentle!yandere who you'd never seen in you classes before. Little do you know, the man switched majors, just for you! Couldn't exactly keep an eye on you when you had no classes together, how else was he gonna protect you? He asks you to get coffee with him and you say yes! Afterwards, you guys talk about everything from your boring proffesor to the new show that just came out. Oh and you better believe he took notes the entire time, he needed to remember everything about you.
Gentle!yandere who starts to change his appearance to match your tastes, oh you like that boyband member with the pierced ears? Behold, he shows up with earrings on the next week despite his fear of needles. He starts to dress like the actors you like, straying from his usual hoodies and jeans to wear button ups and slacks. But he really melts after you tell that you like how he looks in his usual clothes rather than his new outfits. You really like him for him!
Gentle!yandere who despite fucking his fist to your pictures every night opens the door for you with a smile like a gentleman in class the next day. He even pulls out you chair for you! Who even does that anymore! But one thing he can't stand is when you wear those short skirts and tight blouses, the peaks of your lacy bra visible from the top and the skirt riding up just enough to tease him when you bent over to pick up a spare pencil off the ground. Of course, he would NEVER tell you how to dress, how dare he! But he can't stop himself from going to the bathroom to 'relieve' himself of his hardness, poor guy.
Gentle!yandere who you catch following you home one night. While he panics and tries to explain why he was hiding in an alley watching you walk by, you give him a sly smile and tug him towards your apartment by his belt. Flustered he follows you quietly.
Gentle!yandere who expects you to drag him to the police but instead ends up on your bed, you pressing your soft lips to his. He moans in surpise as you palm his cock through his pants, creating some delicious friction as you continue to make out. He watches as you take your shirt off and start talking, "I didn't know how much longer I had to wear those tight skirts and shirt till you'd notice me" kiss, "but now I know you're the same as me. " kiss.
Gentle!yandere who pulls away from the kiss, confused, only to look above you to the ceiling. On. it were, pictures of him, some from his social media, some candid, some he knows coudn't have been taken from outside his house. That's not all, small trinkets of his that had gone missing, a chewed up pencil, all scattered across your bedroom. He looks up at you for a second, dazed, then grabs you by the back of the neck to bring you close. Then he kisses you again.
youâve been in love with your best friend gojo satoru ever since you were eighteen. spending your years watching him bloom in various relationships was not the way you imagined your life would go.
one day, you meet geto suguru, who makes you want to forget about your feelings for satoru. will you be able to do that? let go of your feelings and live your life?
contents. gojo x fem reader x geto! âą my favourite trope â unrequited requited love âą friends to lovers âą gojo dating other people like a girl named yuki who is not canon yuki âą a lot of angst and feelings like A LOT âą eventual smut âą change of povs âą gojo and geto being down bad for reader âą BUT GOJO IS ENDGAME âą so more angst âą hurt/comfort âą fluff âą ~20k words um yeah
YOU met satoru gojo at the university entrance exams, which feels, in retrospect, like the kind of meet-cute youâd roll your eyes at if it happened to anyone else. but it happened to you, so instead of rolling your eyes, youâve spent the last four years cataloguing it like a sacred text.
you were both seventeen, freshly out of high school, standing in a crowded hallway that smelled of anxiety and floor wax. youâd found a spot against the wall, trying to make yourself small, because that was your strategy for most things back thenâ take up less space, donât draw attention, survive. you were not a social butterfly. you were the opposite of that! you were, if anything, a socially anxious caterpillar who had resigned itself to a lifetime of hiding in the metaphorical dirt.
and then there was satoru.
you noticed him before he noticed you, because everyone noticed him. he was tall even then, all limbs and restless energy, with white hair that caught the fluorescent light. he was laughing at something a friend had said, head thrown back, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, and he looked so utterly at ease that you felt a small, familiar pang of something that might have been envy or might have been longing or might have just been the general ache of being a person who had never once felt that comfortable in their own skin.
you looked away since staring was rude, and also because looking at him felt a bit like looking at the sun.
you didnât expect him to talk to you! you certainly didnât expect him to weave through the crowd and come to a stop directly in front of you, tilting his head like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.
âhey,â he said. âyou look like youâre about to bolt.â
you blinked at him. âiâm not going to bolt.â
âgood,â he said, and then he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that made you understand, instantly and completely, why people in myths were always getting into trouble because some beautiful god smiled at them. âbecause i donât know anyone here and you look like you donât either, so iâve decided weâre friends now.â
you opened your mouth to say somethingâ probably something articulate and witty, something that would prove you were worth befriendingâ but what came out was, âthatâs not really how friendships work.â
âsure it is,â he said, and then he leaned against the wall next to you like heâd always been there, like youâd saved him a spot. âiâm satoru. tell me something interesting about yourself.â
âiâm not interesting,â you said, because you believed it.
he looked at you for a long moment, those ridiculous blue eyesâ youâd seen them properly when heâd pushed his sunglasses up, and they were the kind of blue that made you think of shallow tropical water, bright and startling and almost too muchâ and then he said, very seriously, âthatâs the most interesting thing anyoneâs said to me all day.â
you didnât know what to do with that. you still donât, honestly.
but you told him your name, and he repeated it back like he was testing the weight of it on his tongue, and he nodded once, decisively, and said, âsee? weâre friends.â
and that was it. that was the beginning.
the exams themselves were a blur of anxiety and cramped hands and the quiet terror of your entire future hinging on a few hours of multiple-choice questions. but between sections, satoru found you. every time. youâd emerge from the exam hall, dazed and already convinced youâd failed, and there heâd be, leaning against a railing or sitting on a bench, long legs stretched out, waving like you were old friends reuniting after years apart instead of two people whoâd met that morning.
âhowâd it go?â heâd ask, and when youâd mumble something noncommittal, heâd launch into a dramatic retelling of his own experience, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and sound effects, and by the end of it youâd be laughing so hard youâd forget, for a moment, that you were supposed to be terrified.
you both got in, of course you both got in. youâd worked yourself to the bone for it, spent countless nights hunched over textbooks with cold coffee growing stale at your elbow. satoru, you later learned, had barely studied. he was just like that. things came easy to himâ the exam, the university, the effortless way he moved through the world like it had been designed with him in mind.
you should have resented him for it. sometimes you did, a little, in the quiet moments when you were up late finishing an assignment and you knew heâd finished his in half the time and was probably out with friends, laughing at something, existing in that bright, uncomplicated way of his.
but the resentment never lasted, because the thing about satoru was that he never made you feel lesser. he never acted like his ease was a mark of superiority. if anything, he seemed genuinely baffled when you struggled with things that came naturally to him, like it had never occurred to him that the world might be harder for other people.
and when you did struggleâ when you stayed up too late and drank too much coffee and ended up crying in the library bathroom at 2 a.m. because you couldnât make the words on the page make senseâ he always showed up. you never had to ask. heâd text you at midnight with a picture of some ridiculous snack from the convenience store and a message that said âstudy break, meet me outside, donât argue,â and youâd go, and youâd sit on the steps of the library eating stale onigiri while he talked about nothing and everything, and by the time you went back inside, the words would still be hard but the weight of them would feel lighter.
that was satoru. he made things lighter. that was his gift, the one he gave freely to everyone around him, and you were just lucky enough to be the one he gave it to most often.
the friendship solidified in those first few months, fast and fierce and seemingly unshakable. you shared a dorm building your first year, then an apartment your second, because it just made senseâ you were already together all the time anyway, and satoru had looked at you with those too-blue eyes and said âwe should live togetherâ like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and youâd said yes before you could talk yourself out of it.
and living with satoru was⊠an education.
you learned that he was messy in a chaotic, endearing wayâ clothes draped over chairs, empty snack wrappers that he swore heâd throw away âin a minute,â a general refusal to do dishes until the pile in the sink reached a height that could reasonably be called architectural. you learned that he sang in the shower, intentionally badly and loudly, usually whatever pop song was currently stuck in his head, and that he would inevitably emerge with his hair dripping water everywhere and demand that you tell him if he sounded good (he didnât, but you always said he did).
you learned that he had nightmares sometimes, that he would wake up in the dark and knock on your door with a sheepish expression, and youâd let him in without a word and heâd curl up on the end of your bed like an overgrown cat and fall back asleep to the sound of your breathing.
you learned that he was softer than he let on. that the arrogance, the brash confidence, the way he flirted with everyone and everythingâ it was all a layer, a performance, a suit of armor heâd put on so long ago heâd forgotten how to take it off. but with you, sometimes, the armor slipped. with you, he was just satoru, the boy who couldnât cook to save his life and cried at sad movies and had a laugh that made your chest ache in a way you refused to examine too closely.
and you learned, too, that you were falling in love with him.
there was no lightning strike, no moment of cinematic clarity. it was slow, insidious, the way water wears down stone. it was the way heâd throw an arm around your shoulders when you walked to class, his hand warm and heavy and casual. it was the way heâd save you the last piece of whatever he was eating, even when youâd said you didnât want any. it was the way he said your name, the way he looked at you when he thought you werenât paying attention and youâd catch him and heâd call you a dumbass.
it was the night you turned eighteen, two months into your first semester, when heâd bought a cheap cake from the grocery store and youâd eaten it on the roof of your dorm building, and heâd looked at you with frosting on his lip and said âiâm glad itâs youâ like it was the simplest truth in the world, and your heart had made a decision without consulting you.
oh, you thought. oh, no.
and then youâd laughed and shoved him and said âglad itâs me what?â and heâd grinned and said âglad itâs you iâm eating cake with on a roof, obviously, what else would i mean,â and the moment passed, and you let it pass, because what else were you supposed to do?
however, another the thing about falling in love with satoru gojo was that it was also, inevitably, watching him fall in and out of love with other people.
he bloomed in relationships the way he bloomed in everythingâ effortlessly, brilliantly, with a kind of careless abundance that made you wonder if he even realized how much light he was giving off.
his first serious girlfriend came at the end of freshman year, a girl from the art department with dark hair and a laugh like wind chimes, and you watched him transform from your chaotic, messy best friend into someone who remembered to do the dishes and set alarms and text back within a reasonable timeframe.
you watched him hold her hand in the quad, watched him buy her coffee and carry her books and look at her like sheâd hung the moon, and you told yourself that the ache in your chest was just jealousy of the relationship itself, not of her specifically. you told yourself that anyone would be jealous, watching someone they cared about pour all their attention into someone else. you told yourself it was normal to feel this way.
you believed it, mostly.
the breakup came three months later, sudden and inexplicable, at least from the outside. satoru showed up at your apartment at midnight with red-rimmed eyes and a bottle of something cheap and strong, and you let him in and sat on the bathroom floor with him while he cried and you held his hand and didnât ask what happened.
âi donât know why i do it,â he said, eventually, voice hoarse. âi donât know why i canât justâ stay.â
you didnât have an answer for him. you werenât sure he wanted one. so you just sat there, the cold tile seeping through your jeans, and let him lean his weight against your shoulder, and thought about how unfair it was that he could break someoneâs heart and still be the one you wanted to hold.
the pattern repeated. sophomore year, there was a boy from the literature department, sharp-witted and sarcastic, who made satoru laugh in a way youâd never heard before. junior year, a girl from the business school, ambitious and polished, who matched him stride for stride. there were others, shorter ones, ones that barely lasted a month before satoru got restless, got distracted, got that faraway look in his eyes that youâd learned to recognize as the beginning of the end.
through all of it, you were there, you were always there. you were the constant, the steady ground beneath the pendulum of his affections, and youâd trained yourself to be grateful for that. you were his best friend. you were the one he came home to, the one he called at 2 a.m., the one who knew about the nightmares and the bad days and the moments when the armor felt too heavy to wear. it was enough. you made it enough.
by the time senior year rolled around, youâd gotten very good at being enough. youâd gotten very good at swallowing down the parts of yourself that wanted more, at folding your feelings into neat, manageable shapes and tucking them away where they couldnât cause trouble. youâd gotten very good at watching satoru fall into something that looked like love and climb back out of it, dusting himself off, leaving behind a trail of bewildered, heartbroken people who had all made the same mistake: thinking they could be the one who finally made him stay.
you envied them as much as you pitied them. you envied them because theyâd had something you couldnât even let yourself want, something real and tangible and reciprocated, even if only for a little while. you pitied them because you knew what it felt like to love satoru and not be loved back in the way you needed, and you wouldnât wish that on anyone.
you were twenty-one now, in the last year of university, and youâd been in love with your best friend for three years, two months, and fourteen days. you knew the exact number because youâd stopped counting somewhere around the two-year mark and then, in a moment of weakness, counted backwards from there. you were a little pathetic about it. youâd made peace with that.
so when you walked into your advanced sociology seminar on a gray tuesday afternoon and saw a boy youâd never seen before sitting in the seat you usually took, you didnât think much of it. you just said âoh, sorry, thatâs my usual spot,â and he looked up, and you stopped.
he was pretty. that was your first thought, immediate and involuntary. not pretty in the way satoru was prettyâ all sharp angles and blinding light and the kind of beauty that demanded attention. this was a different kind of pretty, more gentle. dark hair pulled back from his face, dark eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, a calm, steady presence that felt, somehow, like being in the shade after a long time in the sun.
âmy apologies,â he said. his voice was low and warm. âi didnât realize the seats were claimed.â
âyouâre not in trouble,â you said, because you realized youâd been staring and that was probably weird. âi can sit somewhere else.â
âdonât,â he said, and then he moved, sliding his bag off the chair next to him. âsit here. keep me company. i donât know anyone in this class.â
you hesitated for half a secondâ just long enough for the memory of another boy in another hallway to flicker through your mindâ and then you sat.
âiâm suguru,â he said, extending a hand. âgeto suguru.â
you gave him your name, and his smile widened just slightly, like he was pleased with it. ânice to meet you,â he said. âtell me something interesting about yourself.â
you laughed, because it was almost word-for-word what satoru had said to you four years ago, and because it was such a ridiculous coincidence that it felt like the universe was playing a joke on you.
âwhatâs funny?â suguru asked, and there was no offense in his voice, just curiosity.
ânothing,â you said. âjustâ someone else asked me that once. the first time we met.â
âah,â he said, with something in his expression that you couldnât quite read. âand what did you tell them?â
âthat i wasnât interesting,â you said, and then, because youâd been doing a lot of work on being less self-deprecating in your final year, you added, âwhich isnât true. i just didnât know it yet.â
suguru looked at you for a moment, those dark eyes steady and thoughtful, and said, âi suspect youâre more interesting than you give yourself credit for.â
you didnât know what to do with that. it was such a simple thing to say, such a small kindness, but it landed somewhere soft and unprotected in your chest, and you felt something shift.
you werenât sure what it was, you werenât sure you wanted to know, so you just smiled, and pulled out your notebook, and tried very hard to ignore the glances he kept throwing you, thinking he was discreet.
that night, you came home to find satoru sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his phone, one foot hanging off the edge. he looked up when you walked in, and his face did that thing it always did when he saw youâ brightened, softened.
âyouâre late,â he said. âi was getting lonely. i almost had to entertain myself.â
âthe horror,â you said, dropping your bag by the door. âhow did you survive?â
he grinned that easy grin of his, and sat up to make room for you. âbarely. tell me about your day. anything interesting happen?â
you thought about suguru. the warmth of his voice, the way heâd said your name, the small, unexpected sweetness of him telling you that you were interesting. about his gorgeous hair and his gorgeous eyes and his open smile. about whispered answers to his curious questions about the class ans quiet snickers.
âno,â you said, because it was easier than explaining something you didnât fully understand yourself. âsame old.â
satoru hummed, accepting this without question, and you sat down next to him and let him pull you into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you tried to ignore the way your heart was beating against your ribs, the way it always did when he was this close.
you were his best friend. you were the one he came home to.
it was enough. it had to be enough.
but something had shifted today, something small and maybe insignificant, and you couldnât quite shake the feeling that you were standing at the edge of something. something that might change everything.
you didnât know it yet, but satoru was about to feel the shift too. he just didnât know it yet, either.
.
.
.
the thing about advanced sociology was that youâd signed up for it because you needed the credit, not because you had any particular passion for sociological theory. youâd expected to spend your tuesdays and thursdays sitting in the back of the lecture hall, taking notes youâd never look at again, counting down the minutes until you could leave. just like always. that was the plan.
and then suguru sat down next to you, and the plan went quietly out the window.
a murmured observation about the professorâs lecture style, a shared eyeroll when someone in the front row asked a question that had already been answered twice. little things, the kind of things youâd do with any classmate you happened to sit next to. but then he started saving you a seat, and you started arriving a few minutes early so you could talk before the lecture started, and somewhere along the way, without you quite noticing it, advanced sociology became the class you looked forward to all week.
suguru was easy to talk to. that was the first thing you noticed, the thing that kept surprising you every time it happened. conversation with him wasnât work. you didnât have to perform, didnât have to be clever or super interesting or anything other than yourself. he asked questions and actually listened to the answers. he remembered things youâd told himâ small things, things youâd even forgotten youâd saidâ and brought them up later, casually, like it was normal to pay that much attention to another person.
âhow did your presentation go?â he asked one thursday, sliding into the seat next to you. âthe one you were stressed about.â
you blinked at him. youâd mentioned that presentation exactly once, in passing, a week and a half ago. âit went fine. how did you remember that?â
he shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. âyou seemed nervous about it. i was curious.â and that was it, just a quiet, consistent attention that made you feel, for the first time in a long time, like someone was actually seeing you.
you found yourself telling him things; not the things youâd tucked away in the deepest parts of yourself, but the small, everyday things that made up the shape of your life. your favorite coffee order. the way you organized your notes by color. the fact that youâd once cried over a commercial about a dog and hadnât lived it down since. he listened to all of it with the same patient, attentive expression, like each detail was something precious youâd chosen to share with him.
âyouâre very easy to talk to,â you told him one afternoon, the words slipping out before you could stop them. youâd been walking out of class together, the late autumn sunlight slanting through the windows, and something about the way it caught in his hair had made you lose your filter.
he looked at you, and his expression did something soft and complicated. âso are you,â he said. âeasier than most people.â
you were not, historically, easy to talk to. you were the person who stood at the edge of parties, who let satoru do all the social heavy lifting, who had spent most of her teenage years convinced that conversation was a skill sheâd simply never been taught. but with suguru, it was different. with suguru, the words came easily, naturally, like theyâd been there all along, waiting for someone to draw them out.
he was a mystery to you, that was the other thing. for all his openness, for all the way he seemed to lay himself bare in conversation, there was something about suguru that you couldnât quite pin down. he talked about his childhood in vague terms, his family a blur of affectionate distance. he mentioned friends from high school but never named them. he was present, fully and completely, in every conversation you had, but there was a stillness to him, a sense that there were depths you hadnât yet touched.
you wanted to touch them. that was the realization that crept up on you slowly, over weeks of shared lectures and coffee afterwards and once, memorably, a two-hour conversation in the library that had started with a question about marxist theory and somehow ended with both of you laughing so hard a librarian had shushed you.
you wanted to know him, all of him. the parts he kept tucked away, the parts he didnât show to people heâd only known for a few weeks. you wanted to be someone he showed those parts to.
and the way he looked at youâ god, the way he looked at you, like you were something fascinating and like he was cataloguing you, memorizing you, storing away every detail for later. it was the kind of attention that should have been overwhelming, that would have been overwhelming from anyone else, but from suguru it just felt⊠warm and steady, like being wrapped in a blanket on a cold day.
you found yourself preening under it. you couldnât help it; youâd catch yourself sitting up a little straighter when he walked into the room, speaking a little more carefully, trying to be the version of yourself that seemed to make him smile. and then youâd notice what you were doing and feel a flush of embarrassment, because you were not the kind of person who needed validation, who bloomed under attention, whoâ
who was currently trying very hard not to admit that she was developing a crush on a boy sheâd known for less than a month.
it felt pathetic, honestly. you were twenty-one years old. youâd spent the last three years quietly, steadfastly in love with your best friend, and now here you were, getting butterflies over a guy whoâd said you were easy to talk to. it wasnât even anything big, it was the bare minimum. it was nothing. it was⊠well.
it wasnât nothing. you knew it wasnât nothing. because suguru wasnât just a guy. he was thoughtful in a way that felt intentional, present in a way that felt rare. he didnât look at you like you were something to be conquered or figured out or fit neatly into a box. he looked at you like he was genuinely, simply, glad to be in your presence.
so when you caught yourself thinking, on the walk home from class one evening, that you might actually like suguruâ like like him, the way youâd liked satoru in the beginning, before it had calcified into something deeper and more painfulâ you didnât immediately shut it down. you let it sit there, in the quiet space of your mind, and you examined it.
you liked suguru. you liked the way he laughed, low and warm, like he was letting you in on a secret. you liked the way he tilted his head when he was thinking, the way his hair fell across his face. you liked the way he remembered things youâd told him, the way he asked questions that made you feel like your answers mattered. you liked the way he looked at you, like you were interesting, like you were worth paying attention to.
you liked him. it was a small, tentative thing, still fragile, still new. nothing like the consuming, years-long ache you carried for satoru. but it was there, and it was real, and for the first time in a very long time, you let yourself have it.
you told satoru about him on a friday night, the two of you sprawled across your apartmentâs worn couch with takeout containers balanced on your knees. it was your usual routineâ friday nights were yours, had been since freshman year, a sacred block of time that neither of you scheduled over with other plans. you watched bad movies and ate food that was bad for you and talked about nothing until the early hours of the morning.
it was the perfect time to mention suguru. casual, offhand, nothing that would make it into a bigger deal than it was.
âthereâs this guy in my sociology class,â you said, poking at your noodles with your chopsticks. âgeto suguru. heâs⊠nice.â
satoruâs attention sharpened. you saw it happen in real timeâ the way his posture shifted, the way his gaze flicked to your face and stayed there.
ânice,â he repeated, like he was testing the word. âwhat kind of nice?â
âjust nice,â you said, shrugging. âheâs easy to talk to. weâve been sitting together in class.â
âsitting together,â satoru said. heâd put his food down. his phone was face-down on the couch cushion next to him. his entire focus was on you in that particular way he had, the one that made you feel like you were the only person in the room. âlike, as friends? orâŠâ
âas friends,â you said, and then, because you werenât sure if that was entirely true anymore, you added, âi donât know. iâm not sure yet.â
there was a beat of silence. it was a strange silence, not the comfortable kind you were used to, but something taut and humming underneath.
âhuh,â satoru said. his voice was light, but there was something in his expression you couldnât quite read. âsuguru. thatâs a weird name.â
âitâs not weird,â you said, a little defensive. âitâs just not common.â
âsure,â he said, and then he grinned, and the strange tension in the room seemed to break. âso youâre telling me youâve got a secret boyfriend youâve been hiding from me? iâm wounded. truly. i thought we told each other everything.â
âheâs not my boyfriend,â you said, laughing despite yourself. âi just met him. weâve only talked in class.â
âuh huh,â satoru said. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, like you were about to tell him the most interesting story heâd ever heard. âtell me everything. what does he look like? is he tall? is he funny? is he smarter than me? heâs not smarter than me, right? thatâs not allowed.â
you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. âheâs⊠tall. about your height, i guess? dark hair, purplish eyes. heâs veryâ calm.â
âheâs not boring,â you said. and you must have said it with more force than you intended, because satoruâs eyebrows rose. âheâs just⊠different.â
âdifferent how?â
âi donât know,â you said, frustrated now. âhe listens. he remembers things. he makes me feel likeââ you stopped, because youâd been about to say like i matter, and that felt too honest, too raw, too much to say out loud to the person youâd been quietly in love with for years.
satoru was looking at you. his expression was strangeâ something flickering behind his eyes that youâd never seen before. if you didnât know better, youâd almost call it jealousy.
âmakes you feel like what?â he asked, his voice quieter, less teasing.
âlike iâm interesting,â you finished. it was the truth, just not the whole truth. âlike what i say matters.â
satoru was quiet for a long moment. he leaned back against the couch, a movement that seemed deliberate, careful, like he was putting distance between you without actually moving.
âwell,â he said, his voice was back to its usual brightness, but there was something forced about it now. âgood for you. about time someone else recognized how great you are.â
you laughed. that was what you did when things felt strangeâ you laughed, you deflected, you let the moment pass. âsomeone else? you barely recognize how great i am.â
âi recognize it constantly!â he said. he was grinning again, but it didnât quite reach his eyes. âiâm your biggest fan. iâve got the t-shirt and everything.â
âyou do not have a t-shirt.â
âiâll make one,â he said. ââworldâs best best friendâs biggest fan.â itâll be a hit.â
you threw a napkin at him and he caught it out of the air with that stupid reflexes he had, and the moment broke. you talked about other things after thatâ a movie satoru wanted to see, a professor whoâd been giving him a hard time, the usual rhythm of your livesâ but there was something underneath it all that lingered in the spaces between your words.
you told yourself you were imagining it. you told yourself that satoru was just surprised, that heâd get used to the idea, that it didnât mean anything. but you couldnât quite shake the way heâd looked at you. the way his voice had gone quiet. the way, for just a moment, heâd seemed almost⊠unsettled.
the double date suggestion came a week later, and it caught you so completely off guard that you nearly dropped your coffee.
youâd been telling satoru about your day when heâd interrupted you with the casual air of someone suggesting they order pizza.
âoh, by the way,â he said, scrolling through his phone, âyou should bring your sociology guy to that new ramen place with me and yuki this weekend.â
you stared at him. âwhat?â
âa double date,â he said, like it was obvious. âyou and suguru, me and yuki. itâll be fun.â
yuki. right. youâd almost forgotten about yuki. she was the latest in a line of girls satoru had been seeingâ youâd met her briefly, once, at a party. tall, confident, the kind of girl who looked like sheâd never been unsure of herself in her entire life. sheâd been with satoru for about three weeks now, which meant they were probably in the sweet spot where everything was still easy and fun, before the restlessness started to creep in.
âi donâtââ you started, but you didnât know what you wanted to say. you didnât know why satoru was suggesting this, why he was being so cheerful about it, why heâd gone from asking pointed questions about suguru to enthusiastically planning group outings.
âcome on,â satoru said, he was grinning now, that big, blinding grin that usually meant he was about to get his way. âyouâve been talking about this guy for weeks. i want to meet him. see if heâs good enough for my best friend.â
âi havenât been talking about him for weeks,â you said, because you hadnât. youâd mentioned him exactly once. satoru had been the one to bring him up since then, dropping his name into conversations with a kind of forced casualness that youâd been trying not to analyze.
âdetails,â satoru said, waving a hand. âso? saturday? iâll text you the time.â
you opened your mouth to say no. you had a hundred reasons to say noâ you werenât even sure if he was interested in you like that, the whole thing felt like it was moving too fast. but then you thought about suguruâs smile, the way he looked at you and the word that came out of your mouth was not no.
âokay,â you said. âiâll ask him.â
satoruâs grin didnât waver, but in his eyes was a flicker of something that made your stomach tighten. and then it was gone, and he was talking about the ramen place, about the best thing on the menu, about how yuki had been wanting to try it for weeks, and you let the conversation wash over you, your mind already turning to how you were going to ask suguru without making it weird.
you sent him a text that night, after youâd spent an embarrassingly long time typing and deleting and retyping the message.
you: hey, this is random, but my friend and his girlfriend are going to this ramen place on saturday and he suggested we make it a double date? no pressure if youâre not interested, just thought iâd ask
his reply came less than a minute later.
iâd love to. what time?
you stared at your phone for a long moment, a smile spreading across your face before you could stop it.
you told yourself it was just a casual outing, two friends bringing their respective people, no different from any other social engagement.
but your heart was beating a little faster, and your hands were a little warmer, and when you texted satoru back to confirm, you couldnât quite ignore the small, hopeful part of you that wondered what it might feel like to have someone look at you the way satoru looked at the girls he dated.
and if youâd been paying closer attention, you might have noticed that satoru took a little too long to reply. you might have noticed that his âgreat! see you saturday :)â came after a delay that wasnât like him, that he usually texted back instantly, that he was almost always on his phone.
but you didnât notice. you were too busy thinking about suguru, about saturday, about the strange, unfamiliar feeling of being looked at and liking it.
so you missed it. you missed the way satoru sat in the dark of your shared apartment for a long time after youâd gone to bed, phone in his hand, face unreadable.
.
.
.
the days leading up to saturday passed in a strange, suspended kind of anticipation. you found yourself thinking about the double date more than you wanted to admit, turning it over in your mind like a smooth stone, examining it from different angles. and somewhere in the process of that examination, you made a quiet, almost subconscious realization: suguru had become a distraction. a welcome one, a needed one, but a distraction nonetheless.
it wasnât that youâd stopped loving satoru. you didnât think that was something you could turn off, not after three years of letting it settle into your bones like marrow. but for the first time in a very long time, you werenât thinking about him constantly. the ache was still there, a low, familiar thrum beneath your ribs, but it had been joined by something elseâ something lighter, something that didnât hurt when you held it.
when you were with suguru, you werenât waiting. that was the thing. with satoru, you were always waitingâ waiting for him to notice, waiting for him to want you the way you wanted him, waiting for the moment when the restlessness that drove him from relationship to relationship would finally land on you and stay. youâd been waiting for three years, and youâd gotten very good at it, but you hadnât realized how exhausting it was until you stopped.
with suguru, there was no waiting. he was just⊠there. he was present and attentive and when you talked, he listened. when you laughed, he smiled like heâd been waiting to hear it. there was no performance, no guessing games, no wondering if the thing you felt was being reciprocated or if you were just reading too much into casual kindness.
it was so simple and you hadnât realized how much you needed simple.
so by the time saturday rolled around, you found yourself almost wishing it was just a date with suguru. just the two of you, no audience, no performance. you wanted to see what that would be likeâ to sit across from him in a quiet restaurant, to talk without the pressure of other people watching, to let yourself lean into the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time he looked at you.
but then you rounded the corner and saw satoru waiting outside the ramen place, and your thoughts scattered like startled birds.
he looked good. he always looked good, but tonight there was something deliberate about itâthe way his hair fell, the cut of his jacket, the casual confidence in the way he leaned against the wall. yuki was tucked under his arm, her hand in his, and they made a striking picture, the two of them. tall and beautiful and effortless, the kind of couple that made strangers glance twice as they walked by.
you felt it before you could stop itâ the familiar twist of jealousy, sharp and unwelcome, settling in your stomach. it wasnât the deep, aching kind youâd gotten used to over the years. it was smaller, meaner, a flash of something that felt almost like resentment. because there he was, with another girl, looking at her like she was something special, and you were standing here with your own maybe-something, trying not to let him see that it still stung.
you hated that it still stung. you hated that youâd spent all week thinking about suguru, that youâd almost convinced yourself you were moving on, and one look at satoru with his hand wrapped around someone elseâs was enough to undo it.
and then suguruâs hand was at the small of your back, warm and steady, and the jealousy flickered and died.
âyou okay?â he asked quietly, close enough that only you could hear.
you nodded, forcing a smile. âyeah. just a bit nervous.â
his hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary, a quiet reassurance. when he let it drop, the warmth of it stayed.
âhey!â satoru called out, spotting you. his face split into that familiar grin, bright and disarming, and he disentangled himself from yuki to walk toward you. âthere you are. we were starting to think youâd stood us up.â
âweâre five minutes early,â you said, grateful that your voice came out steady.
