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CAFE TAGS.˚₊ BUILDING RULESꕀ ﹒ABOUT YOUR BARISTA꒷꒦
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kaji ren | synesthesia kaji! x musically gifted reader
shigaraki + dabi | fantasy ghost au! the long fallen heir to the throne shigaraki tomura has finally climbed the cliffs out of tartarus; to reclaim the throne he must journey back and drive a stake through the heart of his beloved king before it becomes too late, and once more he becomes a ghost. However… a new prince awaits the throne, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep it.
baizhu | college professors au! college is the breeding ground of rumors. And now you’re stuck trying to disprove to your students that there isn’t lingering affections for the most famous bachelor on campus. But, how are you supposed to prove something wrong when it’s really true?
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─ currently writes for bllk, mha, wuwa, genshin, windbreaker
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SYNOPSIS. Todoroki Touya abandoned the bass years ago, unwilling to chase a passion that had only ever led to disappointment. Now a distant but undeniably skilled third-year, he’s pulled back into music when a persistent second-year recruits him for her struggling band. He tells himself it doesn’t matter—but the stage has a way of unraveling the lies he’s built around himself.
PAIRING. [Third Year] Todoroki Touya and [Second Year] Fem!Reader
WORD COUNT. 13k+
CONTENT. Slowburn, Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, College AU, No Quirk!AU, Unhealthy Family (because Ende*vor), Angst with Happy Ending, Music as a Metaphor for Feelings, and so on.
AUTHOR’S NOTE. Haha (hides). This took SEVEN MONTHS, oh em gee. I’m never attempting to write long fics ever again (this was so fun). For my dearest, @seneon. Your long-overdue Bassist!Touya fic is finally here. And also @suksatoru, an absolute icon with who inspired me to write for Touya this way from her Carnations series <33 Special thank you to all my beta readers: Ali, Fio, Rinne, my brother—because without you guys, I would’ve just scrapped this whole idea and never let it see the light. I hope all Touya fans are fed with this !!
“Mr. Todoroki,” the professor began, leaning against his desk with arms crossed. “You’re intelligent. That much is clear from your written work. But intelligence without effort will only get you so far.”
Touya leaned against his chair, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Didn’t realize effort was part of the grading system.”
“It is,” the professor replied. “That, and participation—which you’re both lacking. I suggest joining an organization—something to engage you beyond sitting in the back of a classroom and coasting through your courses.”
Touya let out a humorless laugh as if he just heard the funniest joke of his life, shaking his head.
“I’ll pass.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s just… not my thing, sir,” he muttered finally, his tone clipped. He didn’t need to say anything else to him.
The professor studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re only wasting your own potential, Mr. Todoroki. Though I do understand that you’re still adjusting from just having transferred two months ago. One day, you’ll realize that life isn’t going to wait for you to catch up.”
Touya didn’t respond. He just left the room once he was free to do so and didn’t bother letting his professor’s words linger too long with him.
Potential? What would his professor know about his own potential? As if the word hasn’t already been engraved in his mind from the moment he turned six, haunting him like a ghost out for revenge.
“Stupid professor,” he muttered under his breath. But even as he said it, he knew the real frustration wasn’t with the professor—or the thing that’s been holding him back, or anyone else.
It was with him.
-
Lunchtime was always so chaotic in this university. Touya didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But the food was good, surprisingly; he’ll give them that.
He settled into a routine. Sit on the farthest free table and have his earphones in, not because he was listening to anything, but because they were a convenient excuse to ignore anyone who tried to talk to him. He liked the solitude and how students here respected each other’s personal space.
So when a shadow fell over his table, he barely glanced up, assuming it was someone asking to join him at the table or grab the extra chair. You know, the usual stuff that happens in college—where everyone’s apparently too busy with their lives to meddle with others.
“Hey. You’re Todoroki, right?”
The voice wasn’t familiar. It was clear, a little raspy, and full of smugness that just screamed that this someone found the person they were looking for. Reluctantly, Touya looked up, locking eyes with the girl standing in front of him.
You weren’t anyone he recognized—definitely not from any of his classes. Your hands were behind your back, your posture casual yet still somewhat polite.
“And if I am?” he replied, his voice as flat and uninviting as he could manage.
You tilted your head slightly, offering him a smile. “Good. Saves me the trouble of asking around.” You bowed slightly in greeting, introducing your name and the department program you’re in. “Second year, I run the school band.”
He didn’t return the gesture, though he did raise an unimpressed eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats? Do you want a medal or something?”
“I heard you’re good at playing bass.”
The words caught him off guard. Touya’s nonchalant expression is replaced by a flicker of something sharper, something guarded. “Who told you that?”
You shrugged, the motion deliberately casual. “Word gets around. Especially when someone is as good as you supposedly are.”
“Well, whoever said that was wrong. I don’t play anymore.”
Touya clenched his jaw, looking past you toward the window. The question scraped against old wounds he thought he’d buried—memories of playing in his room, of pouring everything into the bass that he’s only ever known.
“It’s not my thing anymore,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “Sorry, kid. You’re years too late to have met me in my prime.”
“Not a kid—we’re probably around the same age,” you quipped. “And I don’t buy that.”
Your bluntness made him pause. He blinked, his head snapping back toward you. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t quit something like that unless there’s a reason,” you answered simply, your tone light but unrelenting. “And honestly? Professor Hamasaki actually forwarded his concern to me, so I think you really need it.”
