𑣲 early stages of dating with mizuki except his misfortune gets in the way this time around…or does it? (^^)
nothing has gone in his favor today. some stupid domino effect that’s led him to this point, head bowed politely with a multitude of apologies spilling from his glossy, pink lips. your orders are long forgotten, and if he wasn’t so good at hiding his emotions, he’s sure he’d be all sniffly and teary eyed in front of you right now.
from the crow’s caw he heard this morning, to the hearse he saw drive by on the way here to this ramen shop, he figures his chances of seeing you again afterwords are fairly low. oh and don’t get him started on all of the fumbles and mishaps he’s made in-between and—aargh! why today of all days did the spirits have to encroach on him so much?!
was it because he split the pole when he was walking beside kiriko last week? damn, he knew something felt off about it!
it takes some time, but eventually he stops grueling long enough to notice you eyeing him with an unreadable expression.
“how long have you been staring at me? do i have something on my face?”
“no, mizuki,” you answer straight away, shutting him down before the fretting can get any worse. he feels your fingertips touch his chin before they tilt upwards, forcing him to make direct eye contact with you. “this is probably the best day i’ve spent with you so far.”
his eyes go wide at your entry, doubtful and confused.
“what?”
“you know—” you gesture to him with your free hand with a smile. “—i like seeing this side of you. you’re less nonchalant and more authentic.”
the click and clatter of plates and cutlery seem too loud behind the silence he drags in. you…like his vulnerability? never in a million years would he have thought he’d hear that. strange, how you find comfort in something so adverse.
“i. uhm. really?”
“honest.” you say kindly, and he can tell you mean it by the softness in which you carry yourself. the sentiment warms his heart in a way he’s never felt before. so much so that he almost melts into your touch.
mizuki has very few weaknesses, but out of all of them, his biggest one is you. you’re his light, his yellow, his person. so what happens when a certain someone comes into the picture and demolishes his chances?
Words weave throughout a grapevine he isn’t intertwined with—was never meant to be. It seems as though he finds himself in this sort of position a lot, these days.
“It’s no good, ojisan,” Mizuki mumbles to himself one humid night, grueling aside the banks of a river in Kanezaka. “feelings, this yearning. I’m letting them get in the way of my purpose.”
When the ginger chime of a bell sounds out behind him, he doesn’t even so much as flinch.
“I can put you on.”
Kiriko, ever the mind reader.
“Tch. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He smirks underneath his mask, though the typical display of smugness doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Oh please, don’t play coy with me.”
“I play coy with everybody.”
She snorts.
“Fair.”
Silence commences, towing the line between comfort and discomfort. While uneager to fill it himself, he’s strangely relieved when she does the hard part for him.
“I know them, Mizuki. Truly,” She says, voice totally free of derision. Reality disarms him. “tell you what, I’ll put in a good word for you, ‘kay?”
So, both curious and inevitably at his heart’s wit’s end, he takes her upon her offer of being “put on”. Although time flies when you’re a double agent, and at the end of the day there’s none left for pursuing you or…eugh..the L-word.
A month and a half goes by before he sees you again, except this time, you’re sporting a new accessory. A boy.
Wuyang. Some raven-haired goofball with hazelnut brown eyes and a smile that could rival the sun’s rays. Not to mention he’s basically a superhero to Chengdu, and soon, the world if all things go according to plan.
If you’re in it with Overwatch, you’re in it for life, or whatever they say.
Okay, nobody says that.
Well Wuyang looks like he’s won the lottery by simply standing at your side, and as far as Mizuki’s concerned, he most certainly has. Shit, the only thing he quite literally has over him is his height, but he doubts you give a rat’s ass about that, positively beaming as you exchange introductions.
So much for Kiriko’s good word.
Mizuki finds himself back at the same banks of the same river in Kanezaka, swamped by the same humidity the air held before. No ginger bell sounds out this time and it ruins him a little further to know that his acquaintance won’t be showing up like how she had before, but maybe it’s for the best, saving his ears from scoffing down another empty assurance.