âstill,â satoru said, and then his gaze slid to suguru, and something shifted in his expression. it was subtleâ a tightening around his eyes, a slight curve to his smile that wasnât quite as warm as it had been a moment before. âso this is the famous geto suguru.â
âgojo satoru,â suguru said, his voice calm, pleasant, with a slight edge. a note of assessment that just appeared. âiâve heard a lot about you.â
âall good things, i hope,â satoru said, not hiding the challenge in the way he said it, a testing of waters.
âall interesting things,â suguru replied. his smile didnât waver.
the air between them crackled. you felt it, a sudden tension that hadnât been there before, and you realized with a small jolt that you were watching two people size each other up. it was subtle, almost imperceptible if you didnât know what to look for, but you knew satoru. you knew the way he stood when he was establishing dominance, the way his shoulders squared, the way his gaze went just a fraction sharper. and suguruâ suguru was meeting him beat for beat, not backing down, not rising to the bait, just standing there with that quiet, unshakeable calm that made you feel like you were in the presence of something immovable.
yuki cleared her throat. âshould we go in? iâm starving.â
the tension broke. satoru laughed, easy and bright, and threw an arm around yukiâs shoulders. âright, right. food first. letâs go.â
he led the way inside, yuki at his side, and you fell into step beside suguru. his hand found your back again, just briefly, a quick touch that said iâm here, and you felt something unclench in your chest.
the ramen place was small and warm, the kind of hole-in-the-wall that served the best food and didnât care about aesthetics. you were seated at a table by the window, a booth that forced you and suguru to sit on one side and satoru and yuki on the other. the proximity was good, you told yourself. it meant you could focus on suguru, on the menu, on anything other than the way satoruâs knee was pressed against yukiâs under the table.
the first few minutes were easy. everyone ordered, made small talk about the menu, debated the merits of tonkotsu versus shoyu. yuki asked suguru about his majorâ he was studying literature, which, when you found out, surprised you and also didnât. he had the vibes of someone who spent a lot of time with books, the kind of person who read slowly and remembered everything.
âliterature,â satoru said, and there was something in his voice that made you look up. âso youâre one of those people who thinks they can see into the human condition by reading about it.â
suguruâs eyebrows rose slightly. âi think literature is one way of understanding people, yes. do you disagree?â
âi think understanding people is about being with them,â satoru said. ânot reading about them. you canât learn how to be in a relationship from a book.â
âthatâs not really what literature is for,â suguru said, his voice still calm, but you could hear the undercurrent now. âitâs not a manual. itâs a mirror.â
âa mirror,â satoru repeated. he smiled, but it didnât reach his eyes. âthatâs very poetic.â
âis that a bad thing?â
you glanced at yuki. she was watching the exchange with an expression that looked a lot like the one you were trying to hideâ a kind of bemused discomfort, the look of someone whoâd stumbled into a conversation they hadnât signed up for.
âso,â you said, too brightly, âyuki, how did you and satoru meet?â
it was a clumsy deflection, but it worked. you actually knew the story yuki launched intoâ a party, a mutual friend, the usualâ but at least the tension at the table eased. satoru played along, adding details, making her laugh, being the charming, easy version of himself that everyone loved. but you caught him glancing at suguru when he thought no one was looking, and you caught suguru doing the same, and the tension was just there, simmering.
the ramen came, and for a while, conversation was suspended in favor of food. yours was goodâ rich, savory, exactly what you neededâ but you found yourself eating without tasting it, too aware of the dynamics at the table. satoru was being more attentive to yuki than youâd ever seen him be with anyone, draping his arm over the back of her seat, leaning in to murmur things in her ear, touching her wrist, her hand, her shoulder. it was performative, you realized. not the affection itself, maybe, but the display of it. like he was putting on a show.
and suguru, for his part, was doing something similar. not as overtly, not with the same flashy charm, but you could feel it in the way he angled his body toward you, the way he made sure your water glass was full, the way he asked you questions and listened to your answers with a focus that felt pointed, like he was demonstrating something, as if he was saying, without words, this is how you treat someone.
you didnât know how to feel about it. flattered, maybe. or confused. or like you were caught in the middle of something you didnât fully understand.
âso, suguru,â satoru said, setting down his chopsticks. âwhat do you do for fun? besides reading, i mean.â
suguru considered the question. âi cook. i hike. i spend time with people i care about.â
âcooking,â satoru said. âimpressive. i can barely make toast without setting off the fire alarm.â
âyou set off the fire alarm making toast?â yuki asked, chuckling.
âit was a very aggressive toaster,â satoru said, and everyone laughed, including you, because youâd been there for that incident and it was funny. but satoruâs gaze flicked to you when you laughed, his expression turning more pleased. then it moved to suguru, watching to see how he reacted.
suguru was smiling, however it was a little dismissive. âaggressive toasters are the worst,â he said mildly.
the conversation continued like that, a strange dance of words and silences. every time satoru made a joke, suguru responded with quiet, understated humor. every time suguru said something thoughtful or humorous, satoru found a way to make it sound pretentious. they were circling each other, testing weaknesses, looking for openings. and you and yuki were caught in the middle, exchanging glances across the table that said, more clearly than words, what is happening right now?
you almost laughed. you didnât, because that would have been weird, but you almost did.
by the time the meal was over, you were exhausted. the food had been good, but the undercurrent of competition had drained you in a way you hadnât expected. you found yourself craving quiet, craving the simple ease of being alone with suguru, without the strange, charged presence of satoru watching every interaction.
outside the restaurant, the evening air was cool and sharp. satoru had his arm around yuki again, pulling her close against the chill. âthat was fun,â he said. he sounded like he meant it. âwe should do it again.â
âmaybe,â you said, noncommittal. you werenât doing it again.
satoruâs gaze moved between you and suguru, and something flickered in his expressionâ a quick, unreadable thing that was gone before you could identify it. âyou two heading home?â
âwe might walk around a bit,â suguru said, and his hand found yours. you felt your face heat up, eyes immediately jumping up to see satoruâs reaction. âitâs a nice night.â
satoru looked at your joined hands just for a second, long enough for you to see something tighten in his jaw before he smiled. âsure. have fun. donât stay out too late.â
âwe wonât,â you said sheepishly. then, because you didnât know what else to do, you said goodbye to yuki, who gave you a small, knowing smile that made you feel seen in a way you werenât sure you liked.
soon they were gone, walking down the street together, satoruâs arm still around her, his head bent toward hers like they were sharing secrets. you watched them for a moment. the jealousy was there again, but it was distant now. muted, like hearing music from another room.
suguruâs thumb brushed across your knuckles. âyou okay?â
you turned to look at him. in the soft glow of the streetlights, he looked softer somehow, the sharp edges of the dinner conversation smoothed away. he was looking at you with that expression youâd come to recognizeâ patient, attentive.
âyeah,â you meant it. âletâs walk.â
you found a quiet street a few blocks away, lined with old trees and closed shops, the kind of place that felt removed from the rest of the city. you walked in silence for a while, your hand still in suguruâs, and it was nice. easy. the tension of the evening slowly draining away with each step.
âso,â suguru said eventually. the careful quality to his voice made you tense a little, like he was choosing his words with precision. âsatoru.â
you braced yourself. âwhat about him?â
âheâsâŠâ suguru paused. you could see him searching for the right word. âintense.â
you laughed. that was one way to put it. âyeah. he can be.â
âyouâve been friends for a while?â
âsince the entrance exams,â you said. âweâve lived together for most of it.â
suguru nodded slowly. âheâs very⊠protective of you.â
you frowned. âwhat do you mean?â
âthe way he looked at me tonight,â suguru said. âlike he was evaluating me. deciding if i was good enough.â he glanced at you, a small smile playing at his lips. âit was a little intimidating, honestly.â
âyou didnât seem intimidated.â
âiâm good at hiding it.â
you didnât believe that for a second, but you appreciated the attempt at humility. âsatoruâs just like that. heâs always been protective. it doesnât mean anything.â
suguru was quiet for a moment, before he nudged you, voicing gently, âdoesnât it?â
you stopped walking. âuh. whatâs that supposed to mean?â
he stopped too, turning to face you. in the dim light, his expression was hard to read, but his voice was soft when he spoke. âiâm not trying to pry. i just⊠i notice things. the way you looked at him tonight. the way he looked at you.â
your heart was beating faster now, a nervous flutter in your chest. âi donât know what you mean.â
suguruâs gaze was steady, kind, but the perceptiveness of it made you feel like you couldnât hide.
âyou donât have to tell me anything,â he said. âi just want you to know that i see you. all of you. and iâm not going anywhere.â
you stood there, in the middle of a quiet street, with his hand warm in yours, and you felt something crack open in your chest. something youâd been holding closed for a very long time.
âitâs complicated,â you said finally. your voice came out smaller than you intended.
âit usually is,â suguru said, not pushing. he just waited, patient as always, giving you the space to decide what you wanted to share.
you took a breath. âiâve known him for four years. heâs my best friend. and for three of those years, iâve beenâŠâ you stopped, the words sticking in your throat. youâd never said it out loud. not to anyone. not even to yourself, really, not in a way that felt real.
suguruâs hand tightened around yours. âyouâve been in love with him.â
âyeah,â you said. âyeah, i have.â
suguru was looking at you with something that might have been understanding, or maybe sadness, or maybe something else entirely.
âand now?â he asked.
you thought about it. about the years of waiting, of watching, of wanting. about the way satoruâs hand had looked wrapped around yukiâs. about the strange, competitive energy that had filled the restaurant tonight. about the way suguru had been there, steady and warm, through all of it.
âi donât know,â you said honestly. âiâm trying to figure it out.â
suguru nodded slowly. then he lifted your joined hands, pressed a kiss to your knuckles and let them fall back to your side.
âthatâs okay,â he said. âtake your time. iâm not going anywhere.â
you looked at him, at the quiet sincerity in his face, and you saw a door that had been cracked open, letting in a little light.
âthank you,â you meant it more than youâd meant anything in a long time.
he smiled.
âcome on,â he said, tugging you gently back into motion. âletâs finish our walk. thereâs a good spot for watching the city lights a few blocks up. iâll show you.â
you let him pull you forward, your hand in his, the night air cool on your face. briefly, you let yourself imagine a future that didnât revolve around waiting for satoru gojo to love you back.
.
.
.
the thing about dating suguru was that it was good. it was so, so good, and that was what made it hard.
you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. for the moment when the easy warmth of his attention would cool, when the quiet steadiness of his presence would reveal itself as something elseâ boredom, maybe, or impatience, or the same restless hunger for novelty that youâd grown used to from the other people in your life.
but the shoe never dropped. suguru was exactly who he seemed to be: attentive, thoughtful, present. when he said he wanted to spend time with you, he meant it. when he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he kept looking, even when you werenât saying anything interesting, even when you were just sitting together in comfortable silence, even when you were so deep in your own head that youâd forgotten he was there.
it was good. it was so, so good. and yet.
the thought lingered in the back of your mind, a low hum you couldnât quite tune out. suguru knows. suguru knows youâre in love with your best friend. youâd told him that night, standing on a quiet street with his hand wrapped around yours, and heâd taken it with that same unshakeable calm he brought to everything. no judgment, no jealousyâ at least, none that he showed. just a quiet understanding that had made you feel seen in a way that was both a relief and a terror.
because if suguru had noticed, if heâd looked at you for a few weeks and seen the shape of the thing youâd been carrying for three years, then who else had noticed? had it been that obvious all along? had you been walking around with your heart written on your sleeve, broadcasting your feelings to anyone who cared to look?
and the worst thought, the one that crept in at night when you were trying to fall asleep, the one that made your stomach clench and your breath catch: does satoru know?
you didnât think so. you couldnât think so. because if satoru knew, surely he would have said something. surely he would have looked at you differently, treated you differently, put distance between you or, worse, pulled you closer in that careless, thoughtless way he had, the way that made everything harder. he would have done something. the fact that he hadnâtâ that he still threw his arm around your shoulders, still sprawled across the couch with his feet in your lap, still looked at you with that easy, uncomplicated affection that had been the same since you were seventeenâ meant he didnât know. he couldnât know.
you held onto that. you had to.
however, another thing about dating suguru was that it changed the shape of your life in ways you hadnât anticipated. the change that happened in the margins, in the spaces between things, so gradual that you almost didnât notice it happening until one day you looked up and realized the landscape had shifted.
you spent less time at the apartment, that was the biggest thing. not because you were avoiding satoruâ you told yourself you werenât avoiding him, that you were just busy, that it was natural to spend more time with the person you were datingâ but the math was simple.
there were only so many hours in a day and more and more of them were filling up with suguru. coffee in the mornings, walks between classes, long evenings that started with dinner and somehow stretched into midnight without either of you noticing.
heâd introduced you to his favorite used bookstore and youâd lost an entire saturday there, sitting on the floor between the stacks, reading passages aloud to each other until your voices went hoarse. youâd cooked togetherâ or rather, heâd cooked and youâd sat on the counter and watched, stealing vegetables from the cutting board while he pretended to be annoyed. youâd hiked the trails behind the university, the ones youâd always meant to explore but never had, and heâd pointed out birds and plants and told you their names like he was introducing you to old friends.
it was good. it was so, so good.
and when you came home, satoru was usually there. on the couch, in the kitchen, sprawled across his bed with his laptop open, always with some excuse for why he hadnât gone out. nothing good on, heâd say, or yuki was busy, or too tired, or just felt like staying in. and youâd drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes and fall into the familiar rhythm of your shared spaceâ the easy banter, the way heâd complain about his day and youâd pretend not to listen and heâd know you were really listening so heâd keep talking anyway because that was just what you did.
but the rhythm was different now. the way satoru would glance at the clock when you came in, like he was calculating how long youâd been gone. the way heâd ask about suguru with a smile that was maybe a little too bright, a little too quick. the way the silences between you had shifted, grown heavier, filled with things neither of you was saying.
the movie nights were the first to go. you didnât plan it that wayâ it just happened. friday would roll around and suguru would text you about a new place he wanted to try, or a book heâd found that he thought youâd like, or just what are you doing? and youâd say nothing and then you were with him, and the night was over before you remembered that fridays were supposed to be yours.
it happened once, and then twice, and then enough times that you stopped thinking of fridays as sacred. and satoru never said anything. he never called you out, never made you feel guilty, never even mentioned it. when youâd come home on saturday morning, heâd be there, making coffee or scrolling through his phone, and heâd look up and say âheyâ like it was any other day and nothing had changed.
but things have changed. you felt it in the way youâd catch yourself checking your phone during class, wondering if satoru had texted. in the way youâd pause outside the apartment door sometimes, taking a breath before going in, trying to remember who you were supposed to be on the other side. in the way youâd lie in bed at night, in the room that was yours alone now because satoru had stopped knocking on your door when the nightmares came, and you didnât know if that was because the nightmares had stopped or because heâd learned not to bother you.
you missed him. that was the truth of it, the thing you didnât want to admit to yourself because it felt like a betrayal. you missed suguru when you werenât with him, tooâ that was the confusing part, the part that made everything feel tangled and messy. you liked suguru. you liked him so much it scared you sometimes, the way your heart would lift when his name lit up your phone, the way youâd catch yourself smiling for no reason, the way his hand in yours felt like coming home to somewhere youâd never been before.
but you missed satoru. you missed the way heâd sprawl across the couch with his head in your lap, complaining about nothing, while you pretended to watch the movie. you missed the late-night conversations that started about nothing and somehow ended with you both laughing so hard you couldnât breathe. you missed the way heâd look at you sometimes, like you were the only person in the world who really saw him, and youâd feel, for a moment, like maybe that was true.
you missed what you had and you didnât know if what you had was gone, or just... smaller. the shape of it had changed, and you couldnât tell if that was naturalâ the way friendships shifted when new people came into your lifeâ or if it was something else. something youâd done, some choice youâd made without realizing it, some line youâd crossed that you couldnât uncross.
because it was only appropriate, wasnât it? to give more of your time and attention to the person you were dating. to prioritize him, to let him in, to build something new. that was what you were supposed to do. that was how it worked.
you couldnât keep spending every friday night on the couch with satoru, couldnât keep treating him like the center of your universe when you were trying to build a life that included someone else. it wasnât fair to suguru. it wasnât fair to you, either, not reallyâ not when every moment with satoru was a reminder of what you couldnât have, a thread pulling you back toward something you were trying to let go of.
this was good. this was what you needed. distance, space, the chance to let the feelings youâd been carrying for three years finally, finally fade.
right?
.
.
.
you were lying in bed one night, staring at the ceiling, when you heard it. satoruâs door opening, soft footsteps in the hallway. the sound of the refrigerator opening, closing. the creak of the couch as he sat down.
you waited for the knock on your door. the familiar patternâ three soft raps, a pause, two more. the sheepish expression when you opened it, the way heâd rub the back of his neck and say something like sorry, couldnât sleep or bad dream or just can iâŠ? and youâd move over and heâd crawl into your bed and curl up at the end like an overgrown cat, and the weight of him there, the sound of his breathing, would be enough to quiet the world.
but the knock didnât come.
you lay there, listening to the silence from the living room, and you didnât know if you were relieved or devastated.
maybe both. maybe that was the problemâ that you were always both, always caught between two things, always wanting what you couldnât have and not knowing what to do with what you did.
you thought about suguru. the way heâd kissed you goodnight earlier, a slow, sweet thing that had left you warm and wanting. the way heâd said text me when you get home because it mattered to him that you were safe. the way he looked at you, always, like you were something precious, something worth protecting.
you liked him. you really, really liked him.
but you also, in the quiet dark of your room, with satoru sitting alone in the living room and not knocking on your door, you let yourself admit that you missed him very much. that you missed the way things were before. that some part of you, some stubborn, stupid part that you couldnât seem to kill no matter how hard you tried, was still waiting.
you closed your eyes and told yourself it would fade. that eventually, youâll wake up one morning and not feel the ache of him in your chest like a bruise you kept pressing on.
this was good. this was what you needed.
it was good.
in the living room, satoru sat on the couch in the dark, his phone dark in his hand, your closed door at the end of the hallway. heâd been sitting there for an hour, maybe longer. long enough that the takeout heâd orderedâ your usual, the one from the place you both liked, the one heâd bought without thinkingâ had gone cold on the coffee table.
heâd meant to knock. heâd walked to your door twice, hand raised, ready. but each time, heâd stopped himself. because what was he supposed to say? i miss you? why arenât you here anymore? who is this guy and why does he get to have you when iâ
he didnât finish the thought. he never finished the thought. it was easier, safer, to let it trail off into nothing, to push it down into the place where all the things he didnât want to look at lived.
he picked up his phone again. scrolled through his messages. yuki had texted him earlierâ something about a party next weekend, something about we should go, itâll be funâ and heâd read it and put the phone down and not responded. he didnât know why. yuki was nice. yuki was easy. yuki didnât make him feel like he was standing on the edge of something he couldnât name.
he looked at your door again, thought about the way youâd smiled lately, when heâd asked how your day was. the way youâd said good in that voice that meant you were somewhere else, thinking about someone else.
he thought about suguru. the quiet confidence, the steady gaze, the way heâd looked at you like you were the only person in the room. the way youâd looked back.
satoru set his phone down. picked up the cold takeout container. stared at it for a long moment, then put it back down. he sat on the couch, in the dark, and waited for morning.
satoru gojo is not a person who spends a lot of time thinking about his own feelings. this is not an accident. it is a deliberate, carefully cultivated skill, honed over years of practice, and he is very good at it. feelings are messy. feelings are complicated. feelings are the kind of thing that make you do stupid things, like stay up too late and say things you canât take back and wake up in the middle of the night with your chest caved in and no idea why.
so he doesnât think about them. he doesnât think about the way his stomach tightens when you laugh or the way his day feels incomplete if he hasnât heard your voice or the way heâs been measuring every person heâs ever dated against a standard he didnât realize he was setting until it was too late to lower it.
he doesnât think about it. heâs very good at not thinking about it.
but lately, not thinking about it has become harder and he knows exactly when it started, even if he wonât say it out loud. it started with a name. suguru. it started with the way you said it and the way something in his chest went tight and cold at the sound of it. it started with the way you started coming home later, and the way youâd smile at your phone when you thought he wasnât looking, and the way youâd say suguru and i like it was the most natural thing in the world, like your world had always included someone elseâs name next to yours.
he doesnât think about it. he doesnât.
he met you at the entrance exams. he remembers it clearlyâ remembers the way you were standing against the wall, trying to take up as little space as possible, like you were apologizing for existing. he remembers thinking, why is that person trying to disappear? and then, immediately after, i should talk to them. he was seventeen and he was already the kind of person who talked to everyone, who collected friends the way other people collected coins, easily and without much thought.
he just knew that you looked like you needed someone to tell you that you were allowed to take up space, and he was very good at telling people things. so he walked over, and he said somethingâ he doesnât remember what, something stupid probably, something designed to make you laughâ and you looked at him with those eyes, and he felt something shift in his chest. something he didnât have a name for.
he still doesnât have a name for it. heâs been calling it friendship for four years, and thatâs worked well enough.
you were his first best friend. thatâs something he doesnât talk about, not to anyone. heâd had friends beforeâ lots of them, always, because he was the kind of person people gravitated toward, the kind of person who made everything brighter just by being there, but heâd never had a best friend. heâd never had someone he wanted to come home to, someone he wanted to tell everything, someone whose presence made the noise in his head quiet down.
you were the first person who made him want to be better. not for any reason or because you asked or expected or even seemed to notice, but because when he was around you, he wanted to be the kind of person who deserved to be around you. he wanted to remember things. he wanted to show up on time. he wanted to be someone you could count on, someone you could trust, someone who wouldnât leave you standing against a wall trying to disappear.
you raised the standard. thatâs a thing he doesnât let himself think about, not really. you raised the standard so quietly, so gently, that he didnât even notice it happening until one day he looked at the girl he was datingâ some girl, any girl, they all blurred together after a whileâ and realized she didnât make him want to be better. she didnât make him want anything, really. she was just⊠there and he was just⊠going through the motions.
heâs been going through the motions for a long time, he knows that. he knows thereâs something wrong with him, something that makes him get bored, get restless, get that itch under his skin that tells him to move on, move forward, donât look back. heâs broken up with more people than he can count, and every time, he tells himself itâs because they werenât right, because thereâs someone out there who will make it stick, who will make him want to stay.
but he knows, somewhere deep down, that heâs been looking for you in every person heâs ever dated. and no one has ever come close.
he doesnât think about it. he doesnât.
but then you said suguru, and suddenly he couldnât stop thinking about it.
he hates suguru. he tells himself itâs not jealousyâ heâs not jealous, why would he be jealous, youâre his best friend, he wants you to be happy, of course he wants you to be happyâ but he hates suguru with a clarity that scares him. he hates the way suguru looks at you, like heâs reading you, like heâs seeing something thatâs supposed to be private. he hates the way suguru is calm, always calm, like nothing can touch him, like heâs above all the messy, complicated feelings that keep satoru up at night.
he hates that suguru is perceptive. he hates that suguru seems to see through him, past the jokes and the grins and the easy charm, to something heâs been hiding for so long heâs almost forgotten itâs there. he hates the way suguruâs hand found yours that night, casual and confident, like he had a right to it. like heâd earned it.
and the worst part is that he canât even hate suguru for how he treats you, because suguru treats you right. satoru has been watching, has been cataloguing every interaction, every small gesture, every glance, looking for something he can use, something he can point to and say see? heâs not good enough. but thereâs nothing.
and thatâs the thing that keeps satoru up at night, because suguru treats you right and suguru looks at you the way satoru has been looking at you for four years without letting himself name it and suguru is doing what satoru has been too scared to do, and heâs doing it right.
satoru doesnât know what to do with that. he doesnât know what to do with the fact that someone else has figured out what took him years to even admit to himself. he doesnât know what to do with the fact that youâre happyâ you are happy, he can see it, he can see the way you smile now, the way you carry yourself, the way youâve stopped trying to disappearâ and that happiness is coming from someone who isnât him anymore
he should be happy for you. he is happy for you. he wants you to be happy, heâs always wanted that, and if suguru is the one who can give you that, thenâŠ
then what? then he just⊠steps aside? then he watches you fall in love with someone else, watches someone else get to hold your hand and make you laugh and be the person you come home to, and he just⊠accepts it?
he thinks about telling you. sometimes, in the dark, when heâs lying in bed and the walls feel too close and the silence is too loud, he thinks about walking to your door and knocking and saying iâve been in love with you since we were seventeen and letting whatever happens happen. but then he thinks about your faceâ the way youâd look at him, the confusion, the pity, the careful way youâd let him down because youâre too kind to hurt him even when heâs hurting youâ and he canât. he canât do it. because if he tells you and you donât feel the same way, he loses you. and losing you is the only thing heâs ever been truly afraid of.
so he doesnât tell you. he doesnât think about it. he buries it down deep, where itâs always been, and he keeps being your best friend. he keeps being the person you come home to, the person who saves you the last piece of whatever heâs eating, the person who makes you laugh when youâre stressed. he keeps being enough.
except now thereâs suguru. and suddenly enough doesnât feel like enough anymore.
yuki is nice. yuki is pretty. yuki is everything he should wantâ smart, confident, the kind of girl who doesnât need him to be anything other than what he is. when heâs with her, he doesnât have to try. he doesnât have to think. he can just be satoru, the easy one, the charming one, the one who makes everything fun.
but heâs getting bored. heâs always getting bored, thatâs the problem, thatâs the thing he hates about himself. three weeks in and already the conversations feel rote, the touches feel automatic, the whole thing feels like a script heâs read before. he catches himself thinking about you when heâs with her. your laugh, your voice, the way youâd react to something he said. he catches himself comparingâ not out loud, never out loud, but in his head, where he canât help it. yuki wouldnât get that joke. yuki wouldnât have stayed up with me when i couldnât sleep. yuki doesnât look at me the way you look at me.
he should break up with her. he knows he should break up with her. itâs not fair to keep her around when heâs already checked out, when his mind is always somewhere else, with someone else. but every time he thinks about ending it, he thinks about suguru. about the double date, about the way suguruâs hand was on your back, about the way you looked at him. and he thinks about what it would mean to show up alone, to be the one without a date, to have to watch you and suguru together while he has nothing.
itâs stupid, itâs so stupid. heâs never had trouble finding someone to date, has never been without options, has never been the kind of person who needs to cling to a relationship thatâs already over. but this isnât about yuki. it never was about yuki.
itâs about proving something, heâs not even sure what. maybe that he can be stable or can be in a relationship or he can be the kind of person who doesnât get bored and move on. maybe that he doesnât need you, that heâs fine, that his life is full and happy and doesnât revolve around waiting for you to see him. maybe that heâs not jealous, that he doesnât care about suguru, that he can have his own thing and be perfectly content while you build something with someone else.
maybe itâs just that letting go of yuki would mean admitting that none of it matters. that she was never going to make him feel the way you do, no one is, and heâs been chasing something for four years and heâs never going to catch it.
so he stays with yuki. he texts her back, makes plans, shows up. he lets her wrap her arms around him and talk about her day and laugh at his jokes. and he thinks about you the whole time.
why does he even care? the question circles in his head at 3 a.m., when heâs staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out why his chest feels like itâs caving in. why does it matter if youâre dating someone? why does it matter if that someone is perceptive and calm and looks at you like youâre the only person in the world? why does it matter that youâre happy, that youâre smiling more, for other reasons than him?
you deserve everything suguru seems to be giving you, and more.
so why does it feel like heâs losing something? why does it feel like every day you spend with suguru is a day youâre slipping further away from him, and heâs just standing here, watching it happen, too scared to reach out and grab you?
because heâs in love with you. heâs been in love with you since you told him you werenât interesting and he knew, instantly, that you were the most interesting person heâd ever met. heâs been in love with you through every relationship, every breakup, every late night and early morning and moment in between. heâs been in love with you so long that he doesnât remember what it felt like before.
and heâs never said a word because saying it would change everything, and heâs not brave enough to find out what that change would look like.
he is a coward.
so he sits on the couch in the dark. he lets the takeout go cold. he doesnât knock on your door. and he tells himself that this is what it means to love someoneâ to let them go, to let them be happy, to stand in the background and watch them bloom under someone elseâs attention.
he tells himself that and he almost believes it.
when he closes his eyes, he sees your face. he sees the way you looked at him that first day, he sees the way you laugh, the way you say his name, the way you exist in his life like you were always meant to be there. and he thinks about suguruâs hand on you, and he thinks about your smile when you say his name, and he thinks about how heâs never going to be the one to make you look like that.
heâs satoru gojo. heâs the one who has everything. heâs the one people envy, the one who moves through life like it was designed for him, the one who never has to try.
but right now, sitting in the dark, listening to the silence of your apartment, heâs never felt more like heâs lost something he never had the courage to reach for. he doesnât know what to do with any of it.
so he doesnât think about it. he doesnât think about you, or suguru, or the way his chest feels like itâs splitting open. he doesnât think about the words heâll never say, the confession heâll never make, the life he could have had if heâd been just a little bit braver.
he doesnât think about any of it.
he sits on the couch. he waits for morning. and he tells himself that this is enough.
.
.
.
it started, as most of satoruâs better ideas did, with him staring at his phone in the middle of a lecture he wasnât listening to.
heâd been doing that a lot lately. staring at his phone. scrolling through your messagesâ the ones from before, the ones when you still texted him throughout the day, stupid things and funny things and things that didnât matter except that they were from you. the messages had become less frequent lately. not gone, but different; shorter, more gaps between them. heâd catch himself typing something, then deleting it, because he didnât want to bother you or interrupt whatever you were doing with suguru, didnât want to be the needy best friend who couldnât let go.
but today, sitting in the back of a lecture hall while some professor droned on about something he was supposed to care about, he had a thought, one that felt, suddenly, like the most obvious thing in the world.
you were still his best friend, werenât you?
that couldnât change. four years of inside jokes and late-night conversations and knowing each other in ways no one else didâ that wasnât something that disappeared just because someone new had entered the picture. he was allowed to want to spend time with you. he was allowed to miss you. he was allowed to want to do things with you, just the two of you, without it meaning anything more than what it was: two best friends hanging out, the way they always had.
there was nothing weird about that. nothing that anyone could point to and say look, heâs in love with her, look how pathetic he is.
it was just⊠friendship. the same friendship youâd had since you were seventeen. the same friendship that had been the most important thing in his life for four years.
so why shouldnât he act on it?
he was out of his seat before heâd fully formed the thought, shoving his laptop into his bag, ignoring the confused look from the person next to him. he slipped out the side door of the lecture hall, his heart beating faster than it had any right to, and pulled out his phone.
his fingers moved before he could talk himself out of it.
hey. cancel your plans for saturday. iâm taking you somewhere.
he stared at the message for a moment, the cursor blinking, and then he added:
donât argue. just be ready at 12.
he hit send before he could second-guess himself. he stood in the hallway, phone clutched in his hand, waiting.
the reply came a minute later, maybe less, yet it felt like forever.
silly gooseđȘż: what?? where are we going
he grinned. he couldnât help it.
itâs a surprise. wear comfortable shoes. and no, iâm not telling you anything else.
he could picture you reading the message, could picture the way youâd tilt your head, the way youâd chew on your bottom lip while you decided whether to push for more information.
silly gooseđȘż: youâre being very mysterious
thatâs the point
silly gooseđȘż: fine but if itâs one of your surprise where we end up in the police station again and your father has to bail us out iâm not going
he laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.
itâs not that. i promise. just trust me.
silly gooseđȘż: okay. i trust you.
he stared at those three words for longer than was probably normal.
he pocketed his phone and walked out of the building into the afternoon sun, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe.
.
.
