With practically no memories of your past life, you awaken one day to find that you’ve been wrongfully accused of witchcraft! The only thing guiding you out of this predicament? A strange diary that offers you mysterious advice!
— play the role of the heroine and gain the affection of the love interests.
content: isekai and transmigration, historical au, reverse harem, reader-insert, platonic love and romantic love, tw: dark themes, abuse and violence, capital punishment, self harm and suicidal ideation, period-typical sexism, religious imagery and symbolism, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, slow burn, multiple endings. link to ao3
word count: 4.2k
a/n: haha... a week late btw haha... I WAS HAVING BAD WRITERS BLOCK ON HOW TO START THIS, AND THEN MY PERIOD CAME AND MY CRAMPS WERE SO BAD AND FOR TWO CONSECUTIVE NIGHTS I WAS SLEEPING AT LIKE 5 AM </333 anyway, another chapter where i urge you to come up with theories!! i love hearing them sm hehe, sorry for any mistakes and happy reading my thangachis <3
series masterlist | chapter 7 | chapter 9
chapter tw: slandering, misogynistic remarks + derogatory names, reader crashes out, hugo being a useless bum like he was in the 1st half of 3rd place playoff match.
God, why is that you keep finding yourself in these less than desirable situations?
One moment, you're on a leisurely stroll around the castle, half a dozen macarons in a pretty box and in your careful hands as you searched endlessly for the boy they were dealt to. An endeavour that is terribly futile, for Charles is nowhere to be found. Not in the knights' quarters like you'd hoped, nor in the inner courtyard where the lot of them gathered for their daily training.
So, of course, like any normal person with a sane mind, what better way to find him than ask his 'colleagues', that you've coincidentally stumbled upon in the midst of your search, if they've happened to see him around anywhere?
Not only did it make the most sense, it would also be the most efficient method. A foolproof plan you were absolutely confident in, until, well, you weren't…
"It's what desperation does to a woman, y'know? But this one in particular has loose legs, why else would she spread them for a mere knight?"
Huh?
The comment is accompanied with a scoff of disdain, followed by a chorus of mocking laughter from the rest that only encourages the assailant further.
"A wench off the street would only know the wicked ways she grew up with, it's no wonder she's managed to seduce that arrogant Hugo into warming her bed."
HUHHHHH????
You nearly choke, eyes bulging out of their sockets as you replay the crude words that fall out the knight's mouth in his heated moment of passion.
While he made no blatant mention of this woman's name, it really didn't take an esteemed scholar to put two and two together.
Seduction? Hugo? And bed warming?
Only one person came to mind at the description, and unfortunately, it was yourself.
Me?! DOING THAT WITH HUGO?!!!
You've never been more grateful for the large pillar that put distance between yourself and the vilifying paladins, a fact that made you invisible to their knowledge, but still within earshot of their conversation.
Maybe, just maybe, it'll do you far better to avoid them entirely than even breathe their way, considering how you weren't exactly spoken about with reverence.
But sleeping with Hugo, huh…?
It's so outrageous, you didn't even know where to begin unpicking this misunderstanding.
How the hell did people even conjure this up—?
Oh.
Wait...
Right, now that you really considered it, whenever Hugo was brought up into your conversations, it was always followed up with the question of feeling cold.
A question like that was sure to be misinterpreted at some point, but who knows?
Maybe it was the truth.
You were fully convinced something did happen between the two of you while you were unconscious after all. A strange development that not only increased his love meter, but also the physical proximity that you shared with him. Having a sexual relationship with him didn't even seem that far fetched given how you were intent on seducing him in the first place.
Still, I don't think it was anything like that though...
Because while the claim made unusual sense upon first glance, it was beyond improper for a noble lady to have some sort of secret affair with a knight. The house servants would've expressed some kind of outrage at the very least, but they seem afraid instead..?
They could've been threatened into silence, but there's strangely no plausibility in that either. Especially with the addition of Charles, an anomaly who isn't the type to abide by orders and remain silent.
More than that, however, he's also the innocent type. Quick to feel guilty at the slightest mistake, and even quicker to feel embarrassed at anything remotely indecent. So, the fact that he was able to question you about wanting Hugo's presence without breaking into a fit of splutters, meant that it was unlikely you were doing anything obscene with him.
Though, of course, there was also the time when Hugo unintentionally let it slip last night that he'd been keeping an eye on your room. A blunder that could easily encourage the notion of you sleeping with him.
But, I think he's actually monitoring me…
Why else would he inquire about your food intake and insist on carrying you back to your room because your feet were 'hurting'?
It almost seems like he's been taking care of you instead, and likely under the vice-commander's orders at that. After all, Loki — out of everyone you've encountered so far — has concerned himself most with your well-being. It wouldn't surprise you if the vice-commander, swamped with endless work that came from his high position, left Hugo to handle your needs in his stead.
"…."
Not that I really care about the rumours or anything... I'll end up doing more than just sleeping with my love interests in the near future anyway… so yeah, it doesn't really matter.
The realisation of your pitiful situation dawns upon you once more. It pulls a wistful sigh out of you. One that lingers in your chest with irritating persistence. Suffocating as it clings to your throat, a physical reminder of your cruelly determined fate.
And it's just so goddamn demeaning.
That your survival is entirely dependent on these mens' opinion of you. That your existence lay solely in pleasing them to their heart's delight. That this second chance you've been given at life is nothing more than punishment disguised as a miracle.
It doesn't…
Your brows furrow against themself, denial quick to draw its walls over the truth your heart struggles to speak.
It doesn't bother me.
While it's a little humiliating having to hear someone's poor opinion of you, especially after having only dealt with people's silence, it's also… strangely pleasant.
The sincerity behind his hurtful words are much better than the house servant's hushed secrecy. They give you something to work with, context clues that help you infer the situation at hand. Which, at oftentimes, is better than having nothing at all.
Even if half the shit he says are just twisted rumours, there's always a grain of truth in them. Always. And it's a detail you can't afford to ignore, not when you're ignorant enough.
You snort, mildly amused by your masochism. To think there'd come a day where you would willingly put yourself in the way of discomfort.
Desperation truly had people seeking the worst.
Another sigh leaves you in tandem as you lean back on the pillar for support, the early noon breeze crisp as it weaves through your loosely pinned hair — a personal request of yours. One that was met with surprising protest from your attendant, and only just barely quelled with your complaint of headaches that came from the usual updos.
Apparently, the sight of a maiden's hair was as scandalous as her bare ankles. Sure to wreak havoc in the form of rumours and gossip.
Not that you cared much for that, not when these rumours were in fact more informative than the library's vast selection of books.
I'll listen just a little longer…
"That damn harlot only bears disgrace to the Commander's name! He's been graceful enough, raising her from rags to riches overnight, but still, that bitch continues to stain his honour with her disobedience!"
Rags to riches?
His words pique your interest once more, raising a brow of intrigue that you catch in the stained glass window's reflection.
Does that imply I'm not of noble birth?
Your features appear in its reflective surface, and you're reminded of your charming beauty again. A trait comparable to the stoic beauty of the man in the portrait displayed within the castle, the Master of this household and the Commander of its military, Noel Noa.
I reckoned that might be the case since we looked nothing alike…
You thought back to the limited genealogy records the library had to offer, and the lack of them was suddenly starting to make sense now. It's no wonder you couldn't find a single thing about your heritage, you were adopted this whole time!
But he can't stand me because… I'm not blue-blooded? That's strange…
As far as you can remember, it's not like the Commander's lineage was anything to write home about either. That man was peasant just as much as you, originating from the slums as an impoverished boy with only insatiable hunger to get him by. The only notable difference between yourself and him would be… his impressive feats.
"He's achieved so much: wealth, fame, power! And he's still capable of so much more, but that shrew only holds him back!"
Haha, I guess I can sort of sympathise with his anger now…
The man he looked up to had accomplished greatness despite his poor origins, and it was an achievement widely recognised by the people, even by the Emperor himself who'd rewarded Noel's success with the noble status he holds today.
So, perhaps, seeing his idol, a self-made billionaire be charitable to a useless little cretin like you, rubbed him the wrong way. And you couldn't blame him for it either, considering how the Pifa Empire unusually prioritised meritocracy over nepotism.
To the hardworking knight, you must've looked like a spoiled brat, leeching off another's success. A sight heavily frowned upon in today's society.
Though, again, it's not like you took any offence to his fury. Being fed off a silver spoon was the least fate could deal you with after the utter bullshit it constantly put you through.
Hmm, but why did that man adopt me..?
The Marquisate, while praised for its independence and diverse farmland, is territory known primarily for its highly prized military. A force led solely by the Sword of the Great Pifa Empire, the man who is your adoptive father. What benefit could he possibly get from raising you when he practically had everything already!?
I imagine his reputation among the common folk took a massive hit after his 'rags to riches' transformation. Does he wish to change their opinion by showing them the face of a generous master…?
But why would a man, busy with the critical duty of fortifying the land, regulating cross-border trade, and repelling hostile foreign neighbours even bother with his popularity among the common folk?
Is he planning a revol—?
"I mean, what fool considers the Duke a better suitor than the Imperial Crown Prince?!"
Oh?
It's embarrassing how quick you perk up at the talk of romantic drama, much too entertained by gossip that you somehow seemed to forget was directed at you.
The Duke? And the Crown Prince?!
The box of macarons is still miraculously in your hands, though slightly dented under the force of your trembling fingers. A jitter born from the anticipation that came with the knight's careless disclosure.
And you're even positive that there's literal steam coming out your ears in your bout of peculiar excitement, an emotion you haven't felt since coming into this world.
Well, maybe you did. When you were thinking about your energy drinks…
"He doesn't even return her feelings, for God's sake! And he hasn't even visited her once since she collapsed this past week!"
Unrequited… UNREQUITED FEELINGS?! But— but I'm so beautiful!
You were quite certain the cold duke returned your feelings of affection in his own questionable way, the diary mentioned something about how your efforts weren't in vain after all! And what else was it? Some sort of precious stone you were gifted by him?
You weren't exactly a love expert, but wasn't that basically a love confession?
So what's this sudden talk about unreciprocated feelings?! What moron would even think to refuse your advances?!
"And now that desperate slut sleeps with Hugo?! And that damn greedy bastard has no complaints about it either!"
Well, I am irresistible after all!
The soap opera reaches its climax, and vigour courses through your veins in tandem, running like divine spark as you grin with satisfaction.
You clutch the macarons close to your pounding chest, fingers growing clammy as you mentally debated your next course of action. An internal conversation that barely lasts a moment, for your decision comes as natural as breathing.
Sorry Charles! But you'll have to wait just a bit longer for your sweets! It's getting really good right now—!
"Oh! It's Lady [Name]!"
"GaH—!"
You aren't able to control the noise of absolute horror that escapes you at the sight of the familiar boy.
Something he doesn't even pick up on when he very happily bounds his way over towards you, waving an obnoxious hand about as his intense gaze landed on you— his macarons — a sight that had him comically brighten.
What the hell is he doing here?!
"My lady!" He greets with an overbearing grin, eyes never leaving the decorative box as his fingers twitched by his side with unbridled excitement. "Is that what I think it is~?"
"Y-yes!" You panic, heart climbing up your throat as you grabbed his wrist to pull him closer and away from the knights' line of sight.
Your endeavours are thankfully successful. Charles doesn't protest much to your relief. He obliges rather pliantly, unbecoming of the stubborn contrarian he normally is.
"But more importantly," you collect yourself with a feigned cough, sweat building up at the base of your nape. Discomfort that has you momentarily regret refusing the updo your attendant encouraged earlier. "How come you're here right now..?"
What's with my shitty luck?! When I look for him everywhere he's nowhere to be found, but the moment I start to be grateful for his absence, that's when he decides to fucking turn up!?
Could this get any fucking worse?!
"Me? Well, um…" He pinched his chin in deep ponder, eyes scrunching as he tried to recollect what he was up to before he stumbled upon you. A thought that is clearly too difficult for him to conjure when there's only one thing running on his mind right now. "I think… I think I was supposed to… uh—"
"You were supposed to..?" You encouraged with growing impatience, smile becoming taut as the seconds passed dauntingly.
"Ah! Hugo!" The boy slaps his fist against his palm like it's finally come to him again, blatantly unaware of your horrified complexion. "He wanted to see me here!"
"He did..?" You hummed nervously, your thoughts falling back to the blabbering knight only a short distance away.
I have a bad feeling about this…
Knowing your shitty luck, it'd do you best to leave and to do that now. As soon as possible. There's no telling what the future holds, you could blink, and suddenly, be dealt with another bad hand.
It was a common occurance after all.
"Well, he's not here." You confirm quickly, your restlessness showing in the way your grip around his wrist grew tighter.
"Let's go look for him elsewhe—"
But, alas, you don't get a chance to finish. Not when fate — cruel and untimely — beats you to the punch. Meddling with your affairs the way it loves to put you under trials and tribulations.
"Oho?"
Oh no—!
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the man of the hour. Hugo himself."
Shit!
Dread pools in your stomach in an instant. It consumes you completely, weakening the strength in your knees and the resolve of your heart.
And then, as if to mock your pathetic situation further, something you aren't even aware is possible, Charles begins to resist.
Your attempt to ignore the blabbermouth and lug the blond away is terribly futile when he comes to a sudden standstill, refusing to leave as he stares across the courtyard to identify whatever has caught his elusive interest.
You follow his gaze, eyes wavering as they settled on what you prayed wouldn't be the case: Hugo surrounded by the group of knights, clueless to the spiteful remarks they were spouting of him just earlier.
"So? How tight is it?"
They snigger amongst themselves, finding cruel enjoyment in Hugo's growing confusion. A sentiment you don't share, not when you're burning with shame as Charles turn towards you, question loud in his deafening silence.
"Or is it loose from all that whoring around? What's so enjoyable about that?"
Hugo says something to them in response, but it's so quiet and barely audible, you don't hear a single thing over the thunderous beat of your heart.
You can only see, vision bleary as their amusement quickly vanishes. Replaced with unbridled fury, an overwhelming rage that spurs the leading assailant into action.
Everything happens all at once.
How the man grows defensive, how he aggressively grabs the collar of Hugo's tunic, and how he reels his other hand back with the promise of peril.
And you're not sure what comes over you in that moment either.
Whether it's the warning signs that blare in your ears, of Hugo getting hurt and blaming you for it, or if it's the adrenaline that comes with imminent violence, but your feet move before your mind gives them time to think.
"Hugo!"
Thankfully, the distance separating you is short. Barely existing, and only a couple of meters away. A fact that has you appear before your worst fears could manifest into reality.
"[Name]..?"
Hugo's bewilderment is palpable in the way your name rolls off his tongue without formality, but it's also visible, in the way his eyes widen with alarm when they land on you.
The defaming knight seems just as surprised, repeating your name slowly, as if trying to recall the last time he'd heard of it. An endeavour that he quickly gives up on when it reaps no answers.
"The— the vice-commander," you stammer, breath falling short as you return the redhead's questioning stare, absolutely intent on ignoring how the rest of them are staring at you too. "He, he uh— wished to see you…"
Silence ensues following your announcement, it stretches uncomfortably long, and you have to resist the visceral urge to rip your hair out from the unfortunate turn of events.
Just why does this shit keep happening to me?!
"Julian?" Hugo finally comes to his senses, casually shrugging off his aggressor's hold like it took no effort at all.
"Yes, he says it's a desperate matter." You nearly weep with joy when Hugo approaches you with the intention of leaving, but regrettably, your joy is only short-lived.
For the other man doesn't appreciate the lack of answers.
"Desperate?" The guy raises a brow, recognition woven in his curiosity as he addresses you. "Ah, I know what this is."
You try to ignore him, you really do, but his next words stop you dead in your tracks.
"The desperate matter here is the bastard lady's loose legs, isn't it?"
"…."
I said I wouldn't get involved… but—
"Oh? Did I hit the nail right on its head? Were you all supposed to participate in ménage à trois?"
But, your gaze falls on Hugo beside you as your thoughts drift to Charles a short distance away, but I'm not longer at a disadvantage.
"…What is your name?"
Your voice is low but levelled as you speak, every word controlled as you raise your eyes to meet his with unwavering confidence. Something you weren't aware you were capable of until today.
Plus, he's insulted you to your face now. Dismissing this level of insolence as a noble woman would do you no favour in the future. It'll only create a breeding ground for much worse treatment.
"What—"
"Your name, state it."
There's unusual coldness that accompanies your order. A frigid temperature you aren't familiar with hearing despite how easily it leaves your mouth.
"My name..? Why? So you can tattle to the vice-commander and warm his coc—"
"I asked you for your name." You repeat, tone sharp as you follow it up with an insult. "Are you a fool, unable to comprehend such a simple question?"
"What—!"
"You have no problem using that foul mouth of yours to insult your master." You sneer, eyes narrowed as you cut him off for the umpteenth time, leaving him with no chance to affront you again.
"But you have trouble answering a question that a mutt would have no problem doing? Do they accept just anyone in the Marquisate?"
"You bitch—!"
The man, raged beyond rationality, speeds towards you, expression contorted and fist raised. It's bright white, you note offhandedly. Clenched tight with fury that spurs him into doing something completely unwise.
You briefly register a noise beside you, perhaps it's Hugo, but you're too focused on the way the guy's closing in to confirm it.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he's an arms length away. And that's exactly when your adrenaline spikes.
Your hand holding the box of macarons reels back to aim, and after a short pause, it swings with intent.
The metal box is suddenly airborne. The macarons are falling out from the force. And the trajectory is perfect. On route to hit its moving target with eerie precision.
BONK!
"Argh—!"
And it's a perfect bullseye!
He shrieks from the abrupt impact, rubbing at his head furiously to ease the pain that spreads across his skull. A futile effort that only fuels his whiplash and dismantles his balance.
The knight flails about for a moment, grabbing uselessly at thin air before he trips over himself and ultimately falls to the ground headfirst, where his trauma is at its peak.
Thud!
"…."
You finally breath, shoulders sagging with relief as you took it all in. The now unconscious knight, the ruined macarons that he tread all over in his helpless flounder, and the solace of silence that ensues.
Silence that doesn't last.
"THOSE WERE MY MACARONS! MINE!!!"
You blink, brows shooting up with horror as Charles, blinded with rage, sped towards you with a sparring sword in his hand.
I'm— I'm going to die!!!
Though what you fear doesn't come.
Not in death or a painful beating like you expect. Not when Hugo's arm encircles around your waist and pulls you back quickly. Into the warmth of his chest and just a hair's breadth away from where Charles lands — right on top of the unconscious man with no regards for his well-being.
"AND YOU STEPPED OVER THEM ALL! YOU BASTARD!"
It seems, that the young knight's anger was not aimed at you, but at your assailant.
And you can only watch, expression contorting with mild pity as he took another beating from Charles. One that was sure to leave him knocked out cold for more than just a few days…
STATUS UPDATE:
[Vivian Hugo is glad that you're seeing eye to eye with you aptitude again.]
[+10 love points]
[Total progress: 80/150]
Aptitude…? I don't know what means but… he's gonna kiss my ass with gratitude now, isn't he? Heh!
"My lady," Hugo addresses you, voice husky as his breath fanned over your cheek from his proximity. A warmth that snaps you back to reality.
Hurry up and start complimenting me already—!
"You didn't keep your promise to Charles." He states matter-of-factly, turning to face you with a look of disapproval.
"…." Your delusions are shattered instantly, and the aura of your arrogance follows suit, wilting pitifully as you squirm under his pointed stare.
What was I expecting..?
"I'm very disappointed." He shakes his head, kissing his teeth passionately, as if the childish promise has completely broken his heart.
[-20 love points.]
WHAT?!
"D-disappointed?!" You're appalled by his nerve, more than just caught off-guard with the excessive drop in his love meter.
Was he really that disappointed? Over some fucking sweets? Sweets that were so easily replaceable?!
"I was trying to defend myself over here!" You can't even hide your outrage as you meet his gaze head on, only wavering when he returned your stare with complete coolness, scrutinising you down to the very bone.
"What do you mean?" Hugo's eyes don't leave your face, even as he tilts his head with question, like he can't seem to comprehend the reasoning behind your actions. "Gabriel would've never managed to do anything."
"Huh?" You're taken aback from his bluntness, a jarring deadpan that triggers your instinct and urges you to struggle helplessly in his vice-like grip. "Ugh! Let go of me!"
"And…" His voice trails fondly, as he heeds to your wish by gently freeing you from his protective hold. "I would've protected you if anything did happen."
You safely distance yourself from him, crossing your arms as you scoffed in his face with dubiety "Oh really?"
"Yes, it's my duty as your personal guard." Hugo nods, the lengths of his red hair bopping from the sudden movement. "Just like I did now when I protected you from getting caught up in the middle of Charles' and Gabriel's duel."
He calls that one-sided beating a duel..?
"…."
Your eyes narrow with suspicion when he blinks softly in response, not at all bothered with your blatant disbelief.
"If you have any doubts, we can go to Julian and confirm this arrangement." He notices your uncertainty and quickly offers a compromise, a measure that would only come from someone who's been keeping a careful eye on you. "You said he called for me? It's two birds with one stone."
You consider his offer for a short moment, only to realise the mess your little white lie from earlier has caught you up in.
"Oh… um, about that…"
"Yes?"
Shit.
LOVE INTERESTS:
Vivien Hugo: 60/150
Julien Loki: 40/100
comment to be added to taglist!
taglist: @vampy11x @akatuenk @shinoagriche @maryberry2711 @ieathairs @kimiiyoru @ameliascharisma @ccandiefloss @beepbopzlorp @tofumiarchives @nightshadekisss @penpennie @stmlucky @fairyofprose @oxlipinia @itoshirinlover @x3nafix @tamashithe2nd @vanillaadots @allieluvsh @imactuallyabouttocrashout @gluestik @ik33ponmakingc00ki3s @boba-rama @arisu79 @poetmiu @guluguluuu @yunisl @owltrace @charukii @crxwn-06 @ancientfragment @aveeniexoxo @n0tbelle @pookiei-bookie @renchai @nezha-x @love-my-novio @odetteforachange @no1-glazer @amphitrie @sevarchive
discussion questions:
- so some questions i feel have been answered in today's ch... hehe the marquis/commander's identity which a few ppl kept thinking was sae for some reason 😂😂😂 i believe only @kimiiyoru and @licl0ud got it, so 10 billion points for u two!!
- hugo? sleeping together? bed warming...? hmmm I WONDER WHAT THAT ENTAILS???! 👀👀
- why do you guys think the commander raised you? 🤔🤔 consider bllk manga and what kind of man he is as a whole, and then think about what the npc knight mentioned and also the diary entries from ch3!!
- anybody peep the op ref?? 👀👀👀
husband!sae dealing with your pregnancy mood swings ୭౿
you were a whirlwind these days, and sae was doing his absolute best to keep up.
one moment you were curled up on the couch— happily watching a romance movie on netflix with tears brimming in your eyes because the lead couple had finally gotten together. then the next, you were sniffling because the main character’s dog reminded you of the one you had as a kid. and a few minutes after that, you were suddenly irritated because the blanket apparently wasn’t soft enough.
sae sat beside you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, quietly observing as your emotions shifted without warning.
“this blanket sucks,” you grumbled, kicking it off your legs with a pout.
“why is everything so uncomfortable lately?!”
even then, he didn’t sigh or roll his eyes. he simply reached over, grabbed a different blanket from the laundry room, and draped it over you without so much as a comment. you looked up at him, eyes already watering again. “you’re not annoyed with me?”
sae shrugged, voice calm as ever. “you’re pregnant. it’s understandable.”
your bottom lip instantly wobbled. “y-you think i’m annoying, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice already beginning to crack. “i’m being too much again…”
sae’s expression softened just a fraction before he leaned in, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “you’re not too much,” he murmured against your skin.
“you’re carrying our baby. i’m sure i can handle a few mood swings,” he reassured, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your upper arm.
you sniffled at his comforting words, burying your face into his chest. instantly, he tightened his arms around you, holding you a little closer as his chin came to rest lightly atop your head.
not even a few minutes later, you suddenly sat up, eyes wide.
“sae… i really want b&j’s strawberry ice cream. with pickles.”
he blinked once, almost like he was trying to process the food combination.
“… pickles?”
you nodded seriously. “and spicy ramyeon.”
he stared at you for a long moment, clearly questioning every life choice that led him here. but he instantly stood up, grabbing his keys from the table. “i’ll be back in 45 minutes.”
you watched him head for the door, heart swelling even as fresh tears pricked your eyes.
“s-sae?”
he paused, looking back at you.