Despite it all, his heart still beats for you. Sure he knows now that his L-word will never come to fruition, no matter how much he wants it to, but the newfound sense of restrain somehow makes the sorrow feel funner than before.
“Please please please, Noroi,” he pleads, angrily attempting to skip a stone across the water’s surface. It sinks, much like his fantasies. “free me!”
He glares at the sunken stone as the word makes itself at home in his very being like it’s what’s at fault for every single mishap that’s ever caused him anguish.
In all honesty, he can’t even be mad. Not at you at least. Wuyang is perfect for you, the proof is in the pudding. The electrifying chemistry the two of you displayed before his eyes is undeniable.
As much as his lungs burn and his eyes sting he doesn’t shed a tear, opting to stew in stillness for the rest of the night.
Freedom will never find him, he settles. That’s the way it is, and that’s the way it’ll always be.
𑣲 i feel like emre isn’t the type to drink due to the fact that he doesn’t like losing control of himself.
so when freja slides him bourbon on a lazy night out at club de múnegu—a surprisingly kind courtesy of vendetta, with the succor of domina and maximilien, of course—he freezes uncharacteristically.
if freja notices, she doesn’t say a word.
“mm—no thank you.” he says, lifting the glass of water he’s been nursing for the past hour into her line of sight. it even has a lemon wedged onto the rim! “i’ll stick to my h2o.”
she shrugs in response before turning away and reinserting herself into her conversation with maximilien.
he sighs in relief.
it isn’t like he doesn’t trust freja, he does with his life, but…
…ugh. he supposes she doesn’t know how much drinking will affect him. hell, neither does he, but he’s also in no damn hurry to test it out, either!
so the night drags on for him as it does for most nondrinkers and he guesses that he’ll be the designated driver; les one of domina’s lackeys comes to pick everyone up.
by the time everyone reaches their peak he’s officially ready to leave. “so much for sticking to you.” he grumbles to his glass, snatches the lemon off of the rim, squeezes it into the water, lifts it to his lips, and takes a sip.
tasteful?
“hiii!” the suddenness of a voice singing directly into his ear meets with a weighing pressure onto his body and startles him. “what’s your name?!”
his head snaps around to see who the hell the nuisance is, because, really—who could it be? from the way his eyebrows are furrowed and his teeth are bared anyone else in their right mind should be scared off, but you seem like you couldn’t give any less of a fuck, having obviously been caught up in a drunken stupor of some sort. a truth that he immaturely looks past in favor of admiring your good-looks.
güzel.
“em…re. my name is emre.”
“well, emre.”
“yes?”
his response is next to instantaneous.
“you wouldn’t mind asking your girlfriend to hold my drink, would you? i promise i’ll be right back!”
he looks at you incredulously for a moment, utterly puzzled.
“you must be mistaken.”
you cock your head slightly to one side and point at the woman sat beside him. it’s freja, of course.
ohhh. no.
“ah! frej.” he says, nudging her with his knee.
she faces him again. “yes?”
“may you hold this canım’s drink for them while they go tend to something?”
she bends around him to look at you and smiles.
“sure.”
emre tries to reach out and take your drink to pass it along himself but you completely dodge him and place it directly into freja’s hands instead.
smart.
“by the way.” he says, catching your shoulder at the last second as you begin to walk away. “she,” he gestures at freja. “is not my girlfriend.”
“give me your number.”
phew.
“you are quite forward.”
“liquid courage.” you say, leaning back into his personal bubble. he smells the liquor on your breath but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest— “let me buy you a drink when i get back, huh?” —that might though.
he just about freezes again but shakes himself off enough to firmly state, “i don’t drink.” and awaits rejection.
it doesn’t come.
“oh, that’s fine,” you look at the glass he once held, now cast aside. “how about a refill? i could use some water myself.”
his stomach flips. “that sounds nice.”
you nod and turn away once more, finally walking off and making your way through the small crowds of people surrounding various casino table games, drinking, and bubbling overall.
he whistles as he watches you go and freja gently punches his bicep.
“you’re a dog.”
“i’m a mutt.”
emre doesn’t trust easy, no..but who’s to say a little consent can’t turn a man on from time to time?
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