.
saturday noon arrived the way satoru had been willing it to arriveâ slow enough to build anticipation, fast enough that he didnât lose his nerve. heâd been up since six, which was ridiculous. he just couldnât sleep. he kept running through the plan in his head, checking and rechecking details that didnât need checking, making sure everything was perfect.
it wasnât a date. he told himself that again, firmly, as he stood in front of his closet for the third time, trying to decide what to wear. it wasnât a date. it was two friends spending the day together. that was all. so why did it matter what he wore? why did he care if his hair was doing the thing it did sometimes, the thing that made it fall just right? why had he gone to the convenience store yesterday and bought your favorite snacks without even thinking about it, like it was instinct, like his body knew what you wanted before his brain caught up?
it wasnât a date. it was just⊠him being your friend, being the person who knew you, who remembered the things you liked, who wanted to make you smile.
that was allowed. that was normal. that was fine.
he settled on something simpleâ jeans, a soft sweater, his favorite sunglassesâ and tried not to look at himself in the mirror too long. when he heard your door open at 11:58, he was already in the living room, pretending to be absorbed in his phone, trying to look like he hadnât been waiting for this moment all week.
you came out of your room and he looked up and there it was, that thing that happened every time he saw you, the thing heâd never been able to explain or control or make go away. the way his heart did a small, stupid flip in his chest. the way the rest of the world seemed to blur at the edges, like someone had turned down the focus on everything that wasnât you.
you were wearing something simpleâ jeans, a top, a jacketâ and your hair looked like you hadnât put too much effort in, and you were the most beautiful thing heâd ever seen. you always were, thatâs how he distinguished you in a room full of people.
âokay,â you said, pulling your keys out of your pocket. âiâm ready. are you going to tell me where weâre going yet, or are you committed to the mystery?â
he grinned, pushing off from the couch, sliding his sunglasses into place. âcommitted to the mystery. get in the car.â
you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. âif this is another one of your schemesââ
âitâs not a scheme! itâs a surprise. thereâs a difference.â
âis there?â
âa huge difference. schemes are nefarious. surprises are delightful. like me.â
the drive took about forty minutes. you spent most of it trying to guess where he was taking youâ guessing every amusement park, every tourist attraction, every vaguely interesting thing within a two-hour radiusâ and he spent most of it deflecting, making up ridiculous answers, watching you laugh out of the corner of his eye. the radio was playing something forgettable, the windows were down just enough to let the autumn air in, and for a while, it was easy. it was the way things used to be, before everything got complicated, before suguru, before he started measuring every moment in terms of what he was losing.
âokay, final guess,â you said, as he turned onto the access road. âif itâs not the boardwalk and itâs not the botanical gardens and itâs not that weird museum with the taxidermyââ
âthat was one time.â
ââthen it has to beââ you stopped as the entrance came into view, and your mouth dropped open. âwait. is thisââ
âthe new amusement park,â he said, trying to sound casual, like he hadnât been waiting for the perfect moment to bring you here. âi heard they opened last month. thought we should check it out.â
you turned to look at him, your faceâ he wanted to bottle that expression and keep it somewhere safe. the surprise, the delight, the way your eyes went wide and bright. âsatoruââ
âyou said you wanted to come when it opened. remember? you saw the article about it, back when they first broke ground, and you saidââ
âi said we should come when itâs finished,â you finished, your voice turning softer. âyou remembered that?â
he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, pretending he didnât notice the way you were looking at him. âi remember things. iâm a good friend.â
you didnât say anything for a moment. when he glanced over, you were still looking at him with an unreadable expression that made his heart beat a little faster.
âyeah,â you said finally, quietly. âyou are.â
he parked the car and you both got out. the sun was warm on his face. you were standing next to him, close enough that his arm brushed yours, and he let himself have this. he let himself pretend that nothing had changed, that you were still his in the way youâd always been his, that the world hadnât shifted underneath his feet.
the park was crowded, but not unbearably so. everything felt alive without being overwhelming. satoru had done his research, had looked at all the ride maps and food stalls and show times, had planned out a route that would hit everything you might want to see without spending the whole day in lines. he didnât tell you that, of course. he played it cool, like he was just making it up as he went along and he hadnât spent hours thinking about this exact day.
âokay,â you said, looking around at the chaos of colors and sounds. âwhere do we start?â
he considered the options. âfood first. iâm starving.â
âalready?â
âand? you donât get hungry at 13?â
âi had breakfast.â
âthat was hours ago.â
âit was literally an hour ago.â
âan hour is a long time. metabolically speaking.â
you laughed, and he grabbed your hand before he could think about itâ to pull you toward the food stalls, he told himself, because it was crowded and he didnât want to lose youâ and your fingers were warm in his. you didnât pull away.
the first food stall they hit was one selling taiyaki, the fish-shaped pastries filled with red bean paste, and he bought four without asking if you wanted any, just handed you two and watched you take the first bite.
âgood?â he asked, already knowing the answer.
you nodded, mouth full. he felt a ridiculous surge of satisfaction.
from there, it became a kind of mission. the park had all the classic amusement food, but elevated somehowâ fancier, more elaborate, the kind of stuff that was made to be photographed and posted.
âokay, try this,â he said, shoving a piece of honeycomb-topped ice cream toward you. âitâs supposed to be their signature thing.â
you leaned in and took a bite. he watched your expression shift from curiosity to surprise to delight. âoh my god. thatâs actually incredible.â
âright? i knew youâd like it.â
âhow did you know?â
he shrugged, taking a bite himself, the honey sweet and sticky on his tongue. âyou like honey. you put it in your tea, even when i tell you itâs too much. and you like cold things, even in winter. remember that time you made me get ice cream with you when it was snowing?â
you stared at him. âthat was three years ago.â
âso?â
âso you remember that? what i ordered?â
âmint chocolate chip,â he said, without missing a beat. âyou said it was basic but you didnât care. and then you dropped half of it on the sidewalk and looked so sad i went back and bought you another one.â
you went quiet. he realized, belatedly, that maybe he was saying too much and showing his hand. but then you smiled, small and soft, and said, âyouâre ridiculous.â
âiâm dedicated,â he corrected. âyou know thatâ
âdo i?â
âa huge difference. dedication is admirable. ridiculousness isââ
âalso admirable?â
he laughed. âi was going to say âcharming,â but sure. weâll go with admirable.â
you rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling. when you reached out to steal another piece of his ice cream, he let you.
he took you on rides after that. the park had a good mixâ some classic, some new, some that made you scream and some that made you laugh. satoru had always been a fan of the big ones, the ones that went high and fast and made your stomach drop out from under you.
today, he found himself gravitating toward the smaller things. the spinning teacups, where you both got dizzy and stumbled out laughing, holding onto each other to stay upright. the bumper cars, where you spent an embarrassingly long time chasing each other around the rink, both of you laughing so hard you could barely steer. the old-fashioned carousel, where you picked a horse with chipped paint and a golden mane and he stood next to you, one hand on the pole, watching the way the afternoon light caught in your hair.
âyouâre not going to ride?â you asked, as the carousel started its slow, stately rotation.
âiâm riding. iâm right here.â
âstanding doesnât count.â
âsure it does. iâm experiencing the carousel. iâm very engaged.â
you gave him a look. âyouâre standing next to a stationary horse while i do all the work.â
âitâs a very nice stationary horse.â he nodded assuredly and then squinted at you, âalso, what work are you talking about, you are sitting on a horse that moves by itself.â
you laughed, and the sound of it was better than any music, better than any ride, better than anything else in the park. he wanted to bottle it. he wanted to carry it with him everywhere. he wanted to hear it every day for the rest of his life.
âyouâre so weird,â you said.
âthatâs why we work. you like me.â
âi didnât say that.â
âyou didnât have to.â
the carousel turned, the world spun slowly around you, and he caught himself thinking, if i could freeze this moment, if i could stay here forever, i would. i would in a heartbeat.
.
.
.
it was always natural for him and you to talk about everything and nothing. that was the thing about the two of youâ conversation had always been easy, had always flowed like water, finding its way into every corner and crevice. you talked about classes, about professors who were terrible and professors who were surprisingly good. you talked about movies youâd seen, books youâd read, music youâd been listening to. you talked about the park itselfâthe way the light hit the rides, the best place to watch the crowd, the ridiculous prices of everything.
âfive dollars for a bottle of water,â you said, holding up your latest purchase. âthatâs criminal.â
âcapitalism,â he said sagely. âthe real villain of our time.â
âyou say that while wearing designer sunglasses.â
âthese are vintage.â
âtheyâre from last season.â
âvintage is a state of mind.â
you laughed quietly, shoving him in the shoulder. he watched you take a sip of your overpriced water and he thought about how easy this was. why did it feel like an ending?
you talked about memories, too. old ones, the kind that came up when you spent enough time together, the shared history that no one else could touch. the time youâd both gotten locked out of the apartment and had to climb through the window. the time heâd tried to cook dinner and set off the fire alarm and youâd both eaten burnt pasta on the floor of the kitchen, laughing hysterically. the time youâd stayed up all night studying for an exam you both ended up failing because the professor was an asshole, and the way youâd looked at each other the next morning, bleary-eyed and defeated, and somehow started laughing.
âwe were such disasters,â you said, leaning against a railing, looking out at the park.
âwe are disasters,â he corrected. âwe just have better lighting now.â
you smiled. he smiles back.
âdo you ever think about that?â you asked, your voice was softer now, more thoughtful. âhow we met?â
âall the time,â he said.
you glanced at him, surprised. âreally?â
âreally.â he leaned against the railing next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. âyou were standing against the wall, trying to disappear. and i thoughtââ he stopped, remembering. âi need to save her from dying of anxiety.â
you were quiet for a moment. âis that why you talked to me?â
âmaybe. or maybe i just thought you were interesting.â he bumped your shoulder with his. âstill do, by the way. just so you know.â
you looked at him, your eyes full of emotion that made his chest tight. âsatoruââ
âdonât get emotional, sweetheart,â he said quickly, because he couldnât handle whatever was coming next, âi have a reputation to maintain.â
you laughed wetly. the moment passed. he told himself that was for the best.
the afternoon bled into evening, the light shifting from gold to amber to the soft, hazy blue of late afternoon. satoru and you been at the park for hours, had ridden most of the rides, eaten more than was reasonable, accumulated a small collection of prizes from games youâd playedâ a stuffed bear that was slightly lopsided, a keychain that glowed in the dark, a cheap plastic ring that youâd put on your finger and hadnât taken off.
satoru had been watching the sky for the last hour, tracking the sunâs descent, waiting for the moment. heâd planned this part carefully, had checked the sunset time, had figured out the best place in the park to watch it. the ferris wheel. it was obvious, maybe, but that was the point. it was the kind of thing that felt like a movie, that would be romantic if it were anyone else, but it had to be just two friends watching the sunset. nothing more than that.
âcome on,â he said, tugging on your hand. âone more ride.â
you were looking at the ferris wheel, your expression shifting as you registered what he was suggesting. âthe ferris wheel?â
âthe ferris wheel.â he was already pulling you toward the line, not giving you time to argue. âitâs the best view in the park. you can see the whole city from the top.â
âitâs going to be a long lineââ
âitâs fine. we have time.â
you looked at him exasperatedly, he could see you trying to figure out what he was doing, why he was so insistent, but you didnât argue. you let him pull you into line, and you stood close together as the queue slowly moved forward, and he tried not to think about the way your arm pressed against his.
the line moved faster than he expected. before he was ready, they were at the front, and the attendant was gesturing them into a car, and he was climbing in after you, the door closing behind them with a soft click.
the car swayed slightly as it began to move, and you let out a small gasp, grabbing onto the rail. he laughed. âscared of heights? you never told me you were scared of heights.â
âiâm not scared,â you said, but your grip on the rail said otherwise. âi just donât like the swaying.â
âitâs supposed to sway. itâs part of the experience.â
âa terrible part of the experience.â
he grinned, settling back against the seat, watching you. the inside of the cabin was small, it forced closeness. your knees were almost touching. if he reached out, he could touch your face, your hair, your hand. he kept his hands firmly in his lap and he looked out at the park shrinking beneath them. satoru told himself to breathe.
the car rose slowly, steadily, each rotation bringing them higher. the park spread out below them like a map, the lights beginning to flicker on, the crowd reduced to tiny figures moving between the attractions. and beyond the park, the city, sprawling toward the horizon, buildings catching the last of the sunâs light.
âoh,â you said softly, causing him to he look at you. you were watching the view, your face soft, your lips slightly parted. âitâs so pretty.â
he looked out at the sunset. it was, objectively, beautiful. the sky was a gradient of colorsâ pink and orange and purple, bleeding into each other, the sun a perfect disc of gold balanced on the edge of the world. the sunset that made people stop and stare, the kind that felt like it was put there just for you.
but now he wasnât looking at the sunset. he was looking at you.
the light caught your face, painted you in gold and rose, turned you into something that made his breath catch. your eyes were bright, reflecting the colors of the sky, and there was a small smile on your lips, and you were so beautiful that it hurt. it physically hurt, a tightness in his chest, a pressure behind his ribs, something that felt like joy and terror and longing all tangled together.
you were the prettiest thing heâd ever seen.
not just now, in this light, on this ferris wheel. always. every day, in every moment, in every version of you that existed.
you were the prettiest thing heâd ever seen and he couldnât tell you. he couldnât say it, couldnât let the words out, couldnât let you see what was written all over his face. so he didnât. he sat there, in the swaying car, and he watched the sunset paint you gold, and he held the words in his chest like a secret.
âitâs beautiful,â you said again as you turned to look at him. he was caught, and he knew you could see it, could see everything heâd been trying to hide.
âyeah,â he said. his voice came out rough, scraped raw. âbeautiful.â
you were looking at him too. for a moment he let himself believe that the expression on your face was something more than friendship, something more than the easy affection youâd always had.
but then the car reached the top, paused, and started its slow descent, and you looked away, back at the sunset, and the moment was gone.
he let it go again. he had to.
the ride down was quiet. not uncomfortable, but charged, the air between them heavy with something neither of them was saying. he watched you out of the corner of his eye, watched the way you traced patterns on the railing, the way your fingers touched the cheap plastic ring youâd won, the way your breath fogged the glass when you leaned close.
when the car reached the bottom, the attendant opened the door, you climbed out first, and he followed. the spell was broken.
you stood for a moment at the base of the ferris wheel, the lights of the park bright around you, the last traces of sunset fading to deep blue. you were looking up at the wheel, your expression unreadable.
âthank you,â you said, your voice soft. âfor today. i⊠i needed this.â
he wanted to say something. he wanted to say me too. he wanted to say i need you, iâve always needed you, i donât know how to be without you. he wanted to say please donât go back to him, please stay here with me, please see me the way i see you.
but he didnât. he smiled, which was easier than it should have been, this mask heâd been wearing for years. âanytime. you know that.â
you looked at him for a long moment and then you smiled. it was the same smile youâd always had, that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.
âcome on,â he said, bumping your shoulder with his. âletâs get out of here. iâm freezing.â
you laughed, the sound of it wrapping around him, warm and familiar. âyouâre always freezing.â
âi run cold. itâs a medical condition.â
âitâs not a medical condition, you just donât wear enough layers.â
âtomato, tomato.â
you shook your head, but you were still smiling, when he fell into step beside you, you didnât move away. you walked close enough that your shoulders brushed, close enough that he could feel the warmth of you through his jacket.
he didnât look back at the ferris wheel. the image was already burned into his memoryâ you, painted in gold, the sunset behind you, the most beautiful thing heâd ever seen.
heâd carry that with him, heâd carry it for as long as he could, and when the ache in his chest got too heavy, when the weight of everything he couldnât say pressed down on him, heâd pull it out and look at it and remind himself that for one moment, at the top of a ferris wheel, you were his. even if you didnât know it. even if you never would.
it was enough. it had to be.
things were, against all odds, going well. that was the thought that kept circling in your head as you walked home from class one afternoon, the autumn air crisp and clean, your scarf wrapped tight around your neck. things were going well. you were spending time with suguru, hopefully building something solid between him and you. and you were spending time with satoru again, too, in a way that felt almost like before, like the strange distance that had crept in between you had been bridged.
you werenât sure exactly when that had happened. maybe it was the amusement park, the way heâd planned the whole day, the way heâd taken care of you. maybe it was the way heâd started texting you again, the stupid memes and the late-night check-ins and the you up? messages that made you smile even when you were trying to sleep. maybe it was just time, the slow reclamation of something that had always been yours, the way you found yourself gravitating back toward each other like planets in orbit.
whatever it was, it was good. it was so, so good.
there was, however, the matter of yuki.
the breakup had been⊠abrupt. that was the word youâd settled on, after turning it over in your mind for the better part of a week. abrupt. youâd come home from a study session at the library to find the apartment door slightly ajar, which was unusual because satoru was a little paranoid about locking doors. youâd pushed the door open slowly, already reaching for your phone in case something was wrong, and then youâd heard voices.
satoruâs voice, low and tight; you recognised it as the tone he used when he was trying to keep his temper in check. and yukiâs voice, higher, sharper, the words spilling out too fast to catch at first.
youâd frozen in the doorway, caught between the instinct to leave and the realization that theyâd probably already heard you. and then yuki had come storming out of the living room, her face blotched red, her eyes wet, and sheâd stopped when she saw you.
for a moment, neither of you said anything. youâd only met her a handful of timesâ the double date, a party, a brief encounter on campusâ and you didnât know her, not really. but in that moment, looking at her face, you saw something that made your stomach clench. it looked like sheâd figured something out that youâd been trying to hide for years.
âyou,â sheâd said, her voice thick with tears but the hatred underneath it made you take a step back. âyouâre the reason.â
youâd opened your mouth to say somethingâwhat, you didnât know, maybe i donât know what youâre talking about or iâm sorry or what happened?â but she was already moving, pushing past you, gone. the door slammed behind her, and you were left standing in the hallway, your heart beating too fast, your hands cold.
youâd found satoru in the living room, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. heâd looked up when you walked in, and for a moment, his face was completely open, completely raw, and youâd seen grief, maybe, or exhaustion, or relief there that made your chest ache.
âhey,â heâd said, his voice rough. âyouâre home early.â
âare you okay?â youâd asked.
heâd smiled a smile that didnât reach his eyes. âyeah. iâm fine. we justâit wasnât working. you know how it is.â
you didnât, actually. you didnât know how it was to break up with someone because you couldnât make yourself feel something that wasnât there. you didnât know how it was to go through person after person, searching for something you couldnât name. but you nodded anyway, because that was what he needed.
you sat down next to him on the couch and let him lean his weight against your shoulder, and you didnât ask any of the questions that were crowding your throat.
you didnât ask why yuki had looked at you like that. you didnât ask what she meant by youâre the reason. you didnât ask if there was something he wasnât telling you.
you just sat there, in the quiet of your apartment, and let him be.
[ an. do tell what you think of this and reblog pls!! the second part will be posted tomorrow or the day after tomorrow depending on how much of it i edit ]
bravo! this is so beautifully written and I love how each characters feelings are observed from all angles. you know just how to make my heart ache </3
⧠Tags: yandere!haikyuu male leads x villainess!reader
â§Synopsis: you hit your head on your kitchen counter one lonely night only to find yourself transported to the world of Flower of the Estate, your favorite novel!
⧠Warnings: yandere behavior (later on), reader hits her head, bullying, mentions of bullying, inaccurate representation of Regency era
A/n: i see your requests and i'm finally back with chapter 1, i'm so sorry for the long wait i've been super busy lately. can you tell i watched Bridgeton to prepare myself haha
You were a loser, well not exactly. You had a pretty stable job and a nice flat but lacked one major component in your life: friends. But itâs not like you were antisocial! Moving to a new city just a few months ago, you had been busy with moving in and didnât exactly have enough time to make friends.
Besides you were preoccupied with your favorite web comic of all time: Flower of the Estate! A commoner girl that has three noble men falling for her? This girl really had some crazy cha(rizz)ma. You werenât really into harem type stories but wow did it keep you coming back to see what happened.
It was another late night reading Flower of the Estate when you decided to head to the kitchen to get some snacks to keep you fueled. However, when you turned to retreat back you slipped on spilled water near the sink and hit your head on the granite counter! You mentally curse yourself for not cleaning it up as you drift into a deep slumber.
When you open your eyes and the lights blind you, quickly slapping a hand over your face you shoot up. Registering the soft plush beneath you you opened your eyes, when did you get in bed? Looking around your jaw drops, who the hell put you in a room like this! The whole room was illuminated by sunlight peaking behind the luxurious navy drapes and you gasped at the sheer size and extravagance of the bedroom. You were⊠in a castle?
Jumping off the bed you immediately fell to your knees with a thud. How long had you been out for that your legs were this weak? You push yourself up and stumble to the mirror on a vanity next to the bed. The satin fabric of your night gown fell to the ground, revealing the length that had been bunched up while you were sleeping.
In the mirror, the first thing you see is (e/c) eyes and a face eerily similar to yours. It was your face and body for sure but the state of it wasnât, your hands were usually rough and your knees were scarred from playing as a child but now both were smooth and even. Then your eyes feel on a crest engraved onto the top of the vanity and your heart dropped.
The beautiful family crest of a black fox protected by two swords was a prevalent symbol in Flower of the Estate. It was the crest of the villainess. You, Y/N, were the cruel villainess of the story, waking up here and looking like this had no other explanation. To see if it was true you quickly pushed the sleeve of your left arm up, on the wrist was a faint birthmark. A scar in the shape of a half moon, your fate was sealed. You fall back on the bed. âShit.â
You were official the villainess of Flower of the Estate, who bullies the main character, get thrown out of high society, and then dies. You knew the path that the villainess followed and the actions she took, did that mean you could avoid facing the same death as her as well? The first mistake that she had committed that set her on the path of destruction was her bullying of the main character.
The villainess was notorious for her extravagant lifestyle and cruel manner. She didnât have anyone close to her that she could trust, and the book never showed her reasoning or point of view. You knew the basics about her, but who was Y/N â really? Was she really just jealous of the commoner girl that had managed to outshine her, or was it deeper than that?
No matter why she behaved that way, you knew that following in her footsteps would only lead you to doom. You needed a game plan, plus you read enough reincarnation manga to know what basic things you had to do in order to avoid a gruesome end as the villainess. First, you put together a list of all the death flags you could think of, and you realized that they all led to three main characters.
Love Interests and Relations:
Tooru Oikawa: Royal Prince/Childhood love (One sided) and Y/Nâs main obsession.
Tobio Kageyama: Royal knight who pledged their loyalty to Y/N.
Ushijima Wakatoshi: Esteemed scholar who ended up being Y/Nâs tutor for a short period of time.
Ok⊠this would a little harder than you thought. Why were all the love interests involved with the villainess anyway? Oikawa could be avoided easily enough, you just needed to distance yourself from him and considering Oikawa was keen on getting rid of you, it would be easy enough. If you remembered correctly, he was rather annoyed by the villainess who would cling to his side like a lost puppy.
As for Ushijima, you knew that he would only be your tutor for a month, then leave you to meet the main character, who he would eventually fall in love with.
Kageyama would be the hardest to get rid of compared to the other two. He would be around the villainesses the longest and somehow manages fall in love with her. However, much like the others, he would fall in love with the female lead and leave Y/N to be with her.
The main event that led to the villainesses', well, now your death, would be the Conviction event. In one of the more dramatic scenes of the comic, the three male leads would come together to protect the female lead from the wicked villainess who attempted to have her knight, Kageyama, kill her.
In a shocking turn of events, at least for the villainess, Kageyama withdraws his oath of honor to protect the female lead, leaving Y/N defenseless as Oikawa's knights captured her, dragging her to the Dungeons of Despair, never to be heard from again.
From what you gathered in the comic, the dungeon was sealed by some sort of ancient magic that resided beneath the royal castle. Despite the many attempts by the royal family to excavate and utilize the power that rested beneath them, it proved volatile and in the end fruitless. Many lost their lives to the walls of what now became known as the Dungeons of Despair. No one who dies in there really dies. Instead, their soul is said to be absorbed into the walls forever a part of the castle.
You shivered at the thought. Once you were in there, escape was useless. So, avoiding the events that led to the Conviction event was your best bet at survival.
You looked around your room for any indication of what part of the story you were at, then spotted a white beaded bracelet with a golden carving of a waterfall on its centermost bead. Am inscription on a piece of jewelry often held a deeper meaning in this world, and being the expert you were, you knew this one meant change.
So, the main story had already started, huh? At the beginning of the comic, the female lead is gifted a bracelet by her mother before she sets off for the Grand Academy of Nerasul, the most prestigious school in the nation, where the main story takes place. It would also be the place where all three leads would meet her and become infatuated with the underprivileged commoner.
But the bracelet being in your possession also meant that you, or at least Y/N Aleria, had started bullying her. Shit.
So you couldn't go the peace and love way, that was fine. But at least you still had the one trump card. The knowledge of- "Miss Y/N!"
A bright haired girl zipped into the room, pushing one of the heavy oak bedroom doors open as she located you. Her chest heaved as she struggled to get the words out, "Lady" huff, "Aleria" huff, "is on" huff, "her way" huff, "here!"
Your eyes widened. If you remembered correctly, the Lady Aleria, or Y/N's mother, was not a meek woman by any means. From the female lead's point of view, she was cruel and vicious, never failing to humiliate the ones she deemed earned it.
The girl motioned for you to get into bed, and almost obediantly you rushed under the covers, closing your eyes as if you had been deeply slumbering all along. Just as your head hit the pillow, the door slams open.
"Y/N!" a shrill voice calls out, "The sun has risen yet you remain in bed"
You feel the right side of the bed dip as a cold hand touches your cheek, "Wake up, my dear,"
You pretend to open your eyes for the first time, "Yes," Oh shit, what had Y/N called her mom?! "Mother?"
Her eyes softened as they met yours, "It is quite late, just making sure my darling girl was awake"
She was... nice? Unexpected from one of the more vicious mamas of the comic.
The rest of the morning was a rush of getting pampered and dressed and, being fed a feast fit for royalty. Well, you technically were. The reason you were Oikawa's childhood friend wasn't that you were disgustingly rich, but because your father was an esteemed war hero who had fought alongside the King when he was still the crown prince. Somehow, he had gained the young prince's favor during those war ridden months, and now your family sat among the most prestigious in the nation.
It was also yet another reason why you are attending the Grand Academy of Nerasul. Unfortunately for you, it seems that today was Monday, and thus you were carted off to the school in a ridiculously opulent carriage and an even more ridiculous uniform. Once you arrived, the sheer grandeur of the castle stopped you in your tracks. This was a school?! It looked more like a castle if anything.
Before you could hop out of the carriage, your lady's maid stopped you with a quick "Miss!"
You turned around and tried to school your expression into the cold indifference that Y/N often held, "Yes?"
It seemed to work because the maid hunched a little in obedience, "Did you find that item you were looking for? I couldn't find it to hide."
You raised an eyebrow, what was Y/N looking for? "Speak plainly, whatever is it," the maid continued to stumble over her words, but finally calmed herself, leaning closer to whisper it to you through cupped hands, "The poison."
Oh dear. Now that was a problem. Oh, Y/N, what were you planning? "Dispose of it," you said with finality.
"After all the trouble you went through this morning to get it miss?" Oh, so that's why you had to be in bed this morning. You were retrieving evil weapons for your evil plan to do even more evil things, good.
"Yes, yes, dispose of any other... similar items as well"
With a determined nod, your lady's maid waved you off, carriage bouncing through the cobbled streets. As you walked into the school, bag in hand, the students seemed to still around you. Anyone who even made eye contact seemed frozen in fear, while others looked irritated, if anything. So this is how bad your reputation was.
You checked a schedule that thankfully listed your classes for the day. Ok first, Mathematics 3. Now, where was the class? Ugh. Scanning the hall, you spotted a tall bespeckled blond, a background character maybe? Well, today he was going to be your guide. You approached him with the level of confidence as a baby tiger and tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned, eyes widening slightly as he saw who was disturbing him.
"Hi, I'm Y/N," you said blandly, "can you show me where Mathematics 3 is?"
He blinked once. Then twice. Then shook his head, "Uh yeah, I can, My Lady." The last part seemed to just fall out as he shook his head a little at his delivery. "Here, follow me."
As he led you through the halls, you mentally noted the turns and steps, trying to ignore the inquisitive stares of students. After a few minutes, you both came to a stop in front of two large brown doors with the words Mathematics 3 written in gold on a gold lined plaque next to the doors.
You turned to the boy who awkwardly looked everywhere but you, "Thank you...?" You started. He looked up and quickly finished your sentence. "Kei. Tsukishima Kei."
yes guys! i am in fact back with the first part! sorry it's not too long, i just don't want to burn out too quick like i did last time. hope you enjoy! also let me know if you want to be added to either the permanent or the taglist for this series!
Hi guys! I've gotten many questions over the past few months over the Villainess Scheme and I just wanted to let you know that I'm getting back into writing it! It has been a while since I've written (a year or so...) but I'm back and planning to post more regularly! So for those loyal few waiting for the villainess scheme be ready because it will be dropping in due times. Thank you for all your patience!
⧠warnings: BIG misunderstandings and angst, hurt with comfort (for one at least), self-doubt, a kind of paranoia, crying, fem reader implied, male pov
a/n: BOOM. I'm back after forever with another part guys.
part 1 part 2 part 3
Hayden stilled as he saw you run into the arms of the last person he wanted to see. His personal rival (one-sided), and now the bane of his existence: Jacob. The paper wrapping the bouquet of flowers in his hand crunched as he gripped it tighter, a single flower falling to the pavement.
Where had he gone wrong? Everything was fine in the beginning when you were sitting next to each other in chemistry, your banter was the highlight of his day, and when he had managed to get your number, he was over the moon! From what he knew, you had no boyfriend and honestly, as much as it surprised him, he was glad that he had a shot at someone so kind and in his eyes, perfect.
A FEW MONTHS EARLIER
After weeks of your usual chats and calls over the phone, he built up the courage to ask you out. Nothing too complicated, just a hangout at a cafe he knew you liked. He rewrote the question a few times until it seemed casual enough to send without coming off too eager.
'do u want to hang out at the cafe today? we can get some lab homework done'
A few seconds passed once the message showed a small read next to it and he started to stress. Was it too soon? Did you not like him that way at all? Had he been misreading the signs all along? His mind grasped for anything to make his previous message better, who was that girl you always hung out with? Uhh, oh right, Lindsay! Trying to salvage what he thought was a failed attempt, he sent a quick second text.
'bring Lindsay'
That message was read as well, and after a few moments he received a 'sure'. He pumped his hand in victory, sure it wasn't a date but it was a start.
He took his time getting ready, wearing the shirt you had complimented once and paying extra attention to his hair, making sure it fell perfectly in front of his forehead. After a long look in the mirror, he decided that he was up to par, grabbing his keys and heading to the cafe.
One the way there he noticed a familiar brown headed girl walking along the street, typing away at her phone. He rolled down his window and sloweed down.
"Hey, Lindsay!"
She looked up at the sound of the noise, and as her eyes landed on his car, then him, she grinned.
"Well if it isn't Romeo" she said in a teasing manner.
Hayden's eyes widened, and he smiled awkwardly, "You want a ride? It's kind of cold today."
She nodded, running over to the passenger side and hopping in. Hayden turned to her slightly as he started driving again, unsure on how to proceed.
"So, (y/n)"
"So (y/n)" she replied back, an eyebrow raised.