“thank you… for dealing with me. i know i’ve been a lot lately.”
his teal eyes softened as he walked back over, cupping your face with both hands before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
“you don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “… this is what i’m here for.”
you let out a watery laugh, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheek. “i love you so much,” you mumbled, leaning into the warmth of his palms.
sae hummed, kissing the top of your head. “i love you too, amor.” he reached for his keys again, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“now stay put.”
𝐞𝐯𝐚’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 💌 ⸝⸝⸝ we love soft husband sae over here
Kris finds your fragile ego entertaining to shatter. You deflect because your subconscious is a weird, weird thing.
You're odd. You let your sweet side slip sometimes. Okaymaybejustonce.
But damn have they been chasing that high ever since.
~~~
so like warning... it gets kinda very very suggestive... near the end idk im ovulating im sorry
13.1k IDK WHY THEYRE GETTING LONGER its INDULGENT FLUFFY SLOPPP tho theyre kinda mean to each other but its never more than surface level
also got some more unimportant ocs i swear ur friends are important to move along the (lack of) plot
ASK HERE (thank u bro. thank u. i needed this.)
Also anon u practically did the outline 4 me but ill be honest i did change a few key aspects of their relationship SO I HOPE ITS STILL GOOD ENOUGH FOR UR ABSOLUTELY PEAK ASK
enjoy <33
~~~
Radars are for the paranoid who care enough to keep up to date on others. If Kris had one, no one would be on it.
They struggle to keep their head up, nestled so comfortably within the confines of their arms. They’ve been at school for hours that drag like days; periods that drag like they’ve got nothing better to do. Everything blends together in the end.
They’re pretty sure they’re in psych. It was supposed to be that one explicit bird course they took as a free elective, but it ended up being more trouble than it’s worth. Tests (they don’t study for), homework (they don’t do), and a shitton of group activities.
That one’s more complicated. They don’t care to take the fall when they’re the only one to blame, but they’re not about to pull a bunch more familiar faces down with them. It’s not worth the argument. Might depend on who’s in the group, though.
Everyone’s split up into groups of four, all with their large sheets of chart paper. Their designated island of desks is tucked nicely in the corner, rather isolated from the rest of the classroom.
They’re seated at the same corner desk as Noelle, who they so happened to be assigned into the same group as. To Noelle’s direct left sits you. To your left, sharing the adjacent corner desk, is what they can only assume to be your friend. He and you share a familiarity with each other. Nothing much else to note.
The teacher’s handwriting is an obvious outlier from the blank sheet. At the top of their group’s paper sits the word: Stress.
“O-kay,” Noelle squints at the board, tapping the capped marker against the wood in thought. “‘What is it’, ‘How is it expressed through action towards others’, and ‘How do people handle it’.”
You hum. “So… definition, result on others, and result on self?”
“I think so. That sounds right.”
Their yawn is strategically hidden against their sweater. Another class, another set of papers to hang up on the walls. Unlike their mother’s classroom of children’s drawings, which may be considered charming to some, these take up nothing but space.
Your friend (they never caught his name) searches up a definition and paraphrases it from google. Then, everyone starts spitfiring.
“For the ‘self’ section, just list, like, mental health stuff. Like anxiety, depression, burnout… y’know.”
“Ooh, yeah,” Noelle scribbles down your words. “What about appetite? And maybe… self isolation?”
Your friend taps the ‘others’ section. “Mhm. For this, do ‘easily irritated’. Or, actually, don’t phrase it like that. Write ‘frustration issues’. Or–”
Someone’s voice pierces across the classroom. They watch as all three of their groupmates’ heads turn to your teacher, who’s begun lecturing one of your classmates about their gum popping habit. The woman’s rubbing her temples to ease away her likely exaggerated migraine.
With Noelle’s marker hovering in the air, you’re the one to break her out of her trance. “Just write ‘see teacher’.”
The deer lets out a cackle of disbelief, right before her hand flies straight to her mouth. Her pupils zip to their teacher, ensuring she heard nothing. Your friend, however, lets his snickers out low and sneaky.
Once the room quiets down a tad, your friend continues. “What’s the word for someone who micromanages other people’s lives? It’s like that thing– about how they feel like they have no control over their own lives, so they’re… uh…”
“Oh! Like, codependency?” Noelle offers.
He snaps. “Yeah. That’s the word.”
“Surprised you forgot it,” you shove his shoulder in good faith. “It’s practically your parents’ middle names.”
He bangs his hand to the desktop for the dramatics. They can feel the vibrations through the wood. “Oh, dude. Did I tell you about yesterday? When I was out with Roxy and her friends?”
“She said something this morning,” your eyes squint in thought. “Something about your ass curfew, right?”
“Holy shit, I swear I was five minutes over – and we hit traffic from an accident that closed all the fast routes, mind you, so five minutes was lucky – and she still gives me crap when I get home.”
You gawk. “Dude, what? You’ve literally beaten your sister home with the same curfew and you’re still the one getting shot the most.”
His fist comes down harder. “That’s what I’m saying!”
“Evander!”
The boy winces, crowding in on himself at the sight of their standing teacher. “Shit, sorry.”
“Language.”
“Right. Sorry.”
You drum your fingers, ignoring the teacher’s temper tantrum. “Shows that the goodie two shoes always bites it first.”
“Psh,” Noelle huffs, eyes glued to the chart paper as she pretends to scribble nonsense. “Tell me about it.”
They can tell you don’t expect her chime-in – nor does Noelle herself, seemingly having let it slip – but you recover much quicker than your friend (whose name they now know), grin more curious than ever. “Oh yeah?”
Noelle’s not usually one to give any details about her family. The only way anyone would know is if they knew her growing up. It’s just the slightest surprising that she’s giving you anything.
Her eyebrows furrow. “Try being out for twenty minutes before getting a phone call.”
“Oh god,” you watch her with bated breath. “Really?”
“Uh huh,” she runs a hand through her hair. “And she’ll know everything before I leave. Where I’m going, who I’m going with, when I’m coming back– it’s like she’s just calling to call!”
“You sure she hasn’t hired someone to spy on you? Watch over you like some creepy stalker? Report back when they see something fishy?”
“Haha,” she snorts. It’s obvious you’re joking, but she thinks about it for a second longer. “Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Your guy friend squints. “What?”
The transition into not doing any work is almost immediate; their group’s devolved into rants about parents being annoying, school, sharing grades, upcoming stuff – anything like that. While the deer jots something down every once in a while, you and your friend pitch in out of courtesy. In the moment, anyways.
And you, smooth as can be, usher Noelle into any conversation you begin. It’s almost impressive the way you turn the concept of a trio into something other than a complete nightmare to be a part of.
You’re very eccentric when you ask her questions, ensuring you stare her dead in her eyes. Not to intimidate, but to show that you’re listening. Kris watches her ease from a shy ambivert to an open book.
It’s like you’re subconsciously coercing her into sharing more details about her life with no ulterior motives.
…or what others would call “getting to know someone”. Same thing.
It’s interesting the way Noelle seems more than comfortable enough to talk to you about things they know she’d rather not talk about.
But you don’t leave out your own friend, either. It’s oddly equal; the way you all interact. And yet, you’re the obvious standout.
You seem to feed off of Noelle’s energy, judging by the way you charm her effortlessly. It’s like you know what to say to keep her happy. Not in the way that, say, a people pleaser would. You say things with an attitude that makes it a struggle to disagree with you. It’s weirdly ironic.
Now that they think about it, you might be friends with Susie, too. Know her, at the very least. They’re pretty sure you passed each other in the halls once. She glanced behind her, calling you a maniac. Some inside joke, they assume. But it wasn’t an insult. Your laugh echoed over the mindless chatter.
They’ve never had a real conversation with you before. And from what the current group dynamic seems like, they may never. That’s fine.
At least you’re not a douche. Might be bare minimum, though.
They don’t remember their eyes closing, but they do register sinking until their chin touches the desktop. It’s moist; the condensation from their heat sticking to their skin.
At some point, your voice becomes a noticeable absence from their lively conversation. They caught something about you feeling bad that Noelle’s doing a majority of the writing. There’s some rustling, shifting around. She must’ve switched spots with you.
While your friend keeps her deep in conversation (whether she realizes it or not), you jot away. The damp scratch of the marker engulfs their eardrums.
They feel your eyes drift to them every few letters. They let out a breath. They’ve gone through this enough times to know what’s about to happen. The marker ceases.
“Hey.”
A finger prods at their elbow. They snuggle deeper into their cocoon, hoping you’ll take the hint.
You don’t.
“Kris, right?” You might as well be caressing their arm. “Asriel’s sibling?”
That catches their attention.
They lift their head just enough to be able to open their eyes. After their vision cries from the blaring industrial lights, they can make out your figure. You’re huddled within your arms, blatantly mimicking their form.
They groan out a ‘mhm’, fully prepared for that to be the end of the conversation.
It isn’t.
As their lids drift closed, you seem to panic, ushering closer to their safe space. They can feel the heat of your breath through their sweater.
After having confirmation that they’re not about to ignore you again, you continue. “How is he? College treating him good?”
“Internet’s out,” they mumble.
“Oh, right,” you ponder, appearing more disappointed than them. “So you haven’t been able to talk?”
“No.”
A noise of confirmation escapes your throat. They watch your pupils wander from the empty space of desk between you two, to their slowly-shutting eyelids, to the chart paper. You don’t hide the way your face lights up with an idea.
Right as their vision blackens, you clutch their bicep and tug lightly. It’s an attempt at unraveling them. They let you. Mainly because they’re too lazy to fight back. You gesture for them to look at your array of ideas.
The sheet’s practically filled to the brim. Besides the description – which is still lengthier than what’s likely necessary – the following two categories barely have any white space left. They recognize Noelle’s calm, careful handwriting. The curlier letters must be yours.
You rap the marker’s cap against ‘self’. “We should do some physical effects too, right? Things like hair or fur loss? Even just patchy growth in integument in general?”
That’s what you’re doing. You’re trying to include them. Or you’re upset they’ve done jack.
They let their arms dangle by their sides. “Sounds good,” they mutter dismissively, fighting to keep their eyes ajar.
You sit still, observing them intently. They can tell you’re waiting for something else.
A moment passes. You’re just awkwardly watching each other.
And you deflate when you get nothing.
You scribble down your points with efficiency. They’re much too hopeful to think they’re off the hook. You’re not even finished the sentence when you turn back to them. What a nightmare.
Your mouth forms a straight line. “How ‘bout we do some effects on bodily systems, too?”
They’re unmoving.
“Okay.”
You’re unphased.
“Cardiovascular, from elevated heartrate?”
“Mhm.”
“Digestive, from nausea, bloating, aching, etcetera?”
“Yeah.”
“Musculoskeletal, from headaches, back and neck pain?”
“Uh huh.”
You swallow. You’re getting more ticked off as the seconds go by.
They wonder if you actually know all this stuff or if you’re making it up to test them. Doesn’t really matter.
You’re already locked eyes, and yet your glare grows in intensity. The passive aggression is difficult to sense. But yeah, it’s there.
“Do you know if the soul gets affected? It is a source of other emotions – that means it could experience negative effects from negative emotions, right?”
They shrug. “Couldn’t tell you.”
Before you can say anything else, they’re plopping their forehead on the desk. They hear you huff. Your facade’s strong, they’ll give you that.
A few minutes fly by in silence as you catch the flooded paper up with your ideas. It’s stiffly quiet; almost unnaturally tense for anyone who isn’t about to pass out from sleep deprivation. They don’t really feel it. But they can tell it’s there.
Eventually, you softly get Noelle and your friend’s attention, claiming that it’s got enough to be ready. They come to the conclusion that it’s some type of informal presentation, judging by the way you ask who’s reading what.
“I can do the definition,” your friend volunteers. They can hear the smug satisfaction in his voice.
“You just wanna do the shortest part!” Noelle teases.
“Hey, you’re a much better public speaker than I am.”
“Pshh, have you seen me do presentations? I get all–”
“How about,” you announce, slow and calculated, “Kris reads it all?”
The duo falls silent at your interruption. At the sound of their name, they peak at you out of courtesy.
While the other two sit in confusion, glancing between themselves, you, and them, you wait with intentiveness. As if you’ve backed them into a corner you know they’ll cower from.
They force extreme indifference into their tone.
“Okay.”
Your eye twitches. It’s just the slightest bit satisfying.
“Okay,” you parrot.
Noelle appears despondent, watching the back of your head like you’re about to crumble. She picks up on what’s happening sooner than later. Her eyes gravitate to them, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.
“You, uh,” your friend hesitates, sliding the sheet towards him so he can take a look. “You added a few things, right?”
A switch flips in your head. “Right, yeah. Look it over.”
Noelle scoots an inch to his side, leaving them more isolated with you. They can tell they’re both skimming it. Probably wanting this to be done as soon as possible.
“Oh,” the deer lets out a peep of surprise. “You guys commented on body systems?”
You grit your teeth. They can tell you don’t like the phrase ‘you guys’. “Yup.”
“I know the nervous system and mental health stuff sorta fit together,” she takes the marker when you offer it to her. “But it could also correlate to insomnia? Lack of sleep?”
You give Kris a death stare. If Noelle catches sight of it, she avoids it like the plague, deciding that the cap between her fingers is the most interesting thing in the world.
As a result of your empty response, your friend pipes up. “Yeah, that works too. Add it–” he gestures to the other mental-heath-related words, “–over here.”
While the two give little comments back and forth, they decide to meet your eye. It’s not exactly venomous, but it’s still not the nicest look you could’ve given. At the sight of their non-reaction, you swallow.
Another switch flipped. You’re actually not that great at holding up your facades.
You nudge them as if you haven’t been staring at each other for the past minute. “You ever try melatonin?”
Their face is stagnant.
“Or those nighttime Advils?” Your voice is unnaturally high pitched. “Those always knock me out like a light bulb.”
“I’m good,” they dismiss you rather easily. But they can admit they’re a tad curious how you’ll take it.
“You sure?” You almost coo. “I’m not one to judge, but it seems like you sleep an awful lot in class.”
As your mouth curls into a devious smile, your fingers drum against the freshly-painted words:
“Sleep deprivation”.
“If you’re like this in here,” you continue, false sympathy in your tone, “I can’t imagine you outside of class.”
They blink.
They’re somewhat surprised.
You are trying.
Oh, how they struggle to fight back a grin.
They uncurl, stretching their arm just enough to mimic your taps on a different word:
“Codependency”.
And, through lips itching to lift at their corners, they tilt their head.
“Likewise.”
Your smile plummets into hell.
“Pfft–”
Your friend – who of which you both now realize was watching the entire exchange in anticipation – bursts out into laughter. At least Noelle’s pretending she wasn’t eavesdropping, lazer-focused on empty space.
“Evan,” you bite, whipping your entire body to face him. They watch the tip of your ears beat ruby red.
Between gasps, he bats away your hand when you try to swat him (over Noelle). “Sorry!– sorry– you’re just… you–”
You sit back down, kicking his chair under the desks hard enough for him to tip backwards. You don’t seem nearly as concerned as the doe beside you.
As the teacher begins scolding him for howling on the floor (to which they’re sure he can’t hear), a soft voice comes to their not-needed defence, palm on your shoulder. “Kris didn’t mean it like that! They just… uh…”
Her words die in her throat as you snatch the marker from her limp hand, scribbling over the word with vigor. They watch you with keen interest. You’re notably avoiding eye contact; something rather unusual for you (from what they know).
You broke rather easily.
~*•*~
Once the period ends, they don’t think much about the interaction. They go on with their day, go on with their life, like nothing ever happened. Sure, it was entertaining to see you snap, but it wasn’t that different from, say, the way Susie would snap at them before they became friends.
Maybe it was a bit different. You pout more. You’re a lot more eccentric with your tantrums. And maybe watching someone so put together collapse is satisfying as hell. But they moved on.
In layman’s terms, they didn’t take much of it very personally.
But you?
You took it like it was an attack on you and everything you stand for.
It was a turning point. Who knew that’s all it would’ve taken?
The natural indifference you paraded around with vanished the moment you saw them. You were quieter, calculated, irritated. As if their very existence was a burden on your happiness.
Turns out you share more classes than they realized. They only know now because you’ve made yourself abundantly known.
You’d try a few witty quips as you pass them; lighter insults that intended to hit a bit too close to home.
They’d whip back out of courtesy. Small stuff. Usually the first few words they can think of.
You’re always furious by the end of it.
They’ve realized it’s not their comebacks that piss you off; it’s their lack of reaction. But it’s not like they’re going to fake a sob to get you to back off.
And besides. It’s a good way to pass the time.
As per your perfect track record, it doesn’t surprise them when they realize you volunteer at the church. They’d come in with Susie and chug all the juice. While it isn’t their full intent to make your life more difficult, they will admit they’ll usher Susie in your direction to ask you specifically to fill it back up.
With strained features, you retreat to the back and emerge with more refreshments.
Five minutes later, both bowls are empty. It’d repeat like that.
They definitely didn’t need to drink it all every time. Could’ve dumped it in the bushes and it’d have made no difference. But there wasn’t any honor to the idea.
Is the cycle worth it? The liquid vomit to come? To slowly chip away at your patience? Probably not.
They remember the moment you stopped humouring them; eye twitching, fists clenched. “Why don’t you go slurp up the milk in that dingy alley? I’m sure that’d quench your thirst tenfold.”
They didn’t get the chance. Susie’d swatted her hand at you like you’d been buzzing around her all day. “Psh. Been there, done that.”
You never graced her with a response. Nor did she take it as the insult it was.
School’s not that different, even outside of class. You’d bump your shoulder into theirs, just hard enough to leave a light sting. They only started swerving when you’d up the ante, practically crashing into them at full force.
You’d stumble into yourself, a genuine look of surprise on your face. It’d instantly morph into unadulterated rage as soon as you heard your friends’ laughter.
Days turn into weeks. It’s an oddly easy routine.
They don’t really go out of their way to annoy you, but they lowkey take the chance whenever they can.
Gym seems to be your most favoured playing grounds. It’s your way of disguising your outlet of violence through good ol’ competitive sportsmanship.
Their school’s (trashy) version of baseball. You’d always aim for them when up to bat; friendly fire or not. They’d catch it every time, too. Your agape mouth fuels their ego more than it should.
It came to a point where your team would ridicule you for your aiming skills. You’d brush them off, claiming you ‘aren’t on your A-game’. And then you’d proceed to snipe them till you strike out.
Basketball. A shrunken court, but basketball nonetheless. They didn’t care much for defence. But when you had the ball? Perhaps they’d try a tad harder.
They’d calmly hold a hand up, managing to block a majority of your shots. At some point, you’d just start tossing it at their head. To which they’d catch. You might’ve growled at one point.
And dodgeball… speaks for itself.
They remember Susie once confessing she thought they were outright bullying you. Your instigation and retaliation seemed to clear up the accusation.
But, even after adjusting to the new norm, they never thought twice about you. You’ve just become another in their stoic everyday standard.
~*•*~
A cool, broken breeze tickles their neck as they perch on their window sill. It’s three in the morning, maybe a few minutes past. It’s always quickly apparent which nights they can sleep through and which nights they shouldn’t bother with. It’s the latter, in this case.
Deciding that laying dead in bed isn’t a good use of their time, they think to scope out Susie. Throw a rock or two at her window; hope it’s enough noise to wake her from her deep sleep. Solid plan.
Their feet skid across their roof, shoes plopping onto the grass. They’ve found themself enjoying the trek. It’s a walk with minimal purpose, but purpose nonetheless.
About to make a practiced left turn towards the apartments, they halt when a figure dances in the corner of their vision. Someone’s stumbling into the middle of the empty street, seemingly having come from the direction of the school.
It’s you.
With your arms huddled close to your form, your drooping head lifts every few seconds to scope out your environment. You look lost. Somehow. They don’t think much of it.
Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe it’s some weird plan of yours.
But then–
“Kris?”
You’ve spotted them, eyes refusing to leave their own.
They blink. They’ve never heard you say their name like that. So sweetly.
Like you’ve just woken up at their bedside, voice tainted with a tired smile. Like you didn’t think they’d be there the next morning, despite it being routine.
Weird hypothetical to make up, Kris.
When you make no move, they break your stare. Not feeling like getting reprimanded right now, they pivot back towards the apartment streets.
“Wait–” you trip over yourself in an attempt to catch up. You do so relatively easily; they’re not really trying to run.
When your footsteps are in proximity, they turn towards you in semi-confrontation, hoping you’ll do something other than gawk.
And you do. It’s a blessing and a curse.
Your legs conveniently lose their balance as soon as you reach for their person. They instinctually hold out their arms to keep you from crashing into them, to which you use decisively. There’s remnants of your furrowed brows, likely from their attempt at escape, but it’s been mostly smoothed out.
They can feel you squeeze their forearms, right near the elbow. “I need your help. Me ‘nd my friends are in the forest. Well, they are. I’m not. They kept moving around… and I wasn’t really paying attention. And now I can’t find them. So I came back here. And I dunno what to do now.”
What an explanation.
Your head sways as if the wind’s trying to usher it off your shoulders. One look at your glassy, fogged-over eyes has them raising an eyebrow. “Go home.”
Thankfully, you don’t take it as the demand that it sounds like. It’s rather out of character for you, though.
“What? No,” you’re baffled, as if their suggestion was insane. “I need to go find them.”
“Forest’s pretty big. Doesn’t seem like you’re fit for walking, either.”
You clench up. “I’m plenty fit. I could carry you on my pinky finger.”
“Not what I meant.”
“Yeah. Just try taking the insult back. Dig in the trash for your… trash. Recycling’s better for the planet, anyways.”
They pause.
“Are you on something?” They find themself asking rather boldly.
You flex your jaw. They can see the gears turning. You’re either preparing the worst excuse imaginable, or the harshest insult to date.
“No?” You decide on.
They expected something else. You’re not as quick-witted as you usually are. You bounce on your heels, fingers still entangled in their sweater. To be fair, they haven’t let go of your arms, either. It’s their main defence mechanism for if you throw a punch. Or something of the sort.
You find no way to smoothly loop the conversation back around. “So will you help me?”
“No,” they remain impassive.
“Please?”
“No.”
You huff, nails drumming on their forearm. Your face is oddly impartial for someone proven to be highly expressive with emotion.
“Wanna hang out?” You say with complete seriousness.
This has to be some elaborate scheme. You’ve never even insinuated you’d ever want to do something like that.
For some reason, they can’t bring themself to outright deny you. “I’m going to Susie’s.”
Which is a blatant lie. They’ve never stepped foot in her house before.
You hardly consider the fact. “Can I come?”
They have no idea how to respond to that.
They must look lost; your eyes become lidded as your grip loosens from their sweater. They follow en suite, arms releasing yours to dangle at their sides.
But your arms don’t fall.
Your hands trail up their biceps, perching on their shoulders. You mindlessly twirl a finger around a stray strand of hair near the base of their neck.
They swallow. Their throat is painfully dry.
“I won’t be mean,” you offer, as if it’s a solid argument. “To her, anyways.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Your pupils dilate at the comment. They have no idea why.
“What if I promise?”
“Means nothing.”
You scoff, eyes drifting up and down their body. After a moment, you return to indifference. “So you wanna hang out?”
Their eyes narrow. “You already asked me that.”
“And you said ‘yes’, right?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Can you say ‘yes’?”
“No.”
“What does ‘y e s’ spell?”
“Spells ‘no’.”
You seem actually offended. “No, it doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“Are you sure?” You gaze at them expectantly.
Their lip quirks into an easy grin. “No.”
“Damnit!” You cry, shoving them with all your (lack of) might.
They regain their footing easily. They almost have the heart to ask why you’re so adamant on the idea. Almost.
You grumble. “Why not?”
“Why doesn’t ‘y e s’ spell?–”
“No. Why don’t you wanna…?”
They know what you meant. They just wanted to see you snarl. “I never said ‘no’.”
“Uh, yeah. You did.”
“Not to your original question.”
Your jaw gapes with hope. “So it’s a ‘yes’?”
They bite their lip. “No.”
You let out the most childish whine they’ve ever heard, half-wondering if the sound even came from you.
They might be extra sleep deprived. Because they accidentally let out a small snort.
And that snaps you back into reality.
“You find me funny, huh?” You challenge, lips lifted into a sneer.
“Of course not.” But with their poorly suppressed grin, they can’t imagine they’re even the slightest bit convincing.
They let you grab a fistful of their sweater, tugging them to your eye level. You’re furious, sure, but your mouth continuously unhinges and clams shut. It’s like you have no idea what to say. Or you’re deciding which degradation fits the best for the situation.
It’s strange; the way they can see your thoughts slowly dissolve. Your creased anger, smoothing out into nothing.
You’re staring at their lips.