Hayden took a breath and decided to tell her everything, how he was developing a crush on (y/n) and how he had only invited Lindsay because he was nervous that she didn't want to be alone with him.
Once he finished his nervous ramblings, he realized that they were already at the cafe. Next to him, Lindsay broke in boisterous laughter.
"Are you serious! Man, you didn't have to invite me for something like that"
"It's just that I don't want her to feel uncomfortable around me! Maybe because shes already comfortable around you, she'll get used to being alone with me too. I dunno," Hayden said, face red with embarrassment.
Lindsay smiled knowingly, "Ok, I see you want to get her to like you or something weird like that. You don't seem too bad, sooo," She trailed off, "I'll help."
Just like that, they were sitting in the cafe with their notes out to seem like they were actually studying instead of hatching a plan to get a girl. Hayden had brought a drink for himself, a Carmel latte, as well as a drink for (y/n), a pumpkin chai, something he knew she loved.
With everything perfect, he continued to chat with Lindsay, getting to know more about you from her strange stories. Just then, a voice startled him and Lindsay,
"Hey, guys! When did you get here?"
You stood at their table, looking as adorable as ever, an eyebrow raised. Shit, had you heard them talking?
"Oh, hey (y/n)!" Hayden said, trying to sound normal. He scooted over a little, almost to signal that you could sit beside him. However, you sat on the chair opposite to him instead, and he felt a twinge of embarrassment. That's fine! He had the rest of the evening with you.
For the rest of the hangout, you acted a little distant, not touching the drink he had bought for you, instead going to the counter to get your own. He was confused; did he not get the right drink? But when you came back, pumpkin chai in hand, his heart sank a little. Maybe you just didn't want something from him.
At the end of the hangout he stopped you, maybe this could be his chance to talk with you one on one! But as you politely rejected his offer to give you a ride, suggesting instead that he should drive Lindsay, his eyebrows furrowed. Why were you being so insitant?
Before he could say anything else, you wished him a good night and zoomed back towards where you had come from, leaving him speechless. What had just happened?
That night was only the beginning. Hayden thought he was right in asking Lindsay to come to the cafe with them, after all, you looked somewhat uncomfortable during the entire ordeal. So, in an act that Hayden thought would help you warm up to him at hangouts, he started inviting Lindsay. Whenever you and he were alone, and he could feel you getting nervous, he called Lindsay in to lighten the mood, much to her chagrin.
But slowly, he could feel you pulling away from him. You stopped coming to hangouts with Lindsay and him, then hangouts with him. Over text, you became colder and more curt, refusing any calls with the excuse that you were busy.
Hayden was confused and hurt. Did you really not like him that much? He swears he could remember your soft laugh as you make fun of his stupid jokes in chemistry, teasingly pushing him. He missed that laugh, he missed how your knees and hands would brush against each other, he missed the smell of your sweet shampoo, he missed YOU.
Then the last lifeline he was desperately trying to hold onto finally broke. After class one day, he offered to walk you to your next class like he usually did, excited to have some more time with you. But as he sped to match your pace, expecting your usual nod, you looked at him.
Finally! You were looking at him again.
"I've been thinking... I think it's best I walk alone to class"
Oh.
Hayden opened his mouth to say something, anything, to tell you that he barely had anything left when it came to you. To let him have this one thing. But as he saw the pleading look in your eyes, he looked down and then up at you, swallowing his protests.
"ok"
Hayden decided that if he looked at your face anymore, he might grab you and not let you go till you changed your mind, so he gave you a small nod. Then walked in the opposite direction.
Everything was going wrong. This was not how things should have been progressing between you two. But it wasn't over, not for him, he knew you had something between you two, and he was just stupid and stubborn enough to make you see it. So as the week came to an end, and Lindsay, who graciously offered him a ticket to the game you were going to, made up his mind.
No no no no no no no. This was not how it was supposed to go. He thought the cramped stadium seats would let him have a few moments with you, maybe sharing popcorn, or even a few stolen glances. But now a boy, seemingly one you already knew, had gotten your number, and he couldn't stop seething. How did you even know him?
That was only the start of the nightmare for him. You started to hang out with the boy, too, talking about him all the time. Jacob this, Jacob that, and all of a sudden, Hayden wasn't so sure of your connection anymore. He tried to make another plan with Lindsay, but all the girl could say was that he should try hanging out with (y/n) one on one. That she'd cancel when she had to, to make it happen.
And finally, brought to a breaking point, he decided that he needed to make a far more drastic step. A confession.
He had planned everything out, the flowers, the time, the clothes he would wear. But once you both got to the cafe you decided on, his mind tugged at his train of thought; he was missing something. The necklace he had gotten you! He quickly asked Lindsay to get it for him through text, alternating between the phone and you. He noticed you smile slipping a bit and winced, he wasn't trying to ignore you!
But as Lindsay walked in, and sat down next to him, he could see you deflate and retreat back into whatever persona you assumed around the pair of them. He quickly whispered to Lindsay to leave and she hissed a quip back that caught him off guard, and with a chuckle reached for the flowers for you.
As soon as Lindsay left he could finally profess the deep feelings he had developed for you, he had practiced the confession for hours in his room until it was as easy as breathing. But before he could bring the bouquet above the table, your eyes zeroed in on it, then Lindsay.
Quickly, you got up and started to pack your things in a furious rage.
Hayden shot up, "Why are you packing up?"
You glared up at him, "Listen, Hayden I know that you and Lindsay have something going on-"
His blood ran cold. Did you think he was doing all this for Lindsay? Oh no, and only take the flowers out when she was here... Shit. He had to fix this. He interrupted you, "Wait, hear me-"
And in return, you interrupted him back, "I don't care if you tell me or not, but stop using me as the middle man. Especially since I've liked you for a while."
With that, you shot out of the store, forgetting your jacket.
Hayden grabbed it and the flowers with haste and ran after you like it was second nature, 'You liked him? Maybe he had been an idiot so far but he could fix this! He had to.'
But as he turned a corner, following the flash of colors he thought to be you, he saw a sight that knocked the wind out of his lungs.
ă S.B x Arranged Marriage! Reader
ă Angst // SLOW BURN // one sided relationship // happy ending!
ăAn arranged marriage kept them under the same roof, but years of quiet indifference left them strangers in their own home. When Sirius finally shows a new, unexpected vulnerability, Y/N must decide whether to trust himâor let the distance between them become permanent.
ă8.3k
ăRequest: ashdreams2023
ăTaglist: @littlemadamred @raiweasley @iluvhrj @hoeforlifee @a1ienmush @pottermagiczz
ăA/N: i apologize for how long this took but i absolutely loved this angsty little piece <3
Much love, Saige
[masterlist]
The Black family had always been bound by blood, but Sirius Black had long since learned that blood was a chain, not a comfort.
He had escaped its pull once â stormed out of Grimmauld Place at sixteen, slammed the door behind him, and sworn never to return. But the irony of fate, as it often did, found its way back to him years later in the form of a signature on parchment.
An arranged marriage.
A peace offering.
A way, his motherâs letter had said, to ârestore the Black familyâs dignity.â
Heâd laughed when he first read it; a dry, humorless sound that didnât reach his eyes. He had no reason to humor her, no reason to involve himself with the ghosts of his lineage. But the war was ending, the Order was quieter now, and his defiance had dulled with exhaustion. Somewhere between the funerals and the rebuilding, he had stopped fighting everything on sight.
So when the proposal came, a match arranged years ago by family tradition, meant to bind the Black name to another ârespectableâ pure-blood house, Sirius didnât tear it up. He didnât even scoff.
He simply signed.
And thatâs how he met you.
You werenât cruel. You werenât vain. You werenât anything the Blacks had been known for. That, perhaps, was the problem. You were polite, careful, quiet â an echo in a house that had once been full of shouting.
The wedding was small, the kind that left more whispers than memories. Sirius had shown up late, smelling faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. Youâd worn a soft gray gown that your mother said was âunderstated but elegant.â
He hadnât said you looked beautiful.
He hadnât said anything at all.
Now, months later, Grimmauld Place was too big for two people who barely spoke.
You slept in the same bed. You ate the same dinners. You smiled at the same guests who came to call â old friends, new acquaintances, members of the Order who congratulated you both with a knowing grin. You called him husband in public, the word tasting foreign every time. He called you wife with that easy charm of his, voice smooth enough to make anyone believe he meant it.
But behind closed doors, it was different.
There were nights he reached for you, only because it was expected â because you were his wife, and he was your husband, and that was what married people did. His hands were always gentle, his kisses practiced. But they were never for you. They were obligations wrapped in warmth. When he turned away afterward, falling asleep without a word, you lay awake staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster.
It wasnât hatred that lingered between you. It was something worse â indifference.
He treated you kindly, almost too kindly, as though afraid to bruise a fragile thing. He asked about your day, but not because he wanted to know. He complimented your dress at dinner parties, but only when someone else might overhear. He never yelled. He never scowled. He never cared enough to.
And yet, somehow, you couldnât bring yourself to despise him.
Because sometimes, in the smallest, most fleeting moments.. you caught glimpses of the man beneath the distance. The way his voice softened when he spoke of James. The quiet grief in his eyes when he thought no one noticed. The way he always made sure you walked on the inside of the pavement when you went out together, as if protecting you was a reflex he couldnât suppress.
Those tiny fragments of tenderness were enough to keep hope alive â a cruel, fragile thing that refused to die.
You had been married six months when the silence began to feel heavier than the walls around you. You tried to fill it; with books, with chores, with conversation. Youâd talk about the garden you wanted to plant, or the stray cat that came to the window sometimes. Sirius would nod, half-listening, and then disappear into his study.
He was always disappearing.
Sometimes, youâd hear the low murmur of his voice from that room â old friends, most likely. Sometimes Remus, sometimes Order business. You never asked. You werenât sure if it was your place.
You had stopped expecting warmth. You simply learned to exist in the spaces between his life and yours.
Until one evening, something shifted; not enough to change anything, but enough to make you notice.
It was late, the fire low and the house quiet. Sirius came in from the cold, shaking snow from his hair, his shoulders dusted with frost. You were reading by the hearth, blanket wrapped around your legs, when he paused at the doorway. For a brief moment, he just looked at you â as if seeing you properly for the first time. The flicker of recognition in his gray eyes startled you.
âYouâre still up,â he said, voice rough from the cold.
You nodded. âCouldnât sleep.â
He hesitated, then moved closer to the fire. You watched the light play across his features â the tired eyes, the faint scar along his jaw, the weight he carried like a shadow. He smelled faintly of smoke and winter.
For once, the silence didnât feel entirely unbearable.
âYou should rest,â he murmured after a while. âItâs late.â
âSo should you,â you replied quietly.
He almost smiled. Almost.
And then, as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. He turned away, retreating toward the stairs.
âGoodnight, wife,â he said, not looking back.
You closed your book, heart aching at how easily the word wife could sound so empty.
âGoodnight, husband,â you whispered into the quiet.
And though he didnât hear you, you wished â more than anything â that he had.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
You began to take notice of some little things first.
The way Sirius preferred his tea â black, no sugar. The way he leaned back in his chair when he read, one ankle crossed over his knee. The music he sometimes played in the study, low and scratchy, old records of Muggle rock bands he mustâve picked up in his wilder years.
You didnât know when exactly you started trying to please him.
Maybe it was the silence, heavy and constant, pressing against your ribs. Maybe it was the small ache that came from watching him laugh at something Remus said, a laugh that never seemed to belong to you.
So, you started small.
You brewed his tea the way he liked it â dark, strong. When you brought it to his study, he barely glanced up from his parchment. âThanks,â he muttered absently, taking the cup without looking at you.
He didnât notice the way youâd taken the time to warm the mug beforehand.
Next came dinner. You asked Kreacher to prepare things Sirius liked â roast chicken, potatoes, buttery rolls, dishes that made him nostalgic for the meals at the Pottersâ home, before everything went wrong.
When you called him to the table, he was late. You waited, watching the food cool until finally his footsteps echoed down the hall.
âThis looks good,â he said with a faint smile, taking his seat. You smiled back, foolishly relieved. But halfway through the meal, you realized he wasnât really tasting it. He was just⊠eating. Like it was habit, like you couldâve served anything and he wouldnât have noticed the difference.
Still, you tried again.
You found a record he might like â one of those old Muggle albums with a guitar riff he always hummed under his breath. One evening, while he sat by the fire with a book, you put it on quietly.
His head lifted a little, gray eyes flicking to you, something almost surprised in them.
âThis is⊠good,â he said softly.
You smiled, heart thudding. âI thought youâd like it.â
He nodded, the faintest curve of his mouth there for only a second. And then he went back to reading.
The record spun on, filling the empty house with the sound of something that used to mean freedom. You sat nearby, pretending to read too, though your eyes stayed on him instead. Watching the way his thumb traced the edge of the page, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way he seemed entirely untouched by the effort youâd made.
You werenât expecting gratitude. You werenât even expecting affection. You just wanted something â a flicker of interest, a trace of awareness that you were trying to reach him. But he stayed the same, polite and distant.
It was almost worse than anger.
A few nights later, you wore something new. A soft dress in a color heâd once mentioned liking, a passing remark months ago that had somehow stayed with you. You joined him for dinner again, nerves making your hands shake slightly as you poured the wine.
He didnât seem to notice.
His eyes skimmed over you with the same detached politeness he offered anyone else. He asked how your day had been. You told him about the book you were reading. He nodded. That was all.
The next morning, you woke before him. He was lying on his side, turned away, hair messy against the pillow. The light from the window traced the line of his back beneath the sheets. You stared for a long moment, wondering what it might be like to reach out â to touch him just because you wanted to, not because it was expected.
But you didnât.
Instead, you slipped quietly out of bed, dressing in silence, pretending that the ache in your chest wasnât growing heavier by the day.
Later that week, you overheard him talking to Remus in the study. You hadnât meant to listen, you were passing by, tray in hand, but his voice caught your attention.
âSheâs been⊠different lately,â Sirius said, tone uncertain. âDoing things I like. Playing old records. Cooking things I used to eat with James.â
Remusâs voice was low, thoughtful. âSheâs trying, Sirius.â
âI donât know why,â Sirius admitted after a pause. âWe both know what this is. I didnât ask forââ He stopped, exhaling. âShe deserves someone who looks at her properly. I canât force that.â
Your heart sank before he even finished. You moved away before you could hear Remusâs reply, blinking hard against the sting behind your eyes.
That night, you said nothing at dinner. Neither did he.
When he reached across the table to refill your glass, his hand brushed yours by accident. He looked up, startled â and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his expression, something softer than pity, something almost human.
But then it was gone. He drew back, clearing his throat. âYouâre quiet tonight,â he said.
âIâm just tired,â you answered, forcing a small smile.
He nodded, as if that explained everything.
Later, when you lay beside him in the dark, listening to the faint sound of his breathing, you wondered if heâd ever notice you for more than the space you occupied â if there was ever going to be a day when being his wife didnât feel like pretending to be someone elseâs ghost.
And though you didnât mean to, you whispered it into the night anyway.
âI wish youâd see me.â
He didnât stir.
But in his sleep, Sirius shifted just slightly closer, his hand brushing yours beneath the sheets â unaware, unintentional, but enough to make your eyes sting all over again.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
For the first time in months, Sirius noticed you. Maybe it was because of the humility Remus gave him in conversation that night, or the small whispers of prayer from you that slipped into his mind as he slept beside you.
But he didn't see you properly, not the way a man notices a woman heâs in love with â but in fleeting, unguarded moments that slipped past his defenses before he could reason them away.
It started in the mornings.
Heâd come downstairs to find you already awake, hair pinned back neatly, sunlight falling across your face as you poured tea. Youâd glance up when you heard him, offering that same quiet smile â the one heâd always taken for politeness. But lately, he realized, it wasnât polite at all. It was gentle. Earnest. Real.
He didnât know when heâd stopped believing sincerity could exist in his world.
âGood morning,â you said one day, voice soft.
âMorning,â he replied automatically, rubbing the back of his neck. He hesitated before taking his cup. âYouâre up early.â
âI wanted to watch the sunrise,â you said. âItâs clear today.â
He nodded, pretending he didnât notice how peaceful you looked in that light, like you belonged to something he could never quite touch. He turned away before it could mean anything.
But it did.
He caught himself watching you sometimes. At dinner. In the garden. When you passed him a dish and your fingers brushed. There was no reason for it â no desire, no spark he could name. Just a strange, quiet awareness that had begun to unsettle him.
Heâd been trying not to think about what Remus had said the other day.
âSheâs trying, Sirius.â
He hadnât meant to sound cold, but he knew he had. He hadnât wanted a wife. He hadnât wanted this. But now that he had it â now that you were here, so careful, so patient â something in him began to shift.
It made him uncomfortable.
Guilt had a way of doing that.
He started noticing details heâd missed before.
How you always tucked your hands into your sleeves when you were nervous. How you hummed softly while reading. How you looked up when he entered a room, like you were waiting for something â even if you didnât expect it to come.
You never asked for more. Never demanded affection. You simply existed quietly beside him, filling the house with the sound of someone who was trying not to disturb.
He caught himself wondering what it would take to make you smile, really smile. Not the one you gave for the sake of peace, but something that reached your eyes. And then heâd curse himself for caring, because he wasnât supposed to.
Not like that.
One evening, he came home earlier than usual. You were sitting on the floor by the fireplace, legs folded beneath you, an open book in your lap. You looked up, startled, when you saw him.
âOh,â you said, standing too quickly. âYouâre home early.â
He gave a small shrug, shedding his coat. âThought Iâd give Kreacher the night off from cursing me.â
You smiled faintly. âHe does seem to enjoy that.â
For the first time, Sirius chuckled â a real, genuine sound. You blinked, as though you hadnât heard it before. Maybe you hadnât.
He moved closer, leaning against the mantel. âWhat are you reading?â
You showed him the cover. âSomething Muggle. A novel about second chances.â
He tilted his head. âDo they get one?â
âIâm not sure yet.â You looked down, tracing the page. âBut I hope they do.â
Something about that, the quiet longing in your tone, stuck with him. He nodded slowly, eyes lingering on you longer than they should have.
You turned back to your book, pretending not to notice.
The next day, he found himself in Diagon Alley without a plan. Heâd meant to pick up parchment and ink. Somehow, he ended up in a small shop that sold both Muggle and wizarding books. He wasnât sure why he was there, but when he saw a display of novels near the window, his hand moved before his mind caught up.
He bought one. A simple paperback â something about a woman who wanted to be seen.
That night, he left it on the armchair beside your favorite reading spot. He didnât say a word. You didnât mention it either, but the next morning, he noticed the book was gone â and a small vase of fresh flowers sat on his desk in return.
Neither of you acknowledged the exchange. You didnât need to. It was the first unspoken language youâd shared since your wedding day.
After that, things changed in subtle ways.
Sirius lingered at breakfast a little longer. You waited up for him a little later. Conversations stretched a bit past formality. Once, his hand brushed yours as he handed you a cup, and instead of pulling away, he let the contact linger â a second too long, not enough to be called affection, but enough to make you look up.
He didnât say anything. Neither did you.
That night, he couldnât sleep.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to your breathing beside him. He thought about your whisper from nights before â the one heâd half-heard in the dark, soft and almost broken.
I wish youâd see me.
He hadnât meant to hear it. Heâd been half-asleep, mind adrift. But heâd heard it, and it stayed with him.
He turned slightly, looking at you in the faint moonlight. Your back was to him, shoulders rising and falling in steady rhythm. You looked peaceful. He wondered if you ever dreamt of something better. Someone better.
He reached out, hesitated, then gently brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.
You stirred slightly but didnât wake.
âMaybe I do see you,â he whispered.
It wasnât quite true yet, but it was closer than yesterday.
He lay back, eyes open in the dark, wondering what it meant that he finally cared.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
The first thing you noticed was how quiet youâd become.
Not the ordinary kind of quiet that had defined your marriage since the beginning â the polite, companionable silence of two people pretending they were fine. No, this was different. This was the sort of quiet that pressed down like a fog, heavy and endless, swallowing the edges of every word you tried to say.
It wasnât that youâd stopped trying overnight. It was more like the effort had finally worn you thin.
There had been hope, once. Little, foolish hope â fragile as spun glass. Youâd let it grow in secret, fed by small gestures and half-seconds of warmth. The book he left for you, the soft look in his eyes that night by the fire, the way he said good morning with something almost tender behind it. You had clung to those moments like a lifeline.
But days turned into weeks, and the small warmth faded back into routine. He was kind, yes. Always kind. He would hold the door for you, ask after your day, pour you wine at dinner. But kindness wasnât closeness. It wasnât love. It wasnât seeing you.
And maybe, you thought one evening as you brushed your hair in the mirror, maybe it never would be.
You stared at your reflection â the strands falling neatly around your shoulders, the gown youâd chosen carefully because you knew he liked the color blue. You looked⊠fine. Ordinary. Unremarkable. You wondered if that was what he saw when he looked at you â something decent, polite, unmemorable.
The sound of the front door opening echoed faintly through the hall. Sirius was home.
You straightened instinctively, brushing invisible wrinkles from your dress. It was pathetic, this reflex, the way your body still wanted to impress him, even when your heart knew better.
He came in, shaking off his coat, smelling faintly of the outside â cold air, tobacco, a trace of something smoky. His hair was mussed, his expression tired.
âYouâre home late,â you said softly.
âOrder meeting,â he replied, voice distracted. He glanced at you briefly, then away again. âYou didnât have to wait up.â
âI wasnât,â you lied.
He nodded absently, already halfway to the stairs. âLong day. Iâll see you in the morning.â
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught. You just nodded, watching him disappear up the steps. The ache that followed was familiar -- dull, patient, merciless.
That night, when you joined him in bed, he was already asleep. Or pretending to be. You lay on your side, facing away from him, and realized you hadnât really been touched, truly touched, in weeks. Not since that last night heâd reached for you out of obligation. Not since youâd stopped pretending it meant something.
Something inside you broke quietly, the way glass breaks under water â soundless, invisible, absolute.
The next morning, you didnât make his tea.
You didnât wait for him at breakfast or join him in the study. You spent the day in the garden instead, sleeves rolled up, hands in the dirt. The cold bit at your fingers, but the ache was grounding â honest in a way nothing else in that house was.
When Sirius passed by the window that afternoon, he paused. You were kneeling by the rosebushes, brushing soil from your palms, the faintest trace of color in your cheeks. He hadnât seen you like that before â not the quiet, graceful figure who filled his house like furniture, but someone alive. Someone else.
He almost stepped outside. Almost. But the uncertainty stopped him, as it always did. He told himself you wanted space. He told himself you looked content. He told himself a dozen things to make the hesitation easier.
You didnât see him watching. You didnât care if he did.
By evening, you were exhausted â not from work, but from feeling. You had spent so long trying to be good, to be patient, to deserve his attention. And for what? The house still echoed the same way it always had.
When you came in for dinner, Sirius was at the table, a glass of wine in hand. He looked up, startled â maybe because you hadnât joined him in the morning, maybe because you hadnât waited.
âYou were gone all day,â he said.
You nodded, sitting down without meeting his gaze. âI needed air.â
âSomething wrong?â
You gave a faint laugh, bitter and soft. âYouâd notice?â
The question hung in the air. He frowned slightly, not defensive, just lost. âOf course I would.â
You looked at him then, really looked, and realized how tired he seemed. The faint lines around his eyes, the weight in his shoulders. You used to think that if he looked at you like that, youâd feel closer to him. But all it did now was make you feel smaller.
âI donât think you would,â you said finally. âNot really.â
He opened his mouth, but no words came.
You stood before he could find them, gathering your plate. âIâm going to bed.â
âYou havenât eaten,â he said quietly.
âIâm not hungry.â
Your footsteps echoed on the stairs, steady, final.
In your room, you undressed in silence. The mirror reflected someone you didnât recognize anymore â someone whoâd tried so hard to become what he might want that sheâd forgotten who she was before.
You thought of the girl youâd been before the marriage, the one who still believed in love, in choices, in warmth that came freely instead of being earned. You wondered if sheâd hate you now.
Sirius didnât come up right away. He sat alone at the table long after the candles burned down, your words replaying in his mind. Youâd notice?
It wasnât an accusation â it was too soft for that. It was worse. It was the sound of someone who had given up.
When he finally came to bed, you were already asleep, or at least pretending to be. He hesitated at the doorway, looking at you the way one looks at something fragile, afraid to touch it.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But he didnât know where to start. So instead, he sat at the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.
You opened your eyes then, just barely â enough to see the shape of him in the dark, hunched and lost.
He didnât see you looking.
And for the first time, you didnât feel the urge to comfort him. You just closed your eyes again, letting the distance settle like dust between you.
Maybe it was too late.
Maybe heâd finally started to notice, but youâd already run out of hope to give.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
Sirius woke to an empty bed.
The sheets beside him were still faintly warm, the faint indentation of your body visible against the linen, but you were gone. The house was quiet in that thick, unsettling way that meant something had shifted. It wasnât the usual morning silence â the calm, habitual hush that came before the day began. No. This was absence.
He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. The space between you felt wider now, heavy with things unsaid.
It wasnât that he hadnât noticed you pulling away. He had, in the way one notices a draft under a door, or a missing sound theyâd long since tuned out. It had started small: the empty teacup that used to wait for him on the desk, the soft hums that no longer filled the corridor, the way your chair at dinner was often left empty, replaced by a polite note on parchment: Ate earlier. Donât wait up.
He told himself it was nothing.
That you needed space.
That it was better this way.
But now, standing alone in the kitchen, with no trace of your quiet domestic presence, Sirius felt something sharp twist in his chest â not guilt exactly, not yet, but something close to it.
You had always been there, he realized.
In the rhythm of the house, the steadiness of each day. In the way the curtains were drawn back each morning to let in light. In the quiet meals that appeared when he forgot to eat. In the peace that existed despite him â despite his ghosts, despite the coldness heâd let settle between you.
You hadnât asked for much. Youâd never demanded affection or comfort or truth. Youâd just stayed. That was what made it worse.
He remembered your voice at dinner, low and tired.
âYouâd notice?â
He had no answer for it then. He still didnât.
Because the truth was simple: he hadnât.
Heâd built walls long before your marriage, and heâd let you live behind them like a polite stranger, all under the pretense of sparing you â as if indifference was a kindness.
But when had it turned into cruelty? When had he become his own familyâs ghost story, a man who could not love the person heâd vowed to protect?
By midday, Sirius found himself pacing the halls. He told himself he was looking for a book, but his eyes kept catching on traces of you instead.
A ribbon left on the windowsill.
A half-read novel by the chair.
A faint scent of lavender that lingered on the air.
He followed it into the garden.
You were there, kneeling among the rosebushes again, wearing that worn cardigan he always thought was too big for you. Your hair was loose today, a few strands caught by the wind. You looked⊠peaceful, he thought. And that was what scared him most.
âDidnât think you liked the cold,â he said quietly.
You turned your head slightly, but not enough to meet his eyes. âItâs better than sitting inside.â
He hesitated at the doorway, hands deep in his pockets. âYou shouldâve woken me.â
âI didnât see the point.â
The words were soft, but they hit harder than anything she could have shouted.
He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat tightened. So instead, he watched as you stood, brushing dirt from your palms. There was no anger in you, no spark left to fight with. Just quiet exhaustion.
âY/N,â he started, but you were already walking past him toward the house.
âIâll have dinner ready later,â you said.
And then, after a pause: âYou donât have to join me if youâre busy.â
He turned to watch you go, a strange panic settling in his chest.
For months heâd thought this distance was safety â that as long as you were polite and calm, things were fine. But now he realized how silence could rot a home faster than any fight ever could.
That evening, he didnât go out. He sat by the fire instead, alone, his mind restless. The house felt too large without you moving through it. Too hollow.
He thought about the little things youâd done â all the things heâd dismissed without a second glance. The dinners that had been for him. The music that had been his. The small, thoughtful gestures that had gone unnoticed because heâd decided they didnât matter.
How many had there been?
How many times had he looked at you and chosen not to see?
He thought of you sitting across from him at dinner, wearing that blue dress â the one that had made him pause for a heartbeat before looking away. Youâd looked beautiful that night. He hadnât said a word.
A low ache formed in his chest. Regret, sharp and unfamiliar.
When the clock struck ten, he went upstairs. The door to your room, your room now, he realized, was closed. A line had been drawn, silently but surely.
He knocked once.
âY/N?â
Silence.
He almost turned away, but then your voice came, quiet and careful: âYes?â
âI⊠wanted to say goodnight.â
There was a pause, long enough for him to feel foolish. Then: âGoodnight, Sirius.â
No bitterness. No warmth. Just polite distance, the same tone heâd used with you for months.
He closed his eyes, hand still resting against the door.
He had no one to blame but himself.
Later, lying awake in the dark, he couldnât shake the thought that this was how people left you. Not in anger or grief â but by degrees. Slowly, quietly, until one day you looked up and realized they werenât waiting for you anymore.
And maybe that was what scared him most of all.
Because for the first time since your wedding day, Sirius realized he didnât want you to leave.
Not the version of you who sat across from him like a stranger, but the one who had tried â the one whoâd smiled at him in the sunlight and hoped heâd look back.
Heâd missed her.
Heâd missed you.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
The air in Grimmauld Place had grown thick with silence. Not the cold, angry kind that follows a fight, but the kind that grows quietly, like dust settling on things left untouched.
You had stopped trying to fill the void between you and Sirius. The effort had become too exhausting, and each attempt had been met with the same soft, polite indifference that had slowly chipped away at your hope.
Heâd always been civil, even kind at times. That was the worst part. Sirius wasnât cruel. He just wasnât there.
He sat across from you at dinner most nights, eating quietly, sometimes talking about work or things that didnât matter. And youâd nod, smile faintly, sip your wine, and tell yourself you were fine with that. Because if you didnât, you might shatter.
Lately, though, youâd begun to fade in your own home. You dressed simply, you spoke less. The fire in you, that quiet but persistent desire to be seen had dimmed.
You woke one morning before him, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. His arm was draped across your waist, heavy and absent, like muscle memory rather than affection. He looked peaceful, and you almost envied that.
You slipped out from beneath his arm carefully, dressing in silence. You didnât bother with your hair the way you used to, nor with the perfume he once called ânice.â
You made breakfast. For both of you, as always. But you didnât wait for him to join. You ate quietly by the window while the sky outside stayed pale and sleepy.
When he finally came down, shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess, you barely looked up.
âMorning,â he said, voice still low from sleep.
âMorning,â you murmured, setting your cup down.
He hesitated. Normally, youâd have smiled â asked about his plans, tried to make conversation. Instead, you stood, placed your cup in the sink, and said, âIâll be out for a while.â
When you returned, he was often gone, sometimes at headquarters, sometimes out with James or Remus. When he was home, the two of you exchanged words out of habit more than desire.
He noticed the shift, but he didnât know what to do with it.
Heâd catch you humming softly while cleaning the sitting room, only to stop when he entered. You no longer asked him if he wanted tea, or if heâd eaten. You didnât press your hand against his arm in passing. You didnât fill the silence with pleasantries.
Youâd gone quiet.
And somehow, that silence was louder than anything heâd ever heard.
One evening, he found you in the study, seated by the fire. You didnât look up as he entered. Your book was open, but your eyes werenât moving across the page.
He lingered by the door, watching you for a long moment. The firelight made your features soft, tired, distant. You looked⊠older. Not in years, but in weariness.
âYouâve been out a lot lately,â he said finally.