They don’t know why you’re staring at their lips.
And you’re wrapping your arms around their neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You tug them nice and close. They can feel your breath on their cheek.
“You’d look good with a piercing. Right…” Your finger trails up their neck, caressing their jaw. You flick their bottom lip delicately. “...there.”
Their voice dies in their throat. Your calm eyes remain trained on their saucer-like ones.
Why the hell…?
You’ve never–
What?
Your own mouth curls into a satisfied smile, molars biting down on the meat of your tongue. You’re obviously pleased by their reaction.
Exhaling rather shakily, they don’t give themself the chance to process any of it.
They don’t know how to respond…
…so they try something else.
Mimicking your soft, sultry tone, they click their tongue. “You’d look good with a piercing. Right…”
Their finger strokes up your neck, caressing your cheek. Your eyes flutter, blatantly leaning into it. Don’t read into it too hard.
They stop once the pad of their index meets the space between your eyebrows. They press down, ever so slightly.
“...there.”
And they’re shoving you away by the forehead.
Your eyes shoot open as you nearly fall on your ass. You’re instantly flustered; whatever persona you were adopting – the asshole or the… other one – disappears with the wind. And you’re left with nothing.
You seem to want to say something. An explanation, a defence, something.
But you’re almost unsure.
“I–” you stutter, shielding your face half-assedly with your palm. You look warm. “Whatever. I’m going home.”
They want to bite back; say something dumb, like: “Now you’re listening to me?”
You’re gone before they get the chance to consider.
…
Your face.
They thought your reactions were interesting before?
Maybe they had no idea what the word meant.
Or maybe this is a different type of interest.
Because damn, do they like that look on you.
~*•*~
Kris has been on your radar ever since that fateful day. That despicable group activity.
You’re a kind person. You’re an absolute delight to be around. It’s their fault for provoking you first.
You’ve picked up on everything, just to be prepared. Their mannerisms, their schedule, their way of thinking. You know when to strike, and when to defend.
It’s why you notice. Something’s changed.
Instead of your jab-for-jab, eye for an eye exchange-and-bolt that you’ve trained for, they’ve become someone you’re around all the time. You see them more than your friends; maybe even your family!
Not your family. Reasonable exaggeration.
They’re always in your bubble. Always in your space. Metaphorically and literally.
You and Noelle hit it off after the unspoken day, and unlike Kris, you’d actually like to get to know her better. Hence the idea of a study sesh.
Turns out, she and Kris are childhood best friends. And she has a crush on Susie. It’s painfully obvious. You wouldn’t have paid it any attention, were it not for the last minute decision on her end to invite them both. You didn’t actually need tutoring help, but you went into this thinking that you’d be able to spend more time with her. One on one? Cute, platonic study date?
Yeah. After you spotted them, still unaware of their future involvement in your hangout, you whispered to her. “With those two around? We’d get jack squat done.”
Subtle jab, but you thought it’d get your opinion across. It wasn’t until they both stood at the edge of your library table, an eye of expectancy lasered into you at the sight of your bag sitting on the vacant chair.
Noelle didn’t have the gull to kick them out. You, with a smile showing a few too many teeth, told them: “The more the merrier.”
The girls ended up flirting the whole time. Very painful to witness. And Kris just kept on poking and prodding at you like you were a toy.
Sure, at least they’re not ignoring you anymore, but you’re far past the point of forgiveness.
The next few days, they’ve begun talking to your friends. Not like they would Susie, but it’s still far too friendly of passing conversation for your standards. Are they trying to recruit them to the dark side? Since when did Kris know how to socialize?
And another thing. Yeah, you instigate most of the hallway-shoves, but they’ve started… just… brushing you. Their finger against yours, their shoulder against yours– you thought they had poor aim at first, but it’s continued. Like this.
You shiver at the thought. Bad shiver. It’s creepy. Human cooties, or something.
It’s why you’re not surprised when you step foot into your newly-sought-out cooking club with the intention of having a good time. The Angel thought you were too positive, you suppose.
You join seats with a few people you’ve vaguely seen around, offering your greetings and easy small talk. The classroom’s round tables are about filled to the max, sans one or two.
And, of course, the minute before the first meeting’s supposed to take place, a certain striped green sweater pokes through the doorway.
Fuck me.
You’re taken out of whatever conversation you’ve been juggling, hands gripping your thighs in an attempt to not rip your hair out.
They’re standing in the doorway for no more than ten seconds before someone from your table pipes up. “Kris! Over here!”
You’re flabbergasted. Since when do they?– How?–
Do you just so happen to attempt a friendship with every person they’ve ever known?
They spot you not long after you did them. You can see it; the cocky grin they’re fighting down.
The girl waves them over, kicking the chair next to her, gesturing for them to take a seat. They do so with a monotone ‘thanks’.
The student leader stands at the front, jotting down some contact information on the chalk board. “We’re gonna get started in a bit, ‘kay?”
The room makes a noise of confirmation. You’re too busy trying to slyly kill the human with your eyes alone.
Kris’ apparent buddy turns to them expectantly. “Have you finished that research paper yet?”
They rest their head in their arms. How unexpected. “Haven’t started.”
“What? Really?” She quirks her head. “I’d be careful, if I were you. It’s definitely not the night before type. The research alone took me, like, seven hours.”
The guy you’ve been talking with – Jasper – winces. “What subject?”
“History,” she groans.
You roll your eyes playfully. “Don’t tell me you thought that’d be a bird course.”
“I– well…”
“Dude. That class’s literally known for being one of the worst crammers.”
“I dunno!” She giggles. “I just thought learning about the big wars would be cool. And then I realized there’s a million things between said wars. So it’s sorta been… eh.”
The teacher – who’s hopefully only here to monitor the first day – flicks off all the lights except for the front ones. The students’ chatter slowly quiets until all that remains is murmurs of conversation.
Kris spares you a glance before turning to the front along with the rest of your little group. You resist the urge to kick them under the table. You’d have done it, were it not for Jasper’s well-in-the-way body.
The leader begins introducing a vague outlook for the semester, claiming it’s a fun, easy club that’s mostly to promote teamwork and, well, strengthen your cooking skills. Duh.
You begin tuning her out, certain that you’re not missing much. It’s nearly pitch black where you’re sitting, were it not for the glow of the front lights. You almost miss the way Jasper taps Kris’ shoulder.
You watch them slowly turn to face the culprit, and by proxy, you.
When their gaze zips to yours first – as in, before his – you instantly lock to the front. You stick to your peripheral, like a normal person.
You wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for your proximity. And the way you lean in. But that’s not important.
“You’re a human, right?” He whispers.
You can tell they have no idea how to answer that. You think you make out a hesitant nod.
“Damn,” he leans back, hand rubbing his chin in mildly-obnoxious curiosity. “I’ve never seen a human before.”
You feel your jaw click. “They’re kinda hard to miss.”
It comes out a bit saltier than you intended.
“I guess so,” Jasper hardly spares you a peep, eyes apparently too curious to leave the now-established humans’ for a single moment. “What’s it like?”
The hell kinda question is that?
You feel your forehead crinkle in confusion, and honestly, a bit of second-hand offence. “It’s probably not that different from us.”
Why the hell are you?–
He’s watching Kris, as if your answer wasn’t enough solid proof. You’re blatant about your staring, interested in what Kris’ next move is going to be.
They say nothing. Instead, they nod to you once, as if admitting: “Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”
You feel a warm, instant, satisfying gratification. You can hardly describe it.
Jasper’s voice is a distant echo in your mind. “Do you guys know each other?”
You’re both answering, to your surprise.
“No.”
“Best friends.”
Huffing out your nose, you’re about to go off – albeit unfiltered, not acknowledging your single-seat audience – when the club leader begins wordlessly encouraging everyone to shuffle their seats closer to the front.
From the looks of the kitchen supplies in front of her, she seems to be doing a quick visual for the basics. Knife skills, cooking stance, mise en place…
Everyone follows her instructions, scraping their chairs against the tile until the back half of the class is empty. Well, minus Kris. Their head’s plopped back onto the table. My god.
You decide to strike while the iron’s hot.
You scurry your seat towards them, knees brushing the side of their thigh. You know they aren’t here for the same reasons as you. They’re here to torment you.
As menacingly as you can, you lean into their bubble. “Why’re you here if you’re not gonna pay attention?”
Their blood eye shines through a forest of hair. You’d almost think they were disinterested in speaking to you, were it not for their response. “Thought this was the sleeping club.”
It’s a horrible joke. It only makes you more infuriated.
“If you don’t take this seriously, then you shouldn’t be here. Like, you should leave. Right now,” you gesture to the crowd. “There’s obviously too many people here, and they’re probably gonna cut down the numbers.”
Their eyebrow raises. “What is this, ‘Survivor’?”
“Oh, if it was, I’d vote you out first,” you snarl.
“Excuse me, you two,” the teacher ‘tries’ to announce quietly. “Would you please scoot up a bit closer? We don’t want you to miss anything.”
Despite the club leader’s continuation of her demonstration, half the attention’s drawn to you and the lovely human. You have the gall to appear sheepish. Kris is unmoving.
You’re punting their chair towards the front, whether you want to or not.
~*•*~
Slight embarrassment aside, you follow the club leader to the actual kitchen for a free roam period. Everyone’s already gravitating to certain sections, leaving you planted at the entrance.
There’s a large, solid island at the front of the room, likely meant for the instructor. Three rows of two industrial steel tables are evenly spread from one another. Along the back wall are the ovens and stovetops, while the restaurant-style sink sits flush to the wall lined with windows.
You hate that your eyes scan for Kris. They’re fiddling with stove knobs while two people are talking their ear off. It’s the club leader, and perhaps a friend? You think you’ve seen them around Noelle before.
All you can say for certain is that you’d never trust them around a stove. They’re probably scheming ways to blow up the school and chain you to the source.
Feeling as though your earlier conversation was cut short, you begin marching up to the trio. You catch the end of their conversation; something about a shared interest in baking.
“Hey!” You greet the two girls, smile a centimeter too large. Your glad Kris’ back remains to you. “Sorry to interrupt. Could I steal Kris for a sec?”
The human obviously knows you’re here, but they don’t acknowledge your existence. The only hint you get is the slight sink in their shoulders. You hope you didn’t just accidentally save them from unwanted socialization.
Neither of them seem opposed; maybe a bit disappointed. It’s the leader who speaks up, anyhow. “Oh, yeah. No worries.”
The moment they’re both out of ear shot, the human’s peeking over their shoulder. Not that it really matters; you’re spinning them to face you with a hand itching for violence.
They’re practically pinned to the stoves as you jab your finger to their rib. “Okay. Let’s get one thing straight. I know damn well you didn’t join this club because you like cooking.”
“Mhm,” they mindlessly agree with you.
“Don’t you ‘mhm’ me.”
They fail to suppress their amusement. “Okay.”
You’re not going down this road again.
A step forward; the tips of your shoes kiss. “So you don’t like cooking.”
“How would you know?”
They hardly sound accusatory in their mannerisms. But you just know it’s lurking somewhere within their gut.
You dismiss the question. “Why are you here?”
Like a shitty magic trick, their hand vanishes behind their back. You don’t know what you expected to appear, but it certainly wasn’t a knife.
“I’m good with knives,” they wave it around like a prize.
You’re immediately sent into panic mode, clutching the handle and their fingers and jerking it to lay flat against their chest. “Did you steal that?”
“Yeah,” they confirm, no doubt relaxed while the world burns around them.
Surveying the room to ensure no one’s watching, you instinctually shuffler closer to shield it from the general eye. Between your bodies.
You’re really close. Your noses brush.
“You’re gonna get us in trouble!– Or you’re gonna find some way to pin this on me,” you grit your teeth. “Doesn’t matter. Put it back.”
“I’m joking,” they say in the most monotone, non-joking way possible. “It’s mine.”
“Yeah, right,” you’re even more lost at that. “You just have a knife?”
“Yeh.”
No following explanation.
You’re about to question why they’re bringing a knife to school, but some part of yourself thinks twice. A knife. To school…
Thinking. Scheming. Planning.
Your face morphs into that of a smug winner, fingers tightening around theirs– their knife.
“I’m telling,” you purr with the most shitty grin to exist.
Their eyes widen a fraction. Somehow, they slip the blade from your conjoined hands and it disappears behind their back once again. “No, you aren’t.”
Your facade doesn’t last long; it cracks the moment their mouth shuts.
“Yes, I am!”
You’re frantic as you shove them around like a ragdoll. Despite fighting back (half-assedly), you manage to flip them, trying to find the weapon that is the key to your freedom.
But it’s like it never existed. No hidden pockets visible. Even feeling up their back, you detect no indents of any sharp objects.
You toss them another 180 degrees, nails clawing into their collar. “Where’d it go!?”
The teacher’s calling your name rather disappointedly. “Please let go of them.”
“They have a knife!”
And she laughs you off? What a betrayal.
“They’re allowed to have a knife in the kitchen.”
As if on cue, your brain finally acknowledges your fellow club members, most of which are at their own stations, with their own cutting boards, with their own god damn it–
You groan, sad and pathetic, accepting your defeat. You don’t even want to look at them as you release your claws from their sweater.
The teacher must recognize your plummet in mood, as she verbally guides both you and Kris to one of the emptier tables. “How about you both go to that station? There’s some extra space over there; you can hone your cutting skills.”
Station, schmation.
You speedwalk to said table, hoping to lose them in the journey despite your shared destination. Jasper’s on the far end, board flooded with flimsy potato slices. You want to tell him he’s holding the knife wrong, but you don’t trust yourself to sound as composed as you like to come across. Whatever.
Cutting skills, schmutting sch… schkrills?
He greets you as you pass, fetching a cutting board and a knife that you’d like to stab through your soul. Right after stabbing Kris.
You begrudgingly plant yourself in the predicted middle; it’s either you have Kris on one side and Jasper on the other, or Kris as your only arm buddy. Easiest decision to date.
He offers you and the new arrival his extra uncut potatoes. You ignore the way their arm has to reach over your station to pluck one. It’d be so easy to slice them to bits–
Focus. You’re here to have a good time. Make some new friends. Don’t obsess over the moron for one damn second.
Your thumb and pointer finger sit in front of the bolster, pushing into the blade’s beginning. You cut the potato in half, resting the flat surface against the cutting board. You line up your cuts slowly, but accurately.
It’s therapeutic; the repetitive motion. You find yourself sighing as your nerves loosen.
And your body betrays you. You can’t help it. You spare a quick glance at Kris.
They don’t even have a cutting board. They’re just slicing over the fucking steel table.
And they’re almost done cutting their potatoes. In what world is that possible? You both hardly started.
They’re super zoned out, too. And their strands are perfectly sliced – varying in length, but equivalent in width, thickness, straightness.
Oh. What. Ever.
You feel Jasper’s breath; hot against your neck? “Woah, dude. You’re really good at this.”
With just the slightest sliver of hope remaining, you turn to him, praying for the chance to thank him for his compliment directed to you. But it’s not directed to you! Who would’ve guessed?
“Thanks,” Kris practically dismisses. They hardly give either of you the time of day. Your expressions must contrast like black and white.
You hope they chop off a finger.
Your heart pangs. Wait.
The one they’re holding. That’s not the school-distributed knife. It’s theirs. It looks the same as the one from before? Probably?
That must still be prohibited. It implies they brought a weapon to school– how would they not get suspended for that?
You wait for Jasper to return to his station. You do the same, but you’re returning with a purpose.
The teacher’s lingering at the door, telling the club leader something you can’t quite make out from here. You hear a note about aprons? Grabbing more from the supply closet? Judging by their body language, they seem to be preparing a quick trip over.
You wait patiently, as you’ve always prided yourself in doing.
The door’s swung open. The nanosecond they’re out of the room, you strike.
You lunge for the contraband.
And with your amazing track record, it should’ve been an expectation that they’d see it coming.
You paw at their sweater, their face, their arm – of which holds your prize just out of reach – uncaring of the few stares that zip to your figures. You can explain yourself later– this is your only chance.
Their face displays no struggle or burden. In fact, with the point of the blade to the ceiling, they wave their wrist mockingly. You couldn’t hold back your gasp if you tried.
Right as you think you’re inching closer (you’re not), the handle twists expertly through their fingers.
And the sharp edge’s aimed at you.
Understandably believing you’re about to get stabbed, you let out an ‘eep!’, curling up into yourself flamingo-style. Guess you know where you stand in fight, flight, freeze.
You hear them snort. Even through your head shield, you hear them snort.
You don’t have the chance to react. Two hands slot against your shoulders, bordering the base of your neck.
Jasper’s voice cuts through. “Uh, you okay?”
Reverting to what most would call a normal standing position, you face him, failing to hide your look of confusion. Either he didn’t catch what just happened, or he… left and came back?
“Uhm,” you drawl like you’re paralyzed. How do you explain that?
For some odd reason, you look to Kris. Maybe they have a fantastic excuse they could lend you. Y’know, as an exchange for trying to kill you. Not that it wasn’t deserved. You’ll give them that.
And god, their expression’s something you just. can’t. place.
They don’t seem to find much of anything that amusing anymore. They’re too busy watching your shoulders. And by proxy, his hands? That’re still hanging loose against your collar?
Not that the two could be related.
It’s the type of standstill you’ve been in before. But it’s not nearly as light-hearted playful fun annoying as it usually is.
No. It’s tense.
Not coming remotely close to figuring out what’s going on, you take their stunted state as an opportunity. You’re crafty; you can’t help but be resourceful.
Your hand reaches for theirs, now dangling at their side, seizing the blade by its… blade.
You feel it cut into your palm as you squeeze, slipping it rather easily from their grasp. The pain’s worth the way your cheeks burn from your victory grin.
“Haha!” You wave the… handle at their face, bolting past them to find the teacher. “You’re so dead, Dreemurr!”
You don’t care to look back. Especially as you find said teacher re-entering the kitchen.
Her eyes instantly zip to your albeit very bloody hand, concern etched deep into her features. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Your mouth gapes and shuts just as fast.
One glance back proves they’re watching you. And the rest of the class. Actually, that’s not technically true. Some are watching your blood trail, not you.
…fuck it, we ball.
You unclench the knife, waving your fleshy cut in the woman’s heart-attack-prone face.
“Kris stabbed me.”
~*•*~
“–but nothing crazy actually happened. I just got sent to first aid,” you sigh, twirling yourself on one of the shop’s vanity chairs. “It didn’t actually cut that deep, so they just sterilized and wrapped it. Got sent home early, though.”
Roxy’s eyes run across the scabbed-over cut. “So… win-win?”
“Something like that.”
You may have stretched the truth a bit in your favour. You don’t need your friends knowing the whole story; just the minor, more important details.
Your friends decided on an impromptu trip to your local (ish; it was a twenty minute drive from your nothing-burger excuse of a town) tattoo parlour for some impulsive body-related choices. Some are talking to the artists, others are already entering the private rooms to start. Not you. You’re just here for moral support. And to laugh at their immediate regret.
Speaking of.
Roxy leans over your armrest, tilting her phone to you. “Whaddya think of this?”
It’s a picture of a stencil; her girlfriend’s name in a fancy font. You wince. “You’re gonna regret that when you break up after high school. But who knows? Maybe true love triumphs… actually maybe don’t listen to me.”
She shakes her head, continuing to scroll through potential ideas. “Thanks for the advice. Or lack thereof.”
“You’re welcome.”
Landing on another one, she shoves the phone extra close to your face. “This one?”
It’s a tattoo of a man’s face on someone’s big toe.
You blink. “Are you fucking with me?–”
“Evan!”
Someone calls the name as four figures step into the shop. You weren’t expecting anyone necessarily shocking to walk in, so you don’t look up right away.
Key word: weren’t.
You’re boredly scrolling through your own phone as green enters your field of view. Not a lot of green, but green nonetheless.
And that mother fucking stripe.
Turns out Kris tagged along with your rather late additional friends, waiting slightly behind the other three as they talk to the front desk. You’re instantly tugging at Roxy’s arm. “Uh, what’re they doing here?”
She raises an eyebrow as if she has no idea what you’re talking about. “He said he was gonna be late, didn’t he?”
“No, I mean–”
“Kris!” Another friend calls. What the actual hell.
When the voice beckons them over to the other piercing chairs (opposite side of the room, thankfully), they follow, though they don’t seem that enthusiastic about it.
You’re bolting to Evan, ignoring the way he tries to flirt with the receptionist in her mid twenties. “Hey.”
“Sup?” His attention’s peeled from her to you. She seems oddly grateful, choosing to retreat to literally anywhere else in the store.
“So…” you raise your eyebrows. “The fuck?”
He wants to cackle at you– you can see it in his malicious eyes. Neither of you have outright acknowledged it, but your distaste for the human’s undoubtedly implied from day one. Therefore, he’s the only one you’ll (mostly) outright admit it to.
“Look. It wasn’t my idea,” he trails on, attempting a sly escape by walking deeper into the parlour. You don’t let him, following closely behind. “They’re partners with Mar in chem, or something. He invited them, said we were all going out today, said you were gonna be there…”
“He– what?”
“They–” he stifles a laugh. “They said you were friends. Seemed to convince him pretty easily.”
Your eye twitches.
As if your brain tuned in on purpose, you can hear Mar from your central spot. He’s leaning on one of the vanity desks, watching Kris spin in the corresponding chair. Copy cat. “–but most of us are getting something. You should, too. If you want.”
You can barely make out their mumble. Something about how their mom would kill them.
Oh, you’d kill them were it socially acceptable.
Roxy’s fingers wrap around your bicep, dragging you back to your designated debating spot. “Dude.”
She breaks your stare. “What?”
“You’re, like, way too obvious.”
“With what?”
“C’mon. You guys have the whole… y’know. Thing going on.”
You’re a bit slow. Your first thought is that it’s about Kris, and you feel your forehead scrunch.
She makes a choking gesture for a moment. Then, she makes two V’s with her hands. And she crosses her fingers over one another–
“Eugh!” You gag, swatting her away.
“Oh, don’t give me that.”
‘That’? You’d never!–
Never– that…
That’s just–
Kris?
With Kris…?
That’d be… insane.
They’d never… what?
Would they?–
She slaps your cheek. “Lookin’ a little under the weather, there.”
You flush. “You’re so… indecent.”
“I just know your nasty mind’s thought about it,” she mocks. She taps the space between your brows as if proving a point.
Despite the fact that you just– No, you didn’t.
It reminds you of… something. You can’t quite place what, though.
After a few minutes, she distracts herself with something other than you, giving you the chance to scroll down to a certain contact you’ve been meaning to text back. That dude from the club. Jasper. He was lowkey pushy when asking for your number (and with every subsequent conversation) but it’s not like you outright dislike talking to him.
You’re straightening your knees, angling your phone’s camera to capture the new boots you got earlier this week. You feel Roxy lean over your shoulder. “The hell’re you doing?”
You don’t grace her with an answer, accidentally tightening your hold on your camera. It stabs against your recovering wound, sending a sting down your arm. “Ow.”
“That’s a bad scar. Looks painful.”
And the voice you’ve been dreading to hear has finally come to torment you.
“Kris, how you been?” Roxy takes a step towards the lone human, knowing damn well you’re not about to contribute to this conversation whatsoever. “How’s Susie? Tell her I wanna go another round of chess-boxing. Get two wins under my belt.”
“She says you cheated.”
“Cheated? At which one?”
“Boxing. She doesn’t know how to play chess.”
“Oh. Y’know what? That explains a lot,” she taps a finger to her chin. “Is that why her deer friend kept screaming chess notation?”
Of course Susie hears the word ‘boxing’ and doesn’t stop to think about the first half.
You ignore their chatter as you continue angling your phone, snapping a half-assed picture and sending it with a follow up of: costed a days worth of shifts. totally worth it tho
It’s not long until an admittedly nice apple scent floods your nostrils. They’re standing right against your armrest. You don’t give them the satisfaction of your attention.
“We should be gym partners on Monday.”
You raise an eyebrow at them, half-immune to their bait. Specifying the ‘half’.
You catch a glimpse of Roxy. She’s nodding aggressively, giving you two large thumbs ups. Like you’d ever need a wingman, Kris or not.
And besides. Her hands only remind you of her nasty sexual innuendo–
“Sure,” you force out. You only agree to prevent her from gathering more fuel to use against you.
She slides an arm around their shoulders, leaning into them. They must not expect it; they stumble before supporting her added weight.
“Aren’t you guys ‘competitive rivals in P.E.’?” At the sight of your contorted face, she holds up her free hand in defence. “Sam’s words, not mine.”
You stare at them expectantly, assuming they have some stupid answer prepared. But they just stare back at you. You’re at an odd standstill.
“It’s all in… good fun,” you decide on.
You don’t want to come off as defensive. The last thing you need is them knowing she knows anything. Not that there’s anything to know. What’re you scared of?
“Roxy,” someone calls from one of the side hallways. “The dude’s ready for you.”
“What?– Did you tell him I haven’t even decided yet?” She makes a beeline towards them out of panic.
Your foot taps impatiently on the ground. Everyone’s relatively far aways, invested in their own mini chit-chats. “Why’re you here, Kris?”
You find yourself saying that a lot.
They tower over you. “I’m here to see you get that piercing.”
“What?”
You’ve also been saying that a lot. Maybe you’re just a naturally confused person. ‘Dense’ is another word for it.
They point to your glabella, finger inching closer. You snatch their wrist before it makes contact.
You really can’t remember anything. Something about a piercing. It was late…? Weeks ago. You recall seeing them in the forest. Or was it the road? And then… you…
Oh… oh!
Oh.
Your grip tenses over their pulse.
Oh, shit.
That wasn’t!–
Or was it?
That did happen.
“Oh yeah?” You clear your throat, sounding just as confident as you appear. “Then you gotta get your lip too.”
Your pupils lock onto their lips. Automatically. It’s not your fault– blame the system.
They quirk their head, ever so slightly. As if saying ‘really?’.
You clench your teeth. “First one to back down?”
“What’s the prize?”
“Uhh. I don’t know. Twenty bucks?”
“And a favour,” they add on generously.
“Whatever– fine.”
You’re relatively confident you won’t chicken out. And with the addition of a favour, you can tell them to leave you alone. Forever. No contact. Ghosted. Hopefully it’s a non-negotiable favour.
You both wait a good half-hour for the workers to finish up with your (key word: your) friends. After that, it isn’t long before you’re both sitting parallel to one another, faces contorting into varying levels of (or lack thereof) emotion.
You’re perhaps a bit more cocky than you should be.
“Get the money out for me, loser.”
Alcohol wipes.
“My favour’ll just be to quadruple my winnings, loser.”
Poked with surgical markers; yours on your bridge, theirs on their labret
“Hope you’re ready to lose… uh, loser.”
Piercing needles out. Needles– what?
You forget how to blink as your piercer lines up the clamp to pinch your bridge. The two’re practically in sync; Kris’ own clamp squeezes, jutting their lip out.
“You need me to count down?” Your piercer smiles warmly at your very alarmed face.
“Okay,” you squeak.
Your eyes dart from the needle to your piercer to Kris and you keep waiting and waiting for those words of relief.
But you never hear it.
The needle hovers menacingly. Right in front of your eyes.
“Three… two–”
Nope. No way–
“WaitwaitwaitwaitWAIT–”
And breaking you from your panic is Kris’ fucking snicker. As if they knew.
You clutch the armrests. “Idon’tknowifIwantthisanymore.”
Kris, lip out, slurs out a ‘me neither’.
They both back off, sharing a look. You share a laugh – yours of which sounded much more forced – and he explains he didn’t think you looked completely into it.
Oh, you were into it. Just… the winning part, though.
Once they leave to help customers who actually want something done, you bang your head against the headrest, shielding your eyes with your palms out of shame.
A shadow looms over you, slim fingers gently prying your hands from your face.
They stand between your legs with the smuggest smile you’ve ever seen.
“Pay up, loser,” they mock.
You rip your hands from theirs, begrudgingly offering them the twenty cash you planned on spending on pizza. Not some stupid wager.
Your palm remains outstretched as a figure of speech, wanting nothing more than to be done with it. “What about the favour?”
They curl your fingers to your palm, pressing it to your chest.
“Keep it safe for me.”
This little–
You start flailing, launching your feet at their face. It doesn’t land, of course, but the intention is all there.
~*•*~
Roxy stretches her collar down her arm, revealing her back shoulder tattoo. You almost choke on your drink. As do many of the others watching the display.
You’re surrounded by one of the many crowds at a bonfire a friend’s hosting as a… Thanksgiving? Halloween? Thing? You’re not quite sure; he didn’t care to specify.
It might just be because his parents are out for the weekend, and he felt the need to invite a majority of the school to his larger-than-average backyard. The lack of fence doesn’t make the space look any smaller, either. It blends into the trees of the forest seamlessly.
You toss your head back, gulping down whatever’s in your cheap plastic cup. You have to give the tattoo a second glance to give your brain a chance to recognize the symbol. “Is that the Delta Rune?”
“Oh yeah,” she brags as if it’s something to flex about. “I thought I should stay on theme, y’know?”
You knew you shouldn’t have left early that day. You can’t believe you haven’t seen this until now.
Despite your second-hand embarrassment, your laugh is loud and garbled. “What theme? Everyone’s gonna think you’re religious.”
Clover looks at you like you’re delusional. “She’s, like, the least religious person to exist.”
The tattooed-up arm snakes around her girlfriend as a definitely not needed demonstration.
“Quit the PDA!” Someone shouts from across the lawn.
You’re already retreating to the drinks table. “Yeah, weirdos.”
Although the backyard’s pretty full, you don’t struggle to swerve around the little cliques that keep to their own space. Though he doesn’t have a mansion (like Noelle), the host’s backyard spans about the same area.
Everything’s chill. You feel like you can finally breathe. Especially after the fifty pounds of homework you had to rush through last night. Class wasn’t an option, due to the little balls of paper being flicked at your back. Wonder who it was.
Arriving at the drinks, you scan through the array of sodas, glass bottles of pretty expensive shit (thank you, host), and punch bowls.
Sam asked if you could borrow one (or a few) from the Church, as the last one shattered on the concrete during set up. You’re not sure why it was glass, but you’re not a punch bowl designer, so you wouldn’t know.
The slosh of pinkish-red liquid is most definitely tainted with something, whether intentional or not. But you already had a cup or two or three and you don’t mind the taste, so you go for seconds or thirds or fourths.
You’re more uncoordinated than you remember being, ladle slipping from your grasp as half the juice lands in your cup. The other half drenches your fingers, coating your touch in the sweet sticky substance. “Fuck.”
A warm hand rests on the small of your back. “Need some help?”
It’s Jasper. You don’t feel anything at the sight of him.
“Yes, please.”
He plucks your slathered cup from your fingers, tossing it in a nearby garbage bag before pouring you a new drink. “How’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you much tonight.”
“Yeah… doing my rounds.” You sound awfully coy with the excuse.
Your scalp’s awfully itchy. Or it’s just the eyes on the back of your skull.
“Who’ve you talked to?”
“I dunno, haven’t been keeping track,” you shrug, unsure of why he’s asking. “Gotta be nice to everyone or they won’t bring out the good stuff later.”
He laughs at your lazy joke. You feel bad for being so bored.
You’re peeking behind you to where you know a certain trio stands. Susie and Noelle are deep in conversation, on the verge of pda.com from the looks of it. Kris is… not so subtly staring at you. Their body’s tilted to the duo, but you can make out their glare. It’s a different type of creepy. Or just a different emotion in general. One you’ve never seen on them before. Or maybe you have.
Your head’s buzzing too much to realize Jasper’s waiting for a response. You manually tug the sides of your mouth up. “Huh?”
“Can I show you something?”
You look at Kris again. Now, they’re staring at him. Not you.
Your shoulders drop. “Okay.”
He doesn’t do so much as touch you as he guides you into the forest. You’re admittedly disappointed. Not that you’re craving it from him, necessarily, but you’re feeling a bit… what’s the word…?
He steps over twigs, branches, tufts of leaves, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure your stumbling self hasn’t gotten lost and died yet. You don’t care to look excited, though your curiosity is peaked.
Eventually, he stops in front of a bush of blue hydrangeas. He gestures to them as if it’s his first time seeing them. “Like them?”
Yeah, they’re pretty, but…
It was a five minute walk to get here. You’re almost certain it was a poor excuse to get you two alone.
“They’re nice,” you murmur, squatting to get a closer look.
There’s a slight awkward pause. You don’t register it, but just judging by his body language, he wants to say something.
He doesn’t get the chance. Your eyes widen, shushing him effectively; there’s an orange fox five feet to your right and you’re not about to scare it off.
You slowly crawl towards it on your knees – grass stains at the back of your mind – reaching out. It doesn’t lean into your touch, but it lets you pet it nonetheless. There’s gradual, steady footsteps behind you. When he squats next to you, you raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, this thing totally has rabies,” you whisper.
“I mean. It’s not foaming at the mouth. So you’re probably alright.”
It’s not even a joke. But your mind and heart and soul feel so light and you’re giggling anyways.
He might’ve smiled at you. You wouldn’t know; you’re not paying attention.
He’s reaching to pet it–
But it’s frightened by something. A sound.
When you both stand, you’re facing each other. He doesn’t seem to have heard it, instead joking that it got scared of him.
You huff out an excuse for a laugh. You’re too busy gazing past him.
You knew you saw that red glimmer.
Kris is stalking you two behind a tree like a fucking freak.
You lock eyes. They look like they’re about to kill you. Or him. Or both.
And something just… clicks within you.
A malicious, downright evil grin corrupts your face.
You blink; nice and slow. A taunt.
That night’s so unbelievably vivid in your mind.
You’ve always been a fan of recycling.
“Thanks for showing me those, Jaz,” you coo, slipping out a nickname you’ve never used before. “They’re really pretty.”
You snap the stem of a smaller hydrangea, sauntering towards him to slip the flower behind his ear.
“We should hang out more,” you suggest innocently. Once it’s secure, your arms naturally fall on his shoulders, slyly wrapping around his neck. “I feel like I never get to see you alone. Just the two of us?”
He bites his tongue. His eyes are lidded. You tug him closer.
“Yeah, it’s kinda weird,” he murmurs drunkenly (figuratively and literally), his breath mixing with your own. “I feel like we click really well.”
You have to stop yourself from saying ‘ehhh, really?’. But he doesn’t need to know that. Nor do the eyes in the darkness.
His hands find their way to your hips. Not squeezing, though you kinda want him to. The warmth seeps through your clothes–
There’s a louder rustle from their direction. You were expecting a slipup; maybe they’d leave out of disgust.
Yeah, that didn’t happen.
Kris has fully emerged from their hiding spot. Still as a statue, regret drenching their stiff self.
Outwardly watching you two be handsy. Not like they weren’t before, but at least it was supposedly unknown.
You back up an inch out of courtesy. You feel that all too familiar rage travel through your veins. But it’s mixed with something else. It’s exhilarating.
With one of the many rehearsed lines ready on your tongue, your mouth cracks open when–
“He has a girlfriend.”
Your jaw drops at their words, neck cracking to said ‘him’.
“What?”
Jasper’s confusion only deepens. “Uh, what? No, I don’t–”
You’re not sure why you’re instantly believing your torturer, considering they’re most definitely lying, but you don’t get the chance to question your instincts.
One of the hands on his shoulder’s being pulled towards them. They want you to follow them. You obviously don’t want to, or maybe you do, you can’t really tell anymore, but–
“‘m cashing in that favour,” they mumble with a confusing amount of urgency.
Well, that settles it.
You may be an asshole, but you’re not one to dismiss a well-earned IOU.
“Uhh,” you say instead of an apology, allowing yourself to be dragged away.
Jasper’s wide eyes are the last things you see as you disappear into the plumage.
Their grip only tightens and tightens and tightens and you’re losing feeling in the tips of your fingers.
“The hell’s up with you?”
No answer. While they step over an exposed root, you trip over it, almost bringing the two of you to the dirt.
“That’s what you use your favour on?”
You scoff in disbelief. You can hardly see anything besides their permanent deadpan. It’s much more strained than you remember it being.
“You could’ve done anything else, and you do that?”
You spend a good few minutes falling deeper and deeper into the trees. You might be losing your mind.
“I should’ve gotten it if I knew you’d cash in something so unbelievably ass–”
You’re being propelled forward. You’re about to tumble for the hundredth time today. But two hands steady your shoulders.
And flip you to face them. You get slight whiplash.
And their lips crash into yours.
You’re in an unparalleled state of shock.
Holy shit.
It’s quick, chaste. Sorta nice.
They’re pulling away before you can fully process any of it.
You’re both frozen, it seems; stuck a few inches from each other’s face. Oddly enough, it’s not the closest you’ve ever been before.
But your ego only inflates.
…and you’re giggling like a madman.
“You two-faced idiot. I knew it.”
Their impassivity falters.
You smush your hands to their cheeks. “You hate Jasper!”
They stare at you like you’ve grown a second head. But you don’t let it deter you!
“I mean, the first thing he said to you was literally an insensitive comment about being human. Of course you’d keep that in the back of your head! And the weird looks you’d give him? And he’s weirdly forward, touchy, maybe a bit socially dense– but it was also strange how you knew I was texting him at the parlor and you interrupted me?–”
Their mouth presses to yours again, cutting off your much-required explanation. You’re somehow just as shocked the second time.
It’s even quicker. To your… disappointment?
They’re blinking at you. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
They…
Oh.
You pause.
Well.
“Well,” you echo.
Yeah.
That’s that.
Maybe you’re just dumb.
You’re tangling your fingers in their hair, pressing them back to your lips. They let out a quiet noise that you eat up immediately. Once they relax a touch, your mouths move together in calm, slow patterns. It’s a bit sloppy, but you don’t mind.
You find yourself savouring the feeling. You don’t know why you do.
Their hands drop to your hips, squeezing and kneading your flesh like they want to take you apart. You’re nowhere near expecting it, nor do you take them for the type. Maybe they saw Jasper do it. And maybe you looked like you liked it.
And maybe you like that they’re doing it because they know you like it–
Your eyes flutter as you feel their tongue poke at your bottom lip. Your fingers tighten. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’re ripping hair from their scalp. But they outright groan and it doesn’t matter because your stomach’s flurrying with excitement.
You guide their chin with your hand, sensing their slight inexperience, ushering their lips to open a tad. Their fingers roll circles into your hips and they’re pulling you flush against them. The moment they shyly tap their tongue to your open mouth, you’re clenching it between your teeth.
They’re pulling back from sheer surprise. You release them, tasting their saliva on your lips. It’s drenched in the sharp burn of vodka. “Did you take a shot?”
“One,” they admit wholeheartedly. “Ten minutes ago.”
You peck the corner of their mouth. They try to chase your touch, but you draw back before they can meet you. Pressing your thumb under their jawline, you guide their gaze to the sky as you litter their neck in little bites and kisses. Their horribly-concealed little grunts and mewls send shivers down your spine, only fueling you further.
“What? Got too many nerves to deal with, Dreemurr?”
You feel them swallow under your lips. You lick a wet stripe up the length of their neck.
“Do I make you nervous, Dreemurr?”
You get a front row seat to their shaky exhale. All rosy and warm; they can hardly look you in the eye.
They’re really cute when they don’t make you want to kill yourself.
“Shut up,” they curse out, rather uncharacteristically. They tug your hands from their face before shoving their tongue down your throat.
Yeah, there isn’t a universe where you wouldn’t be into this.
“You’re so rude.” You squeeze their bicep.
“You’re a hothead,” they groan back between kisses.
“You’re repressed.” You’re shoving them to the grass.
“You’re thin-skinned.” They let you pin their hands under your own.
“You’re a hikikomori,” you hiss as they bite your lip hard enough to bleed.
“You’re erratic.” They flip you over, straddling your hips.
“You’re a sadist.” You lead them to your neck, wordlessly asking.
“You’re mine,” they suck a mean hickey right below your pulse.
You outright moan.
“Say you hate me,” you beg.
You think they’re about to do it, but some part of them second-guesses it. Crap.
They’re pulling away just enough to lock eyes. “What?”
Before you can feel embarrassed, the most grueling voice cuts through your already ruined moment. “Oh– shit, didn’t mean to–”
Jasper rounds a tree right before shielding his eyes at the unmistakable sight that is Kris on top of you–
You’re shoving them off of you before skiddling across the ground like prey, still horribly out of breath. “We weren’t!–”
You can see his blush between his fingers. “Sorry– I didn’t know you two were–”
“We’re not!–”
Kris wraps a wrist around your ankle before you can escape. “We are.”
“You–” You climb to your feet. They follow you like your shadow. “I–”
But you can’t will yourself to say anything.
They’re giving you the most pathetic, ‘please be quiet’ type look.
“I…”
Your inhale is their exhale. Their lips are a deep, deep red. Matches their eyes.
Goddamnit.
“My bad,” you hear offhandedly, the unwanted form now retreating back into the forest. “I’ll, uh, go.”
And he’s gone.
You’re not really sure what happens next.
“Is this one of your dumb pranks?” You find yourself asking. It’s a shameful show of insecurity.
You think you’re asking semi-genuinely. You think they can tell it’ll crush you if they say something stupid.
“Yeah,” they mumble.
But you find your lip turning up. They’re not even trying to pretend they’re not lying out their ass.
Their face mirrors your own, perhaps toned town a few degrees.
You groan, slamming your fists into their chest. It’s half-assed.
You hover for a moment, face all up in their shoulder. Remembering the smell as if it’ll fade.
“I wanna strangle you so bad.”
“I know.”
You’re giggling. “You should kill yourself.”
There’s two hands on your biceps. “Suicide pact? Or ten paces, fire?”
“Ten paces. Then we see who backs out first.”
“And if I win?”
“You wouldn’t. I would cheat. Fire at the third pace.”
“Then what?”
You inch away to give them a look. “Then what? You want me to say I’d regret it?”
They shake their head. “What would you ask for as your favour?”
“Another kiss,” you cough. “Like, out of courtesy. Because you’re dying on the floor. But I’m not into dead bodies. It’s, like, a farewell thing.”
There’s a moment before they’re snorting.
“I’ll get the guns.”
~~~
fuuuck this was so fun jasper the cockblock
i hope its clear why reader likes kris. its very specific. and very important. to me. and oh my god im gonna be thinking about this for the next few days.
to all the asks ive gotten asking if im down to do more suggestive content uhhhh take this as ur sign as yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes
I saw art of kris with snakebites last year in april and i still have it saved bc its so oh my god it did something absolutely horrible to me and that inspired half this fic LMAOO
The festival! Times of joy all of Hometown looks forward to! Fun activities, delicious food, volunteering on your parents' behalf because they think you’re a hermit! What’s there not to love?
Oh? You don’t like the festival?
Oh? You haven’t gone in years?
Oh? Your ex-best-friend Kris is going with all their new (and old) friends and you’re left in the dirt because of a certain looming past that hangs over everyone’s head?
Well then, it sounds like your day’s going to be fantastic!
~~~
NO MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CH 5 BESIDES FESTIVAL. and even then id say thats a stretch LOL
we are SO FUCKING BACK. 11.7K WORDS WE ARE STARTING OFF STRONG THIS YEAR. i really didnt want to start off super angsty but anons ask was too good and festival angst sounded so good to me ugh i couldnt help myself SO WE HAVE MIX OF BOTH NO SAD ENDING MAYBE BITTERSWEET IF ANYTHING
i also had way too much fun with the non-kris interactions but i havent written these guys in so long i miss them all man. I MISSED U GUYS LIKE HELL ALSO SO ENJOY THIS MESS OF EMOTION !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ps i missed u too kris if ur reading this plz text me back
~~~
the ask + another ask i got like a year ago (one of my first ever) that semi inspired a certain aspect of the story but i still wanna do smt with it as the focus so im KEEPING IT IN MY INBOX FOR SAFE KEEPING
~~~
Hometown isn’t one for extravagant events. Not compared to the holiday celebrations in every major capital across the globe, anyway.
While the world’s out parading with bright – albeit quite extra – fireworks that paint the sky, sweet treats that add up to an average mortgage for the month, and events that accumulate all friends and family into one claustrophobic, sweat-drenched room…
…Hometown is different. Whether it be good or bad is up to who you ask.
Concentration from a thousand square kilometers to a single, measly square kilometer takes care of the fill-all-the-empty-space issue. Less ground to cover means that the residents can appreciate the measly half-a-dozen games all the while more. Can’t make a few carts look scarce when the end of the street’s in view, right?
And, of course, with the lack of property value (and property at all), less people live here. Population’s barely hit a hundred. At least, last time you checked.
Which means, chipping in makes all the difference. Strength in numbers, after all!
Damn. You’re starting to sound like your father.
The festival’s today. It’s been in the forefront of your mind like a tick that won’t leave you the hell alone; sucking every last bit of life force from your soul. And, better yet, it’s not your fault.
You do anything that puts you outside the house? Something meager, something that should be simple, like taking out the trash?
Your mother catches you halfway down your driveway. “Oh, dear! Would you drop these decorations off at the Church?”
You’re trying out some crappy dessert recipe you saw online, that you just so happened to write down before the Angel struck the town with the worst fury ever conceivable to the living eye? (internet outage)
Your father appears from what you can only assume to be a puff of smoke – because damn is he sneaky – looming over you like he’s seven feet tall. “Honey, that looks delicious! Should I talk to Carol? Ask if you could open your own booth this year?”
You’re watching TV. That’s it. And boom.
Parents corner you on both sides of the couch. A scrapbook in hand– your scrapbook. Well, it wasn’t entirely yours, but you take credit for it now. Because who else will?
“Awwhh,” your mother coos like she's taming a wild skunk, scared you’ll spray your defence juices (running to your room). “And there’s you trying to hit the target. You could barely lift up the hammer! Look how cute you were!”
Were. As if you aren’t adorable now. Thanks, mom.
You should’ve known. With how much your parents make you run their miniscule, slightly inconvenient errands, your senses should’ve alerted you for something big. It’s not like they found a way to bring up the event in every conversation for an innocent reason. Reminiscing? C’mon!
No one should reminisce in this town. Time’s arrow merely marches forward.
Only when you were woken up at the asscrack of dawn from your mother shaking you awake with a sense of urgency and nervousness you’ve never seen from her, did you really understand what all of it meant.
Oh no. She volunteered your lazy backside to set up the festival, didn’t she?
Your question was answered not shortly after it appeared.
“Get up, get up!” She seemed to have wrapped your arms and body into your blanket like some security burrito, fully immobilizing you from attack. “Today’s the festival! You’re helping out this year, no arguments.”
Shoveling something into your mouth as a poor excuse for breakfast, your mother led a groveling you to your front door. A box of pennant bunting banners sat near your shoes, nesting a plastic bag of deflated balloons.
You were outside before the mere evidence of the sun shone through the horizon. It was almost too dark to see the street. Or, maybe your eyes were closed. You could’ve been sleepwalking, for all you knew.
You would’ve put up more of a fight, but it was difficult. You were so tired. Still are.
And now you stand, box flipped upside down to act as a makeshift stool, hooking the flimsy string from wooden post to wooden post to tree to tree. Just the sight of them makes you a tad queasy.
The festival hasn’t exactly been something you look forward to on a yearly basis. At some point, it might’ve been the highlight of your holidays.
It all leads back to Dess. Not that it’s her fault, but it’s hard not to recall the events and label it as an obvious turning point.
Everyone used the excuse. Whether it be from shock, depression– it was an easy reason to cancel the festival that year. Or, it wasn’t cancelled. You can’t remember. If it did happen, you didn’t go.
The Dreemurrs didn’t go, either. The Holidays? They practically host the damn thing. If they did do it, it was much smaller than years prior.
You remember wanting to go. You remember thinking it wouldn’t be nearly as fun going alone. You might’ve begged someone. Noelle? Asriel? Kris? They all must’ve shut you down, one way or another. Grief works differently for everyone, after all.
You’re not too sure how you feel about it. About the festival, you mean.
Lost in your own head, you accidentally tug the string with too much gusto, causing them to unravel from their perfect place on their respective trees.
“Goddamnit,” you curse, tossing your useless end to the grass. Thankfully, the streets are rather barren of people. Half-empty boxes litter alongside adults too absorbed in making their stands look appetizing to care.
As long as no one asks why you’re out here. You haven’t made an appearance in damn near a decade. Change is obvious, when it happens. They’ll all definitely notice if you bring too much attention to yourself.
Speaking of attention to oneself.
Someone’s voice booms through the quiet streets. In your humble opinion, they’re far too loud for a sun that low in the sky. And it’s not constant chatter, either. They’ll pause for a few seconds, absorbing the dialogue from a far more hushed, likely imaginary voice.
You feel your eyebrows tighten, wanting nothing more than to bury your head in the tuft of leaves.
But you force yourself into indifference. You find yourself tuning out most voices nowadays.
Collecting your previous failed attempt, you leap back onto your cube throne and double-knot the thread around a different branch. The obnoxious source of sound grows near, enhancing your already-unbearable migraine from lack of sleep.
You kick your box to skid underneath the next tree. Your hands paw at the drooping string, almost as slouched as your hunchback, only catching hold when a pair of footsteps come into hearing vicinity.