âI have.â
âEverything alright?â
You nodded once. âYes.â
He waited for more, but nothing came.
âY/N,â he said, softer this time. âDid I do something?â
You blinked, finally looking at him. âDo something?â
He shifted, uneasy under your calm tone. âYouâre⊠different.â
You closed your book gently, setting it aside. âIâve stopped trying, Sirius.â
His brow creased. âTrying what?â
âTo be someone you might notice.â
He froze, lips parting, but you went on before he could speak.
âIâve spent months trying to make this⊠marriage something more than a name on paper. I tried to make you comfortable, to be kind, to be what I thought you wanted. But itâs exhausting trying to be chosen by someone who never wanted you to begin with.â
He exhaled slowly, guilt flickering across his face, but you werenât finished.
âI donât blame you,â you continued, voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady. âYou didnât ask for this either. I know that. But I canât keep pretending that this life doesnât ache. I canât keep setting a place for you in my heart when youâve never once stepped inside it.â
Siriusâs throat worked around words he couldnât form.
You stood, smoothing the front of your skirt. âYou donât need to say anything. Iâm not angry. Iâm just⊠tired.â
And with that, you left him in the flickering firelight, the faint scent of your lavender soap fading in the air.
That night, he couldnât sleep.
He lay awake staring at the ceiling, the same way you had that morning. The bed felt too large, too quiet. For the first time, he realized he hadnât actually seen you in weeks. Not really.
He thought of the mornings you used to hum while setting out breakfast, the gentle curve of your smile when he came home late. He thought of your perfume, the way it lingered on his robes even when he didnât notice.
Heâd taken it all for granted.
Now, all that warmth had goneâand the house felt like what it truly was: cold stone and obligation.
And Sirius Black, who had once sworn he would never be like the rest of his family, realized with a sick twist in his chest that he had become exactly like them.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
Sirius returned home one late afternoon, the sound of the front door closing softly behind him. He didnât slam it, didnât curse under his breath about the endless creak of the hinges like he usually did.
There was something quieter about him. Something careful.
You noticed it first in the way his boots didnât drag against the floors; how his voice, when he greeted you, didnât echo through the hall like an afterthought.
âEvening,â he said from the doorway of the drawing room.
You looked up from the book in your lap, blinking at him. âEvening.â
He hesitated before stepping in. You could tell immediately that something was differentâhe didnât move with the same restless energy, that constant need to fill the silence. Instead, he seemed almost⊠hesitant.
He looked at you as though seeing you properly for the first time in a long while.
âI saw you walking back from the market earlier,â he said after a pause. âDid you... buy flowers?â
Your brow furrowed slightly. âYes. Just a few.â
âI havenât seen flowers in the house for months,â he murmured, glancing toward the vase on the mantle. The lilacs were small, delicate, the faintest trace of life against the gloom of Grimmauld Place.
You didnât answer.
Sirius shifted, running a hand through his hair. âThey look nice,â he said softly.
You nodded. âThank you.â
The silence stretched thin between you, full of unspoken things.
Over the next few days, you noticed little things, small shifts that didnât make sense.
The breakfast dishes were washed before you came downstairs one morning. He started leaving earlier, but returned at more reasonable hours. He no longer reeked of smoke and firewhisky. He lingered near the kitchen sometimes, asking if you needed help.
It wasnât much. But it was something.
And you didnât know what to do with that.
You had built your own armor, piece by piece. Indifference had become your refuge. Now, suddenly, he was showing cracks in his own, and you couldnât decide whether to look through them or turn away.
One afternoon, you were in the library, dusting shelves half-heartedly when he appeared in the doorway again.
He stood there a moment, arms crossed loosely, watching you. âYou still clean in here?â
âSomeone has to,â you replied, voice even.
He smiled faintly. âSuppose thatâs true.â
You turned back to the shelves. His footsteps approached slowly until he stood beside you, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne â something he hadnât worn in so long.
âYou know,â he said quietly, âthis house never feels alive unless youâre in it.â
You froze, your hand pausing mid-wipe.
It was the sort of thing he mightâve said once, offhandedly charmingâ but this time, it sounded earnest.
You didnât look at him. âYou donât have to say things like that, Sirius.â
âIâm not saying it because I have to.â
You swallowed. âThen why now?â
He hesitated, and for a moment you thought he wouldnât answer. Then, softly:
âBecause Iâve been a fool. And I donât think I realized how much until you stopped looking at me.â
Your breath caught. Slowly, you turned to face him. His expression was unreadable â no smirk, no easy charm. Just quiet sincerity that unnerved you more than anything.
âI didnât think you wanted me to look at you,â you said carefully.
âI didnât know what I wanted,â he admitted, voice low. âBut I do know that this house feels colder without you in it. Thatâs not nothing.â
You stared at him, unsure what to believe. His words sounded genuine, but youâd built too much of yourself around disappointment to trust the warmth too quickly.
So you said nothing.
After a long moment, he nodded once, as if accepting that. âAlright,â he murmured. âIâll give you space.â
And then he left â quietly, like a ghost who knew better than to haunt too loudly.
That night, you lay in bed on your side, staring at the wall. Sirius came in late but sober, moving carefully so as not to disturb you.
You pretended to be asleep.
You felt the mattress dip as he settled beside you. Then, for the first time in months, his hand hovered uncertainly over your back. It didnât touch â but it stayed there, as though he wanted to bridge the distance but didnât yet feel entitled to.
And strangely, you found yourself listening to his breathing.
You didnât move. You didnât speak. But somewhere deep inside, something fragile stirred, a flicker of something that was not yet forgiveness, but not entirely indifference either.
In the morning, he was gone again, but the lilacs had been replaced with new ones.
And on the kitchen counter sat a folded note in Siriusâs handwriting:
âI know I canât undo the years I wasted. But Iâm here now. For whatever thatâs worth.â
You stared at it for a long time, unsure whether to smile or cry.
Because after all this time, you werenât sure if it was worth anything at all â or if it might finally be the start of something real.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
The house had been quieter lately, but not empty, more like the air had shifted into something waiting.
You could feel it every time Sirius walked into a room â the tentative calm that followed him, like he was trying not to disturb something fragile.
It was strange to witness. For years, youâd grown used to the thunder of his presence: the loud laughter that filled corridors, the careless charm, the weight of his footsteps echoing off stone floors. Now, that recklessness had been replaced by patience.
You didnât know what to do with patience.
You decided to test it. Not cruelly, not to punish him â but to see if the new calm he wore so carefully was real, or just another mood that would pass like all the others.
It began with breakfast.
You rose early, as always, and made tea. You didnât expect him to join you â he rarely did â but halfway through your toast, you heard him coming down the stairs.
He looked surprised to see you still at the table. You normally finished before he ever appeared.
âMorning,â he said gently.
âMorning.â
He hesitated, then gestured toward the seat across from you. âMind if IâŠ?â
You nodded once. âGo ahead.â
He poured himself tea, quiet and careful, and when he reached for the sugar, you noticed something: heâd started taking three spoonful's.
You blinked. âYou like it sweet now?â
He glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. âTrying to be less predictable.â
You huffed a soft, unexpected laugh â small, but real. And he looked almost startled by it.
The silence that followed wasnât sharp this time. It was calm, like two people finally learning how to breathe in the same space.
You began noticing him more after that, not as the man youâd built from memory, but as someone different.
Heâd fix little things around the house: oil a hinge, mend a loose latch, clean the old family frames that had gathered dust. Youâd walk into a room to find him standing quietly, sleeves rolled up, hair falling over his face, muttering at stubborn screws or paint chips.
You didnât speak much, but you lingered.
One evening, you caught him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, trying to cook. The air smelled faintly of garlic and smoke. He looked up when you entered, eyes widening slightly.
âIâm aware this looks like a crime scene,â he said, motioning to the pan.
You leaned against the counter. âThatâs one word for it.â
âRemus swore I could make pasta,â he muttered, poking it with the spoon like it had personally offended him.
âRemus has too much faith.â
Sirius laughed, properly laughed, and it startled you. It wasnât loud or wild like before; it was softer, almost shy. He rubbed the back of his neck. âYou could always show me how itâs actually done.â
You tilted your head. âYouâd let me?â
âIâd beg you, if thatâs what it takes.â
So you did. You took the spoon from his hand, brushing fingers by accident, and tried not to think about how that tiny contact made something flicker in your chest.
The nights that followed were calmer. You still slept with space between you, but it didnât feel like a void anymore.
Sometimes, youâd find him reading in bed when you came in. Heâd glance up, offer a quiet âgoodnight,â and youâd answer without the cold edge that used to linger on your tongue.
There were no grand gestures, no sudden declarations. Just small moments that began to stitch themselves into the rhythm of your days.
One afternoon, you found yourself walking with him into the garden. The sun had made a rare appearance through the London haze, and Sirius looked almost younger in the light.
He paused beside the lilacs youâd planted, crouching slightly to touch a leaf.
âTheyâre surviving,â he said, almost to himself.
âTheyâre resilient,â you murmured. âI think they learned to adapt to this place.â
He glanced at you then, eyes soft. âYouâre talking about the flowers, or yourself?â
You felt your throat tighten, but you didnât look away. âBoth, maybe.â
His smile faltered into something sad and fond. âYou shouldnât have had to adapt to me.â
You didnât answer right away. The breeze rustled the lilacs. âPeople do what they must.â
He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didnât. Instead, he stood beside you in the sunlight until the moment felt whole again.
That night, you stood at the vanity brushing your hair. Sirius sat on the edge of the bed behind you, quiet, hands clasped between his knees.
You met his gaze in the mirror for a second â long enough to see hesitation in his eyes.
He rose slowly, stepping behind you. His reflection hovered close, uncertain.
âMay I?â he asked, nodding toward the brush in your hand.
Your heart stuttered. You hesitated, then passed it to him.
He began to brush through your hair carefully, gently, as if afraid you might break if he pressed too hard. His touch was slow, deliberate, reverent in a way that made your chest ache.
It wasnât intimate in the usual sense. It was quiet, almost sacred.
When he was done, he set the brush down and said softly, âYou deserve more than what Iâve given you.â
You swallowed hard, unsure what to say. âMaybe,â you murmured. âBut Iâm still here, arenât I?â
His breath caught. You stood, brushing past him gently, and slipped into bed.
For the first time in years, when he followed, you didnât turn away.
You werenât ready to believe in him fully. Not yet. But you no longer flinched from the hope that maybe, just maybe, he was trying.
And for now, that was enough.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
It had been weeks since Siriusâs quiet transformation began, and though the walls of Grimmauld Place still loomed heavy with its shadows, something in the air had shifted entirely.
You felt it every time he was near, that almost-electric awareness, the ache of something unspoken sitting just beneath the surface. Youâd begun to move around each other like magnets, careful not to touch, careful not to draw too close, because you both knew what might happen if you did.
But tonight, the restraint frayed.
The storm outside had rolled in quietly, the kind that hummed low through the walls, making the lamps flicker and the air hum. You were in the study, pretending to read, the sound of rain tapping against the window.
Sirius stood by the fireplace, half in shadow, his shirt sleeves rolled, the amber glow cutting along his jaw. You could feel his eyes on you â not the absent kind of looking he used to do, but something heavy and searching.
You turned a page you didnât read. âYouâre staring.â
He didnât deny it. âYouâve changed.â
âSo have you.â
He smiled faintly, but it wasnât playful. âNot enough, maybe.â
You looked up then, meeting his gaze. There it was â the weight of years spent circling one another, all the longing and exhaustion and quiet affection tangled into something that finally demanded to be seen.
âWhy now?â you asked softly. âWhy only start trying when I finally stopped?â
Sirius took a slow step closer, then another, his voice low. âBecause I was afraid of wanting something I didnât think I could have.â
âAnd what is it you want now?â
He was close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off him, the scent of rain and smoke in his clothes. He looked down at you, his voice barely above a whisper.
âYou,â he said. âBut not the way I was supposed to. The way I do now.â
Something inside you cracked â a quiet, fragile thing that had been holding everything in place for years. You rose slowly from your chair, and suddenly, the space between you was gone.
He reached out first, fingers brushing against your jaw as if asking permission. When you didnât pull away, he cupped your face fully, thumb tracing the edge of your cheek.
âYou shouldnât look at me like that,â you whispered.
âLike what?â
âLike you mean it.â
âI do,â he said, and then he kissed you.
It wasnât gentle at first, it was desperate, all the years of silence and unspoken words breaking open in one sharp exhale.
His hands tangled in your hair, your fingers caught against his collar, and you kissed him back like youâd been waiting a lifetime to remember how. Lips parted, tongues grazing each others teeth in rushed decisions, hands gripping each other as if never needing anything more in the world.
The storm outside cracked loud against the windows, but neither of you moved from each other.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless.
âI donât deserve this,â he murmured.
âThen earn it,â you said, voice trembling but sure.
Something in him broke at that , you felt it in the way he kissed you again, slower this time, as though memorizing the taste of forgiveness. His hands slid around your waist, drawing you closer until you could feel the steady, heavy beat of his heart against yours.
You didnât think. You didnât need to. You just let yourself fall into the warmth youâd both been starving for.
The book slipped forgotten to the floor. The fire cracked and flared. His lips found yours again and again, hungry, reverent, lingering â each kiss more certain than the last, each breath a confession he couldnât speak aloud.
When you finally broke apart, neither of you spoke for a long moment. His thumb traced your bottom lip, still swollen from the kiss, and he smiled faintly.
âI think,â he said softly, âthis is the first time this house has ever felt alive.â
You pressed your forehead against his chest, closing your eyes as his arms came around you.
For the first time, there was no distance left to bridge.
And in that quiet, storm-lit room, the two of you finally let the walls crumble â not in anger or obligation, but in something that felt dangerously close to love.
Illicit Affairs {Dad!Garreth Weasley x F!Professor!Reader}
AGED UP CHARACTERS, 18+ SCENARIOS (Characters are adults, graduated from Hogwarts, and are 18+)
Introduction: Garreth thinks back on his life with you, and it was far from perfect. But heâd relive every second if he had the chance.Â
Word Count: ~ 13,100 (I think Iâm gonna puke)
Warnings:Â Smut, Angst without a happy ending, Cheating, Loss
Authorâs Note: Want to say right now that cheating is disgusting. This is purely a fantasy scenario. So if you get triggered by cheating I highly recommend you skip out on this fanfic. This romanticizes it and I didnât really write the person getting cheated on as a realistic human being. More than anything, this is smut with a plot. I watched Cyberpunk: Edgerunners and Iâve never felt so empty inside. So writing this, I just felt like being sad, ya know? Like literally ruining my entire month.đ Anyways, itâs 10 pm my time so still Wednesday for me. Bone Apple Tea Weasley Wednesday-ers! Iâm going to hyperventilate and cry in bed. (Like wtf did I write thisâŠ?)
⧠warnings: BIG misunderstandings and angst, hurt with comfort?, self-doubt, a kind of paranoia, angst, angst, and did I mention angst, crying, fem reader implied
a/n: hope you guys like this! I love misunderstanding angst, it scratches my brain so good
part 1 part 2 part 3
A ping on your phone alerts you to a message from Hayden, a cute boy in your chemistry lab who has been the victim of your affections as of late. He was everything you wanted in a man: dark brown hair, tall, smart, and somewhat chiseled. He was somewhat shy but sure knew how to make conversation, never failing to make you laugh as you both struggled to follow the lab instructions correctly. Since the start of the second trimester, when your teacher finally decided to reassign tables, by a lucky draw, you ended up with him, and you both have been lab partners since!
You both got closer, naturally. First, you'd gotten his number to communicate homework answers (which really meant you both copied off each other), then you had started calling before tests to prep. So when you got a message from him today, you thought that it was something of the sort, either an answer he wanted to just someone to complain about the lab professor to.
He started with a simple 'hey',
To which you quickly typed out a 'hi!'
Then, his next message made your heart jump as you stared down at the glowing screen, surprised by his boldness.
'do u want to hang out at the cafe today? we can get some lab homework done'
You squealed in excitement. Sure, it might not be a date, but it was a start! You threw your phone on the bed and jumped around your room, taking a few minutes to calm down your smile and giggling before you could reply. As you glanced down at your phone, another notification underneath his previous one made your eyebrows furrow.
'bring Lindsay'
Bring Lindsay? What? Lindsay was one of your friends, attached to your hip since the beginning of this year when you both had orientation together. You didn't know why he would ask for her. Sure, they had talked occasionally when she would pick you up from your lab, but not enough to straight up ask for her. Unless there was something going on... No! That would be impossible. How would they even have the time to do that? You were with them during all their interactions, and you were sure nothing outside the realm of ordinary had happened.
You stared at his message, confused as you struggled to come up with a reason for his request. After a few seconds of blank confusion, you typed out a curt 'sure' and texted Lindsay about the strange request that Hayden had given, as well as her invite to the hangout. She was as bewildered as you, theorizing that it was just to make you feel more comfortable. But you were plenty comfortable around him already! He knew that, right?
To get your mind off the strange situation, you chose your outfit for the cafe: a cute fall sweater with jeans. You looked at yourself in the mirror. Could you get any cuter? With that, you packed your bag for the cafe and got ready, doing your hair and makeup. However, somewhere along the way, you lost track of time, ending up with you hopping to put your shoes on as you smashed the button to the elevator repeatedly, as if that would make it come up faster.
You silently cheered that the cafe was only a three minute walk away from your house, but still, that was a whole three minutes where you couldn't see Hayden! You shot a quick text to Hayden and Lindsay that you were going to be late and to get started. Ugh, only if I had kept a track of the time!
By the time you arrived at the cafe, you were already 15 minutes late, and since Lindsay told you that she was going to be 25 minutes late, you didn't feel that bad about your late arrival anymore. But still, I should treat Hayden to a coffee for the wait. As you entered the quaint little shop, you spotted Lindsay already sitting at a corner table with Hayden. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. How was she already here? You walked up to them, mustering up the brightest smile you could, even if you felt a dull tug at your heart.
"Hey, guys! When did you get here?" Your sudden greeting startled them both, and they looked at you, a little panicked, as if they didn't expect you to be here.
"Oh, hey (y/n)!" Hayden started, straightening up his back as he looked up at you. "I saw Lindsay walking here from her apartment, had no idea she lived so far, so I decided to give her a ride."
In response, Lindsay sheepishly smiled, "Sorry, I didn't have time to text you."
You eye their table, already covered in their notes and two coffees, one caramel latte and a pumpkin chai, your favorite. Of course, they had started without you, what did you expect, for them to wait? You did ask them to start without you after all.
A bitter taste lingered in your mouth as you smiled at Lindsay, "No worries, happy you got here safe," and sat down next to her.
You all chatted and worked for the rest of the evening as you tried to push down the jealous feeling that kept clawing its way up your chest. When had they gotten so close? And why were they acting so strange around you? You ignored the sensation and got up to get a drink, coming back with a pumpkin chai as Lindsay's stayed untouched for the rest of the evening.
At the end of your study session, you all retreated outside to bid your farewells and return home. Before you could walk away, Hayden caught you by the wrist, tugging you to him. As his larger, warmer hand encompassed your own, you felt a slight shiver.
"Hey, it's pretty cold out. Want a ride home?" Hayden offered, like the gentleman he was! But you noticed how he glanced at Lindsay, who was starting to walk down the street a final time, her light brown hair whipping in the wind behind her.
The gut-wrenching feeling came back, and you turned to smile at Hayden, one a little too stressed or wide to feel genuine, "It's ok, I don't live far."
"You sure?" He asked, one eyebrow slightly raised. You could hear a slight sense of... something in his voice. Was it a strain from frustration or anticipation?
You nodded, shooting him a smile, "Lindsay lives much farther than me anyway, I'll see you back at the lab!"
You could see him open his mouth to say something else, but you weren't sure if you wanted to hear it. And with that, you sped off in the direction of your house, not turning back to see what Hayden did or if he had turned around to call out to Lindsay.
For the rest of the night, your mind is consumed by the eventful evening, paranoia and speculation driving your train of thought in places you never considered. What if they had already had a history before they had met you? What if you were intruding? As your brain speculated more, you fell into a deeper sense of helplessness. Even if they did have something going on, at least Lindsay would tell you, right?
But since that day, your dynamic had shifted, Lindsay was always invited to your hangouts, and when she wasn't, she would most likely drop by to say hi. When she did, you started to notice an expression on Hayden's face that you couldn't quite understand. It was clear that they were closer than before, 'coincidentally' bumping into each other often when they had barely seen each other before, secret glances, whispers you couldn't quite catch.
You suddenly felt in competition with Lindsay for Hayden's attention, and you didn't want to be. Yes, you had liked Hayden for almost a year now, but you weren't sure if he was worth feeling so hopeless over. You were tired of feeling like you weren't enough during hangouts, that she always had to be there.
You missed the days when it was just him and you joking around, and sure, even though labs were the only time you could feel like that most nowadays, the notion that he and Lindsay would return to their usual routine when you stepped out of the room made you feel small. Had the time you spent with him really meant nothing?
So you started making excuses, as much as it hurt you to turn down Hayden's invites to hang out, you were tired of never fully having him, or feeling like Lindsay was fated to always be there. You were unbelievably distraught the first week you stopped coming, seriously contemplating just returning to the hangouts as Hayden's and Lindsay's texts flooded your phone, asking where you had been and why you were so busy.
You gave vague answers every time and slowly started to withdraw from Hayden, answering his texts less enthusiastically and with shorter sentences. After all, if he WAS talking to your friend, you had better set some boundaries.
Then, you started to decline him walking you to your next class after lab, trying to ignore the way his eyebrows screwed up in that unreadable expression he often wore when you turned him down on a hangout or an offer.
He looked like he had something to say, but before he could, he caught himself and instead softly replied, "ok," giving you a small nod and walking away.
When that gap in your life opened up, the one you so desperately tried to make Hayden fit into, an unexpected guest slowly started to fill it in his stead. His name was Jacob, and he was a whirlwind of confusion and energy compared to Hayden. At first, you thought he was making fun of you when he stopped you in the hall to point out your messy hair, a product of you running late to class in the morning.
But as he reached out to smooth out the unfortunate spike in your hair, your face warmed up. Upon closer inspection, you could see how handsome he was. A slightly tanned complexion and dark hair, the color of which brought out the small mole under his left eye. After he was done, he gave you a grin and a quick thumbs up, then continued jogging in the direction he was already going.
You brushed off the encounter as a one off experience but a few days later you ended up bumping into him yet again. This time, you both donned the colors of your college at your school's football game as you sat down next to him in the stadium. You had come with Hayden, Lindsay, and a few other friends, opting to take the first seat out of the ones you had chosen in order to give Hayden and Lindsay their time together.
But as you inched down the cramped row slowly, you noticed the same boy from the hallway. After you sat down, you took a sideways glance at him to confirm if it really was the same guy, only for him to already be looking at you. His eyes and grin widening at your eye contact.
"Hey! Remember me? We met in the hall."
So he did remember you! After that first comment from him, you both fell into a comfortable conversation after introducing yourselves, and you felt as if he had known you forever. At the end of the night, just as the game ended with your team winning, Jacob, as he introduced himself, held out his phone for your number.
You heard Hayden make a funny sound behind you, but as you glanced back, you saw his drink on the ground and his fist somewhat clenched. You furrowed your eyebrows as the sight and turned back to Jacob, smiling and punching your number and name into his phone.
From that night on, you started to hang out with Jacob more and more, review nights for a class turning into regular hangouts as he became a closer friend to you. However, you would be lying if you said that you weren't interested in being something more, and if you were reading him right, he was too.
When you weren't with him, you were with Hayden and Lindsay, but they both had been acting strange lately. Hayden had been texting you more recently and had been asking to hang out, and obviously, even though he didn't say it, you brought Lindsay along. Acting almost as a wingman as you always came up with an excuse to leave early, whether that was a class or a meeting you had to attend.
However, whenever you mentioned leaving, Hayden always insisted that you stay for a bit longer, even if it was only for a few moments. Usually, you would oblige, but ever since you had gotten the feeling that something was going on between him and Lindsay, you stayed strong in your will. However, Lindsay was a different story, looking nervous whenever you mentioned Jacob and canceling on your hangouts with Hayden more regularly.
Although you tried not to show it, you still liked Hayden, even if you were also starting to like Jacob. Well, it's not easy to forget someone you'd liked for a year.
The breaking point in keeping the balance between you, Hayden, and Lindsay came to a head on a hangout just like the rest. It was originally just you and Hayden in a small cafe, working on your essays together, making somewhat awkward conversation. At least compared to what you had before. You could sense the awkward tension between you both as Hayden took turns talking to you and rapidly typing something on his phone.
Then, just as your conversation returned to the same comfortable pace as before, a familiar light brown haired figure stepped into the cafe. Your heart dropped. 'Of course she was here too. ' She spotted you both and waved, walking over and taking a seat at your table. You saw Hayden's smile flatten for a second before returning to its full glory, greeting her warmly. And just like that, you felt like the third person in the meet-up, almost like you weren't supposed to be there.
Your patience reached its peak when you saw Hayden lean over and whisper something in her ear, and in turn, she laughed and whispered something back. Just then, you saw him reach for something, a small bouquet of flowers in a bag by his feet. How had you not seen that before? Was he going to give her flowers in front of you? You couldn't stand it, a strange sense of anger and envy clawing its way up your throat as you quickly shoved your belongings into your bag, catching the attention of a bewildered Hayden.
"Why are you packing up?" he asked, standing up to meet you at where you stood.
"Listen, Hayden I know that you and Lindsay have something going on-"
He interrupted you, "Wait, hear me-"
And in return, you interrupted him back, "I don't care if you tell me or not, but stop using me as the middle man-" Your tone dropped as you delivered that last sentence with a sense of finality, "-especially since I've liked you for a while."
Without even looking at his face, you ran out of the cafe, not caring how crazy you looked as tears ran down your face. The cold air whipped your body and face, you'd forgotten to put your coat on in your rush to get out, and now you were facing the chill of that autumn air. As you finally came to a stop, you noticed a pair of beaten up sneakers in front of you, and you only knew one person who would wear hotdog socks with them.
"Jacob?" You look up at him, his facial expression conveying his mild surprise.
But quickly it shifts to a sympathetic smile as he pulls you in by the jacket in your hands, wrapping it around you. "Hey, stranger."
And with that, you broke down in his arms, clutching the plush material of his coat as he softly stroked your back, providing a sense of comfort. You didn't need to explain or say anything at all to know that Jacob understood you in that moment, letting you leave a tear-stained mess on the front of his coat. As you stopped crying, you turned to see Hayden standing a few feet away, a conflicted expression on his face as he looked between the flowers clutched in his hands, and the sight of you being comforted by Jacob.
Why was he here... and why did he look so distraught?
a/n: I hope you guys like that so far!! This is just part 1 of this mini series and we're gonna have a few more parts and a different p.o.v next time as well. so please stick around and enjoy!!
cw; extremely toxic relationship dynamics, angst, spiraling state of mind & depictions of bad mental health, non-sexual degradation, nsfw themes, dubcon, extremely obsessive behaviour, mdni 18+
notes; trilogy finale!!! finally!!! disclaimer, you're either going to love or hate me for this but i hope you enjoy reading anyway âĄ
series masterlist
âfuck, please donât stop,â kean groans. ânot when iâm so close, baby.â
familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist and draw you close, against a warm body. your skin buzzes, and you're hot to the touch.
you donât even bother turning around. you shrug him off, pushing your way through the crowd.Â
the music is loud, and your headâs pounding. it reeks of sweat, and cheap cologne. something stubbornly sweet clings to the walls, and thereâs empty cans and glass bottles clinking against your shoes with every step you take to get away from him. none of it matters, though. you can hear him follow behind as you slink into the hallway.Â
âkean. will you take a fucking hint?âÂ
âbut iâm so close to believing that you actually want me to leave you alone.â
âi do.â you turn towards him, frowning. âi donât want to talk to you right now.â
âaw. donât be like that, cap.â cold hands crawl down your sides, fingers featherlight against your skin to toy with the prop knife hanging off your hips. âdid i hurt your feelings?â
you scoff, making an attempt to push past him. he catches your wrists easily, before turning your hands over so carefully in his own. âyou fucking wish.â
âuhuh, okay.â you feel keanâs lips curl against the heel of your hands as he laces them with his own, presses a kiss to where your pulse is racing. you think he can hear it, too. think he sees right through you when he narrows his eyes. looks down at you through sweeping lashes, the black tears of his costumeâs makeup running down his face, which he leans down to be level to yours. âyouâre jealous, arenât you?â
âno.â you yank your hands away from his. âyouâre delusional.â
âcome on, darling captain,â he murmurs, something eager in his voice. âyou want me to say sorry? hm? is that what you need from me?â
âi want you to leave me alone,â you retort, âand go find the girl that kissed you instead.â
he runs a hand down his face, and it comes away smudged from the dark makeup around his eyes. âlifeâs already hard enough,â kean sighs. âi donât need you making me harder, cap.â
âwow. itâs nice to know your dickâs at least bigger than your brain.â
âwhoops,â he grins, and itâs lazy and self satisfied and youâre annoyingly overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kiss it off his face. âfreudian slip, cap.â he leans down so that you feel him smile against the helix of your ear, âbut fuck that. letâs get out of here.â
âyouâre such a walking cliche,â you scrunch your nose. but this time, when he wraps a hand around the back of your neck, you donât protest.Â
âyou love it, cap.â you let him lead you down the hall, pushing through writhing, dancing bodies. cutting straight through conversations. his palm is warm, curled against the nape of your neck. âdonât lie to yourself.â
you roll your eyes, but your words lack bite. âfuck you.â
âtook you long enough to ask,â he grins. laughs, then, when you shoot him a withering look over your shoulder, just as he pushes one of the doors lining the hallway open. he lets go of you, and you stumble into the room.Â
âno lights?â you ask, squinting at the darkness and managing to make out a washing machine. the vague shape of a laundry basket, spilling over with a pile of dirty clothes.
âso eager to see me?â he taunts, just as the door slams shut behind him.Â
âforget it,â you step around a pair of socks lying on the floor and prop yourself up onto the washing machine, legs resting against the frontloader. âwhyâd you bother bringing me here? i donât want to spend half my night in a room full of dirty clothes with you.â
âif it makes you feel better, cap, weâve been in worse places,â he offers. "too many to count, yeah?"
you snap your fingers, something like pride unfurling within you. that warm feeling you get when you look to your past, feeling so glad to be on the other side of it. wondering what you would give to go back and do it all over again. âwe used to be fucking insane, didnât we? the school library, behind the auditorium curtains, the back of your dadâs car. god,â you groan, turning to him. âwe didnât even fog up the windows, did we?â
ânah,â he shakes his head, sounding just as proud. âand my dad knew, did i ever tell you that? he made me clean it inside out that weekend. gave me a long speech about saving it for marriage."
âoh my god,â you groan, running your hands down your face in shame. âiâm mortified. he probably thinks iâm some sort of degenerate sex addict.â
âbut darling captain,â kean makes a show of feigning surprise. âyouâre trying to tell me you arenât?â
âshut up,â you snap. âthis is serious, kean. your dad probably hates me now. i mean, i havenât even met him yet andââ
âyet?âÂ
thereâs something about the way in which he repeats it, like itâs a question. something downright perverse in how much it wants. you feel like youâve been caught asking for something you have no right to desire. shame threatens to consume you, as you make an attempt to backtrack.Â
âyeah. well, iâm bound to see him at formal school events, right? heâll be at graduation and awards night, soâŠâ you trail off, wondering whether heâll believe you. âi figuredâŠâ
âyeah, that makes sense.â kean swallows, and it makes his adam's apple more prominent. you think he might be nervous, and the sight of it is lovely. you wish, again, that the lights were on so you could see him properly, but in the darkness of the laundry room, all you can make out is the shape of him.Â
âiâm still mad at you, by the way.â
âwhen are you not?â he mutters.