“Oh, what?” The feminine-yet-masculine voice calls from behind you, panged with familiarity. “Wait…”
Your eyes couldn’t roll back further if you tried. Your head might’ve tipped off your neck, but you’re hoping it wasn’t assholish enough for her to notice.
Of course, the only person who’s loud enough to make your morning more grueling (“only”? You could think of a dozen others) is halted at the base of your box. Maybe if you stand completely still, she’ll think you’re some unflattering statue the festival’s using as decor this year.
Susie… something. Last names aren’t important. She’s your classmate. If you count showing up fifty percent of the time as a valid classmate. She’s friends with–
Y’know, her friends aren’t important to note! Who is she friends with? You don’t know!
She kicks your box to get your attention, but it only startles you into crumbling the leaves between your fingers. You hear a huff, maybe a laugh? And then–
“Aren’t you the kid who got stuck on the school roof? After school, like, a week ago?”
Really? Is that what you’re remembered for? What happened to “leave your mark on the world”?
You quickly tie your second knot between the branches, throat filled with a spite you cannot control. “C’mon. I have more of a legacy than that.”
“Oh yeah?” She bites back. You can vividly imagine her shit-eating grin.
“Yeah,” you sigh, shuffling the box down the grass with your feet once more. You make a clear intent not to face her, even through your peripherals. You probably look like an idiot. “I was napping.”
“Your foot was hanging off the ledge.”
It’s not like you would’ve rolled off! You have pretty good muscle control in your sleep. And, besides– “I purposely did that– the ledge‘s good for wind circulation. Keeps you from getting heat stroke up there.”
Another knot done. It’s muscle memory to you now. Or you’re just rushing to get through it. Either’s okay with you.
“You sure?” She questions, accusation embedded in her speech. “Could hear how loud they were yelling from ICE-E’s. Seems like you were dead as a corpse.”
Corpse, shmorpse. “More like sleeping like one. And I wasn’t stuck. If I can get up, I can get down.”
“Isn’t that what cats think when they climb trees?”
“Yeah, maybe in old-timey cartoons,” the box rolls on its side, stuck on the root of the next tree. She must be following you closely. It’s like you’re not moving from her whatsoever–
Realization dawns on you. You pucker. “I’m not a cat–”
There’s a loud crash, bang on the other side of the street. One quick peek shows one of the stands tumbled over another. And, despite your self-imposed rule, your peripheral fails you. You make out a purple blob following your line of sight, and something else…?
When Susie’s snout whips back to you, you’re instantly on the tree once again. “Damn, how’d you do it? Some secret rooftop door? The vents?” You hear her rustle, as if she’s nudging her elbow into something. “Climbing some vines?”
You find yourself answering with dead seriousness, tying off your end of torture. “Maybe a mix of that? And some loose bricks.”
You’re a bit lost as you ramble, fishing around for the bag of inflatable nightmares on the dirt. You fiddle with one and – despite your slight annoyance – you decide to be a polite person and actually face the monster you’re talking to (mostly because you don’t have the excuse of bunting banners anymore).
“There’s some sweet spots to lodge in long handheld stuff,” once you’ve got a good handle on the mouth of the balloon, you make eye contact for the first time today. “Like knives. Their handles are good for… stepping… on…”
Your heart drops into your stomach. Yeah, you should’ve known.
Expecting it might’ve made the shock just oh so slightly easier to cover up.
With bulging, wide eyes, you make an intense effort to stare into the purple monster’s soul. But it doesn’t matter; your peripheral vision has failed you for the second time.
Kris, whose stealth may rival your parents’, stands statue still adjacent to Susie’s ever moving form. A striped sweater, permanently burnt into your abused retinas. A glare so effortlessly neutral, so effortlessly calm, it strikes fear into those willing to take a peek (in some messed up, contradictory way).
You look so normal right now. You should sign up for the “most normal” competition. That’s not a thing. You should invent it. That’d show how normal you’re being. At this very moment.
“Uh, you okay?” Susie’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t hide her confusion. Like how you don’t hide your normalness.
You think you’re smiling, but it might be frozen in some awkward, forced lip-tilted-up mess. In your tightening grasp, the balloon’s orifice is assaulted by your thumb. (Ew. You’ve gotta put your mouth on that later.)
A rush of ballsy adrenaline shivers up your legs. You decide to spare them a teensy, weensy glance.
And your worst nightmares come true. They don’t react. Deadpan.
You instantly grimace. It’s ugly, too. Like your entire face’s drained of water, wrinkled like a prune. You swear you’re not usually this much of an open book.
They seem unsure if they should be here. In this free space of road. That you’ve claimed as your temporary stomping grounds. But alas, they’re obviously following the leader.
They’re almost waiting for something, too. As if you’ve got a million things to say and they need to hear all of it. The eye contact is driving you insane. Like, who can say so little with such a stare!
And besides, you have nothing to say! You’re horrible with… saying things.
Susie’s oblivious, too. Your brain’s just focused enough to see Susie’s attention shift from you, to the human, and back to you.
Does she not know? Who you are? Besides the whole roof thing– she doesn’t know who you really are? At least, to Kris?
Not that you’re anything. They aren’t anything to you.
Are you not important enough for Kris to say? Mention, even just a tad? Maybe some late night vent session about their respective deep, mysterious pasts? Just your name? Your description? Something?
Not that you care. Just curious. Everyone’s curious.
Are you a sensitive subject?
Not that it matters!
You sure as hell know who she is.
Or it’s just because she’s loud. Hard to miss. Whether that be a positive or not.
They hang around all the time. Attached to the hip, like–
Like nothing. Yeah, show off your healthy blooming friendship. Everyone wants to see it!
You’ve been so cranky with the idea of going outside– festival. With the festival. You touch grass. Promise. But you almost forgot that you, despite the lack of people to see, still need to see said people. It’s a festival. Duh.
Which means: front row seats to their intimate bond!
Which does not eat at you when you think about it for more than a fleeting moment. What’s there to think about? You’re completely fine with it all.
It might’ve been actual years since you’ve made eye contact. You haven’t seen those ruby eyes in passing, by accident, nada. That’s how careful you’ve been.
…does Susie really not know who you are?
Your face might’ve twitched. You’ve got a horrible poker face.
And yet, you’re surprised when you face the angsty teen once again. She’s beyond engrossed, scribbling something onto her exposed arm with a permanent marker. Definitely saw you weren’t answering the question she asked multiple minutes ago.
You manage to get a glimpse. It’s a step-by-step list of instructions for a certain roof heist she seems to be planning. How on topic.
You release a breath deep within the caverns of your chest.
This isn’t worth your time.
“Yeah,” you suck in through your teeth, feigning disappointment. “So I gotta get another box.”
Your stupid box of bunting triangle whatever they’re called are still three quarters full. But you don’t let either of them peep a word of suspicion. You’re stiffly shuffling away. A doll with frozen limbs.
Susie might’ve not noticed. You didn’t check.
Kris’ eyes followed you smoothly. You tried to smile; friendly, easy, a mutual understanding. But you couldn’t get your lip to turn up.
You’re still well within earshot when you start blowing up your balloon, beginning your trek to the Church to kill some time.
Those same pairs of eyes are glued to the back of your skull. A bad itch you can’t reach. You’re only relieved when you turn the corner.
Once your plastic bubble’s inflated to your standard, you tie it shut. Fishing a loose string from your pocket, you knot the ends together.
You release it.
And it slowly drifts to the ground.
Fuck. You need the stupid helium tank for those.
Double fuck. That would’ve been the perfect excuse.
This is gonna be an unbearable day, isn’t it?
~*•*~
The good thing about expecting torture is that you won’t be disappointed when you receive it.
The festival. This is still about the festival. Just to clarify.
You thought, as a shift into a more optimistic lifestyle, that you could be hopeful of what your volunteering duties actually entail. Who knows? Maybe you’d just be doing setup. And you could just go home after. Grueling morning for a totally worth it escape.
Yeah. You were stuck between that and knowing you’d be booked the whole day.
Good thing you leaned towards the latter.
Your dad is apparently a good friend of Sans. Mr. Sans? You haven’t heard of such a relationship between the two, but you don’t know lots of things. Like how people think coffee tastes good.
He asked you to meet the skeleton at the ice cream stand. You’d have willingly volunteered around the police station if you knew it’d get you out of working a stand in the middle of the damn town.
You gave him your standard greeting, and he took it just fine. You didn’t really have the incentive to ask what he needed help with, so you’ve just been hovering around while he slacks off an equal amount.
The regret starts to kick in when more and more monsters double-take. Surprised you’re around, as if you’re some enigma. Hell, you might’ve turned human in their eyes!
You didn’t think that many people cared to keep up to date with your life. Or they don’t, and that’s why it’s so shocking to see you now. They probably thought you were dead.
Maybe if you were actually doing something, they’d feel more inclined to ignore the random person leaning against the convenience store.
You tap the skeleton’s shoulder, careful to apply enough pressure to where he can feel it, but not enough that your fingers awkwardly slide under his clavicle. Is that possible?
He barely tilts his chin to you, displaying his lazy grin. You ask, despite already knowing the answer. “Is there anything you actually want me to do? Or am I just here to do nothing?”
You watch the lights in his eyes zip to your own, raising a nonexistent eyebrow. It freaks you out more than you’d like to admit. “didn’t know you wanted to do something.”
“Well, I don’t not want to do something.”
He turns back to his array of imaginary customers. “sounds like you’re gettin’ a pretty sweet deal, then.”
You swallow. You can’t take the staring anymore. Time to be a responsible citizen! “So I am here to do nothing?”
“nah,” he checks his wrist for a watch he doesn’t have. “i’m going on break. you gotta run the stand for a sec.”
Your jaw unhinges. You’re allowed breaks? “On break?”
He shrugs. “hey. workers union says we need more breaks. helps with morale.”
“We don’t have a workers union. You barely have a real job.”
“pretty sure janitor is an official job title.”
“I mean for the festival–” you stutter, waving your hands around like a psycho.” It’s, like, mostly volunteer work.”
His head tilts, ever so slightly. “volunteering means you’re willing to do stuff for free. you don’t seem very willing.”
“I am beyond willing!” You are not beyond willing, but he doesn’t need to know that! “And don’t you run, like, three stands? Doesn’t that mean I have to do all of them?”
But he brushes you off. “nope. those ones are covered.”
“By who?”
“a ton of other dudes.”
You deadpan. “A skele-ton?”
“uh, what?” He almost laughs, as if you made the most offensive statement of all time. “c’mon kid. that’s the easiest joke in the book,” and his shiteating grin widens. “i wasn’t bone yesterday.”
Goddamnit.
“Okay, whatever,” you try to shoo him away. “Go on your break. I’ll figure it out.”
He’s already halfway down the road before you finish your sentence. “you got it, boss.”
What a weirdo.
You ignore the crank in your back, pulling up a chair that he (for some reason) refused to use. It sits somewhat snug against the ice cream stand, leaving enough space for you to criss-cross.
Besides the few kiddos here and there, there’s not too many running up to the stand. But you’re not complaining. It’s practically perfect.
While the stares are subverted to the ice cream, you find people-watching to get boring quickly. Lack of people to watch. Lack of variety in selection. You’re picky with your self-imposed main characters.
And so, with nothing else to do, you rest your forehead on the edge of the stand. Gravity pulls your eyes to the grass, to your feet.
Your eyes drift closed before you can stop them. Not that you’d try to, anyway.
It was years ago. Back when someone else ran the ice cream stand.
You remember it vividly; you, Kris, and Noelle getting ice cream on a day like this. Walking through the streets wasn’t nearly as dangerous as the general media made it out to be. You were familiar enough with the town that your parents didn’t feel the need to accompany you.
Asriel and December were off doing “teenager things”, as the latter deemed it. He always shoved her shoulder when she’d describe it like that, but he never denied the label.
There’s a new flavour, much to your big, beady eyes’ delight. It’s astounding to you; you’ve never seen more than the set selection of creams.
The lady’s very kind when she describes it to you. You don’t really understand some of her words, whether they be too big or too unfamiliar to you. All you heard was “candy” and you were sold.
The regret never kicked in, even after receiving the cone. An unnatural, pure red colour. Might have that stuff your mother puts in some of her pastries? Food colouring? It has little chunks of candy. Maybe cherry. They don’t look quite as solid as you thought they’d be.
Noelle gets something similar in concept; a rosy strawberry with little frozen chunks of said fruit. Kris gets butterscotch cinnamon pumpkin. You thought it sounded like a handful, but it even smells homey.
With the lack of a line, you three barely shift to the adjacent sidewalk, enjoying your ice cream in peaceful bliss.
After a few kitten licks, a child Noelle glances at your cone. “How is it?”
“Sweet,” you comment; not necessarily in a negative connotation. “But good.”
You both go back and forth for a minute, describing your flavours (as if Noelle hadn’t done the same for hers last year. Or the year before that). After that, much of the in-between is blurry; Noelle gets a mild brain freeze, panics, and stuff starts leaking everywhere. You’re alone with Kris before you realize it.
“What’s yours taste like?” Like you don’t know the answer.
They don’t respond traditionally. Instead, they tighten their double-handed hold on their cone, lifting it to your face.
You don’t deny the offer. Obviously. You collect a dab on your tongue before repeating the same question.
“You just tried some,” they state blatantly.
You’re not put off by their confusion. “Yeah, but I wanna know what it tastes like to you.”
Their shoulders bounce for a moment. You realize, hidden by their palm, they’re smiling.
It makes you smile, too. Child smiles are always contagious.
“It tastes like…” they seem to think for a moment. “Pie.”
You recognize the similarities, specifically in the beige colour. “Pie? Like, mom’s pie?”
You never realized that you used to call two people by the same name. Mom.
“Yeah.”
No further explanation needed.
You’ve stopped licking your ice cream. Instead, you watch their eyes scan your sweet treat. “What’re the bits?”
You scoff, as seriously as you can manage. “What? You weren’t listening to the lady?”
“Not really,” they admit.
“Well, it’s… uh…” you trail on, mind blank with any ideas. “I dunno.”
Your tongue shapes into a scoop, attempting a large lick to collect one of the chunks. It swishes around in your mouth. You’re careful not to bite into it before ensuring all the ice cream’s melted and swallowed.
Your jaw unhinges, as wide as you can go; the small candy resting in the center of the muscle. “‘ere ‘ou go.”
They don’t waste a single moment, getting as close to your face as possible. Their eyes are glued to the treat in question, brain whirring for something to compare it to. You feel their nose brush your bottom lip.
“It’s like a gummy,” they decide to settle on.
“Weally?” You slur. Your tongue pushes the aforementioned gummy between your teeth, intending to cut it in half. For them to try. That was obviously the best solution your child brain could come up with.
Underestimating your strength (and their unmoving proximity), you chomp hard on the chunk. While you expected to bite right through it, the gummy proves itself to, in fact, not be just a gummy, as random spurts of juice explode onto your lips.
…and Kris’ entire face.
They barely flinch, only squinting to avoid getting the sugary liquid in their eyes.
“Oops,” you say earnestly. You swallow the outer gummy shell and instantly reposition your face to inspect the liquid misting their own. Not that you had to move far.
The larger splats have begun dripping down their soft skin. Who knew the small thing could have so much juice in it?
You involuntarily lick your lips. The taste is nice, you think absentmindedly.
“Hold still,” you demand with complete seriousness.
They seem a bit lost when you cup the back of their head. You’re careful to not dislodge their horns (which, now acknowledging, you actually thought they had said appendages when you were younger).
And yeah, you were just a kid. And yeah, it was probably some form of a health violation.
But you, without a drop of hesitation, stick out your tongue to lick up the red droplets from their face. Your gross, sticky tongue. Lapping up their salty skin.
You can literally feel their face morph into a smile. The way their cheekbones lift; the way their eyes begin to crinkle. It’s a weird feeling under your tongue of all things, sure, but it’s become oddly ingrained into your memory. One of those things you can’t forget.
“Stop,” they giggle. And it’s such a lovely sound. You didn’t appreciate it enough back then.
They shove your cheek with their little human hand, rendering your attack immobile. You’re rather defenseless as they seize your own cone, bite into the ice cream (yes, bite), and use their newly attained triple gummies to squirt sweet nectar all across your face. And neck. And shirt.
“Ewww,” you drawl despite your matching grin. You’re somehow drenched. Definitely sticky. Definitely gross.
And, without another word, they’ve begun lapping you up now.
From a bystander, you two’re just mutually, nastily licking. Like you’re trying to eat each other. And yeah, they’re definitely right.
The cones in your hands aren’t forgotten, either. Half of yours is smudged on their jawline while half of theirs is painted across your cheek.
Thank the Angel Noelle’s paying.
Speaking of–
“Eeeaahh!” The deer wallows, pointing an incriminating finger between the two of you. “What happened!? You’re both bleeding!”
And the look Kris gives you. Man, you couldn’t have held back your howl if you tried.
“W-what’s so funny?”
A groggy sound escapes your throat as your eyelids struggle to open.
It’s trippy as balls hearing Noelle’s child voice morph into her deeper, current one. She’s with Susie, and Kris, in an intensely deep conversation about octopus balls. Or something just as riveting as that.
You’re not a spiteful person, but it’s perhaps a smidge, just a tad, eensy weensy bit aggravating to see the trio together. C’mon, Kris and Noelle? When the fuck did they rekindle? Maybe mutuals with Susie? Like hell Susie’s social enough to fix that trainwreck of a falling out–
And oh, just your luck! They’re in the mood for ice cream today, aren’t they? They couldn’t have come an hour earlier, when you weren’t running the stand? How’ve you pissed the Angel off this time?
Noelle, previously far too infatuated with Susie to notice, now realizes who she’s headed right towards.
The alarm is instant. She halts like a deer in headlights (ha.); her eyes engulfed with a million different emotions, all leading back to let’s not go this way, please.
However, Susie ignores the deer’s obvious panic and laces her claws through Noelle’s equivalent to tug her along. All without breaking the doe’s line of sight from you.
Kris, at the very least, pretends to act natural. Walk side by side with Susie. They’re so lucky their bangs cover your view because damn if you could confidently stare them down? You would.
Things’ve changed since you last saw them. You’re not backing down. You’ve grown balls.
Noelle’s noticeably dragging, struggling to keep up her polite smile. You’ve had conversations with her, somewhat recently. More than Kris, but that bar’s in hell. With her, you’re civil at best, snarky at worst. Medium highs and higher lows.
Thank the stars you’re too exhausted to say anything crazy, right? Unless that’s the perfect formula for an unfiltered mess of a dialogue.
“Hey, rooftop,” Susie unwinds her digits from Noelle’s, leaning a large forearm on your stand. What a nickname.
You copy her nonchalance, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. “Yo. You want ice cream?”
Stupid question, but you almost feel inclined to make sure they’re not here to torment you.
“Yeah… what’s the one with all the chunks in it?” She points to one of the colourful rectangles. You almost cringe from the C-word. “Are those marshmallows? Uh, nuts?”
Your heavy restraint stops you from making a deez nuts joke. “Rocky road?”
“Yeah. I’ll have one of those,” she glances over her shoulder. To Noelle. Who’s been staring at you when she thinks you’re distracted. “What’d you want, again?”
When all attention’s on the deer, she freezes up. You can’t tell if you should be disrespected or flattered that she thinks about you this much.
It’s when she says your name. All robotic and forced. That’s what startles you. “I will have mint chocolate chip, please!”
You blink, pausing Susie’s prep mid-scoop. Nice self control. “Don’t you hate that flavour?”
Her facade crumbles instantly. “Oh– god you’re right, wait, uh…”
It’s odd. When she turns into a babbling mess, you feel just a bit looser. Like things aren’t a bit weird.
You exhale through your nose – the closest you’ve gotten to laughing all day. “It’s not like the flavours change every year.”
It’s an educated guess. It’s not like you’d have known.
“Right, right, uhm…” She gains a bit of confidence; she’s waddled up to be at arm's length of the stand. She stands on her tippy… hooves… and tries to peek into the little compartments.
Her brain’s scrambled. You don’t really blame her. You decide to be a good samaritan. “How ‘bout strawberry?”
And that seems to hit an imaginary bell in her brain. Would you look at that? “Yes! That– I’ll have that.”
Hoping to speed up this slightly awkward experience, you turn to Kris. They appear no different than they did five minutes ago. This morning.
“B. scotch?”
They shake their head. “Cherry bomb.”
“Really?” You blurt. And you instantly want to punch yourself in the face for it.
“Mhm.”
You’re so sure you remember agreeing the flavour was way too sweet. The ratio of gummies to ice cream was far in favour of the former. You don’t think you minded, though.
You don’t even know if they liked it! It’s not like they asked for more. Not that you had much more to give. You’re certain it ended up on the pavement.
Whatever, idiot! None of your business.
You don’t dare to peep another word, choosing to occupy yourself with scooping the sweet treat with precision only given to people like Dess. Damn could she bat.
Once you finish with the first two, Susie gives you a look as you hand her Noelle’s cone. Probably wondering why your hands are shaking so bad. To your surprise, Noelle chirps out a thank you and then they’re walking away why’re they walking away–
You’ve never shoveled ice cream so fast in your life. But why? Kris won’t make conversation! What’re you so worried about?
It’s just you and them and you and them and your balls apparently ran off to do shots with Sans and where the hell is he?–
“There ya go,” you say like some shitty customer service worker, practically shoving the treat in their mouth for them. You pretend you feel nothing as their fingers brush yours.
But they’re not leaving.
They’re lingering!
They do not linger. Well, not in the traditional sense.
They don’t even lick their ice cream.
They just… pick out a lone gummy from the top.
And hold it out in their hand to you.
You swallow, preparing as if you have the guts to say anything. Maybe you seem offended, eyebrows furrowed as you glance from their hand to their eyes. You don’t like that you can see their eyes. You’re too close.
You try not to sound irritated. “What, don’t like the bits?”
They cock their head. “You like them, don’t you?”
Your face instantly softens. Fucking damnit.
Because yeah. You do. And you don’t like how they remember that.
You’re slow to take the piece; careful when your fingers move too close to their warm-blooded surface. Maybe you feel something when you accidentally touch. Maybe. But it doesn’t matter what.
You’re not surprised when they instantly leave. It’s not like they’re the type to look back.
Unlike yourself, who's staring at their head like a madman.
Once the trees block your vision, you give up. The counter’s cool against your flaming forehead.
You stare at the gummy, pinched softly between your nails.
You don’t have the heart to eat it.
~*•*~
After Sans comes back, he relieves you of your duties. You’re still not sure why you had to be there an hour before his break, but whatever. More time killed.
You’re sorta lingering around, not entirely sure what to do. It’s not like they gave you a manual on how to help out. So you’re just pretending to look busy so people leave you alone. Like fiddling with decorations. And… actually yeah that’s pretty much it.
The best part about this festival in particular is how much it emphasizes the importance of tight friendships and bonding opportunities. Two things, of which, you currently do not have. Lots of group games. Group activities. Group eating booths.
That last one might not be true. But you swear, shitty food tastes better when you’ve got a group to laugh at it with.
And maybe it’s your low standards, or maybe you’re just feeling particularly lonely right now (after pocketing the gummy instead of eating it). But you decide, after accidentally making eye contact with a certain bluebird in the middle of the street, that… that…
You take a breath. Your ego shrinks. Because c’mon. You’re choosing to talk to Berdly. What’re you doing?
His head zips around every few seconds, as if he’s trying to look for someone. Conspicuously. Failing tremendously, might you add.
When he sees you’re not making a beeline for him just to turn at the last second, he looks like he wants to tell you off. You definitely don’t have the best relationship. And yet, it seems as though he refrains.
“Ah,” he pronounces your name wrong. Damn. “Lost as always, hm?”
You scoff. Your heart’s not really in it. “Says you. You’re the one scanning the place like you’ve committed a crime. Watching out for the police?”
His beak flies open. “Of course not! I’m patiently awaiting my three bachelor/ettes!”
It doesn’t take you more than a moment to realize. “You mean Kris, Susie, and Noelle?”
You’d say he was impressed by the way his eyebrows fly off his head. “What an astute observation coming from… a below-to-mid average student such as yourself!”
“It’s not that difficult to assume.”
He’s practically talking to himself. “Ah, you share many characteristics with Kris! They’d be top of the class with me and Noel– with Noelle and I if they tried.”
You thought this dude was an asshat before. The hell changed?
“It doesn’t assist in your academic journey that you sleep through every lesson,” he continues. “Quite similar to–”
Don’t need to hear the end of that! “Sleep is private time. Stop watching me sleep.”
He gawks. “B… but you sleep in class! You sit right next to me? It’d take an absolute plebian not to notice!”