âyouâre the one who wanted to do matching costumes and shit, kean! and then youâre just going around fucking with other people?â
âyou donât own me.â he says slowly, as if he wants to hear what you have to say. thereâs no explanation, there. something closer to a question, instead.
you trace the edges of his silhouette in the darkness and wonder why he always looks so much more unfamiliar when itâs just you and him.Â
âi know,â you concede, even though you want to say otherwise. the way heâs looking at you⊠you get this strange feeling that youâve failed some sort of test. âi donât own you⊠but itâs not about you, kean. you can go run around with whoever you like. itâs about how it looks for me,â you lie. âi have a reputation, you know.â
âof course you do, cap. my very own degenerate sex addict,â he mocks.
âkean. youâre pissing me off,â you point out, jabbing an accusatory finger to his chest. âagain.â
âyeah? you say that like itâs a bad thing, darling captain.â he intertwines your hands together, runs his thumb over your knuckles, taking his time with the callouses on your hands from all those hours of bass and guitar. âmaybe i like you when youâre mad. youâre soâŠâ
âwhat?â you prompt, and itâs so fucking eager. youâre glad he canât see you right now. but you really, really wish he could. âwhat am i?â
âyouâre you,â kean says, simply. âyouâre so far away from anything i could ever be.â
you focus on the feeling of his hands against yours. the way the pads of his fingers draw small circles into your skin, over and over again. you could lose yourself to the feeling, you think, if you really let yourself fall into it.Â
âi already know iâm better than you,â you force yourself to laugh. âso if thatâs what you mean, then try again.â
âyeah.â he rests his head on your shoulder, and you feel the strands of his hair brush against your neck, electric-blue and black. feels silky. soft. âyou are.â
from somewhere far away, the sound of loud laughter spills through the laundry door, and you can feel the musicâs bass thrumming in your head. everything else is quiet, except for the sound of his breathing. the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. a steady hush settles over the room, like a pall of fog, rolling in low, until you canât quite see anything clearly anymore.Â
time slows to a crawl. every second stretches on longer and youâre struck, suddenly, by the realisation that none of this will last. an overwhelming longing comes over you, and itâs something like mourning without having yet lost anything at all.Â
âwhat are we doing, kean?â
his voice is barely above a whisper in an echo of your own. âwhat do you want to be doing, cap?â
âi canât stand running in circles.â you look up, tearing your gaze away from his hands enveloping yours and force yourself to stare at the thin strip of light which spills into the darkness of the laundry through the gap at the bottom of the door. âi want something real.â
âyeah?â you feel him laugh against your skin. low. wry. âthis isnât real to you?â
âi donât know.â you admit, leaning your head against his. every word feels like taking off your clothes. laying yourself bare. âhave you ever been honest with me?â
âalways.â
âand youâd never lie to me?â
he pulls away from you, lets go of your hands. âwhy are you acting like you donât already know the answer to that?â
âmaybe i donât.âÂ
you donât dare look away. you donât know what youâre hoping to see on his face, but you canât bear the thought of it not being there.Â
âtalk to me, darling captain.â you canât even look at him, even when he cups your jaw, carefully tilts your face up with both hands. âwhatâs this really about?â
âi donât know.â your eyes sting. âyou just matter a lot to me, kean. i donât know.â
âyouâreââ his breath stutters. your hands instinctively fly to your face, ashamed, but heâs quick to hold your face in his hands, thumbs swiping the tears away.Â
âshit. sorry. i think the drinks are getting to me.â
âyouâre crying,â he marvels, breathless. his palms are clammy and his touch burns hot. âwhy are you crying?â
âi donât know,â you mumble. the more carefully he holds you, the gentler he cradles you, the more you wish you were someone braver. âi really donât know.â
keanâs fingers fall from your face. skim down your neck, over your throat, until theyâre digging into your shoulders. the sharp sting of pain forces you to finally turn to him. you meet his eyes in the dark, catch something strange through the tears. something youâve never really seen so strongly before, in anyone besides yourself.Â
itâs desperate.
âdo you want me to tell you i love you?â kean says. âbecause i can. i can do everything, if you want me to.â
it unnerves you.
âwhy did you let her kiss you?â you murmur, dragging your thumb over the smeared lipstick stain marring his neck.Â
something changes in that second, the exact moment you speak. you donât know if itâs the darkness playing tricks on you, but you couldâve sworn that his face falls for a second. something falters, a flicker of disappointment, before smoothing over impassively.Â
he smiles then, and itâs perfect, and he's perfect, and everything feels like it goes back to normal.Â
âyou want to know why i let her kiss me?â you nod wordlessly, and he only grins in response. âeasy,â he says. âbecause i knew it would piss you off.â
âso you wanted me to be upset?â
âyep,â he responds easily.Â
âbut i thought you liked me?â
he frowns, considering you like youâve just asked him a stupid question. âwell, yeah,â he says slowly, tilting his head to the side. âwhy would i want to do any of this to you if i didnât?â
âkean,â you shake your head, âthat makes no sense.â
âdoes it really need to?â he sighs, clearly bored with the conversation. âyou asked me why i did it, so i told you. thought you were smarter than that, though.â he adds. âplay stupid games, win stupid prizes, cap.â
âyeah, but... i mean, do you think it worked?â you ask, playing with the hem of his costumeâs miniskirt.Â
âbaby,â he taunts. "iâm not as dumb as you are. see?â your fingers slip under the thick plaid to wrap around the drawstrings of his sweats, acutely aware of the way his own hands curl into tight fists by his sides. âyou get petty just like this when youâre jealous. itâs hot.â
âyou talk too much,â you groan, ignoring the amused laugh that slips past his lips. âjust⊠shut up and kiss me, kean.â
âso intent on being kissed,â he muses. âarenât you?â
the words sound familiar, lingering uncertainly at the forefront of your mind for a few moments but you donât quite manage to place them, before they dissipate into nothing but the feeling of the boy in front of you.Â
âhurry up,â you mutter.Â
âpatience, baby.â kean practically buzzes against you, something simmering beneath his warm skin. he catches your wrists, twists them both behind your back as he pushes you closer against him, palm splayed over the small of your back. âyou donât want to take it off me first?â
you frown, and itâs only when he turns his face to the side, that your confusion sharpens to clarity, just as keanâs voice drops to something barely above a whisper.Â
âmake it go away,â he repeats, baring his neck. âitâs all yours.â
you stare at the remnant of the kiss marring his skin. so small, yet so impossibly fucking irritating. his eyes glitter in the dark, focused on the way in which you consider him.Â
âi donât want to be nice,â you confess.
something in keanâs eyes flashes. he swallows. his breathing is so shallow, but you pay no mind to the rapid rise and fall of his chest. focus, instead, on the way his blue eyes are framed by that black liner. the streaks of mascara running down his jaw. how pretty he looks right now, the picture of ruination.
âyeah, baby?â his voice is hoarse. strained. he tenses when you lick the side of his neck, right over the lipstick stain, muscles pulled taut. you marvel at the restraint it takes him not to touch you. âyou donât need to be.â you wonder how far you can push him before he goes insane. âyou can do whatever you like, love.â
you think of manicured nails trailing down the lean muscles of his torso, stopping at his pants, and coyly toying with the zip. you think, because he mentioned she was a makeup artist, of wide, smoky, eyes looking up at him through gorgeous lashes, of a woman on her knees before him, looking so beautiful with her glossy lips around him.Â
hence, at these disgusting fantasies youâve conjured in your sick mind, your tone changes, now dripping with something as sweet and stifling as thick honey. what was before a feigned indifference is now a blatant, yet false, display of saccharine affectionâ
and then your teeth are sinking into him, and it feels like retribution.Â
the golden boy, melting like butter before you. you wish, not for the first time, that you had an audience to enjoy this performance of yours. to witness the way he falls apart just for you. kean shudders, when you suck at the sensitive skin. run your tongue over the stain.Â
youâve always known he was selfishâyou just wished, for once, that you were wrong. you hoped you were the one exception.
he bites back a curse as you pull away from him, the thin string of saliva that connects you two. breaks apart when you look at your handiwork; the smudge is still there, albeit faded, framed by a ring of teeth marks that stand out, shaded a pale pink.Â
you think about how hard youâd need to bite him to leave behind blood. how nice he would look, his pale skin beneath rivulets ofâ
âred.â
you still, your heart racing.
it feels like alarm bells are going off in your head when you remember your promise, a dull panic settling over and seeping into you, hook, line, and sinker. you were supposed to be there for herâyou promised. the producer, she saidâ
âone hour, or iâll never forgive you.â
âfuck,â you gasp, âfuck! kean, get off me.â
âyouâre joking.â kean shakes his head, keeping your wrists in place. he laughs, but the sound falls flat. itâs incredulous and unyielding. âno, baby, no. youâre not doing this again.â
âlet me go,â you try to twist your arms out of his hold, but his fingers dig into your skin painfully. you kick at him, legs flailing in a desperate attempt to get him off, the panic turning into something more lucid. but itâs no use, because thereâs no space for you to actually touch him. âget the fuck off of me!â
âno!â he hisses. âyou canât justâ you canât just take it awayââ
you close your eyes for a moment, willing your voice to stay steady. be patient. you open your eyes, and try to smile at him. âkean, i need to find red. let me go.â
âare you fucking serious?â
âplease.â
âcap, donât be like that. why canât you justââ he pulls you back by the wrists to get a good look at you, gaze searching your face for an answer. thereâs something frantic about it. the way heâs looking at you is so unlike him. his eyes are blown wide, so fucking desperate. âwhy canât you just stay right here? iâm sure your friend doesnât need you, sheââ
âiâm going to scream,â your smile drops, patience running thin. âget the fuck off of me, kazim, before everyone in this house thinks youâre a fuckingâmmph!â
âshut up,â he clamps his other hand down on your mouth. you wrench your head to the side, try to bite him, but itâs no use. his palm is pressed flat against your lips, fingers holding onto your jaw painfully tight. âbaby, you know iâve never asked you for anything before.â kean says, voice strained. âbut please. donât go.â
with both hands firmly keeping you quiet and in place, he presses feverish kisses wherever he can. your nose. your eyes. your ears. âyou said you wanted something real.â his kisses grow sloppier. open-mouthed and messy. âyou said you didnât want me to lie to you, yeah?â
you shake your head, but heâs too strong. his hand keeps you right in place. your neck feels like itâll snap off if you keep jerking it to the side, so you go still in his hold when he tears himself off of you, buzzing with energy and barely-there restraint as he leans down to meet you eye to eye.Â
âlet me tell you something then, baby.â kean murmurs, forcing himself to smile. âiââ
the door to the laundry room slams open.Â
the party lights immediately flood in to replace the darkness your eyes had grown accustomed to, and you blink, trying to make out what exactly youâre looking at.Â
kean steps away from you, his hands falling to his sides. he looks bored. completely disinterested. your mindâs still wrapping itself around the whiplash of his emotions when you register whoâs standing, silent, in the doorway, andâ
oh, fuck.
red takes in the sight of you and kean before wordlessly walking away.Â
âred! wait!â you scramble off the top of the watching machine, pushing past kean as you stumble outside, into the hallway. itâs hard to miss her, with her bright pink temporary hair dye. âred, please!â you sidle past pda couples and round the corner, reaching out to grab her shoulder. âwould you just listen to me!â
she turns to you with wild eyes. âlet go.â
âno.â you frown. âlet me explainâ-â
âi literally donât even want to hear it. i told you iâd invited someone important tonight. you knew how much the music meant to me!â she exclaims. âthis couldâve been my one chance to make some sort of name for myself outside of you and it was three minutes. it was three minutes of your life!â
you close your eyes for a moment. âiâm so sorry. i know i fucked up. whereâs the guy?â you look around, scanning the crowd for someone you wouldnât even be able to recognise. âyou said he was related to some producer, yeah? i can talk to him, we can still perform. i have my bass andââ
âhe left.â red says flatly, prying your hand off of her. ânot everyoneâs going to wait around forever. not everyoneâs as stupid as me.â
âi wanted to leave,â you explain. âbut kean wouldnât let me go.â
âthey never do, with you do they?â she sneers, showing off her canines.Â
you blink. âsorry?â
âevery fucking time. you are so self-absorbed. so desperate to be perfect. so obsessive.â she jabs a finger into your chest, looking up at you through narrowed eyes. âbut never when it comes to me. you can be a shit friend, you know that?â
âi donât mean to.â you plead. âiâm sorryââ
âwhatever. go run back to kean,â red says, turning on her heels. she doesnât even bother to look back at you when she leaves. âheâs obviously more important to you."
a better person, you think, would have chased after her.
it's not long until youâve stumbled out the house and collapsed onto the side of the road. that's how he finds you again. all alone. so pitiful. so fucking pathetic.
and even though your head is in your hands and your eyes are closed, youâd recognise the sound of his footsteps and that familiar cologne anywhere. you think youâd know him even if you were blind. who else would ever think to get so close to you, without worrying about the bark or the bite or any of it at all.
you open your eyes as kean quietly crouches down besides you. he moves your hair out of your eyes and cradles your face in his hands as if youâre the most precious thing heâs ever held, and even though you know thatâd never be true, it feels nice to believe in it for a moment.
âcome back to mine, darling captain. let me take you home.â
you look at the hand heâs offering youâ
over his shoulder, the party continues, indifferent to your departure. music spills out of the door, the same rotation of five rappers in every party playlist. it reeks of cheap vapes and stolen kisses in dark corners. the night air is cold and crisp and youâd really like to fall into something warmer right now and lose yourself in it completely.
âmake the mistake of taking it.Â
as he helps you onto your feet, his fingers curl around your wrist, and just for a second, you have this absolutely absurd thought that he couldnât possibly let you go now without breaking a bone. stranger, yet, you wonder whether itâd be worth the trade off.
the banality of your desire terrifies you. but, just for tonight, you choose to allow it. you make no attempt to intellectualise or compartmentalise the thought. it disgusts you, as it always does.
but when else could you entertain something so horrific if not for halloween?
-
'my darling dumb captain.'
even on your way to class the following monday, all you can think about is what kean had said to you yesterday morning. the way he had looked at you.Â
you havenât seen him since the weekend, when you stormed out of his placeâbut not before kicking up a fuss and shoving every last paper off of his desk, tearing up his mock exams and cheat sheets whilst he only watched, a hand draped over his mouth in boredom.
donât you fucking dare speak to me that way, youâd hissed, blinking back tears. you want to ruin my life that bad, kazim? do your fucking worst.
youâd expected somethingâyou would have settled for anything. petulance on full display, claws out; it still wasnât enough. heâd stared back silently, dull green eyes flat as they took in your display. unimpressed.Â
you wonder whether heâs only just beginning to realise what a mistake heâs made in entertaining you for so long.
lost in your own miserable thoughts, eyes set on the floor, you almost manage to miss the sound of that familiar laughterâ
your head snaps down the other end of the hall, instinctively searching for the source. and there she is, walking further away from you, stretching the space separating you from her. one of her arms is linked around freddyâs, and the sight of it makes your heart sink for some strange reason.Â
âred!â you call out, already turning on your heel to chase after her. âred, hi.â
she turns to you, sharing a brief glance with freddy. ââŠhey.â
âlisten,â you nervously bite at the inside of your cheek. âiâm sorry for how i acted on the weekend. you deserved better, and i know i let you down. believe me, i know."
âyeah, you did.â she says, sighing. âbut itâs okay. it wasnât anything serious, soââ
âbut it meant something,â you insist, âto you. and i know that if i was in your shoesââ
âbut youâre not.â red says gently. âand you never will be. so just forget it. weâre good.â
âokay,â you nervously pick at a hangnail, nails insistently digging into the peeling skin. âwell, i think i⊠did i leave my bass at your house?â
âyeah, you did, but it was in my room, so it was safe. nobody touched it,â her lips quirk up, knowing. âi know how much that freaks you out.â
âobviously, because people strum it like itâs a guitar.â you laugh, relief overwhelming you at the sight of her smile. âis it okay if i come by sometime this week to pick it up?â
âobviously,â the girl brightens, dropping freddyâs arm to fish her phone out of her uniformâs pocket. âinstead of the weekend, how aboutââ
BZZZZZZZ.
the intercom suddenly crackles overhead, cutting her off. over the sound of the school speakers, one of the receptionists says your name. you frown, wondering whether youâve misheard her until she repeats herself, leaning in closer.
thatâs definitely your name.
ââŠto the principal's office, please. immediately.âÂ
is this some impromptu college leadership meeting?Â
âshit,â you mumble, mind already racing. âi need toââ you turn back to red, slightly dazed. you flash her with what you hope is a sympathetic smile. âi should go see what thatâs about. sorry.â
thereâs no other reason for her to summon the school captain so urgently, right?Â
red looks incredibly embarrassed, arm awkwardly dropping to her side. âoh, yeah. no worries. you should go.â
maybe itâs about the graduation dinner speeches. they do need to be sent in and approved, soon.Â
âsorry,â you call out, already turning to leave. âwhat were you saying before?â
could it be a valedictorian debrief? your heartâs already racing. shit, did i manage to beat kean?
ânothing. nothing, just to come by whenever. you⊠you should probably go. that sounded urgent.â
âi will!â you promise over your shoulder, rushing down the hall in the opposite direction. âwish me luck!â
in your haste to leave, you miss the way her face falls just as you round the corner, disappearing from her sight yet again.
-
âthis is a joke. this has to be a joke, right?â
the principalâs office is stifling.the blinds are half-drawn, and the air is still. it smells faintly of an artificial sort of freesia. it feels, too much, like a tomb.Â
âyou tell me.â you can barely manage to catch your breath when she leans forward in her office chair, worn leather crackling with the movement. âdo i look like iâm laughing?â
you sit stiffly in the seat across her desk, fingers curled tight in your lap, relentlessly picking at that hangnail. behind her, the schoolâs crest and values taunt you from where theyâre hung up high on the pale walls; staring down at you in disdain.
respectus. ambitio. integritas.Â
âthis is serious,â she emphasises, her voice is even but not unkind, and it draws your attention back to the matter at hand. âyour academic integrity was compromised. we have indisputable evidence of you cheating on your final exams.â
âthis has to be a mistake,â you insist. âi would never cheat. i mean, my record is spotless. it always has been. why would i jeopardise everything so close to graduation?â
she rests her chin on interlaced fingers, and you get this weird feeling that sheâs not really seeing you right now. âitâs a highly stressful period for you. these exams determine the course of the rest of your life. itâs not unheard of for even the best and brightest of students to make reckless decisions out of fear.â
âyou donât understand.â you laugh, and itâs a little panicked. incredulous. the reality of the situation still hasnât really settled in for you. âi can handle stress. iâve worked hard enough to be able to face it without resorting to cheat, and work with someone else toââ
âitâs not collusion you were flagged for,â she clarifies.Â
you blink, caught off guard. âthenââ
âplagiarism. crystal clear.â
plagiarism? what the fuck?
âoff whose paper?â
a faint frown, the lines of which settle deep into her sun speckled skin. âyou know i canât tell you that.â
âokay. i think i understand.â you take a mindful breath, fingers jabbing at the loose skin of your fingers. the pain makes it sting, keeps your voice steady. âlet me re-sit the exam.â you propose. the desperation in your voice is so ugly, and so foreign. âlet me re-sit the exam. you can make it more difficult, and have an exam coordinator supervise me directly for the entirety of it. iâll do even better this time around, and you can confirm i never cheated.â
âiâm afraid thatâs not in line with standard procedure. because this was a state-administered exam, overseen by the national education department. i canât do anything about this, except report it as a potential academic breach for further investigation.â
breathe in. you didnât do anything wrong.
breathe out.Â
âand when they find me innocent? i mean, do you know if the investigation itself will show up on my transcripts?â you ask. âi really donât want to let this affect my chances of admission into my top schools.â
wordlessly, the principal reaches into one of her drawers and wordlessly pulls out a folder. thumbing through the loose papers inside, she pulls out two papers and simply sets them down side by side in front of you.
âtake a look at these, please.â
you recognise the one on the left as your latin exam. the very last question, which asked you to write an essay in response to untranslated stimulus material. it was the exact sort of question youâd been preparing to death for; and so youâd been ecstatic to see it on the paper. it was the easiest forty marks of your life.
the paper on the left, right besides yours, is unfamiliar for all of three seconds.Â
youâd recognise that handwriting anywhere.Â
after all, youâve spent so many hours staring at it and poring over the words, memorising and committing them to memory, tracing over the messy loops; marvelling at the way even the lines never managed to contain it, as it tilted upwards at the end of every sentence, lazy, like the transcription of his thoughts was merely an afterthought, and that whoever was reading it should feel thankful that he even bothered to share his brilliant ideas downâillegible as they were writtenâin the first place.
the principal taps the desk with a perfectly manicured finger. she always looks so put together and precise, and yet there is a weariness in her voice today. âread what it says.â
at first, your eyes barely flitter over the writing, but then, your attention snags on all of the similarities. your scanning of the papers becomes a more careful perusal as you lean in closer, gaze flicking between both papers, side by side, as you directly compare them.
you remember wondering how every language he knew always yielded to him so well. how he could wield these words with such precision. the first time he scored full marks in his writing, beating you by a full fucking five percentâyouâd stayed up for the next two nights, running on zero sleep, determined to change everything about the way in which you told stories. determined to replicate the way he wrote. to sound just like him.Â
even now, you recall marvelling at his writing, running your fingers over the words almost reverently, stunned at the fluidity with which he picked his every phrase; how they were always strung together so naturally, effortlessly turning into something so, soâ
unfamiliar.
because the paper youâre staring at right now reads nothing like keanâs.Â
and do you know how you recognise that?
because itâs not good enough.
this is, undeniably, your own work.
yet, despite the stark difference in either paperâs handwriting, both of them read identically. it's not difficult to realise that they are copies. undeniably and overwhelmingly so. you look up at the principle, pointing to your own paper. âi wrote this.â
she purses her lips. âthatâs up to the department to decide.â
âno. i wrote this.â you shake your head in disbelief, eyes still alternating between the papers incredulously. âkean was sitting rows away from me. how could i have copied his entire essay? the exam supervisor would have seen me if i was constantly turning around to look at his paper and, wellââ the hangnail snaps off. you dig the points of your trembling fingers into the raw flesh it reveals underneath. âthat makes no sense. right?â
you did nothing wrong. calm down. this is a misunderstanding.
it has to be.
âthe stateâs department of educationââ
âiâm sorry,â you blink, brows furrowed. âbut why am i the only one being questioned? these two papers are the same, sure, but if thatâs all the proof you have then why are you only accusing me of plagiarism when the other student couldâve been the one to copy off of me? this is a really serious accusation that could absolutely devastate my applications and⊠it just doesnât feel very fair to me that iâm the only one being interrogated right now?"
if your choice of words gets to the principle, she makes no indication of it, instead gathering the papers and neatly slotting them neatly back into a file, eyes meeting yours as she pulls the drawer open once more and places them safely back inside.
âi understand your concerns, but iâve already spoken to the other student. i also spoke to the exam supervisor who initially flagged your papers and, yes, whilst you and the other student in question were not seated close together in the exam hall, it is my understanding that you were the only one between the two of you to go to the bathroom towards the end of your latin exam. were you not?â
âoh, wow,â you breathe. you lean back in your seat, but it feels more like youâve fallen. âi didnât realise a bathroom break could be used against me.â
âlisten,â the principal says, not unkindly. âif you tell me the truth and come forward now, youâll save both the college and yourself all the hassles and costs of a formal investigation. iâve showed you the evidence, and itâs indisputable. of course, this will still need to be flagged on your transcripts, since plagiarism is a serious breach of academic integrity, but we can otherwise resolve this matter internally.â
you did nothing wrong.
âi already told you. i didnât cheat.â her eyes bore into yours, searching. âi refuse to take the blame for something i didnât do.â
âiâm only going to ask once more. did you, or did you not completely plagiarise another studentâs exam?â
this is just a misunderstanding.
âi did not.â you stare at her. âand i never would.â
at that, she seems almost disappointed. âunderstood. well, you can see yourself out, then. weâre going to have to report you officially, but after that, the college canât help you. youâll receive an email from the department once the investigation is over.â
you stand, surprised to find that your legs arenât shaking, like your hands are. you shove them into your pockets, fingers piercing into the bleeding, exposed flesh around your nails. âis that all?â
âas iâm sure you understand, weâll obviously need to reevaluate your role as the college captain, seeing as this conduct is in serious violation of our school values and policies but we can do that at a later date. youâll get an email from the vice principal when it comes to sorting that out.â
you donât say anything at first. your mouth is dry. you knew this was coming, but hearing it aloud still feels like something sharp lodged in your chest.Â
âwill i still be able to graduate on time?â you ask, and you barely recognise the sound of your own voice.
âyes,â she replies, hands folded in front of her. âbut, as youâve probably realised, this will not look good on your university transcripts. regardless of the results, the fact that there was a potential breach of academic integrity will permanently be recorded under your name. any institutions you apply to regardless of the area of study and course requirements will have access to that information.â
you nod once, casting your gaze to the floor. âokay.â then again, more quietly, almost to yourself. âokay.â
she watches you for a moment, like sheâs waiting for you to say more, but thereâs nothing really left to say. the silence stretches. you donât meet her eyes. you canât. your whole life, youâve never let anyone else see you cry, and youâre not about to start now.
the bell rings, signalling the end of the day, and itâs a welcome reprieve from the suffocating office. you donât even remember stumbling outside her office, let alone shoving past the crowded hallways and up the stairs, until youâre standing in front of keanâs locker, barely able to make out the numbers engraved across it.
heâs only just managed to close the door before youâre onto him. you push him, palms flat against his blazer and digging into his badges as he puts his hands up in mock surrender. âwellâ what the fuck did i do this time?â
âyou know exactly what youâ the latin exam!â you hiss, as he patiently pries your hands off of him. âtheyâre saying i cheated on the extrance exams andâ iâ theyâre reporting me!â
âright,â he snaps his fingers. âso thatâs why the front office called you up. well,â he looks down at you carefully. âdid you?â
you blink, despite yourself, momentarily caught off guard by the flat tone of his words. âyouâre asking me if i cheated?â
âwell, yes. babyâs first words?â
âstop! this is serious, can youâ can you just cut the bullshit,â you cry. âyou know me. iâve neverâ i donât need to cheat! and it was your paper and i know it was you! i fuckinâ know the way you write and what you say and i know youââ
âyour point, cap?â
âyou copied my shit word for word!â you insist, and even though itâs the end of the day, your outburst earns you the attention of people moving past in the hallway. but you ignore their pointing. when they whisper, you pretend you donât hear any of it. âwhy?â you push. âwhy would you do that? you donât even need to, kean! youâre already soââ
âcap,â he frowns, but itâs not genuine. you can tell because of the way heâs looking at you. expectant. waiting, you think, to see whether you stick to the sick script. âif you think you know," he says very slowly. âthen why are you here,, bothering me?â
âkean.â you plead. âplease.â
he tilts his head to the side innocently. âplease, what?â
âplease tell them. if itâs youâŠâ you close your eyes. âif itâs you, then i know theyâll listen.â
âyeah?â
âyes! you know they will!â youâre practically begging now. âplease. iâll do anything.â
âdid i hear you right, cap?â his eyes brighten. he presses his tongue against the inside of his mouth, looking down at you in quiet contemplation. âyouâd do anything?â
âdo you want me toââ you reach for his belt with fumbling hands, uncaring of the fact that youâre still standing at his locker. for this? for this, you think you could do anything. âi canââ
kean pushes your hands away, a satisfied curl to his lips. âno, baby. not here.â
your face falls. âsorry. iâm sorry. i donât know what to do. my whole fucking futureâs been jeapordised andââ your voice cracks. âi donât know what to do.â the admission itself makes you feel so much smaller than you already are. âi have no idea what's going on.â
the image of everything youâve worked so hard to attain falls away, shatters right before you. you have the overwhelming urge to rip off all the badges on your blazer and press the pins into your skin, instead. to denounce yourself, before anyone else can get there first. competitive, even in your own ruination.
you can already imagine it now; the way theyâll all look at you. with something like pity, at first. theyâll walk on eggshells around you, choose their words with painstaking care. burnout, instead of filthy fucking cheat. platitudes and participation awards. half-hearted consolations because, well, maybe it was inevitable? how long will it all go on for? how long until you become nothing? until they forget even the sound of your name, let alone what you used to be?Â
âthere wonât be a point to any of this,â you rasp, doing your very best not to dissolve into tears. âif this investigation goes through... plagiarism?â you bark out an incredulous laugh. ânone of the good schools would even fucking consider me. you donât understand. iâm fucked. iâm fucked, kean. my whole future would be ruined. everything iâve been working towardsââ
âwell, yeah.â he smiles. âthat would be the point.â
your heart drops. you blink.Â
âsorry, iâ sorry. what?â
âwhat?â he mimics. âyou heard me.â
âi donât understandââ you fold in on yourself, twisting your fists into the hem of your blazer. âcan't you do something? please, i'm not asking you to take the blame, justâjust say something, anythingâplease.â
still, nothing. he leans against his locker, like your entire world isnât caving in right there between his shoes. his silence needles at you until you canât stand it.
âkean.â you hear the crack in your own voice, pathetic and small. âi donât know what else to do. tell me. tell me what you want. iâll do it, i swear, just⊠just donât let them take everything from me. this⊠i mean, this has to be a misunderstanding, right?â
finally, finally, he shifts. the corner of his mouth tugs upward. âyeah, iâm sure that's all it is. donât stress, baby. iâll speak to the principal for you,â he says decisively.Â
you stare up at him in a daze, momentarily stunned by the weight of his words. the implications of what heâs just told you. a confession, or a diversion? does his acceptance absolve him?Â
will you let it?Â
kean leans down, laughing as he taps his knuckles against your head. âknock knock, cap. pay attention. you heard what i just said?â
âyes,â you nod desperately. âyeah, iââ you swallow, force yourself not to look away from his eyes. crystal fucking green. ice cold. âthank you, kean. thank you so fucking much, iâ i owe you one.â
he stares at you silently, the moment stretching on for longer than it should, and for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing; ragged and too loud in the emptying hallways.Â
âno,â kean turns your words over with a smile. âyou owe me much more than that, baby.â
-
the meeting is called one week later.
you sit, picture-perfect, across the collegeâs principal team.Â
you sit, picture-perfect, as kean tears you apart before them.
the room feels smaller than it should. there are too many eyes on you, already practicing their polite pity with every look they cast your way. all of it presses against your skin, and so itâs all you can do, really, to stay perfectly still in your chair, every muscle wired tight, when all attention in the room falls, momentarily, to kean.
he is wearing the same pinstripe blazer as you. the same white shirt and tie underneath, embroidered with the collegeâs logo and motto. and yet, there is no semblance of unity. you knew from the moment you saw him today that something had changed. an otherwise imperceptible shift in the way he looked at you. in the way he unscrews the lid of his water bottle, takes a long sip. he sets it down on the table in front of him, and then he stands.Â
you know the rhythm of him, his tells; itâs the way you come to understand him, so intimate, only because you are consumed by his existence. itâs in the way he straightens his blazer before he speaks. the way he rolls his shoulders once, loosening them, like heâs about to step onto a stage. youâve seen it beforeâ in debates, in assemblies, in the locker room before a game.
so when he stands, you already know whatâs coming.Â
and when it comes, it doesnât sound like accusation; it sounds like concern.Â
keanâs voice, gentle and practices and careful and so fucking benevolent, because, oh, heâs worried youâre not who you used to be. that somethingâs changed. that maybe everythingâs too much for you. that youâre not ready for it - kean turns to you - and maybe you never were.
and the moment he opened his mouth, heâd already sealed your fate. he sits down, ever the epitome of the collegeâs golden boy, twists open the cap of his water bottle and takes a long, satisfied sipâ
and thatâs when they hold out their hands.
the vice principal, stern-faced. the principal, arms crossed. your teachers and counselors and fellow student representatives, shaking their heads and sneaking shameful glances at you.
'badges, please.
regretfully, you can no longer be the college's acting captain, since your behaviour doesn't allign with the position's values anymore.
you understand, right?'
every pin you hand over stings in your fingers. the pile of metal on the desk grows heavier while your chest feels lighter in the worst possible way, like the most vital parts of you have been stolen. but you keep your face set, jaw locked, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. you donât meet anyoneâs eyes. you donât even paw at the peeling flakes around your fingers, but you notice, with a strange triumph, that kean stares at the bloodied mess of chewed skin when you fold your hands in front of you on the table.
when itâs finally done, an hour later and all of the papers are shuffled and the chairs are pushed back; no one looks at you as they leave.Â
except kean.Â
he doesnât say a word, he doesnât smile. just meets your eyes long enough to make it clear that he knows exactly what heâs done.
and when you storm past him, he follows at your heel, dutifully, all the way down to the music room where everything first began.
-
the sun is setting, the day dying, and you think you might just go with it.
âyou fucking dick,â you collapse into a seat, with your head in your hands. you canât even muster the energy to feel wronged, let alone meet his eyes. âi thought you were going to say good things about me. you said you would help me. you said you would help.â
he takes the seat right besides yours, close enough for his shoulder to brush against yours. âwhat good things?âÂ
âlike myâ my work ethic? my ambition? my passion and hard work and all of the care i've put into this position? all the sleepless nights andâ fuck, kean! you know!â you cry, turning to him with wild eyes. âyou know exactly how much i wanted this and what it meant to me! you know how far iâve gone for it!â
âcaptain. the best both about you and in you,â he says softly, âwas always me.â
it feels like a punch to the gut.Â
youâd wanted, so fucking badly, to believe it was a misunderstanding.
but you see him now, the way youâd seen him the morning after halloween.Â
âunderstand?â he had asked, his tone patronising and slow, as if speaking to a small child, âyou are not, nor have you ever been, my equal.âÂ
he turned around, and you remember feeling yourself sinking into his sheets, how youâd helplessly watched, stunned, when he picked up his pencil again, put it to the paper. âtry and leave, 'cap. if you're stupid enough to hate me, then i'll just make sure you have nothing to go back to.â
you saw how the pencil he was holding pressed against the paper, his knuckles white, the way it snapped into two when he tried to write with it. âand then, when you realise that the only notable achievement of your pathetic life has been me,â you saw the way he calmly set it aside, picked out another one from his draw, how he had rows and rows of pencils arranged by the hardness of their leadâ
the words ring in your head, and you wonder where everything started to go so wrong.
âwell. youâll just come crawling back, wonât you?â
âyou did this on purpose.â
it was him, it had always been him, and he had meant every second of it.Â
he had orchestrated it, planned it, and every humiliation, every betrayal, every stolen moment of trust had been deliberate. the way heâd kissed you in the supplies closet, on borrowed time â how heâd let you sink your teeth into him, drag the sharp points against his throat.
had any of it been real?
you blink, and this time, the words are quiet. almost mournful. âyou did it all on purpose, kean.â
âyou think so little of me, cap,â he murmurs, gaze dropping to your lips, the way they curl into an involuntary frown. how they tremble. âlook at you.â he marvels, âyou would cry over me again.â
you freeze. disbelief slams into your chest, quick, hard, leaving your lungs hollow. âiâm done,â you manage to spit out, the words ragged, thick with every ounce of anger and betrayal youâve swallowed all day.
he tilts his head slowly, deliberately, green eyes catching the last rays of the sun, glittering with mischief and something darker, something deeper, âyou say that like we have something worth walking away from.â
âfuck you,â you manage, abruptly standing straight on shaking legs. you look down at him through narrowed eyes. âyouâre not slick, kean. you donât just get to take back everything that youâve said to me.â
âwow,â he says finally, voice low and simmering with a strange sort of amusement, âyou really are too easy, arenât you?â and the words are admiration and provocation folded together. Â
you wish he would just take it all back, you wish you could reverse time, but the part of you that still remembers why you believed in himâthe part that wanted to think he was golden, perfect, untouchableâcanât even articulate itself, can barely survive the weight of what heâs just done.
âi hate you.â you blink stupidly. âi didnât knowâ i thought you liked me! i thought we were friends.â
âbaby,â his green eyes glitter in the evening sun as he stands, reaching a hand out to cradle your face up towards his. âi was never your friend.â
you shove him away roughly, âdonât fucking touch me.â you manage, "don't even look at me.â
âfinally,â he laughs, cruel in a way that makes your stomach twist. âthereâs a reason nobody else can stand the sight of you. you had one friend, cap, and you couldnât even keep her. without me, donât you get it?â he hisses. âthereâs nobody there for you.â
âkean,â you say, very carefully, trying to keep your voice steady as you force yourself to meet his gaze. âif you don't leave me alone right the fuck now, iâm going to hit you.â
âaww, do you want me to be scared?" impossibly, he steps closer, lips twisting into a sardonic smile. "like you've never hurt me before?"
"no! no, you don't get to say that!" memories rise unbidden; halloween night, the way your teeth left little indents on his neck, the way he let you, the way it burned, like ownership and permission and a taste of power youâd never had before. like flying too close to the sun youâd worshipped your whole life. "you let me do all of that to you. you wanted me to, it wasâ"
âdifferent?â his mouth twists into a cruel sneer. âyeah. sure it was.â
you thought this was a petty rivalry. you hated him, but you would never. you would never have done this to him, you think, with a fierce sort of insistence.Â
âfuck you! it was different! so is this!â you insist, yelling. âthis isnât what we doââ
âthis is exactly what we do,â kean laughs, but the sound is hollow. empty. âwe fuck each other up, baby. you hurt me, and i hurt you. get. the fuck. over it.â
you would never have sabotaged his future, never stepped into that territory, never crossed that line.Â
âiâve never hurt you like youâve hurt me,â you confess.
âlook me in the eyes,â you think a small part of him dies at that, because he leans down, lowers himself down to your level. his voice drops to a whisper, clawing under your skin. âand tell me that you honestly believe that.â
"no. i don't owe you anything."
"no?" his hands curl around your arms, fingers tight, unrelenting, and for a second, just a second, you think he might just snap you right in half. "don't you?"
the door to the music room swings open.Â
"kazim." freddy steps in, frowning. "dude, you gotta back up.â
kean shuts his eyes, takes a slow, measured breath, gathering the patience he always seems to have in reserve, and when he opens them, he glances over his shoulder with that tense, sharp smile, fingers still pressing painfully into your sides. âwonderful. the fucking cavalryâs arrived, has it? do you ever see me interfering in your relationship, frederick?â
ânice try,â red claps her hands together decisively, âexcept the two of you aren't in a relationship. now step back, or iâll scream for someone.â
âand you call me a cliche,â kean incredulously mutters under his breath, but his eyes are still on you, glinting green in the dimming light. "really, love?"
âstop fucking whispering and piss off. iâm not joking right now.â
âchrist,â kean sighs, low and weary. he cracks his knuckles, flexes his wrist by his sides as he leans over to kiss you. you feel the words carved against your mouth. soft lips against yours, infuriatingly gentle. âcome find me when you're over this little tantrum. maybe then we can talk like adults."
without giving you a chance to speak, kean turns, wordlessly steps straight past both freddy and red with ease. freddy kicks the door shut behind him.
it's difficult for you to find your voice in the silence that follows. youâre shaken, the words heâs said to you cutting just like barbed wire. they stand, unsure and awkward, too scared to come closer. the last of the dayâs sun streams into the music room, burning a brilliant, bright red.
âthank you,â you manage.
âit was nothing,â red says, staring at the harsh indents keanâs fingers left in your skin.
âno.â you say, voice weak, but certain all the same. âit was everything.â
â one month later
the verdict arrives the night before graduation.Â
the national department of education, printed in perfectly even letters across the front. your name and address directly beneath that.Â
you completely tear apart the envelope with an eager sort of hope. your eyes scan the letter in quick fragments of sentences, and it takes your mind a second to catch up with what youâre reading. even longer, still, to process it.
you read it again.Â
again.
again.
nothing changes. the words on the paper stay the same.
â...write to inform you that the department, following a lengthy investigation, has found satisfactory evidence of academic misconduct and compromised integrityâŠâ
â...an evident and appallingly shameless attempt at plagiarism, with no attempt to be covertâŠâ
â...in the event that you disagree with this decision, please visit https://dpteducation.misconduct.gov for more information about the appeals processâŠâ
â...may take up to three months to lodge and process, and regardless of success, all appeals possess an upfront cost ofâŠâ
you stare at the sheer amount of the number that follows, before quietly folding the letter into precise little quarters and curling up to cry. it feels too much like a quiet acceptance of your own ruination. and yet, there is nothing else to do.
nothing changes.
nothing ever changes.
-
kean is, unsurprisingly, valedictorian.Â
naturally, graduation is a stifling affair.Â
you watch him walk up to the podium, to give his farewell speech. his hairâs grown longer since you last saw him during final exams. the electric blue streaks have grown out, fading into a striking, silky black. you watch, feeling sick to your stomach, as his pale hands carefully smooth out his script on the lectern, deft fingers reaching to adjust the microphone higher.Â
he stands on the stage in silence, just for a second. he says nothing, (he doesnât need to) only watches on, observing his audience with a perfect politeness. almost immediately, a collective hush spreads over the entirety of the city hall. idle chatter and laughter ceases completely in his presence, and the quiet is so precariously overwhelming that you take care not to so much as breathe the wrong way.Â
evidently pleased, kean smiles. youâre helpless to do anything but watch, as he takes the time to place his hands on either side of the lectern and, only nowâupon having confirmed that yes, everybody inside of these hallowed halls is indeed listening very carefullyâdoes he deign to begin his address.
âgood evening fellow graduates, beloved family members, and esteemed faculty.â his voice echoes in the silence, each powerful syllable purposeful and precise. you watch, dumbstruck, as he introduces himself, âmy name is kean kazim, and tonight, it is my utmost pleasure to have the honours of being nominated the class of 2016âs valedictorian.â
you doubt that there is a single person in the audience who doesnât already know his name.
such a perfect and polished boy with such a bright future ahead of himâ
a future that you used to see yourself in.
ââthe absolute best. you should all be immensely proud of yourselves andââ
admittedly, it was a shameful fantasy that you would never admit to anyone, least of all to kean, but it was wholly yours. something nice to think about. a tentative little dream worth working towards and keeping very, very close to yourself.Â
ââcan not wait to bear witness to all of the wonderful things you will all accomplish in the future. trulyââ
you cast your sights higher than a house in the suburbs and a family dog; let yourself imagine the two of you living in the highest floor of a glittering skyscraper and dressing in real leather to watch pulitzer prize winning plays on the weekends and sit at dimly lit bars and sip on expensive drinks to celebrate inevitable promotions and, maybe, just to get away from the city, you would escape to a quaint little beach house that would sit empty for the better part of the yearâdoing nothing except for waiting.
ââbeen an honour and a privilege to belong to such a talented cohort. youâve allââ
waiting for its inhabitants to come back to it.Â
waiting for the key to turn in the lock.
the click thatâd follow.
the door to inevitably swing open.
a perfect life, fit to serve as the perfect fantasy for someone as perfect as him. and by extension, in your most shameful thoughts, you would let that degree of perfection extend to yourself too.Â
ââthank you, and please, donât forget that for you, for us, this is only the beginning.â
youâre jolted out of your thoughts by the round of applause that follows keanâs speech. itâs a raucous cacophony of acclamation and you hate that you expected nothing less. of course, the golden boy receives a standing ovation. the boy next to you leaps to his feet, furiously clapping, and youâre surprised to find that you just donât have the energy to pretend to be shocked anymore.
you feel off-kilter, if anything. your gown is itchy and your knees are pressing against the seat in front of you and the walls of the city hall feel like theyâre closing in. youâre growing more nauseous with each passing second from staring at the harsh spotlight that shines down on kean. the light illuminates his best features. those sharp eyes and that sly mouth you used to love so much, currently curled into a perfectly patient smile, as he so graciously waits for the applause to die down.Â
the emcee, standing right besides kean and looking so much smaller for it, nervously waves his hands to quell the audienceâs excitement to no avail. the clapping and cheering continues to drag on for a handful of minutes before the crowd eventually stops fussing and quiets down. the boy next to you finally takes his seat, and you donât need to know his name to know that you hate him.
âthank you, ladies and gents. whilst your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated, in order to finish tonightâs ceremony in a timely manner, the college respectfully requests that you abide by my visual cues.â he swallows, the nervous bob of his adamâs apple unflatteringly prominent beneath the harsh stage lights. ânow then, for our last speech of the night, iâm pleased to welcome your 2016 school captain, kean kazim, back to the stage, this time for the college captainâs address. he truly needs no introductionââ knowing laughter runs through the crowd, ââand once more, we ask that you please hold any applause until the end.â
the emcee steps aside.Â
kean steps up.Â
the city hall erupts into applause.
you tell yourself that it doesnât (shouldnât) matter that you arenât up there with him, because you never ran for school captain for the recognition. just because you no longer have the shiny badge of honour, doesnât mean that all of the work you did in your position matters less; it doesnât mean you matter any less.
but, staring down at your shoes as the applause continues to ring all around you, you canât help but blink back bitter tears.
hours of hard work and blood and sweat and tears and it was all meant to come back to moments like this; where you could stand proud before thousands of faces you could swear youâd never even seen before and speak about all of your successes; knowing that each and every person in this audience was forced to know you by nothing but your merit.
you roughly wipe at your eyes with the back of your hands. your knuckles come away wet, but what fucking good will crying about it do? you blink back any more tears and bite your tongue, looking back up at the stage. you were meant to be celebrated, tonight.Â
you were supposed to be up there right besides him.Â
and, as if thinking the exact same thing, keanâs gaze slowly sweeps over the crowd impassively whilst he speaks, before his attention snagsâ
there you are.
âsettles, right onto you.Â
you give up on making out what heâs saying when you meet familiar green eyes, gleaming under the stage lights as he smiles, attention lingering for only a few short secondsâ
heâs staring.
before he swiftly looks away.
you dig your fingers into the graduation run-of-show in your lap, feel the glossy diploma crinkling harshly under your hands. you lose track of time, ripping into the sheet as you stare, unblinking, at the stage where he stands. untouched, and unforgettable. so unlike yourself; subjugated to become a member of his audience.
the golden badge pinned to the lapel of his blazer taunts you. the standing ovation that follows keanâs perfect deliverance of the speech the two of you wrote together months earlier is a sort of humiliation youâd never known before.
is it worse, you wonder with a detached sort of ironyâthat kean doesnât spare you a single glance for the remainder of the ceremony, or that you continue to sit there and stare up at him, waiting for him to look at you again like some stupid dog chasing after itâs
      own
                fucking
                         tail.
-
without the weight and warmth of your heavy gown, the night is unbearably cold.Â
youâre perched on the front steps of the cityâs town hall, an arm wrapped around your knees in an effort to stay warm. you stare at your phone screen, watching the uber driver fall victim to the cityâs late night traffic.
kean persists, nonetheless, lingering at the edges of your periphery. âyouâre still mad at me, cap.â
âschoolâs over,â you say, without bothering to look up at him. âno need to call me that anymore.â
âsure, but you lost your position before we graduated.â he graciously points out. âi think the name suits you whether or not youâre wearing the badge.â
donât react.
âitâs freezing.â the uberâs just ten minutes away, you remind yourself, making an effort not to repeatedly refresh the app. âyou should get going.â
ânope,â he replies. since heâs standing right in front of where youâre sitting on the steps, you can see him impatiently tapping his foot from over your knees. his shoes are all polished and pointed, clean black leather reflecting the bright city lights. âwe need to talk, cap.â
nine minutes. âi have nothing to say to you.â
âyeah? you had plenty to say a month ago.â
donât react.
âiâm tired. letâs talk later.âÂ
âtired from what, exactly? all you had to do was sit, stay and listen, no?â kean laughs lightly. âthen again, cap, thatâs always been a problem for you, hasnât it? but i donât mind, you know. i think itâs kind of cute, actually.â
fuck this.
âwell, congratulations.â you finally look up at him, with the sweetest smile you can muster. âiâm just your dumb bitch. haha, real funny, i get it. youâre so much better than i could ever be. happy?"
âwell, yeah.â he smiles privately. âi know that. do you?â
you nod. âyouâre right. of course you are.â you know better than anyone that it was never a competition, âand yeah, i get that now. youâre going to go on to be the greatest, whereas my entire futureâs been jeopardised. great job, kazim. do you have any idea what that feels like? to be so fucking ruined?â
his foot stills. âyeah.â he hums, turning your words over. âi do.â
you scoff, turning back to your phone. six minutes. âdonât make me laugh.â
âcaptain,â he says very slowly. âwhat do you think you are to me?â
at that moment, youâre grateful you canât see his face. moreso, even, that he canât see yours.Â
âyou want the truth, kean?â
âalways.âÂ
âi donât care.â
âyou donât care?â he repeats.
you think you might have laughed if you didnât feel so close to crying. for years, youâve watched him handle difficult theorems, impossible questions, and translations in dead languages with an irritatingly effortless ease. and all it takes is this for him to sound the most uncertain youâve ever known him to be; more than he has any right to be.
âyeah. i give up. congratulations.â
he hums thoughtfully as he takes your words into a rare, quiet kind of careful consideration. âthatâs really all you have to say to me?â
âyep. thatâs it.â you confirm. âi donât care about any of this anymore. whatever it was, whatever we were or whatever we had, itâs over. you can go, now.â
this isnât the first time you wished you could understand him like he seems to understand you, but it is the first time you find that you donât try to convince yourself that you do.Â
something in his eyes darkens. âpoint of contention, cap.â his voice drops an octave lower, not quite pleading (never that) but something obliging, almost. âi donât remember agreeing to that.â
âi donât need your permission.â
he tilts his head to the side. âthat doesnât change anything?â
âthat you care? fuck no,â you laugh wryly. âyou canât expect it to change anything,â four minutes. âif it means absolutely nothing.â
âdarling captain,â he smiles. it doesnât reach his eyes. âyouâre breaking my heart.â
around you, the city carries on, completely indifferent to the devastation it observes; overhead, brightly coloured neon signs continue to blink on and off, and the skyline glitters against a pure black, starless sky as midnight traffic passes by in an indecipherable blur .strangers with somewhere to be hurry past where the two of you standâall laughing, or arguing, but undeniably aliveâthough their faces are blank, colours dulled and voices all muffled, almost apologetic, as if even theyâre aware of their intrusion.
youâre still standing on the steps of the city hall, looking down at kean. itâs rare that you stand over him, for once; rarer, even, that you see him as somebody smaller than you.
the car draws closer, until itâs only a minute away. until itâs close enough to be within reach.
âi don't know if itâs worse that you really did this to me,â you confess, eyes flitting over him, from the tense lines of his jaw to the way he helplessly flexes his fingers by his sides, âor that i still donât want to believe you would.â you canât help but memorise the sight of him one more time. âi would have never done the same to you.â
âyeah,â he says simply. âi know.â
you wait for him to say something more. a chance to explain himself.Â
everything from the distant wail of a siren to the blinking of the traffic lights and the warmth of the city hall behind you is far away, and rendered completely unimportant. the rest of the world has folded itself into complete quiet, and all that matters is that you watch keanâs mouth falter like heâs about to say your name but decides against it.
when he, too, falls silent, you descend the stairs of the city hall. step right past him, and down into the busy street.
âfor what itâs worth,â you hear him speak up from behind you, just as your phone goes off.
you stop in your steps, but you donât dare turn around. you donât even spare him a glance over your shoulder. you can see the uber parked on the corner of the street, waiting for you to crawl inside and cry the whole way home.
âi love you,â kean says, voice unnervingly soft, deliberate, and it cuts right through you. âso much that it fucking drives me insane. i love you so much that i hate you for it, because youâll never need me how i need you. you could never understand how jealous i am. because this is all so easy for you.â a bitter laugh. âand i canât fucking stand it anymore.â
something akin to grief threatens to overwhelm you, but you realise only now that there is nothing good left to grieve. âi really liked you, kean.â
ânah,â he shakes his head. âyou donât. you might think you did, because you didnât know me. but that was some perfect version of me you made up in your head.â he smiles, tapping the side of his head twice. âi know, because i played along with it. but now that you've seen me, now you've seen me for who i've always been, youâll walk away.â
âyou would have me stay?â
he doesnât answer immediately. the pause stretches, heavy, weighty, and when he speaks, itâs quieter, almost intimate. âi think that i need you to.â
âwhy?â you ignore the buzzing of your phone. âso you can fuck me over again?â
a flicker crosses his face, quick and fleeting, and then he sighs, runs a weary hand down his face in quiet realisation. acceptance. âyou still donât understand, do you?â
âi don't care to." you resolve, "i donât care what i was or wasnât to you. i don't care about who you were to me. i never even want to see you again, kean. you understand that? i donât care about any of this anymore. i never want to know what youâre doing or where you end up and which circles you run in and how great you become. do you understand, kazim? i never want to bear witness to you again.â
at this, he seems to come back to himself. you think you catch a flicker of doubt, a softness at the edge of his green eyes, before his features smooth over into the unreachable, untouchable, golden boy youâd watched on that stage all night. the perfect boy youâd first hated. the perfect boy youâd first fallen for.
you expect him to say somethingâanything, but he doesn't. he is entirely quiet. still and unmoving, for the briefest of moments. then, he just nods, slow. deliberate.Â
âokay,â he says at last, voice low, measured, unyielding. âokay.â
thereâs a dazed look in his eyes as he turns on his heels.
he doesn't even let you walk away first. even this victory is his, even this, your declaration, the departure that was always eventually going to follow, all of it is orchestrated by him.
you blink, and heâs gone. swallowed by the crowd weaving around you two. between passers by, you catch glimpses of his hair. a flash of that faded blue you can still remember running your fingers through. he doesnât even deign to turn around once, as he leaves you behind in the cold.Â
the city is entirely indifferent to what itâs lost tonight. from somewhere behind you, the city hall glows brightly, like an ember in the dark, warm light spilling out through doors thrown wide open, but it all feels so far away. the way kean would say your name, the way he used to come apart beneath your hands, and have you fall away by his own; it all feels so far away.
you furiously wipe at your eyes with your sleeves, and they come away damp.Â
each step of distance between you and him makes you only want to cry harder and, as it grows, it feels harder to hold back the tears.Â
you hate him for it, but even that resentment isnât pure; laced with the ridiculous ache of fascination, of remembering every infuriating, infuriating little way heâs known you, has pushed you, has seen into you more fully than anyone ever should.
and it terrifies you, because youâve always imagined control in your own life, always believed you could contain yourself, your feelings, your reactions, and yet here you are, trembling in the middle of the sidewalk like a fucking idiot, all because of him.
you've just graduated high school, for fuck's sake.
life is only just beginning to open itself up to you.
you swallow hard, roughly pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes again, as you sidle into the uber. you donât even remember finding your way here. you only know that from inside this car, the city grows smaller in the distance and that everything else too, then, should fall away, and fade into insignificance.
so why does it not?
âhey, kid,â the driver tries meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror. âyou okay?â
âfine,â you manage, watching the skyscrapers grow smaller and smaller.Â
âbad breakup?â the driver tries again.
â...something like that.â
"you're so young," he offers. "you could have the whole world in your hands if you wanted to."
"thank you."
you fall into an awkward silence after that, and so he wordlessly turns up the radio before turning back to the road. youâre grateful for it. the police sirens and pedestrian chatter and bitter traffic and the music all fades into the background as your focus narrows to the widening gap between you and him.
all of it belongs to keanâ
your first love.
your first loss.
âand yet, this is the last time you will see him.
or so you think.
it will be ten years before you meet kean kazim again.
in a war-torn world where survival is a privilege, you never expected to become the object of a feared colonelâs obsession. but as whispers of his lost love haunt your every moment and bullets become the least of your worries, you realize that falling for him might be the most dangerous battle of all.
ââ· pairings. caleb, fem!reader
ââ· genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au
ââ· tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, reader is not l&ds!mc, ooc, war times, unrequited love, profanity, violence, loveless sex, explicit smut, mentions of sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbingâreader discretion is advised.
ââ· notes. 8.3k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. this is heavily inspired by my other gojo fic s.o.s and the manhwa my beloved oppressor :) couldnât stop thinking about this au for caleb that i had to just write it :âD reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!
The world above was long dead. Ruins of cities stood as monuments to a past civilization, swallowed by the aftermath of World War VI. Beneath the surface, buried in a labyrinth of steel and stone, was where the remaining humanity clung to survival. Here, Colonel Caleb was both a savior and a nightmareâa man whose presence alone sent shivers down the spines of even the most battle-hardened soldiers.
But he was not just any soldierâhe was the fleetâs best fighter pilot, a legend in the skies before the war even forced them underground. Even now, when the remnants of humanity relied on aerial supremacy to hold off their enemies, Caleb was the one they turned to. The one who led the most dangerous missions, who never failed, who returned even when others didnât.Â
You have loved him for as long as you could remember.
You were a humble nurse, stitching together broken bodies, whispering soft reassurances to the wounded. Your duty was simple yet relentless, saving as many lives as you could with the limited resources and skill at your disposal. You werenât the best, nor did you claim to be, but you were one of the few who refused to surrender to despair, even as the war bled your world dry. While others faltered under the gravity of endless suffering, you endured. And after a year of tending to fallen soldiers and civilians, you remained steadfast. You were the only one among your female colleagues who hadnât lost herself to the horrors of war.
That was how you met him.Â
Caleb was the fleetâs toughest and most formidable leader. He was unyielding and merciless to those who dared cross him. Even with his own people, he remained strict, and his resolve never wavered even in the face of devastating losses. But the night he staggered into the private ward, wounded and bleeding out, you were the first to reach him. You ensured he was cared for, your hands steady as you fought to keep him alive.Â
âYouâll make it through the night, sir.â You could still remember the desperation in your voice as you tightened the tourniquet around his broken arm, fighting to stop the bleeding. âIâll make sure of it.â
He lay there, teeth clenched, body tense with pain, every breath labored. âIf I die, I die.âÂ
âNo!â you shot back, your grip firm with determination. âNot tonight. You will live. Weâre rooting for you, sir. The people need you.â
They said falling in love during wartime was a surefire path to heartbreak. Yet, meeting Caleb, seeing beyond his striking exterior, and loving him despite the battlesâboth on the field and withinâwas a fight you willingly embraced. You surrendered yourself to him without hesitation, and in return, the hardened soldier who was weary from war found solace in you. He called you the prettiest nurse in the ward, but to him, you were far more than that. You were the one thing he never saw coming.Â
You were the apple of his eyes.Â
But, of course, the other nurses didnât take kindly to that. They resented how you had unknowingly ruined their chances with him, and even more so, how an undeniable favoritism began to surface. While they were left to sleep in rusty bunk beds, you were the one Caleb brought to his private quarters, where the sheets were soft, the air was warm, and food was abundant.
It was easy for them to judge. After all, rumors spread like wildfire about the nurse who shared the colonelâs bed. The gossip wasnât confined to just the nurses; it reached the soldiers who eyed you whenever you passed, their gazes lingering with knowing smirks as if fantasizing what their colonel saw at night. Even the older civilians bore disapproving glances whenever they saw you. Their silent verdict was clear as day. You were seen as a woman who had traded her virtue for privilege. A harlot draped in a white uniform. A disgrace hiding behind the pretense of care.
You werenât sure if Caleb knew about it, but it was impossible not to. He simply didnât care because he had an entire nation to think about. Clearing your name was the least of his concerns. And you knew it. After two years of serving as a war nurse, when night fell, you were simply the woman Caleb claimed as his. A common-law partner, nothing more. He never made promises, never told you that you were the only one in his heart. Because you werenât. That space belonged to anotherâthe woman he had truly loved. The woman he had lost to war.
His wife.
You tried. You tried to live with the ghost between you, tried to endure the way his fingers sometimes trembled against your skin, as if remembering someone else. You tried to pretend that when he held you, it was because he wanted you, not because he needed something to numb the ache inside him.
But love, when unreciprocated, was a slow and agonizing death.Â
And all you could do was live with it for as long as you were with him.
Because one day, you knew he could love you the same. And one day, when the war ends, you would be in his arms, building your life together with your kids playing freely and no longer living in fear.Â
For now, you had to endure what came your way. There are no saints in war times, and patience was a virtue at times like these.Â
The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nose as you moved swiftly through the underground ward, checking pulses, changing dressings, and murmuring reassurances to the wounded who groaned in pain one after another. It was just another day in the relentless cycle of war, patching up soldiers only to send them back out to die.
Then you heard him.
Colonel Calebâs commanding voice felt like an alarm to everyone in the ward as he strode down the hall, flanked by his army of men. You werenât even looking, but you could picture the way they walked, with Caleb at the front, exuding effortless authority, and the others keeping pace just slightly behind him.
âThe turbine failed mid-air,â one of his officers reported. âPreliminary analysis suggests a mechanical fault. Possibly a lubrication issue in the main rotor bearings.â
âOr sabotage,â another interjected grimly.
Caleb didnât slow his steps. âHas the wreckage been recovered?â
âScouts are en route, sir. We should have an assessment within the hour.â
âToo late,â Caleb muttered. âIf they hit us now, weâll have one less bird in the sky. Reassign Squadron Echo to cover the eastern perimeter. Deploy anti-air artillery in sector four, and keep the missile launchers primed.â
âYes, sir.â
Just then, a distant explosion rumbled aboveground, rattling the dim lights overhead. You even had to hold onto one of the cabinet doors to steady yourself. A fighter jet had gone down.
âDamn it.â One of the officers pulled out a small tablet, scanning over the mission logs. âPilotâs confirmed dead. Theyâre already moving in on the wreckage. We need reinforcements at the north trench.â
Caleb barely hesitated. âSend Private Halloway to the front lines.â
âRoger that.â
His words were sharp and clinical. No emotion. Just another name spoken into a void, another body to be thrown into the fray.Â
Your hands stilled over a soldierâs bandages. Halloway. You recognized that name.
The same Halloway who had leaned a little too close when you handed him his rations. The one who had brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smirked, murmuring something about how the battlefield could use more beauty like yours. The kind of beauty that he fantasized at night.Â
And now he was being sent to die.
A strange thrill coiled in your stomach. Caleb had heard about it. Or he might even have seen. It was a foolish and delusional thought, dangerous even, but you clung to the fact that this was surely his way of claiming you.