“How ‘bout you make like a plebian and stop noticing?”
Totally not worth the headache. You’re about to trash-and-ditch, as you’d like to call it, when–
He wraps his feather-coated chicken fingers around your hand. “Wait!”
He almost appears… earnest for a sec. “Wait,” he repeats.
You’re instantly terrified that Kris and Noelle said something to him. About you.
You saw them coming out from the computer lab a few days ago. Seems like they were awfully buddy-buddy. Like… with Berdly. Buddy-buddy. That’s insane.
But then…
“I need you to vote me for king.”
“What?” You rip your hand from his. “No. That whole voting thing’s for, like, kids.”
He’s automatically defensive. “No! It’s a testimony to demonstrate your superior bonds of friendship with your average peers!”
“Am I an average peer?”
“Um,” he pauses. “No. You’re above average. Now vote for me.”
“No.”
His lackluster coolguy persona drops. “You owe me! I allowed you ownership of my notes on Wednesday!”
“Ehm, no, I stole them. And–” Your tongue gets caught between your teeth, a bit unsure if you should be admitting this next part. “–they weren’t even yours. I know they were Noelle’s.”
“Erm, actually, they were replicas of the notes acquired by Mrs. Alphys that Noelle was fulfilling for Kris while they–”
“Really!?” You snap, shaking the bird by the shoulders. “How fucking close are they!? They sure didn’t care to reintroduce me into their rebudding friendship!”
He seems utterly confused at your outburst. It’s not like he was paying attention, either. Something else caught his eye are you fucking kidding me–
“Ah, there they are!” He watches from behind you.
No, nope, you’re done with this. No more bunting banners, no more ice cream, no more Berdly. No more Susie. No more Noelle. No more Kris.
You lightly shake him until his eyes are set on yours, panic strung through your fingers. “Okay, Berdly. I’ll vote for you as king and queen. Have a good day!”
And you really try to leave. You really do. But he tugs you back like a man– boy set on a mission.
“Uhm, actually!” He somehow seems more stressed than you. “I only need the king vote. I am a king. Not a queen.”
You very unsubtly whip your head to the trio. They’re gaining on you. “Yeah, okay! I’ll do whatever you want! Just let me go!”
That seems to strike a realization in him. “Erm, I also need those notes back.’
“You said they weren’t yours!”
“I mean the ones from Monday, not Wednesday. Also maybe Tuesday’s and last Friday’s– not this Friday but last Friday–”
“Yes, Berdly, I’ll give you every note I’ve ever had! In fact, you can take all of mine, too!”
“No, I don’t want your inferior– I mean, I don’t need your notes, I want mine–”
“Fine! Yes! All your notes! Given!”
He taps his beak. “Actually, you can keep some in exchange for an exquisite walk around the festival.”
The bird waggles his eyebrows. You’re about to go off on him, when you hear a pair snickering behind you.
It’s Susie and Noelle. They’re laughing at your pain.
Kris isn’t emoting nearly as much as them (or at all), but you swear you see a twitch at the edge of their lip every few seconds.
However, Berdly’s got other priorities; he steals the spotlight rather quickly. “Ah, if it isn’t my three potential partners.”
Whatever. As long as the attention’s off of you.
You’re not really listening to his speech. It’s long, drawn, dramatic. You’d prefer to just… rest your eyes. They’re all too occupied to notice, anyways.
There was a festival morning. Not nearly as grueling as this one.
You’re at the Dreemurr’s, planted right at their front steps, not quite listening to Toriel’s own speech about having fun and staying safe alongside Kris and Noelle. You’re too busy watching Dess and Azzy.
They’re together at the end of the driveway, huddled like they can’t help but share the same bubble. You’re not quite sure what proximity like that means, but you know it means something different. Something else.
She’s showing him something on her phone, right before intertwining her fingers with his.
It feels natural; the way your body’s inclined to act on impulse. You’re grazing Kris’ hand before slithering your digits between theirs. Nothing about their expression changes. But you feel their fingers rest between your knuckles. It’s just so right.
“Can I go with Kris this year?” You peep, directing your question to Toriel. You feel their hand tighten.
She almost instantly swoons, ruffling your head like you’ve just asked the cutest question imaginable. “Of course! You three go together every year!”
You’re not sure what the feeling is, but you feel inclined to look away. “But like… I mean like… how Dess and Azzy go every year… together…”
Any emotion from her face vanishes in an instant.
Instead, she’s calling out to the aforementioned two, who’re too busy giggling to prepare for her anger. “The HELL are you teaching these two?”
Asriel’s entire body morphs into fight or flight (definitely flight), scrambling for an explanation, even a question.
Thankfully, December comes in for the save. “Nothing inappropriate, ma’am!”
But she sounds far too cocky for it to reign anything but false.
Despite that, Toriel decides to take it. She flips some internal switch; smile wider than she can manage. “Okay! Have fun! Do not make bad decisions!”
The latter’s not directed to you. But that’s not what you’re focused on.
You’re still holding hands.
Back then, you wouldn’t know what a shiteating grin looked like. Dess’ own actually might’ve been the first you’ve ever seen.
She calls for her little sister with intentions horribly impure, leaving you and the little human alone on their porch.
When the three are out of view, you’re shifting closer to their heat, whispering in their ear. “Okay. How about, this year, you climb on top of the ferris wheel thingy–” the gondola, “–and I’ll sit in it and I see how long I can shake the thing until you fall off.”
They already seem on board. “We’re gonna get banned again,” they smile. It’s rather contradicting with the assumed concern of their words.
“Then we gotta do it fast.”
And you watch each other for a moment. Formulating more ideas through your telepathic minds. Your grin grows a bit too big for your small face.
It’s sad. You have the face for a big smile now.
You don’t hide how intently you’re staring at Kris. You don’t know when they started mirroring you, but they’re gazing right back. It’s hard to care. How many times has this happened today?
Berdly’s practically white noise. You only stop to glance when he shifts from Susie to Kris– from Susie to Kris.
Oh hell no. That better not mean what you think it means.
“Kris…” he coos. “Kris cross applesauce–”
Before Susie can interject, you’re yanking him by the back of his shirt. “No.”
Because screw that. Like hell you’re gonna let them get close with Berdly of all fucking people.
Like hell you’re gonna let them get close with anyone before whatever the fuck happened fixes itself.
And of course all eyes dart to you! Of course you look like a psycho for– you’re actually saving them from future years of torment! Why’s everyone staring at you like you’re crazy!?
Kris doesn’t look at you like you’re stupid. Their eyes widen ever so slightly.
Your teeth clench, as if saying ‘don’t you dare’.
Don’t you dare what? Who knows!
Too late to back down now!
…actually, what do you do now?
Susie’s the first to move, snaking an… octo-ball from her pocket. There’s little hairs and furs and lint sticking out of it.
She displays it to you like it’s a million dollars. “Want it?”
You’re too lost to say anything other than: “Okay.”
They all watch as she tosses it to you. You chomp on it slowly. The lint instantly gets stuck in your teeth. Or is that the hair?
Noelle’s almost more confused than you. “Didn’t you eat yours, Susie?”
“I did,” she admits, like it’s a felony. “Then Kris stole another one. And I stole it from them.”
“Kris? You wanted another one?”
Before they can interject, Susie’s shrugging her shoulders.
“Of course they didn’t,” she waits for the second half to enter your mouth before continuing. “It was gonna end up with rooftop anyways.”
And you’re practically choking to death.
You’re not sure what’s more multicoloured: their rosy cheeks or your face from lack of oxygen.
~*•*~
Some kid stole the balloons from one of the trees. Of course it was one of your trees. That means you’re legally responsible. And it’s hardly an hour past noon. Who’s out here stealing before the festival hits its peak? Does it even have a peak?
You’d like to think the hooligans would only come out at dusk. Hooligans? Did you really just say hooligans?
Sure, you might have the same sleep schedule as someone in their eighties – sleep for sixteen hours and take little naps between – but you didn’t think you’d start talking like them until your, like, thirtieth birthday. There’s not much hope to go around.
Due to your amazing star-child track record, you felt awfully obligated to go get replacements. At the Church. It’s rather out of place of the festival’s whole vibe.
While the sun crisps up the top of your head, your eyes don’t immediately dilate at the dark foyer. There’s a few tables to your left; the vague shape of bowls displayed on their surfaces. You think there’s someone further in front of you, maybe someone to your right?
It doesn’t really matter. Get in, get out.
Not only are you partially blinded, you’re also mid-eye-rub, stepping blindly towards the storage room. There’s a sound, maybe a thump above you, and–
“Gyyah!” You shriek.
Someone’s dropped in front of you dangling on a string and you’re trying to get your brain up to speed but you’re too exhausted to think straight–
Your feet do all the decision-making, stumbling over one another, right into the unexpected guest behind you.
Fate tests you, and it tests you hard.
The moment you smell that apple shampoo, the moment you feel their hands hover near your shoulders in an obvious attempt to help you right yourself, you instantly cower away, shuffling to one of the tables with the… blood juice.
Alphys – the one hanging from the string, dressed as a vampire? – stutters your name in a confused panic. “I d-didn’t think I’d see you here, hehe…”
Well, her priorities are certainly in check.
“Yeah, I just…” you start, but don’t find yourself continuing.
It’s the trio (woah, really?), all previously distracted with Catti’s fortune-teller table. You’re assuming. Judging by the way Susie’s finger’s only a few moments from tapping the cat’s crystal ball.
Kris is oddly far from the pair, though. Closer to you, the middle of the foyer; their hands still slightly raised from your quick departure.
“That–” your voice cracks. “That wasn’t… uh, I wasn’t trying to– I didn’t see you. There. My, uh, my bad.”
Why’re you trying to explain your very natural reaction to getting spooked?
It’s not like you scare easily. You’re really not on your A-game.
“Haha, don’t worry. It got me, too,” Noelle chirps from her safe distance, offering a rather understanding smile. “Memorized every scare here. Guess we both didn’t expect anything new this year, huh?”
‘Expect anything new this year’. Fucking hell.
She hasn’t even noticed you haven’t attended this stupid festival in the last, like, decade? Really?
Some friend she is.
Your fists… unclench.
Guess you can’t really call her that.
“Sorry,” you say to no one in particular, staring at your feet like you’re some timid moron.
You retreat past the floating Alphys, squeezing into the storage room and shutting the door with more aggression than you’d rather they hear.
The trio doesn’t seem as thoughtful, though. You can hear their murmurs through the door. It’s a chore to try to tune them out.
The place is filled to the brim with boxes. It’s rather apparent that they didn’t have the time to keep it all organized before the big day.
You scan through the first few, only rummaging into decor-themed boxes. First, second, third, and on your fourth, you find it. A half-empty plastic ziplock of balloons.
You didn’t kill nearly as much time as you wanted to. What if they’re still outside?
They’re not. You heard them spout their goodbyes.
Maybe you just want to kill time for yourself. It’s not like anyone’s looking for the balls of air, anyways.
You contemplate sitting on the floor, but decide against it. Bits of glitter and confetti’re already stuck to the bottom of your shoes.
As if beckoning you, you glance to the piano bench. You feel it staring back.
Begrudgingly (and thoughtlessly), you take a seat. Memories that’ll spark, feelings that’ll emerge. You don’t feel like dealing with that. You don’t ever do.
And yet, you find yourself resting your arms on the keys, pressing just lightly enough to hear the jumble of notes play. You’re the only one who gets to listen.
Your head falls on your nest of arms. And you close your eyes.
You had much more space to shuffle on the bench, having been half the size. But it didn’t matter; you still sat shoulder to shoulder. You were both small, despite this being one of your later memories.
You can’t really remember why you’re here. You think they’re practicing for their festival performance. You don’t think you asked. You just wanted to hear them play, to be honest.
Their fingers, nothing compared to the bulk of the keys, press with a practiced confidence. Something you rarely see from them.
Not that they don’t display ego at times, but you’re pretty sure they don’t intentionally do it.
You wait until after they finish to praise them. “Cool song,” you press the keys, completing a clunky c-scale. “What other ones do you know?”
Either you’re horrible at hiding your true intent, or they’re really good at reading you. “Know how to do ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’?”
Just the question alone gets you excited. “Nope.”
Their left hand disappears behind their body. When they gesture to their right hand, you hold your own up with purpose.
Their fingers envelop your wrist, guiding you to a placement two octaves from their own. Your thumb rests on the C.
“You ready?” They return to their own position.
“Mhm.”
Their thumb presses the note twice. C note. Their eyes drift to your own, waiting for you to copy. You do.
The rest continues en suite. Your notes follow like an echo to their own.
Once you run through it together, they silently urge you to play it again, without them. You try.
A few notes off – an A instead of a G, an E instead of an F – but it sounds recognizable to the source material.
Stubborn as ever, you play through it again. You pause a few times, but you don’t press any wrong notes. Feels good.
“Okay,” you pretend you’re not beaming with pride. “What’s next?”
“Next step up?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m ready.”
Somewhere near their feet, they bust out some insane looking sheet music. Notes you’ve never seen before, shapes you’ve never seen before. Just based on their struggle to keep a straight face, you scoff. But you don’t back down.
“Ehm, how ‘bout you play through once? And I’ll do the thing where I’ll learn by listening,” you offer, as if you have the right to negotiate.
They feed into your bullshit. You wouldn’t have called it that back then; you’d have called it a ‘joke’. “Playing by ear?”
“Yeah. I got it,” you ready yourself with your misplaced confidence.
You can tell they’re not taking you seriously.
They abruptly start playing, both hands heavily involved. You pretend to mimic their hand placement at your comfortable two octaves higher. It’s definitely not working. You have no idea what you’re doing.
Your smile only grows when you notice their speed increase. Oh, yeah. You’re absolutely lost.
But then, their composed music starts to deform, and you realize they’ve just started (lightly) smashing the keys at random.
You copy their spam of notes, piano deafening to the listening ear.
And yet, you hear them laugh. It’s louder than anything in the room.
To you, at least.
Maybe only to you.
It’s so unbelievably contagious.
Or it’s only contagious to you.
You slow your clutter when you hear them play the lowest note on the piano.
You copy an equivalent, playing the highest.
But they keep playing it.
You’re confused. This isn’t how the memory goes.
The sound bleeds through your ears until you realize it’s not just in your mind.
You barely shift your head. You leave just a small enough peephole above your arms to see who’s trying to ruin your peaceful, much needed rest.
You don’t have it in you to act surprised anymore.
Kris stands at the edge of the piano, watching you wake up.
Much of your face is shielded, but you’re sure they can make out your furrowed eyebrow.
Their finger falls from the note, back to their side. “That’s not good for your back.”
You’re still woozy. “What?”
They give just the slightest of nods. “Slouching over like that.”
You’re instantly peeved. Oh, come on. They’re hunched over, knocked out in class, like, every day. “Says you, zombie.”
And you instantly want to take it back. Because you’re not close enough to make a joke like that anymore.
You pretend to take their advice, lifting into a half-assed sitting position. “Sorry.”
They don’t seem offended. They don’t seem anything.
You watch their eyes drift to your hands that naturally rest on the piano. Said hands instantly go to your lap.
But they’re not leaving.
“Where’s Susie and Noelle?” You ask. Out of courtesy, for the most part. You don’t really want to know.
Their gaze refuses to leave your fists. “Holding hands in the eyeball bowl.”
They either came back as a group, or Kris is straight up lying to you. Either way, you can’t help but laugh. “Didn’t they ban that specifically?”
They hum. You heard it from adults this morning. Weird subject to eaves drop on, but it’s all you could find that was semi-interesting.
“That’s not as surprising as it should be,” you continue. “Az and Dess did some nasty finger shit in there–”
And your mouth zips shut tight.
Is stating their names a violation of the unnamed policy? Lighting the already-crossed line on fire?
But they don’t falter. In fact, their lip tilts up, just enough. You know you’d be the only one to notice. Like the weirdo you are. “You sound like Catti.”
“The hell did Catti do now?”
“She hates Susie,” they shrug. “Something about corrupting Noelle.”
It’s not a great feeling. To not understand the dynamics that Kris talks so casually about. But you pretend to get it.
“Oh, Noelle,” you coo. “Such a pure soul. Far too pure for Catti, though. Or Susie,” from what you can gauge from watching her. “Or you.”
To your unhideable shock, they perch on the edge of the bench. Yeah, as far as they can be from you, but they sit nonetheless. “Or you.”
You’re surprised to even be a part of the equation.
They glance past you, to the floor. To the box next to your feet. Right.
“Dad ask for help?” They ask. They’re starting a lot of conversations. More than you’re used to.
You also can’t tell if they’re asking about the crate specifically, or about the entire day itself. “Didn’t want to, but yeah. Could be doing more important things right now.”
“Like sleeping?”
You sigh dreamily. “Yeah. Like sleeping.”
They seem to hesitate for a moment. It’s nice to know they’re just as unsure as you are. About any of it. About all of it.
They settle on: “Don’t let me stop you.”
You waver. But it’s Kris. You don’t know how to say no to Kris. You never did, you never do, and you never will.
You rest your head again, mimicking your attentiveness from when you first got to this hoarder’s paradise. And you close your eyes.
Sleep approaches quickly. Right before you let it take you, cocooning you in its wanted grace, you hear that same song.
The one for the festival. The one meant for an audience.
But this time, it’s just for you.
~*•*~
You awake with the most grueling back pain. It travels from your tailbone right up to your neck. Guess you should’ve listened, after all.
There’s a tissue resting on the music rack. It blankets a red gummy.
You dig for the one in your pocket, only to bring it up to your eyes. It’s sticky, covered with little fabric hairs. You’re sure there’s an unpleasant residue waiting for you where you kept it.
You pop them both in your mouth. The juices coat your tongue like a warm hug.
The festival’s practically over. You spent the last few hours in your own head.
With empty streets and emptier thoughts, all you can think of is the ferris wheel.
Your trek there is short, efficient. You ignore one of the pole’s bald spots. Could’ve definitely used a balloon or two.
As you stand at the base of the contraption, all you can think is: Damn. It’s a lot bigger than you remember.
You break off a lone branch from one of the surrounding trees, keeping it with you throughout your mission. Behind the booth sits a few buttons and levers. It doesn’t take you long to press the right ones, ultimately pulling the latter to get it moving.
Its spin is slow and aged. You wait for the next gondola to appear at your feet, hopping into its unlocked side door.
When your ride hits the halfway mark, you hang out the open hatch, aiming your stick at the booth’s protected lever. Once you cross the three-quarter mark, you toss it violently.
It whacks the lever with enough pressure to just lodge it over from on to off. You’ve got a stronger throw than you thought, ‘cause wow you didn’t think that’d work.
After you’re certain you’ve hit your peak, you crawl back into your gondola, leaving the door open a crack because you know you’ll find some dumb way to get locked inside.
You’re above the trees, in view of the horizon. The sun swims in oceans of red, orange, and pink hues. It’s beautiful.
You sit yourself on the uncomfortable metal benches, resting your head against the hard frame of the heart.
Your eyes drift shut. This would be such a good time for another nap.
Maybe you’d dream about the times Kris would rock the seats. Or when they’d manage to jam the machine so you’d get stuck at the top for half an hour. You can hide from everyone up here.
Maybe you want to think about those moments, whether involuntary or not.
But as you phase in and out of consciousness, you can feel your sleep to be dreamless.
And it just… ruins it all.
You’ve seen Kris more in the past twenty four hours than you have in the past couple years. And now, when you’re too tired? That’s when you can’t spark up a single memory that your brain wants to dream about?
And not only that, but you feel like you’re being watched. You can knock yourself out in minutes, sure, but not when you’re paranoid.
You turn your back to the sunset. Towards the trees.
There’s a tuft of brown hair hanging over the heart’s arch, framing those damn beautiful red eyes–
You better shut your corny ass up.
And yeah, you scream. Much louder than you did in the church. It’s like your thoughts summoned them to your location.
From what you can see, they don’t react. But there’s just the slightest raise (lower?) in their cheekbones. Your pulse quickens, for some reason.
They disappear, retreating back to the top. You don’t feel the metal groan from the relieved pressure of their departure. But then again, you didn’t hear them get on, either. So who knows?
There’s two distinct taps on the roof. A fingernail to the frame.
You exhale, long and measured. Your day’s already been fucked as is. Might as well make it worse.
And you sorta hate yourself for thinking that. You would’ve said the exact opposite years ago.
The idea of interacting with them feels like so much work. But… not them, specifically.
You think you like it when they go out of their way to see you.
Maybe.
But it’s been so long.
Has nothing changed? Has any of it changed?
You’re both so different.
How different could you really be?
You climb out the side door effortlessly, as you’ve done a million times before. Instead of hearing your conjoined parents holler for you two to come down, there’s nothing but trees waiting at your feet.
They watch you settle on the opposite arch. You refuse to look in their general direction.
“That’s not how you play.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”
They criss-cross their legs, leaning back on their palms. “Didn’t feel you rock it once.”
You don’t like how easy it is for them to bum you out. At least this time, it feels like you’re more mad at yourself than you are at them.
You pull your legs to your chest. “Where’s Susie and Noelle?”
Better question. Why do you keep asking?
“Off doing stuff.”
And c’mon. You can’t help but flush at the implication. “Not like that, right?”
Out of the corner of your vision, you can see their fingers bunch into a tight fist. “Not like that.”
You feel shitty for even asking. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
You don’t even know why they’re here. You don’t know why you’re okay with them being here. It’s probably their voice. Maybe their presence.
Doing nothing. Doing something.
It doesn’t really matter to you. You feel indulgent.
Before tomorrow comes and you’re both back to normal.
“How was your day?” You ask, hoping they don’t think you’re being disingenuous.
They pause. You might’ve thrown them off.
“Good.”
“Yeah?”
“Noelle and Susie seemed to have fun.” If you were anywhere close to making eye contact, they’d have broken it instantly. “They did most of the games.”
You find yourself staring at the side of their head. Greedily. “But did you have fun?”
“Sure.”
“‘Sure’?” They can totally feel your gaze.
They drum their fingers on the frame. “Forgot how many duo games there are.”
“Damn,” you sigh, partially feigning sympathy. The other half? Couldn’t tell you. “Third wheel?”
“Somewhat.”
“I mean, I can't tell if I’d rather be left out of a trio or straight up have no one to go with at all! Haha… ha..”
Wow, nice joke. Really funny! You couldn’t have sounded more pathetic.
That’s when they turn their head to you. Curiosity? Confusion? Maybe just a hint of alarm?
You break it, glaring straight ahead. No need to look over anymore.
You kick your feet off the ledge, hoping to get a nice breeze on your calves. But your knees bend over the end, feet flush against the glass.
Your feet were never long enough to go over the edge before. It’s a weird feeling.
…
Fuck.
You push down the bile rising up your throat. “I think I hate this festival.”
“Why?”
“Why not? It’s just another reminder that this town’s smaller than a dime. Why’re we– they pretending nothing’s changed? We all know she’s gone. No one’s moved on. One less than ten isn’t the same as one less than a hundred.”
Woah, there. You’ve gotta slow down.
“There aren’t ten people in town.”
But they’re not even treating you seriously. “Might as well be!”
“Have you moved on?” They accuse. Neutral as ever.
Your voice gets caught in your throat. You recover quickly. “More than most!”
They give you the most earnest look you’ve ever seen. It doesn’t feel right.
“Then why aren’t we friends?”
Oh, what an attack!
That you’re not!
Going to!
Respond to!
What could you say to that? There’s nothing you could say!
You shuffle away like they’re leaking poisonous gas and oh right! You’re on the heart’s slope!
You start sliding fast, legs taking a dive for the ground, arms thrashing like you’re a drowning baby, when–
Kris’ hands latch around both your biceps, carrying you with the sole will of their determination. And all you can think is damn, they’re stronger than you thought.
Which is not the right thoughts to be having right now!
You’re sure you look like a flailing idiot, but even they look far too relaxed for someone who’s slipping by the minute.
And they continue as if this isn’t happening!
“Maybe everyone’s pretending nothing’s changed because they have moved on.”
You squeeze their biceps, only to skid a bit further. “Then, I don’t know, they’re lying to themselves!”
And yet, their eyes. It’s like they really want to tell you.
Their mouth remains sealed. But they give you a quick shake of the head.
And, for some reason, knowing that…
…gives you relief.
Wow.
You’re not the only one stuck in the past.
You can’t believe you just admitted that to yourself.
You feel their grip weaken even more.
That’s when you start really panicking.
“Well, maybe we aren’t friends because I thought you didn’t wanna be around me after it all went down!”
Their mouth’s thrown agape.
And you slip from their grasp like butter.