As his group passed, your pulse quickened. You turned slightly, letting your gaze linger on him. Tall. Unshaken. Unreachable. This was your man. He was yours and you were his.Â
You smiled as soon as he saw you, just a little, as if sharing a secret only the two of you understood.
But Caleb didnât stop. He simply looked away. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, and in a matter of seconds, he was gone. Nothing more than the cold air that he often carried.Â
~~
Steam curled in the dimly lit room as you stepped out of the shower, water forming in rivulets against your skin. The underground base was always cold, but in Calebâs quarters, the warmth always stayed. Not just because he had his own luxury of a fireplace, but because the warmth also included faint traces of him in the air, in the sheets, and in the ghost of his presence.
Not that it mattered. You were just emotional because he hadnât been here in three days.
Sighing, you wrapped a towel around yourself, already resigning to another night alone. But just as you reached for your comb, the door swung open with a slow and deliberate creak.
You froze.
Caleb stood in the doorway, his uniform dusted with dirt and gunpowder. His sleeves were rolled up, veins prominent on his forearms and tension coiling in his stance. His gaze flicked over your damp skin, bare shoulders, the towel barely clinging to your body.
You let a small smile play on your lips. âYou finally remembered where your bed is?â you teased, stepping closer. âI was starting to think you found another.â
He didnât respond. Just shut the door behind him with a quiet click.
And the thick, suffocating silence stretched as he began removing his shoes. You took this moment to clear your throat. âI heard about Halloway,â you murmured, tilting your head. âPeople are saying you sent him to a death sentence.â A pause, then a knowing smile. âDid you do that for me?â
The shift was instant. And it wasnât what you pictured in your head.Â
Before you could react, Caleb was in front of you, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the cold wall. His hand gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. They were dark, smoldering, and unreadable. This was the version of Caleb that everyone was afraid of.Â
âYou worried âbout him?â His voice had a dangerous edge lacing each word.
While you, your breath hitched, fingers curling into the towel. âN-No.âÂ
âYou think I didnât hear?â His grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make you gasp. âThe way he talked to you? The way you smiled at him? Handsome guy, isnât he?â
You denied everything he was saying. You knew one of his officers had been feeding him information, but they seemed twisted to make you out as someone you werenât. Were they trying to turn him against you? âNo, darling. Thatâs not true. In fact, I canât even stand him.âÂ
His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. âI have eyes and ears everywhere, Y/N.â He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. âAnd if I catch you entertaining anyone else again, I wonât just send them to die.â
A shiver ran down your spineâfear, thrill, or perhaps something darker twisting deep inside you. His warning did what it was supposed to do: to scare the hell out of you. But the most dangerous part was how much you enjoyed it all.Â
And then, before you could even form a response, he pushed you towards the bed.Â
By the time you looked back at him in surprise, he was already unbuttoning his shirt, looking at you merely as an object of his desire. âStrip off,â he growled, face rigid as ever. âThe past few days were damn stressful. Been thinkinâ of you naked all day.âÂ
And so, your nightly duties began. Caleb demanded his reward, and you were too foolishly in love that you surrendered to him without hesitation.Â
Because as unhinged as his obsession seemed, it ignited something deep within you. The thought of Caleb claiming you as his prize, something he craved at the end of each brutal day, sent the most passionate fire through your veins. That the same man who barely spared you a glance in daylight was the one who burned with desperation to have you all to himself at nighttime.
âI missed you,â you whispered as you slowly unraveled your bare body in front of him, dropping the damp towel on the floor. Not once did you break eye contact, and it was the sexiest thing you had ever experienced in your life.
As for him, he had already rid himself of his clothes. They were a pile on the floor, discarded lazily as he pinned you down. First, he went for your lips. Completely devouring, savoring your taste, and dominating every inch of your mouth. The moment his tongue connected with yours, he deepened the kissâa little too rough, too desperate that you could barely breathe.Â
âM-My love,â you gasped, the only time he allowed you to catch your breath was when he was positioning himself between your legs. And then he crashed his lips onto yours once more, enjoying how you moaned against his lips, exchanging warm breaths as he explored your mouth. The kiss was so intense that you barely noticed the feeling of his hardened member pressing against your leg. It felt huge and hard as a rock, a clear sign that he had been wanting a good release for the past few days. And you? You were crazy about it. You had seen his member plenty of times before, but nothing excited you more than feeling it inside.Â
That wasnât his agenda for now, though. He took his sweet time trailing kisses along your collarbone, leaving purple marks around your neck, before he feasted on the same breast he had been kneading for more than a minute. You could feel your back arching as your body naturally responded to his touch, with your own hand guiding him to massage your other mound. He nibbled on the nipple, sucking and licking around the nub, then moving to give the other the same amount of attention.Â
He was like a hungry beast that hadnât eaten for weeks. With the way he squeezed your tits together and running his tongue along the cleavage, you could already feel yourself dripping down there.Â
âC-Caleb.â
âHm?â He didnât pull away. Instead, he crawled down, spreading your legs apart, and eyeing the swollen lips that he was about to demolish. âWet already?âÂ
You nodded, looking down at him and watching as he pressed his fingers along the slit, sliding and circling his digits on your entrance. âMmhâthatâsâŠâÂ
âBe patient now,â he mocked, âArenât you so needy?âÂ
That was true, but how could you help it? How could you not want him inside if you could see him stroking his pulsing cock while he was using his other hand to play with your clit? Just when you thought you couldnât go crazier, he eventually sucked his digits to taste your slick, then he returned them back to your entrance, only this time, entering without warning.Â
âA-Aah!â
His fingers alone could make your legs shake, and whatever he was reaching for inside you was making you weaker by the second. You were a moaning mess under him, hands clenching on his sheets for dear life as he fingered your cunt like there was no tomorrow. It was only a matter of seconds until you disintegrated in front of himâyour legs trembling as your fluid released itself in a series of squirts.Â
Embarrassed as you may be, it was what Caleb wanted to see.Â
And he didnât let you rest before he was already positioning his crotch on your face, his hand holding his cock in place as he slapped his swollen tip against your lips. âMy turn,â he spoke in a low voice, smirking as you wrapped your shaky hand around his shaft and let your tongue swirl around his bulging pink head. You could taste the precum on his tip, licking every corner and every ridge under, from his balls back to his tip before you swallowed him entirely.Â
âFuck,â he cursed under his breath, pulling your hair as you bobbed your head on his cock, enveloping the warm walls of your mouth around his member as if you were milking him of his cum. Your eyes welled with tears as you fought the urge to gag despite feeling the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your throat. Each and every moan he released made you more determined to please him, to be called a good girl, to be wanted.Â
You could feel it. With how his cock was twitching inside your mouth, he was about to explode. But he didnât let it happen. Everything happened in a span of a second when he pulled his member from your mouth before opening your core and slamming his cock into your pussy.Â
His thick, hard cock stretched you open without mercy. And he didnât slow down or savor the time. He was ramming into you, hands holding your hips in place while your tits bounced wildly. Calebâs sweat was starting to trickle along his toned upper body, his abs now glistening as he continued to pound into you endlessly.Â
âIâd fuck you everyday like this if I can,â he grunted, each word came out raspy. âYou like that?âÂ
âY-Yes! A-Aaah!â You struggled to form coherent words as he hit your sweetest spot at each hard thrust. âC-Caleb.âÂ
The walls were thin. But surely, the colonelâs private quarters would have some sort of soundproofing, otherwise it would be embarrassing how loud the skin-slapping and squelching noises you two were making. It didnât help that you were practically screaming as Caleb started increasing his speed as he chased his climax. Your walls were clenching around his girth, milking him of his load that he soon spurted inside of you.Â
You were in a battle of catching each otherâs breaths as he pulled out, watching his cum seep out of your cunt before he plopped on the bed next to you.Â
âTake the pill as soon as you wake up,â he ordered, laying on his back as he closed his eyes. His chest rose up and down as he eventually caught his breath.Â
But you remained a ragdoll beside him, your lower body still twitching from the intense orgasm and muscle memory. âO-Okay.âÂ
The night was supposed to end romantically. It was supposed to be you and him cuddling and declaring your love for each other, but the thought of him only using your body to relieve himself was torture to your mind. You convinced yourself it meant something more, something deeper.Â
But the hard truth was, you were only there to fill the silence.
You traced lazy circles over his bare chest, your voice soft yet full of devotion. âIâm all yours, Caleb. Only yours.â
âYeah,â he muttered, running a hand through his hair. âI know.â
~~
The next morning, the bed beside you was cold.
You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against the empty sheets where Caleb should have been. But there was nothingâno warmth, no lingering presence, just the stark reality that he hadnât even stayed.
But you told yourself you just had to get used to it and that Caleb would come wanting you again at night. Like he always did. And so, biting back the hollow ache in your chest, you forced yourself up, got dressed, and headed to the mess hall for breakfast.Â
The moment you stepped in, you felt it.
Eyes. Watching. Judging.
The low murmurs didnât stop as you walked past the rows of civilians, soldiers, and nurses, pretending not to notice the whispers that followed you. You kept your chin up and sat down with your tray, forcing yourself to eat the stale bread despite the tightness in your throat.
You had no illusions about what they were saying. They all thought they knew what you were or what you did. Calebâs woman. His plaything. And after last night, they had even more reason to talk.
But you had work to do.
By midday, you were back in the ward, slipping into your role as if nothing had changed. Patients needed tending to, and you werenât about to let their petty gossip stop you.
At least there was something to occupy yourself with. They brought in a new soldier to the base, barely back from the front lines if you could add. His face was gaunt, sunken with pain, sweat beading on his forehead as he lay on the cot. His leg was in ruinsâshattered bones, torn muscle, the kind of injury that didnât fully heal in wartime.Â
You approached him carefully, offering a calm, practiced smile. âIâm here to helpââ
His reaction was instant. It was as though you were the trigger to a ticking time bomb. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, snapped to you, and before you could blink, his hands already shot out, grabbing at you with a strength you didnât expect.
âYouâ!â he snarled, his fingers digging into your arms, nails raking against your skin as he yanked you forward. âYou whoreâyou whore!â
You gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was fueled by pain and rage, his voice hoarse with accusation. âOw! P-Please!âÂ
âYou ruin men like us! Youâyouâget innocent soldiers sent to die!â His nails scratched at your cheek, his grip tightening as he shook you. âYouâre the reason Hallowayâs goneâ!â
The words hit like a slap, but before he could do more, hands were on him. And on you. Other soldiers rushed in, prying him off you, restraining him as he thrashed against the cot.Â
âStand down, soldier!â one barked.
You stumbled back, breath coming fast, your skin stinging where he had just scratched you.
But the worst part wasnât the pain.
It was the way the nurses across the ward just watched. Their gazes were cold, as if saying you deserved it. Not a single one had moved to help.
You couldnât understand the hostility. Couldnât fathom why people looked at you with such disdain. If it had been another woman in your place, would they have treated her the same? All you had done was love a manânothing more, nothing less. You werenât trying to hurt anyone. You simply fell in love.
But as you locked yourself in the bathroom, staring at your reflection while washing the bloody scratches from your cheek, that was when the realization struck.
They didnât respect you because Caleb never had.
Not once had he claimed you in public, never shown his affection where others could see. He had never treated you like someone worth honoring, never given you the respect you deserved. And if the leader of this war-torn world didnât respect youâwhy would anyone else?
The thought alone made your eyes well with tears, but you quickly washed them away. No. You refused to doubt. He loves me. Heâd even kill for me.
A sudden knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it hesitantly, only to find Simone standing there. The only female soldier with a rank high enough to command real respect. At first, you assumed she was just waiting for the restroom, but the way she looked at you said otherwise.
âYou got a minute?â she asked, her tone cool and unreadable.
You hesitated before nodding. âYeah⊠sure.â
~~
The storage room was cold and dimly lit by the single flickering bulb overhead. Dust clung to the forgotten crates, and the faint scent of metal and oil lingered in the air. Hardly anyone came here as it was a place for old supplies and broken equipment, not whispered conversations.
And yet, here you were, in the only room without surveillance.Â
Simone leaned against one of the crates, arms crossed as he narrowed her eyes at you. âYou need to end things with Caleb.â
You stiffened instantly. âExcuse me?âÂ
She sighed, rubbing her temples as if she had already anticipated your reaction. âThis thing between you and him, you know it isnât healthy. Not for you. Not for him.â
You scoffed. Who does she think she is? âYou donât know anything about us.â
âI know more than you think,â she shot back. âI know what kind of man Caleb is. What heâs become.â
You folded your arms, defensive. âI donât know what youâre talking about. All I know is that he cares about me.â
âCares about you?â Simone let out a humorless chuckle. âDo you even know what heâs done? How many men heâs killed just for looking at you?â
Your lips parted, but no words came out.
âFive soldiers. And counting,â she continued coldly. âSome he sent straight to the gas chambers. Others? He had them tortured in ways I wouldnât even wish on our enemies. And all because they made the mistake of mentioning how beautiful you are.â
You felt the blood drain from your face. âB-But thatâs because he wants to protect me. Thatâs just how he loves.â
Simone watched you carefully before she sighed again, her voice softening this time. âThis isnât love, Y/N. You donât know Caleb⊠I donât even know if heâs capable of loving again.â
What does she mean?
âHe wasnât always like this,â she continued, almost nostalgic as if he had seen another version of Caleb that you hadnât. âBefore the war. Before his wife died. He was kind. Gentle. A man who knew the difference between power and cruelty.â She hesitated, then admitted, âShe was my colleague. And my friend. Calebâs childhood sweetheart, his true love, and his whole life. He loved her sincerely, so much so that he was fighting to make the world better for her. Not destroy it. But seeing him right now, she wouldâve hated what heâs become.â
Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Everything she had just mentioned shot a bullet straight to your heart, but you refused to let it kill you. You refused, denied. No!Â
âYou canât replace her,â Simone added, her words cutting through you like a knife. âNo matter how much you try. So I suggest you leave him before it destroys you.â
~~
The door to Calebâs private quarters slammed open as you stormed inside, your blood boiling, your mind a haze of rage and betrayal. You couldnât stop Simoneâs words from echoing in your head even if you tried hard enough. You canât replace her. Sheâs his true love. His whole life.Â
âNo.â Adamantly did you shake your head. âStop.âÂ
He loved her sincerely. And still does.Â
Your breath came in ragged gasps as you yanked at the blankets, overturned chairs, kicked over the table. The frustration inside you was begging to be released, and destruction was the only thing that made sense. How could you get extremely jealous over a dead person? You laughed in your head. She was dead. She was gone. Good for her. But despite the constant reminder to yourself that the woman you were jealous of didnât exist anymore, you knew that you could never erase the fact that you would still never amount to her. And you hated it. You hated her!Â
In your rage, you didnât even realize you had grabbed one of his jackets from the pile of discarded uniforms until something tumbled out of the pocket.
A necklace.
It landed with a soft metallic clink against the floor. It was a simple chain, worn with age, with two wedding bands strung together. Your stomach twisted as you picked it up, seeing the engraving was delicate but unmistakable. It had Calebâs name and hers.
Your hands trembled.
She was still here. She had never left. Not in his heart, not in his mind. He carried her with him, even now, even after all the ways he had made you believe you were his.
Something inside you snapped, as though you were a madwoman who had finally lost her sanity. Like Caleb always said, that âthere are no saints in wartimesâ. So, what was stopping you from going all out? She needed to be destroyed. She needed to be forgotten. In your desperation to search for more pieces of her, you lurched toward his drawers, pulling them open and shoving things aside. Your promise to never touch his things? Forgotten.
That was when you saw a wooden box, hidden beneath neatly folded uniforms.
You yanked it out, prying it open with shaking handsâonly to find it stuffed with letters. Some yellowed with time, others crisp as if he had reread them over and over. Her handwriting. Her words. Her love, immortalized in ink.
My Dearest Caleb,
If I close my eyes, I can still see you standing on the shoreline, hands in your pockets, pretending youâre not waiting for me. But I always knew. You were never good at hiding how much you loved me.
Are you eating well? Have you been sleeping? I know youâll lie if I ask you in person, but in a letter, you canât hide from me. And I worry, darling. I always do.
I miss the way you hold me before you leave. I miss the way you kiss my hair, thinking I donât notice how long you linger there. I miss the way you look at me like Iâm the only thing in this world worth coming back to.
Sometimes I wonder⊠do you know how much I love you? Do you feel it, even when weâre apart? I hope you do. I hope itâs enough to keep you warm when the nights are cold, to keep you safe when danger is near.
Come back to me soon, my love. The house is too quiet without you. And when you do, Iâll be right here, waiting. Just like always.
Forever yours,
Your wife
A strangled sob tore from your throat.
You didnât think. You couldnât. You just couldnât.Â
Through hot tears and reckless fury, you grabbed the box and flung it into the fireplace without regard. All her letters spilled out, each and every one of them catching flame within seconds. And you didnât hesitate to throw the necklace soon after, letting it vanish into the fire with a dull shimmer.
You stood there, watching the flames devour every trace of her. Of them.
âYouâre gone,â you let out a mirthless laugh, wiping the tears that followed after. âYouâre gone! Leave him alone!âÂ
Your entire body trembled at the thought, your chest undulating in heavy breaths. Then, as if realizing what you had done, you collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the fire.
The anger was gone.
Replaced by the terrifying thought of what Caleb would do when he came home.Â
~~
The FY-26 cut through the sky like a phantom with its sleek titanium frame reflecting the nautical glow of the setting sun. It was the most powerful fighter jet in the fleet; faster, deadlier, a mechanical beast designed for war. And only one person from the DAA was given the honor to pilot it.Â
Caleb gripped the throttle, voice steady as he spoke into his comms. âSpecter-01 to Specter-02, enemy reconnaissance spotted at 2 oâclock, altitude 15,000 feet. Adjust trajectory and prepare for engagement.â
âCopy that, Specter-01,â came the reply of his fellow fighter pilot. âVisual confirmed. Awaiting further orders.â
Calebâs gaze flicked to the horizon, where a lone aircraft hovered in the distance. He could hear the chatter of enemy comms scrambling to react, but for a moment, his focus drifted.
Below him, a small, crescent-shaped island came into view. His grip on the controls instantly tightened.
He knew this place.
The memory surfaced like a ghost from another lifeâof a time when war wasnât all he knew. When he had taken her here, flying low so she could see the crystalline waves shimmering under the sun. He had told her to look down, to read the words he had carved into the sand earlier in the day.
"Will you marry me?"
He could still hear her laughter, the way it had crackled through the radio before she screamed yes over the comms, her excitement drowning out all other noise. His adorable pipsqueak. Her beautiful smile, her sparkling eyesâŠÂ
Caleb exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into the present. âI miss you, my love.â
That was a lifetime ago. She was a lifetime ago.
His eyes darkened as he thought of his new realityâyou. You werenât her. Not in the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, the way you looked at him with that foolish devotion. But maybe⊠maybe he should stop pretending that it mattered.
Maybe he should just settle with what he had left.
You were still there waiting for him. A woman who, despite all odds, loved him with reckless abandon. The same woman who cried on the night he was on his deathbed, doing everything in her might to make sure he lived. And though he could never give you what he once gave another, he knew youâd still smile, even just from the smallest things.
A glance. A touch. A mere kiss from him, and your entire world lit up.
His hands flexed against the controls.
âSpecter-02, engage the target. Iâm circling back to base.â
Because tonight, maybe heâd give you something to smile about.
~~
The moment Caleb stepped into his quarters, he could tell something was wrong.
The air alone was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, an unusual warmth persisting as dying embers crackled weakly in the fireplace. His gaze swept over the roomâfurniture askew, drawers flung open, papers and personal belongings scattered across the floor. His gut twisted. It was like a crime scene. Like something vital had been gutted from this space.
Then, his eyes landed on you.
Curled up on the floor, body trembling, and your arms wrapped around yourself like a feeble shield. Your shoulders shook through stifled sobs, but the moment your tear-streaked face lifted to meet his gaze, everything inside him snapped.
His heart slammed against his ribs, a foreign pressure crushing his chest as his vision tunneled straight to the fireplace.
No. No, no, no, no!
It was as if his vision blurred, as if there was a deafening ringing overtaking his ears as he stormed forward, shoving past the mess to get to the source of his rage. The flames had long since died, leaving behind nothing but fragile wisps of ash. But even in its destruction, he recognized what it used to be.
Burned letters.
A melted necklace, the twisted remains of two rings fused together.
The last pieces of her.
His wife.
His breath left him in a sharp, ragged exhale, his lungs refusing to pull in air as scorching rage flooded every nerve in his body.
âYou,â he seethed. Your name didnât even make it past his lips. The word was a knife, laced with something lethal, something beyond fury. His boots pounded against the wooden floor as he closed the distance between you, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. âIâd fucking kill you! What the fuck have you done?!â
You flinched, your body recoiling as if his voice had physically struck you. âCalebââ
âShut up!â His hand shot out, gripping your arm down to the bone, yanking you up with enough force that your legs nearly gave out beneath you. âDo you have any fucking idea what you just did?âÂ
âIâI didnât mean to⊠I wasnât thinking straightââ you choked out, shaking your head frantically, eyes wide with panic.
âDidnât mean to?â He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound so devoid of warmth it sent chills down your spine. Before you could react, he was already shoving you back against the nearest wall, his arms caging you in, his breath hot with rage as it fanned against your skin. His eyes were cold, piercing, murderous, menacing.
âYou burned her letters, our rings,â he said, each syllable aiming to intimidate you. âDestroyed the only damn thing I had left of her! And for what?!â
Tears spilled down your cheeks as you tried to shake your head, tried to explain, but your throat was too tight, your breath too uneven. Calebâs gaze alone was enough to make your entire body tremble. But you had to try. âI was hurt, Caleb,â you finally sobbed, the words tumbling out like a plea. âIâI just wanted you to forget her. I wanted you to see me!âÂ
âForget her?â His jaw clenched. His grip tightened on your wrist, the pressure just shy of bruising. âYou think you could ever replace her? You think you have any fuckinâ right to want anything from me? That you could be anything more than a pathetic substitute?â
The words sliced through you like a blade, carving through every delusion you had ever let yourself believe.
Yet⊠you had nothing left to lose.
âI love you,â you whispered, broken, desperate. âCaleb, I love you⊠Please. Iâll be everything you need. Iâll offer everything I have and more. Just⊠just forget about her.â
For a terrifying second, you thought he might actually hit you.
But then, just as fast as it came, he wrenched himself away from you, staggering back as though you were the thing poisoning him. It hurt. It hurt like hell to see the way he rid himself of you as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers itching to wreck you.Â
â...Caleb.âÂ
â...Iâm sorry, Caleb.âÂ
â...I love you, Caleb.â
No matter how desperately you fought to win his heart, his voice remained eerily calm when he finally spoke.
âGet the hell out of my sight.â
You stood frozen, barely able to process the words. âB-Butââ
âI said GET THE FUCK OUT!â His roar thundered through the room, rattling your entire being like an insect in a heavy storm.Â
You swallowed down the sob threatening to rise up your throat, willing yourself to moveâto breatheâas you staggered toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, and for a split second, you let yourself hope for him to stop you. To say something. Anything.
But all he did was stare at you with a gaze so cold, so hollow, it made your heart cave in on itself.
And then, his final words were more merciless than you thought.Â
âYou wanna play with fire?â he muttered. âFine. Iâll throw you out into the front lines soon enough. See how much you really want to be a soldierâs whore.â
A strangled gasp left your lips, your vision blurring with fresh tears.
You couldnât breathe.
You couldnât think.
And for the first time since you met him, you realized that no matter how much love you poured into him, Caleb had none left to give.
~~
He stayed true to his words.Â
The front lines were nothing short of hell. Explosions tore through the sky, painting it in hues of orange and black. The ground trembled beneath relentless bombardments, screams of the wounded and dying mixing with the fusillade of gunfire. It was chaos. It was pure, unfiltered war.
And you were in the heart of it.
Thrown into the battlefield as nothing more than a discarded afterthought, yet you worked tirelessly, tending to the broken, the dying, the ones who begged for mercy even when there was nothing left to give. Blood soaked your uniform, stained your hands, and for the first time since you had arrived at this forsaken place, you realized Caleb was never coming to rescue you. That this wasnât as simple as temporary punishment where he could rescue you back to the base the moment he saw that you had already paid for your sins.Â
You had been foolish to think otherwise. Because the punishment was greater than the crime.Â
Day after day, you watched the planes soar overhead, wondering if one of them carried him. If maybe, just maybe, heâd glance down and remember you. That heâd order someone to retrieve you, to take you home.
But no one came.
Not even him.
And just when you thought it couldnât get worseâthe enemy arrived.
You barely had time to react before the camp was raided, soldiers storming in with brutal efficiency. Screams filled the airânurses, wounded soldiers, no one was spared. You tried to run, but handsâso many handsâgripped you, dragging you with them.
âNo, please!â you sobbed, thrashing, digging your heels into the dirt. âSomeone, help me!â
But the only response was the harsh, guttural laughter of the men dragging you away. You didnât understand their language, but you understood them. The way their dark, hungry eyes lusted over your trembling form. The mocking smiles curling their lips. The way they spoke to each other, like you werenât even human.
Like you were property.
One of them cupped your chin, tilting your face up with a sickening grin. âSheâll do nicely,â he murmured in a thick accent.Â
Another joined in on the amusement. âA fitting pastime for the long nights ahead.â
A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, bile rising in your throat as you began to foresee your fate in their hands. Your fate as the enemyâs new plaything.Â
âNoâNO!â you shrieked, thrashing harder, your nails clawing at their arms. âCaleb! S-Someone, please!â
But no one came.
No one ever came.
That was when your real nightmare began.
They dragged you to their camp, a place so desolate, so devoid of mercy, that it made your previous suffering look like a fleeting dream. There was no hope here. No salvation.
Just pain.
The foreign army passed you from one to the next like you were nothing more than a worn-out relic of war. Their touch was greedy, using your body at their convenience, their grip bruising as they took what they wanted. They stripped you off everything; clothes, dignity, sanity. Sanity. Where is God in all of this?
Your mind drifted, escaping to anywhere else but there. You imagined a different life, a different fate. But the pain kept pulling you back. The jeers, the mocking laughter, the cruel hands that touched every inch of your skin reminding you over and over again that there was no escaping this. You felt dirty, felt disgusted of your own flesh, felt sick that you had to wake up each day living for only one and one purpose alone.Â
You stopped counting the days.
Stopped screaming when they came for you.
You had nothing left.
Their cruelty settled deep within your bones, your spirit breaking piece by piece until all that remained was a hollow shell of who you used to be.
And the worst part?
He never came.
Caleb, the man who once whispered possessive threats in your ear, who swore no one else could have you, who claimed you as his prizeâhad abandoned you to this.
It was almost laughable. Truly spectacular.Â
As you lay on the cold, your body too battered to move, you allowed yourself to accept the truth.
He never loved you.
He never would.
~~
Before you were a war nurse, you once interned as a nurse at Akso Hospital. Life was peaceful then. Even as whispers of an impending world war grew louder, there was an unshaken belief that your nation was too powerful to fall. No one dared to wage war on the strongest nation in the world.Â
That was the world you knewâquiet, bathed in golden light. You stood in the familiar white halls of the medical facility, the place where it all began. Where you trained. Where you dreamed of making a difference.
Dr. Zayne stood before you, his crisp uniform as pristine as ever, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the medical abstract he had on hand. He had always been composed and steady. A true professional that you looked up to. He was the best cardiac surgeon there was, and everyone in the same field dreamed of working with him. Of becoming like him.
âYou're ready for this,â he said, adjusting his gloves. âThe war will test you, but your handsââ he reached out, taking yours in his own, running his thumb across your palmââwere meant to heal.â
You gripped his hands a little tighter. âWhat if I canât save everyone?â
He thought for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. âYou wonât,â he agreed. âBut you will save someone. And that will always matter.â
You felt your chest tighten. âThank you for being a good mentor, Dr. Zayne. I hope to see you again someday.âÂ
The golden light around him began to fade, his figure growing distant, hazy, slipping through your fingers.
âGood luck, Y/N.â
It was the chilling air that woke you up from your dream. The icy breeze seeped into your bones, deeper than any wound, any bruise, any violation. Every inch of you ached, skin marred with purple and black, lips split and dry. Your body was no longer your own. It was something broken, something discarded.
You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open and every breath was a struggle as your ribs protested with each inhale. The faint scent of blood and sweat lingered around you, suffocating you. Killing you.
Somewhere in the distance, you heard voicesâa noise.
A sharp crack split through the air, followed by a screamâshort, cut off, wet. Then another. And another.
Gunfire.
Shouting.
The heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground.
You tried to move, but your limbs wouldnât obey. The exhaustion of everything they had done to you pinned you down. Your pulse was sluggish, your vision swimming, but you could hear itâhim. And the distinct roar of his rage. Perhaps it was your hallucination. After all, you had already lost your mind from this war.Â
But one of the soldiers outside, his voice barely rising before it was cut offâa sickening gurgle of a sound, as if something sharp had torn straight through his throat. Gunfire erupted in rapid succession, followed by panicked shouts, orders barked in a language you barely understood, only for them to be silenced just as quickly. A storm was tearing through the camp. A massacre.
Then, the door was kicked open. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight.
You held your breath.Â
The familiar combat boots. The bloodied gloves. The cold, murderous gleam of his eyes.
Caleb.
Your lips partedâhalf in disbelief, half in something uglier. Because now, after everything, after you had finally accepted that he was gone, he was here. His gaze was fixed on you, and something in his features cracked as he took in your state. Bruises. Cuts. The torn remains of your uniform that barely covered your violated body. His fingers twitched over the trigger of his gun.
Slowly, he took a step forward. And when he finally reached you, he knelt, his bloodstained hands brushing against your trembling form as if to confirm that you were real.
Why? Why now, Caleb?
You let out a broken sob, your body giving out as you collapsed into him, while his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly and desperately.
It was for the first time since meeting him where he genuinely, unselfishly took you in his arms with fragile care. âIâm sorry. Iâm here. Iâm here now. Iâve killed every single one of âem for you,â he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. âIâll take you home. No oneâs gonna touch you ever again. I promise.â
The irony, however, presented itself the moment Caleb touched you. Because rather than feeling a sense of relief in his own way of apologizing, a deep, all-consuming dread wrapped around your bones instead.
Because this wasnât salvation. This wasnât a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.
Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a cruel joke. You thought being hereâbeing dragged through hell, used, and discardedâwas the worst fate imaginable.
But, no.
The true horror was returning to Caleb.
Because you knew now. You finally understood. There was no future for you. Not in his arms. Not in this world. And the look in his eyes, that dangerous, unhinged gleam that he would never let you go. You were only going to submit yourself to a never ending cycle. Of pain. Of being unloved.
So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.
His own gun. His own weapon.
For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. âY/Nââ
The barrel was already pressed to your temple. His hands lunged for you, fast, too fastâ
BANG!
The world stilled.
Your body swayed before a slow, almost gentle descent to the ground. Caleb caught you before you could hit the dirt, but warm blood seeped between his fingers. His hands, the same hands that had killed and destroyed, now shook as they cradled you. âNo! NOOO! Y/N!â
But it was too late.
You smiled with your red-stained lips. âYou deserve to live a life where the women you loveââ you coughed, blood bubbling at the edges of your lips as you said your last words, âleave you.â
Are you okay??? It's been almost 2 months mom đđ
yes i'm fine thank you for asking!! i've just been super busy recently because of work and school right now. i'll get back to writing soon!! I just released my lastest work too. But again tyy for asking <33