But adrenaline’s got your back, baby! You use whatever grip on their arm you can manage to tug yourself up, delaying your fall.
Great! Now all you need to do is–
Your fingers dig into their sweater.
Right next to their soul.
And you’re dragging them off the gondola like a sacrifice.
As you’re both falling, you watch their shock contort into panic. Yeah, you kinda butchered that one pretty bad.
All you can do now is close your eyes.
This is the end.
You’re gonna die after admitting your life’s biggest secret.
Something you hold so close, so dear.
To the person you’d rather have never known.
It was probably selfish to think it; that they specifically went out of their way to remove you from their life. Especially when you knew they were struggling.
They were all struggling, weren’t they?
You were, too.
Even if you didn’t know December too well.
You still felt it.
The emptiness.
The lack of closure.
And now, you–
“Uuf.”
Your backside slams against the dirt, lungs slightly winded. There’s a silent (still heavy) weight that falls on top of you like you’re some specially made pillow.
As you groan, lids shut from the pain zapping through your bones, you feel a shadow crowd over you.
You squint. It’s Kris, practically sprawled over your body, arms bracketing you. You can feel their breath on your lips.
You’re close enough to watch the red engulf their face as they try to leap away, but–
“Wait!” You tug at their shoulders, positioning them right back over you. You just don’t want them to bolt.
The flames spread down their neck. You bite your tongue. “Are you okay?”
“Are you okay?” They echo, sounding slightly out of character.
Your eyes drift closed. Because you can feel the rounds of laughter rise up your chest.
You’re the only one laughing. You might be crying, too. It’s hard to tell.
You only catch their confusion before they force themself back into neutrality.
“Did you mean to push everyone away after it happened? Or were you just doing that because everyone else was, too?”
They don’t answer. You didn’t really expect them too.
“Bad question,” you croak, releasing your tight fists from their sweater.
After a second of debate, they get up. But they choose to sit next to your corpse-like body instead of retreating into the forest. You’re not sure how they’re not in excruciating pain right now, but you think you can take two for the team.
“Noelle hasn’t moved on,” they comment randomly.
“Duh,” you caw rather bluntly, throat crackling from mucus. “That was her sister.”
There’s a moment of silence before you reach for their leg. Just to rest your palm under their warmth. “Did you go willingly? To the festival, I mean.”
“I don’t willingly go anywhere.”
You cackle at that. “Yeah, but that’s because school sucks. And it’s not fun when people talk to you as if they know you.”
You don’t need them to say you’re right to show they agree.
They poke at your fingers like they’re alien sausages. “Mom makes me go.”
“Yeah, that checks out.”
The sun’s practically gone. You watch the empty, black sky like it has something to offer.
They lay next to you. The entire lengths of your arms sit snug against each other.
You’re about to say something else, when their hand brushes your hip. You totally weren’t about to throw hands when they start digging through your pant pocket. Their fingers escape; between their index and middle lies a key. Definitely not your key.
Oh, yeah. You forgot to return that.
“Wanna go grab free ice cream?” You offer mindlessly, voice slightly hoarse. “Apparently, I still have the key to the cart’s top.”
They look at you like you’re a genius.
“Or we take the whole cart.”
You gasp. “Damn, you’re right. Even better.”
~~~
and then they make out the end
this whole fic takes place over a day and i dont think ive ever done a fic contained to 24 hours bruh im surprised i got enough out of it. also first time writing sans yooo
I love doing fics where reader is just going through the fucking ringer like bros struggling HARD in this one and its only them like get over it LOLOL
lowkey the mood was all over the place like sad one minute goofy the next but i tried to mix them nicely I HOPE U ENJOYED I HAVE ANOTHER ASK THAT I ALR WANNA DO SO WAIT ON THAT I GUESS ??? OR SEND ME ONE AND HOPE I LATCH ON LEECH STYLE LMAOOO LOVE U GUYS OK BYE <<<3<3<33333
⋆˖ blocking sae after an argument, part 2 (ｰ̀⤙ｰ́ ) 🗯️
⨳ 𝓬𝔀/𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼: read part 1 here, angst to fluff, relationship conflict, miscommunication & reconciliation, sae being absolutely chalant, brief smut towards the end, not proofread sorry ⸝⸝ 5.7k wc ✩ art by sae0o
it’s been five days, and the silence was starting to feel unbearable.
you kept yourself busy with work, with errands, with anything that made the hours pass faster. anything to stop yourself from thinking about him. but every notification still made your heart leap out of habit— the disappointment hits all over again when you remember you had blocked him everywhere.
which meant no updates.
no calls.
no little ‘read’ beneath your messages to tell you he’d seen them.
you told yourself it was better this way; that silence hurt less than waiting for him to disappoint you again.
but at night, when the apartment grew too quiet and your bed felt far too big, you would stare at the darkened screen of your phone and wonder if he was okay… or if he even missed you at all.
your thumb had hovered over his contact more times than you could count, guilt settling heavily inside your chest whenever you considered unblocking him. but something always held you back. pride, hurt, exhaustion— whatever it was, it kept you frozen, staring at his contact name as though it could somehow answer all the questions you were too afraid to seek.
—
on the other side of the world, sae was losing his mind.
five days of complete silence.
five days of his messages failing to deliver. five days of his calls going straight to voicemail. five days of not knowing what you were doing, or what you’d been up to since you had blocked him everywhere else too.
and yet, every morning before training, he'd find himself opening your chat anyway. he'd type out another message, watch the familiar ‘not delivered’ appear beneath it, then lock his phone with a quiet click before heading to practice. every night, he'd call out of habit despite already knowing it would go straight to voicemail. by the fifth day, he had memorized the automated voicemail greeting.
he sat on the edge of the bed in his hotel room, one hand resting against the back of his neck as he stared down at his phone, looking more worn out than usual. he was exhausted from training, irritated from the lack of sleep, while still carrying the weight of the upcoming matches. but none of it compared to the frustration & unease gnawing at him over the way things had fallen apart between you two.
“tch… this is annoying,” he muttered under his breath, brows furrowed deeply.
truthfully, he knew he had fucked up.
he knew his replies had been getting shorter, his attention split between training & the growing pressure of the upcoming matches. but the fact that you had deliberately cut him off completely—blocking him as though he were nothing more than another inconvenience—still felt like a punch to the gut. as much as it pissed him off, he knew he had no one to blame but himself.
and when you told him you were done, he had realized a second too late just how far he had pushed you up to that point.
he'd spent the first few days convincing himself that you simply needed space. if he kept forcing his way back in, you'd only resent him more; so he'd waited. he'd given you room to breathe, hoping you'd unblock him when you were ready. but by the fifth day, the silence no longer felt like space. it felt more like distance.
and for the first time in a long time, he found himself genuinely afraid that if he kept waiting, he'd lose you.
sae picked up his phone again, staring at the blank screen as though something might magically change if he looked at it long enough. then, with a sharp exhale, he stood and began pacing across the room.
“… fine,” he breathed, his frustration gradually hardening into determination. “if you’re not gonna answer, then i’ll make sure you can’t ignore me.”
the next morning, a series of knocks startled you awake.
you rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you made your way towards the front door, expecting a neighbor or perhaps a delivery meant for someone else. instead when you pulled it open, you were met with an enormous bouquet wrapped in crisp ivory paper, the pale pink tulips peeking out from between lush greenery, alongside a small ribbon-tied gift bag that was held carefully by a delivery man. you blinked in confusion as you signed for the items, a strange rush of nerves settling beneath your ribs.
tucked between the flowers was a small cream-colored card, a message printed neatly across the front.
i know you’re upset, but i’m not letting you disappear on me that easily.
open the box.
- sae
with unsteady hands, you reached into the gift bag and pulled out a small velvet box.
inside was a delicate necklace that looked far too expensive to have been chosen on impulse— a fine platinum chain with a custom pendant resting at its center. it has a miniature soccer ball encrusted with tiny pavé diamonds intertwined with a polished heart, a single larger diamond catching the light where the two charms met. when you carefully turned the pendant over, you found a few words engraved across the back in fine lettering:
‘no distance changes us.’
your vision blurred almost instantly.
you clutched the necklace against your chest, your thumb tracing over the engraving as though you needed proof that it was real. the last bit of anger you had been desperately holding onto began to crumble around the edges.
then, a few seconds later, another knock sounded through the apartment.
when you opened the door again, a second delivery man stood outside holding a paper bag from morethan bakery(which was your favorite bakery)— the familiar logo stamped across the front while the warm scent of butter & sugar somehow escaped through the neatly folded top.
“delivery for [y/n]?” he asked, glancing down at the receipt.
“y-yes, that’s me,” you answered, still struggling to blink away the tears gathering along your lashes.
after thanking him, you carried everything inside and carefully laid the enormous bouquet across the coffee table before opening the pastry box. inside were your favorite butter croissants, golden and flaky; still warm enough for their rich, buttery scent to fill your entire apartment almost immediately.
you simply stood there in stunned disbelief, letting everything sink in.
only after the initial shock began to settle did you carefully lift the necklace from its velvet box and fasten it around your neck. once the clasp clicked into place, your fingertips immediately found the pendant, pressing against it as though you could somehow feel closer to him through the tiny charm.
it felt exactly like something sae would do— express everything he couldn’t put into words through one carefully chosen gift, finding a way to reach you without demanding that you answer.
you took a small bite of the croissant, chewing slowly as your eyes drifted towards your phone lying beside the box.
for five days, you had convinced yourself that silence was easier than another half-hearted reply, easier than another reminder that loving someone across different time zones could sometimes feel lonelier than being alone.
but now, with an enormous bouquet of your favorite flowers spread across your coffee table & his necklace resting warmly against your skin, your resolve felt weaker than ever.
your thumb hovered over his contact again.
this time, you didn’t stop yourself.
*unblock*
for a few seconds, you remained on the screen, staring at his contact as though something might suddenly change.
but nothing did.
well, of course it didn’t. any messages he might have sent while he was blocked wouldn’t magically appear now that you unblocked him. still, you hated the pang of disappointment that crept inside you.
you didn’t even know what you had been hoping for. perhaps some impossible flood of missed messages, some proof that he had spent the past five days trying to reach you. some sign that the silence had indeed hurt him too.
then a bitter thought slipped into your mind.
he could’ve found some ridiculous way to reach you if he truly wanted to. spotify, shared notes, or even a new account made solely to get through to you. and yet, deep down, you knew sae well enough to know that if he had kept pushing— you probably would’ve hated that too.
a quiet exhale slipped past your lips, carrying some of the tension with it. before you could talk yourself out of it, you opened your chat with him & stared at the empty space beneath your last conversation.
your fingers moved before you could think too much.
[ 9:15 am ] you: i got them.
you stared at the message.
then deleted it.
[ 9:15 am ] you: thank you.
deleted.
[ 9:16 am ] you: sae, i—
deleted again.
you let out a shaky breath, pressing your lips together as frustration and longing tangled painfully inside your chest.
then, as though summoned by the thought of him, your phone buzzed.
your heart nearly stopped when you saw who the message was from.
[ 9:17 am ] sae ♡: did you receive it yet?
for a moment, you could only stare at the screen.
the timing was so coincidental that it almost felt as though he had been waiting on the other side the entire time, watching for the second you'd finally let him back in.
[ 9:18 am ] you: yeah…
three dots appeared almost immediately.
then disappeared.
then re-appeared again.
[ 9:18 am ] sae ♡: good.
you swallowed hard, glancing down at the necklace.
of course.
of course he would say it like that, as though he hadn’t just arranged for some of your favorite things to be delivered to your doorstep even while he was at an entirely different country.
[ 9:19 am ] you: you’re unbelievable.
his reply came only a few seconds later.
[ 9:19 am ] sae ♡: can’t believe you blocked my email too. seriously, my email?
you covered your mouth as a breathless giggle slipped out before you could suppress it. you couldn’t believe he had noticed that too.
[ 9:20 am ] you: well, i was mad. and you could’ve tried spotify.
[ 9:20 am ] sae ♡: spotify? we’re able to text people there now?
[ 9:21 am ] sae ♡: and i get it. you had every right to be mad.
your fingers hovered over the screen, but before you could respond, another message came through.
[ 9:22 am ] sae ♡: can we call for a bit?
your throat tightened.
for a second, you only stared at the message, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears. then your gaze flickered towards the time at the top of the screen.
9:22 am.
which meant it was a little past two in the morning for him.
your brows knitted together as the realization made something ache inside your chest.
[ 9:23 am ] you: aren’t you supposed to be asleep?
his reply came almost instantly.
[ 9:23 am ] sae ♡: yes
[ 9:23 am ] you: sae…
[ 9:24 am ] sae ♡: just answer the call.
before you could type anything else, his name lit up your screen.
incoming call from ‘sae ♡’
your thumb stalled over the green button before you finally answered.
the line connected instantly, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. all you could hear was the faint static of the call, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, and your own pulse beating far too quickly beneath your skin.
then his voice came through, low and rough with exhaustion.
“… you’re wearing it?”
your hand immediately rose to the necklace.
you hated how easily he knew.
“… how would you even know that?” you mumbled, hating how quickly your voice softened.
“because i know you,” he answered simply.
you blinked.
“w-well…” your lips pressed together as you struggled to keep your composure.
“… you’re not asleep?” you asked, changing the subject almost immediately. “it’s two in the morning there, sae.”
“couldn’t sleep.”
“because of training?”
“no…” he answered after a moment, the silence stretching around the word.
your chest tightened.
“then… because of me?”
he didn’t answer straight away.
then, quietly, he said, “because of us.”
your heart softened at the weight of his confession. you looked down at the half-eaten croissant in front of you, at the bouquet of tulips spread messily across your coffee table, at all the little reminders of him scattered throughout your apartment as though he had somehow filled the room without even being there.
“you know… you really didn’t have to send all of this,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the pendant.
“i did.”
“sae…”
“you wouldn’t answer me.”
“because i was still hurt.”
“i know.”
his usual composure held, though something unguarded had begun to surface. “… i know,” he repeated, sounding more vulnerable the second time.
“i made you feel like you were asking for too much,” he continued, his grip tightening slightly around the phone. “and i shouldn’t have said what i said. i was tired & irritated, but that’s not an excuse.”
you swallowed hard, your eyes stinging at his words.
“you made me feel like i was bothering you,” you admitted, your voice beginning to tremble. “like wanting to hear from my own boyfriend was an inconvenience.”
sae didn’t answer immediately. for once, he allowed your words to settle instead of rushing to defend himself.
“i know you’re busy,” you continued, your fingertips catching the tears before you even realized you were crying. “i know how much your training and matches matter to you. but sometimes, it felt like i was always waiting for whatever pieces of you were left at the end of the day.”
his breathing shifted faintly through the speaker. “i didn’t realize it had gotten that bad.”
“well… it did.”
a long pause followed before he finally spoke again, the usual firmness gone from his voice.
“… i’m really sorry,” he breathed, guilt weighing heavily on every word. “for making you feel like you weren’t important to me.”
your face crumpled before you could stop it. you hated how badly you had needed to hear those exact words from him.
“and i’m sorry too…” you whispered. “for blocking you everywhere.”
“tch. you should be,” he replied dryly, the faintest trace of amusement slipping into his voice.
you laughed beneath your breath, wiping at your damp cheeks.
“you blocked my email.”
“well… i was fully committed.”
“but blocking my email was a bit excessive, no?”
“i was hurt, okay?” you huffed, though there was no real anger behind it anymore.
his voice softened again. “… i get it.”
with sae, it had always been this way. he rarely said more than necessary, but somehow; the few words he did give you always carried more weight than he realized. and when he truly meant something, you could feel it— even through the distance of a phone call.
“i-i missed you,” you blurt out, unable to keep the longing out of your voice.
sae went silent and for one terrifying second, you wondered if you had said too much.
then he exhaled softly. “i missed you too, amor.”
for a moment, neither of you said anything.
you stood beside your coffee table with one hand wrapped around your phone, listening to his breathing on the other end as though it were the closest thing you had to being held by him again. and eventually, you asked the question that had been sitting heavily inside your chest.
“so… when are you coming back?”
“next week,” he answered after a brief pause, his voice dropping slightly.
you let out a deflated sigh, disappointment settling inside you even though you had expected that answer.
“ohh…”
“i’ll be back soon enough,” he reassured, hoping it would ease some of the ache in your voice.
you looked down at the croissant in front of you and picked absently at its flaky edges. “i-i just… really really miss you a lot.”
on the other side of the world, sae’s expression softened, something tender flickering across his tired features at your honest confession.
“i know,” he murmured. “… and i miss you a lot too.”
a quiet pause followed.
“i’ll be back soon,” he promised. “and we’ll talk properly when i am.”
your fingers tightened around the phone.
“promise?”
“yeah,” he answered without hesitation. “i promise.”
you nodded even though he couldn’t see it.
“… okay.”
for the first time in five days, the silence inside your apartment didn’t feel so unbearable anymore. because even though sae was still thousands of miles away, you no longer felt like you were the only one holding on.
it’s been a few days since you’d unblocked sae, and the two of you had been texting ever since. well, that was until… he suddenly stopped replying to the last message you’d sent just the night before.
why wasn’t he answering?
you tried convincing yourself there had to be some kind of explanation. but after everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering whether he had suddenly changed his mind about fixing things.
beep.
you glanced down, expecting to see sae’s name, only for your sister’s contact to appear instead.
[ 2:22 pm ] sister: the new restaurant that just opened near the waterfront
[ 2:22 pm ] sister: I WANNA CHECK IT OUT 😭
it wasn’t unusual for your sister to invite you out to dinner at the very last minute.
if anything, this was very much like her. she was always the first to discover new cafés & restaurants, sending you random food videos on tiktok and insisting the two of you ‘needed to try this place out before it got too crowded.’
so you didn’t think much of it.
[ 2:23 pm ] you: sure, what time?
[ 2:23 pm ] sister: 8:00pm? i’ll meet you there
[ 2:24 pm ] sister: ohh & wear something cute
[ 2:24 pm ] you: WHY would i wear something cute just to eat dinner with you?
[ 2:25 pm ] sister: because i’ll be wearing something cute & i don’t want to outdress you??? 🥱🥱
[ 2:25 pm ] sister: AND DON’T BE LATE
you rolled your eyes at her dramatics, though a small smile still tugged at the corner of your lips.
[ 2:25 pm ] you: whatever bye 🙄
the rest of the afternoon passed with you checking your phone more times than you could count, hoping sae’s name would appear at the top of your screen.
but every time you unlocked it, there was still nothing.
no reply, or an explanation.
just the last message you had sent him, still sitting on delivered.
by the time evening came, you had finally convinced yourself to stop staring at your phone as though it owed you something. you got ready for dinner slowly, standing in front of your closet longer than you meant to as your sister’s words echoed inside your head.
‘wear something cute.’
you huffed beneath your breath, pulling out an outfit and holding it against yourself in the mirror.
“… so extra,” you muttered, shaking your head.
still, you ended up choosing something nicer than what you would typically wear for a casual dinner. you made a few final adjustments to your hair, dabbed a little tinted gloss over your lips, and adjusted the necklace resting against your collarbone.
sae’s necklace. your fingers lingered there for a moment, brushing over the tiny pendant sitting warmly against your skin. you studied your reflection before tearing your gaze away and reaching for your handbag, refusing to let your thoughts drag you back to him again.
—
you arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before eight.
the place was already busy, golden light spilling through the glass windows and stretching across the pavement outside. every time the door opened, a rush of sound escaped with it— the clinking of cutlery, bursts of laughter, and the faint call of someone’s name from somewhere inside.
it looked newer than most of the other places along the waterfront, with polished wooden tables, low-hanging lights, and cream-colored walls that made the entire restaurant feel warmer than the evening air outside. a small line had already formed near the entrance. through the glass, you could see servers weaving between tables, plates balanced carefully in their hands.
you checked your phone.
still no message from sae. and nothing from your sister either.
frowning slightly, you began to type.
[ 7:56 pm ] you: i’m here. where are you? 🙄
a few moments passed before she finally replied.
[ 7:58 pm ] sister: omg sorry 😭
[ 7:58 pm ] sister: enter first!! i’m reaching soon
you sighed, already used to this.
of course she was late after repeatedly telling you not to be.
you waited outside for another minute, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as people moved around you in pairs & small groups. when your sister still didn’t appear, you finally stepped inside before you began looking too much like someone who had been stood up.
after making your way towards the hostess stand, she smiled politely and confirmed the reservation under your sister’s name before leading you towards a table near the window.
it was tucked slightly away from the crowd— close enough to watch people passing outside, yet secluded enough for the restaurant’s bustle to soften into distant background noise.
you sat down and placed your handbag on your lap.
five minutes, you told yourself.
you would give her five minutes before you started complaining.
while you waited, you opened the menu and scanned the different entrées available. pasta, grilled chicken, rice, steak, desserts— everything began blurring together as your attention drifted back towards your phone.
still nothing from sae.
your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the table.
maybe he was busy.
maybe he was asleep.
maybe he had finally realized that fixing things from another country was more difficult than he’d thought. the possibility made your stomach twist, and you hated yourself a little for even considering it.
your sister was late. sae wasn’t replying. and somehow, both things were making you feel far more agitated than they should have.
another minute passed.
then another.
you glanced towards the entrance again, expecting to see your sister hurrying inside with that sheepish expression she always wore after keeping you waiting.
but she still wasn’t there.
instead, the hostess was speaking to someone near the front. you couldn’t see his face clearly at first. only the dark coat draped over his lean frame and the way his presence felt strangely familiar before your mind could make sense of why.
something inside your chest tightened.
then he turned slightly— just enough for the dim restaurant light to catch a glimpse of his reddish-brown hair and the familiar side profile you would recognized anywhere.
your breath stopped.
no fucking way.
for one impossible second, you couldn’t move.
you couldn’t even convince yourself that you weren’t imagining him; that missing someone hadn’t finally made you desperate enough to start seeing him in strangers.
then he began walking towards your table.
slowly.
your pulse thundered inside your ears with every step he took.
he stopped beside the empty chair across from you, one hand resting lightly against its back. up close, he looked tired. not the kind of tired you could hear through a phone call, but the kind that settled beneath his eyes, in the few loose strands falling over his forehead, and in the quiet heaviness of someone who had spent too many hours between airports and flights yet had still come anyway.
his gaze dropped first to the necklace resting against your collarbone.
the one he had arranged to have delivered to you. then his eyes lifted towards yours.
for a moment, neither of you said anything. the entire restaurant seemed to dissolve into a distant blur around him.
sae’s lips parted slightly before his voice finally broke through the silence, low and familiar enough to make your heart ache.
“hello, amor.”
your mouth opened, but nothing came out.
sae studied you for another second, his expression unreadable, though something softer flickered beneath his teal irises.
“you look beautiful…”
you blinked, still struggling to process that he was really standing there— about to sit across from you in a restaurant where you had expected to be eating dinner with your sister. your fingers tightened around the menu as though it were the only thing keeping you grounded. “… y-you’re supposed to be in spain,” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the clinking plates and low murmur of nearby conversations.
“you said next week.”
sae pulled out the chair and sat down slowly, as though he were giving you time to adjust to the sight of him.
“i changed my flight,” he explained. “and i asked your sister to bring you here so i could surprise you.”
you stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“w-why didn’t you just tell me?”
“because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.” his gaze briefly lowered towards your necklace again before meeting your eyes.
“and i wasn’t sure you’d agree to see me.”
the raw honesty in his answer stole some of the air from your lungs. before you could respond, a waiter stopped beside the table with a notepad in hand.
“good evening! are the two of you ready to order?”
you & sae both lowered your eyes to the menus, scanning the options quickly as the printed pages gave you both a brief excuse to look away. “um… i’ll just have the grilled chicken, please.”
“and for you, sir?”
sae’s eyes moved briefly across the menu before looking at the waiter. “the steak.”
“how would you like that cooked?”
“medium rare.”
the waiter nodded as he scribbled everything down. “anything to drink?”
“water’s fine,” you answered quietly.
“same as her,” sae added.
“perfect. i’ll put those in for you.”
you murmured a soft thank you as the waiter collected the menus and walked away. once he was gone, the tension slipped back into place. your fingers found the strap of your handbag again, twisting it loosely around your hand while sae remained still across from you, his attention fixed solely on your face as though he were waiting for you to pick up where the interruption had left off.
you drew in a slow breath, trying to gather the courage to say what had been sitting inside your chest for days.
“i was really hurt, sae…” you breathed, finally looking at him again. “it felt like i was always the one waiting— like i was bothering you every time i texted or called, y’know?”
sae’s expression remained serious, his attention fixed entirely on you.
“i understand that training is important, and i know how much your career means to you,” you continued, your voice growing quieter. “but sometimes it feels like i’m not even a priority to you anymore.”
sae remained silent for a long moment, his forearms resting against the table as he listened attentively to everything you had to say.
when he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, though something remorseful lingered beneath it. “i was… too focused.” he said after a pause, his gaze briefly dropping. “i thought that if i kept pushing through the season, everything else would be fine.”
his jaw tightened faintly. “i didn’t realize how much i was shutting you out until things had already gotten that bad.”
he looked at you again, teal-eyes serious in a way that made your chest ache. “… i’m really sorry,” he murmured, his expression softening. “for making you feel like you were asking for too much. for the short replies. for making you feel like an inconvenience.”
he paused, his gaze holding yours.
“you’re not, and you never have been.”
your eyes began to sting.
you looked down at your hands, trying desperately to keep your voice steady. “i missed you,” you whispered, blinking quickly when your vision began to blur again. “even when i was angry, i missed hearing from you. i missed…”
your breath caught slightly. “i missed us.”
sae reached across the table, his larger hand settling over yours. his thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles— a small, grounding gesture that somehow felt louder than anything else he could’ve said.
“… i missed you too,” he murmured, his usual composure slipping just enough for you to hear the ache underneath. “more than i knew how to tell you.”
his fingers curled around yours.
“the hotel room felt too quiet & i kept checking my phone even when i knew you still had me blocked.”
eventually the food arrived, but neither of you touched it immediately as the silence between you felt different now. still heavy, but no longer painful.
“i don’t want us to keep doing this,” sae said after a moment, his voice low. “the distance. the arguments. feeling like we’re always one bad day away from falling apart.”
his thumb continued tracing absent circles over your knuckles.
“i want to be better at this,” he admitted. “for you & for us.”
you looked up at him, your eyes glassy. “i want that too,” you whispered. “but i don’t want to feel like i’m begging for scraps of your time anymore.”
sae nodded, gently squeezing your hand. “then we’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice calm but certain. “together.”
he held your gaze as he continued.
“no more shutting each other out. no more assuming the worst without asking. even when things get difficult, we talk about it.”
you let out a shaky breath, a small, tearful smile finally breaking through.
“okay…” you breathed, squeezing his hand back.
afterwards, the rest of the evening seemed to pass by in a blur. there were still things left to mend, but for the first time in weeks, neither of you seemed afraid of trying. the resentment that had once sat heavily between you had begun to loosen its hold.
when the bill arrived, sae was already moving. he placed his credit card onto the tray before you could so much as glance at the amount.
the waiter returned a few minutes later with the receipt, and sae signed it almost absentmindedly before setting the pen back down.
then he stood, pushed his chair back, and offered you his hand.
“let’s go home.” he murmured, the softness in his expression making your chest ache.
you looked at his outstretched hand for a moment before placing yours inside it. his fingers immediately intertwined with yours as the two of you walked out of the restaurant hand-in-hand. the soft noise from inside gradually faded behind you, replaced by the faint rush of passing cars & the muted sound of waves folding against the seawall.
the night air felt cool against your skin, but sae’s hand remained warm in yours, his fingers laced securely with your own as though he had no intention of letting go again.
18+
the ride back to your apartment drifted by in silence, but it no longer carried the weight it once had. sae’s hand never left yours, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles the entire way. every now and then, you’d glance at him like you still couldn’t believe that the two of you were finally reunited after weeks of distance, arguments & almost losing each other completely.
when you finally stepped inside, the door barely clicked shut before sae had you pressed against it, his lips claimed yours in a desperate, heated kiss. his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pulled you flush against him.
“… missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his breathing already ragged. “so fucking much.”
you whimpered into the kiss, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer. “then show me,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip.
sae groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you straight to the bedroom and laid you down on the bed gently. the bulge in his pants was apparent, straining against the fabric.
he stripped you out of your clothes, eyes dark as he took in every inch of your body. it had been weeks since he’d last touched you like this, weeks since he’d been close enough to feel your warmth under his hands. when he finally settled between your thighs, sae didn’t rush. he started pressing light kisses all the way down your body, tongue teasing over your skin until you were trembling beneath him.
“sae…” you breathed, hips lifting instinctively as his mouth hovered just above your entrance.
he looked up at you, teal-eyes burning with desire. “let me take care of you.”
his tongue dragged slowly over your folds, tasting you like he had been starving for weeks. you let out a salacious moan, fingers tightening in his hair as he licked and sucked on your sensitive clit with focused intent, like nothing else in the world mattered but making you fall apart on his tongue.
“haaahhh— right there,” you gasped, back arching when he when he sucked harder on your swollen clit, tongue flicking rapidly against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
he groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. he didn’t stop, tongue pressing firmer as he slid two fingers inside your core, curling just right until you were shaking. your hips bucked wildly against his mouth, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly as the combined sensation of his tongue and fingers pushed you right to the edge.
but no, sae wasn’t done yet.
he moved up your body, kissing you deeply again so you could taste yourself on his tongue. only then did he pull back to strip himself fully, tugging his shirt over his head before shoving his pants and boxers down in one rough motion. his gaze never left yours as he climbed back over you, one hand spreading your thighs while the other guided his throbbing length between them.
when he finally pushed inside you, it was slow and deep, stretching your walls open as he bottomed out. “… fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “missed this pussy…”
he started moving, hips rolling in a steady, powerful rhythm that had you moaning with every merciless thrust. his hand slid between your thighs, thumb circling your clit in slow circles as his cock plowed in & out of your greedy pussy, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every deep stroke.
“mine,” he rasped against your neck, biting down gently to leave a mark. “you’re mine.”
you could only babble his name, nails digging into his back as the pleasure built again, faster this time. sae’s thrusts only grew rougher, more desperate, his breathing growing ragged against your skin.
“s-sae— ah, fuck—” you cried out, voice breaking as your legs tightened around his waist. “mmngghh— feels so good—”
your hips rolled up to meet his thrusts, chasing the deep, delicious drag of his cock inside you. every powerful stroke made your toes curl, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until you felt like you might just shatter from how good it felt.
“cum for me, amor.” he growled, the pad of his thumb pressing firmer on your clit. “let me feel you.”
your body convulsed beneath him as you felt your release rush up all at once, clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. sae followed right after, burying himself deep with a low, broken groan as he spilled his white-hot release inside you, hips jerking through every pulse.
afterwards, he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his chest, keeping you close like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you yet. his arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand stroking your back as you both tried to catch your breath after the heated session.
“… i love you,” he whispered against your hair, voice hoarse but sincere. “don’t ever doubt that again.”
you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, eyes already heavy.
“i love you too, sae.”
⨳ 𝓷𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: someone commented— why didn’t he try texting her through spotify & i just had to incorporate that in 🙂↕️ but i genuinely don’t think he knows we can do that now…
childhoodbsf!hugo who always loved showing you his soccer skills — determined to see you impressed at what he could do
childhoodbsf!hugo who always made meddling comments on every little thing you did — oblivious to how irritated it got you feeling
childhoodbsf!hugo who loved watching all the movies and shows you recommended him because it meant he got to know more about you and your interests
childhoodbsf!hugo who always whined that you don’t play soccer with him — giving you pouts that ultimately made you give in to his childish demands. and of course, you’d get your shit rocked by him.
childhoodbsf!hugo who only grew up and kept growing — getting taller and bigger to the point he completely towered over you
childhoodbsf!hugo who noticed your body more and more as you two grew up
childhoodbsf!hugo who gets distracted looking down your shirt as you innocently talk to him
childhoodbsf!hugo who feels completely perverse and guilty when the thought of you makes him all tingly and warm
childhoodbsf!hugo who talks to you like you’re the only one in the universe — intense eye contact, little physical space, heavy underlying tension
childhoodbsf!hugo who just wants to know how your lips feel against his and if your lips are really as soft as they look
childhoodbsf!hugo who’s mind is slowly filling up with more and more thoughts of you — some completely obscene and depraved.
childhoodbsf!hugo who will make it his life’s mission to keep you in his life — because there must be a logical explanation about his explosive feelings for you.
જ⁀➴ Sae asks you to a slow dance with him after dinner. best read to this song ♡
˚₊‧꒰ა Dinner had ended almost an hour ago. The plates sat neatly in the drying rack, still glistening beneath the warm kitchen light.
The apartment had fallen into the silence you and SAE ITOSHI had grown to love over the years. Across the room, the record player hummed softly, Frank Sinatra's song drifting through the apartment as the vinyl spun beneath the needle.
‘I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me’
You leaned against the counter, absentmindedly drying your hands with a dish towel, listening to the music more than thinking about it.
You heard Sae's footsteps approach from behind. By the time you turned around, he was already standing in front of you, one hand held out between the two of you.
‘And if we go someplace to dance, I know that there's a chance
You won't be leaving with me’
"Dance with me."
You stared at him, then at his outstretched hand.
"...You're telling me Sae Itoshi, one of the best football players in the world, is asking me to dance in our living room right now? Is the world ending?"
"The world isn't ending," he replied, unfazed. "I'm asking my wife to dance."
‘And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two’
Sae had never been one for grand gestures or pretty words. Loving you had never changed the way he spoke, but it had changed the way he looked at you, the way his hand instinctively found yours, the way he lingered just a little longer before letting go. Marriage had softened him in all the quiet places no one else was allowed to see. You had long since realized that every small thing he did was his own way of saying I love you, over and over again.
So when he held his hand out to you again, you slipped yours into it without a second thought.
His fingers intertwined with yours before his other hand settled gently at your waist, drawing you close until there was hardly any space left between you. The two of you began to sway in slow, unhurried circles across the living room,
‘And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you"’
"I don't think I tell you enough." He looked at you for a long moment. "I love being your husband."
The words came quietly, without hesitation, as though they had been sitting in his heart for a long time.
‘I can see it in your eyes
That you despise the same old lies you heard the night before’
"I love coming home to you." His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. "I love having dinner with you. I love waking up beside you every morning and knowing I get to do it all again."
"I'm not good with pretty words," he said, his gaze never leaving yours. "But every word I say to you is true, mi esposa."
‘And though it's just a line to you, for me it's true
And never seemed so right before’
A small smile found his lips.
"You made a home out of my life...and I didn't know how much I needed one until I found you."
Your eyes shimmered.
"Sae..."
"I'm serious."
‘I practice every day to find some clever lines to say
To make the meaning come through’
He leaned in until your foreheads touched, his voice soft enough that only you could hear it over the music. Every now and then he'd steal a soft kiss from your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your lips, only to smile to himself before pulling you close again, as though holding you was the most natural thing in the world.
‘But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you, The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue’
"Thank you, mi amor... for loving me so completely. For choosing me, every single day."
You smiled through the tears gathering in your eyes.
"I'd choose you every single lifetime," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'd fall in love with you over and over again... and I'd still say yes to every version of you."
"I know," he murmured. "And i'd spend every one of them finding you again."
‘And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you"’
Then, with the same quiet certainty he carried in everything he did, he closed the distance between you, kissing you with all the tenderness he could never quite put into words.
Sae found himself remembering the joke you'd made earlier, asking if the world was ending because he'd asked you to dance. If it truly were, he realized, he wouldn't mind it at all.
Not when you were in his arms.
Not when your head rested against his shoulder, your heartbeat steady against his own, and the last thing he'd ever know would be the quiet certainty that he had loved, and been loved, by you.
3 months | in which Sae's manager is replaced with someone else for 3 months
itoshi sae x reader . contents . art credits to owner
"Three months for the treatment?"
Sae muttered the words under his breath as his eyes remained fixed on the equipment beside the bed. His tone held no obvious concern, only a quiet disbelief at the inconvenience of the situation. He moved toward the nearby couch and sat down, his posture relaxed despite the seriousness of the circumstances.
"How did the accident happen?" he asked.
Girolain let out a small sigh, adjusting himself carefully against the pillows. Even the slightest movement seemed difficult with his injuries, though he attempted to hide the discomfort.
"I was just being reckless," he replied with a faint smile. "Nothing that serious. You don't need to worry about it. The doctor said I'll heal soon enough."
Sae remained silent for a moment, observing him with the same analytical gaze he used when studying a match. He had never been someone who expressed concern openly. His emotions rarely reached the surface, buried beneath layers of composure and indifference. However, Girolain had worked with him long enough to understand that Sae's questions were often the closest thing he had to showing that he cared.
"So you won't be working until then?"
"Yeah..." Girolain admitted. "But I already arranged a temporary replacement through the agency. She'll be handling your schedule, appointments, travel arrangements, and the other responsibilities outside of football until I'm able to return. She's still a junior manager, but she's more than capable of handling the role. She should be arriving soon.”
Sae gave a small nod, accepting the information without further comment. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and immediately shifted his attention away from the conversation. His fingers moved across the screen as he browsed through various applications and websites, appearing completely uninterested in the situation around him.
A knock echoed through the room a few moments later, drawing Girolain's attention toward the door. Sae, however, remained exactly where he was, his eyes still focused on his phone as if the outside world held little importance.
The door opened.
The young woman stepped inside, her gaze immediately finding Girolain on the hospital bed. Her expression softened slightly when she saw his condition.
"Ah, hello, Y/N," Girolain greeted. He instinctively attempted to sit up straighter, but the movement was quickly interrupted by the pain from his injured limbs.
"Please remain as you are," Y/N said as she walked toward him. Her voice carried a calm authority that suggested she was not someone who easily accepted arguments. "There is no point in forcing your broken body to do something it cannot handle."
As she approached the bed, her eyes briefly shifted toward the other person in the room.
Itoshi Sae.
The momentary glance was enough for her to take in his presence, though Sae barely acknowledged it. He remained focused on his phone, seemingly unaffected by the arrival of someone new.
After a moment, Sae finally looked up.
The moment their eyes met, there was an immediate sense of contrast between them. Y/N carried herself with an open confidence, while Sae's expression remained unreadable, his gaze cold and distant as though he had already decided that the interaction was unnecessary.
Without saying a word, Sae stood from the couch and slipped his phone back into his pocket. His hands rested casually inside his pockets as he walked toward the door.
"Organize my schedule for today."
It was not a request.
It was an order.
His hand reached for the doorknob, fully expecting the matter to be handled without question.
"I think you should introduce yourself to your new manager first."
Her voice stopped him.
Sae paused.
Slowly, he turned around and looked at her. His expression remained unchanged, though there was a clear hint of irritation in his eyes. To him, introductions were unnecessary formalities. If someone was capable of doing their job, that was all that mattered.
"Itoshi Sae."
The introduction was brief. Almost painfully brief.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
She stared at him, clearly waiting for something more. Girolain looked between the two of them, already sensing the difficult dynamic that was beginning to form. Sae, however, seemed completely unaware of the awkwardness he had created. He looked at her as if she were simply another person occupying the room, nothing more.
"That's it?"
She folded her arms across her chest and turned toward Girolain with an expression of disbelief. "Isn't he a little too rude?" she asked. "Seriously, how do you deal with this brat?"
Girolain opened his mouth to respond, but no words immediately came out. It was difficult to defend Sae when, even by his own standards, the introduction had been unusually dismissive.
Sae raised an eyebrow at her choice of words. "You fucking annoy me." His voice remained calm, but the irritation behind it was obvious.
Instead of being offended, she only looked more amused. "That's unfortunate," she replied. "Because for the next three months, you're going to have to listen to me.”
Sae's expression remained unchanged.
"I'm not your coach, and I'm not here to tell you how to play football. But when it comes to your schedule, responsibilities, and everything outside the field, what I say goes.”
She tilted her head slightly. "Talent doesn't mean you get to ignore basic discipline.”
The statement caused him to pause.
Not because it hurt his pride, but because it was a reminder of something he often ignored. Talent, reputation, and achievements did not change the fact that he was still young. Like many athletes his age, he still required someone to manage the aspects of his life outside the field.
Girolain watched the exchange carefully before deciding to intervene. "Umm... Y/N, you do realize you're only eighteen yourself, right?"
She looked back at him without hesitation. "Yes. And he's seventeen." She shrugged.
"I'm not saying I'm some wise adult figure. I'm saying I'm legally old enough to handle the responsibility assigned to me, and he's still young enough to need someone keeping him from turning his schedule into a disaster.”
Sae's expression shifted slightly.
"I'll be eighteen soon," he replied, already turning toward the door. "So shut it."
Before either of them could respond, he walked out of the room, leaving behind an atmosphere that was somehow both tense and strangely amusing.
---
A week had passed since Y/N officially began working as Itoshi Sae's temporary manager. And somehow, despite knowing him for only seven days, she had already reached a conclusion.
Managing a world-class football player was not difficult. Managing Itoshi Sae was.
The problem was not his workload. His schedule was demanding, but nothing beyond what she had expected when she accepted the position. Appointments, travel arrangements, meetings, training schedules, all of it was manageable.
The difficult part was Sae himself.
He had a strange ability to turn even the simplest tasks into something unnecessarily complicated, especially when he considered them irrelevant.
Like choosing a suit.
His apartment was unusually quiet despite the amount of preparation taking place inside it. Several suits had been arranged neatly across the room, each one carefully selected by the stylist according to the theme and formality of the team's celebration dinner that evening.
Everything had already been prepared and the only thing left was for Sae to choose.
She stood near the couch with a tablet in one hand and the, waiting for the person responsible for making the final decision to actually acknowledge the existence of the suits.
But unfortunately, Itoshi Sae had other priorities. He was lying comfortably on the couch, completely absorbed in whatever was playing on the television.
She stared at him. "Itoshi Sae."
No response.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Your suit."
Still nothing.
The only sounds filling the room were the voices coming from the television and the occasional tap of her fingers against the tablet as she reviewed his schedule.
She waited.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Nothing.
"Are you planning on attending the dinner wearing whatever you currently have on?"
Sae didn't even look away from the screen. "That would be easier."
Her expression remained blank. "That was not a serious suggestion."
"It was."
Y/N slowly lowered the tablet and then she reached forward and switched off the television.
The sudden silence finally managed to capture his attention. Sae looked up at her, his expression calm but clearly questioning her actions. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?"
"Being annoying."
A polite smile appeared on her face. "Interesting. I was about to say the same thing about you."
Sae stared at her.
"The dinner is in a few hours. The stylist sent these options specifically because you need to choose one. I have other responsibilities besides standing here while you ignore everything placed directly in front of you."
"I was watching something."
"Are you being serious right now?"
For a moment, the two of them simply stared at each other. Neither willing to back down. Eventually, Sae let out a quiet sigh and stood up from the couch.
"You're exhausting."
"And yet somehow, I'm still managing to do my job while you are avoiding yours."
He ignored the comment and picked up the first suit.
The next thirty minutes passed in a silence that only existed between two equally stubborn people.
Sae moved between the bedroom and the living room, trying on the different options while Y/N remained seated on the couch, focused on her tablet.
Unlike him, she had no intention of involving herself in every little detail of the decision.
She had already done her part. The stylist had sent the options. She had organized everything. She had ensured that every necessary preparation was complete.
And the final choice belonged to him.
"Sae."
"Hm?"
"Your schedule for next month still needs confirmation."
"I'm not going anywhere next month."
"You are."
"I don't remember agreeing to that."
"Because you didn't check your schedule."
A brief silence followed. He walked out wearing another suit and glanced at himself in the mirror.
Y/N looked up. "Actually, I was just thinking about the people who have to spend an entire evening with you."
Sae raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"The team dinner."
She returned her attention to the tablet.
"I feel sorry for your teammates. Imagine having to sit across from someone as boring as you every time your team wins."
"I am not boring."
"You spend your free time watching football analysis videos and criticizing people."
"That's how I get better."
After trying on several options, Sae finally settled on one.
The suit was simple, refined, and suited him naturally. It did not attempt to make him appear older than he was, nor did it rely on unnecessary details to emphasize his status.
It simply looked like Sae.
"I'll wear this."
"Finally."
She stood and began gathering the remaining suits. "I'll return these." She carefully placed each suit back into its cover.
"Make sure you get ready by 7." And with that, she walked away before he could respond.
Later that evening, Sae was almost ready.
The apartment had returned to its usual silence. The chaos of preparation was gone, leaving only the faint sound of him adjusting his cuffs while checking the time.
The team celebration was nothing special to him. They won. They celebrated. Then they repeated the process again. It was a routine he had become accustomed to, one that carried little meaning beyond another obligation attached to his career.
The sound of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Assuming it was someone from the staff, he walked toward the entrance and opened the door.
And stopped.
Y/N stood on the other side.
For a moment, Sae simply looked at her.
It was strange.
He was used to seeing her with a tablet in her hand, reviewing schedules, making calls, or reminding him about things he had forgotten. She always looked prepared, professional, and focused on whatever task needed to be completed.
This was different.
She was dressed for the occasion. The unexpected change caught him off guard for a second longer than he would have liked.
Y/N tilted her head. "What?"
Sae immediately returned to his usual expression. "Why are you dressed like that?"
She looked down at herself before looking back at him. "Because I'm going to the party."
"You weren't invited."
"I am your manager." She stepped inside without waiting for permission. "The moment I found out managers attend these events too, I decided I was coming."
She turned around, letting the dress move slightly with her before finishing with an exaggerated pose.
"So?" A confident smile appeared on her face. "Do I look beautiful?"
Sae stared at her. For a brief moment, there was silence. Then he scoffed and closed the door behind her. "You look absolutely ridiculous."
The smile disappeared immediately. "Excuse me?"
"The dress is fine." He walked past her. "You are the problem."
Y/N narrowed her eyes. "You're lucky we're going to a formal event."
Sae continued walking. "Why?"
"Because otherwise, I would have already hit you."
She had barely finished speaking when her gaze dropped to his collar. Then she stopped.
Sae, who had been adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, noticed the change in her expression and frowned slightly. "What?"
Y/N pointed at him. "Where is your tie?"
He looked down at himself as if the answer might suddenly appear. "...I don't need one."
Sae looked away.
Y/N's eyes widened a little as realization hit her. "No way."
He glanced at her. "What."
"You don't know how to tie a tie."
His silence was answer enough.
For a second, she just stared at him and then she burst out laughing.
Sae's face went flat. "Stop laughing."
She covered her mouth, but that only made it worse. "You really don't know?"
"Can you help me or not?"
That made her laugh harder. Sae's brows furrowed.
"Do you know how tie a tie?"
Y/N stopped laughing just long enough to look at him. "No."
He blinked. "Then why were you laughing?"
She shrugged, still smiling. "Just for fun."
Sae stared at her like she had personally offended him. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're helpless."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already pulling out her phone.
"Wait."
He watched as she opened YouTube and typed something into the search bar.
Sae frowned. "What are you doing?"
"Saving your life."
She found a tutorial, propped her phone up against the mirror, and stepped closer to him.
Sae went still. Up close, it was harder to ignore how different she looked tonight. She was still Y/N, still sharp-tongued and infuriating, but the dress suited her far too well. It framed her figure elegantly, and the soft way her hair fell around her shoulders made her look almost unreal.
Sae looked away first.
Y/N, completely unaware of the effect she was having, reached for his collar.
"Hold still."
"I am holding still."
"You're glaring."
"That's still still."
She rolled her eyes and adjusted the fabric around his neck. The distance between them disappeared almost immediately.
Her fingers brushed the side of his neck as she straightened the tie, and Sae's shoulders stiffened before he could stop himself.
Y/N noticed. "Are you nervous?"
"No."
"You're red."
"I'm not."
She leaned in slightly to check the knot on the screen, and Sae's entire body went rigid.
The scent of her perfume was faint but unmistakable, and now that she was this close, he could see the small details he had missed before, the careful makeup, the soft shine of her lips, the way her expression changed when she concentrated.
It was distracting.
Annoyingly so.
Y/N glanced up at him and Sae immediately looked away.
She narrowed her eyes. "...Are you flustered?"
"No."
That answer came too quickly. Her lips twitched. "You're definitely flustered."
"I'm not."
"Then why won't you look at me?"
Sae's jaw tightened. "Because you're being annoying."
She smiled, clearly pleased with herself, and returned her attention to the tutorial. "Mm. Sure."
A few seconds later, she finished the knot and stepped back to inspect her work. "There."
Sae looked down at the tie. It was neat. Perfect, even. He should have said something. Instead, he found himself looking at her again.
She was still standing close enough that he could see the faint curve of her smile, the confidence in her posture, the way she looked completely satisfied with herself as if she had not just made him lose his composure over something as stupid as a tie.
Y/N noticed his stare. "What?"
Sae looked away immediately. "Nothing."
She studied him for a moment, then smirked. "Good. Because if you say anything stupid now, I might actually hit you."
For the first time that evening, Sae had no comeback. And Y/N, seeing that, looked far too pleased with herself.