Of course his professor had to have come up with an intervention for him. He spoke too soon about this new university letting him mind his own business.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening up, “you look like someone who’s got way too much going on up here”—you tapped your temple—“and has no idea where to put it. Trust me, I’ve seen it before.”
Your words hit closer than he wanted to admit, and the smug look on your face didn’t help. He shook his head.
“You’re annoying—putting your nose in other people’s lives.”
“I—”
He scoffed, raising a hand as if to stop you. “I told you, I don’t play anymore. Find someone else.”
“Can’t.”
“You’re the only bassist worth tracking down. And I’m not just looking for anyone—I’m looking for you. You ever heard of this university’s motto?”
“No, and I don’t care. Leave.” His voice was curt, unwelcoming now.
“Ut Optimi Simus.” That we may be the best.
Touya stared at you, his expression unreadable. You just couldn’t take the hint, could you? That much was clear on his end.
And to drop the school motto? What is he getting himself into?
What kind of self-obsessed students did this university have?
“Look,” you continued, “we’ve got a spot open in the band, and I think you’d kill it. Just come to one practice. One. If it sucks, you can walk out, and I’ll never bother you again. Deal?”
There was a challenge in your tone, one that sparked something dormant in him. He could have shut you down again, could have sent you packing with another snarky comment. But for some reason—maybe it was the way you spoke or the strange mix of stubbornness and sincerity in your expression—he hesitated.
Maybe you would just bother him again if he refused; who knows?
But Todoroki Touya was screwed before he realized it.
“One practice,” he muttered finally.
“Yes!” you cheered, a bit too loud, which had the other students’ heads turning toward your direction. Touya had to rub a hand over his face. Great. More unwanted attention.
“Whoops—but that’s all I need. Music room, next week, after your class. Building GENM. Don’t be late, Todoroki.”
He stared at the empty space where you’d been standing, then at the table in front of him, where his phone lay forgotten.
“What the hell did I just agree to?” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he might be walking into something worth his time.
Then again, it might be.
-
The week had passed in a blur for Touya. He hadn’t thought about the band—or you—much since your brief, honestly impulsive encounter. He convinced himself it was just another passing distraction, something to shrug off and forget about, like he usually did with things that demanded more of him than he wanted to give.
And yet, there he was, standing in the dimly lit hallway outside the music room, staring at the door like it might open on its own and save him the trouble of deciding whether to walk in.
It wasn’t like he owed you anything. He’d said he’d come to one practice—only one—and even then, he hadn’t really promised he’d participate. If you had any sense, you’d take the hint that he wouldn’t touch the bass.
Still, something made him turn the doorknob and step inside.
The room smelled faintly of old wood and metal, a mix of familiarity and nostalgia that hit him square in the chest. His gaze flicked around, taking in the scattered instruments, the amplifiers, and the slightly worn drum set shoved into a corner.
At the center of it all was you.
You were perched on a stool, your hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder as you leaned forward over a notebook in your lap. Your hand moved in quick, messy strokes as you scribbled notes, humming softly to yourself. A keyboard sat in front of you, the occasional sound of a chord filling the space as you tinkered with the rhymes and chords.
Your voice was soft, pleasing to hear, the kind of voice that could wrap around someone and pull them in without asking. Sort of like a siren, enchanting—bewitching.
“Damn, still doesn’t feel right,” you muttered to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips before crossing out a line.
Touya stood there for a moment, unnoticed, just… watching. There was an ease to the way you worked. Quiet and focused. He didn’t know if it was weird to just stand there and watch, but it took him a minute to compose himself.
Finally, he cleared his throat.
You jolted, nearly dropping your notebook. You glance around to face him, your eyes meeting him before recognition softens your expression into a joyful one.
“Would it kill you to knock? We should’ve really put a sign to knock first before entering around here,” you joked, closing the notebook and setting it aside. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”
Touya shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “Guess I had nothing better to do.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
Your teasing tone was annoying, but it wasn’t enough to make him leave. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the instruments again.
“Is that for me?” he asked, nodding toward the bass leaning against the wall.
“Yup. Freshly tuned and everything. Had to get new strings because the last idiot who used it was just awful.” You stepped aside, gesturing toward it. “Figured you’d want something decent to work with.”
It had been a long time since he’d touched a bass. Too long. But he forced himself to walk over, crouching down to inspect it. His fingers brushed the strings lightly; it felt like meeting something familiar again.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
But before he could even pick up the bass, the door burst open with a loud thud.
“[Name]!”
The shout startled you both, and Touya turned to see a tall guy—not as tall as he is, probably—standing in the doorway, a guitar case slung over one shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. His face was flushed, and he looked like he’d sprinted all the way there.
“Kaito?” you said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
This guy, Kaito, ignored your question, his gaze landing on Touya briefly before shifting back to you. “We’ve got a problem.”
You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Of course we do. When have we never? What now?”
“One of the judges for the festival just backed out,” Kaito explained, stepping fully into the room. “And the committee’s freaking out. They want all bands to perform a teaser set tomorrow to convince the others to stay on board.”
You blinked. “You’re joking.”
He shook his head, the guitar case slipping slightly on his shoulder. “I wish I was. They’re saying it’s our only shot at keeping everything on track. Rikiyama said so herself.”
Touya raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you.
“Festival?” he asked, his tone flat.
You let out a long sigh, finally turning back to him. “School music festival. Big deal, lots of bands competing for sponsorships and a chance to compete nationally. We’re signed up, obviously, but now they want us to play tomorrow. Which is insane, by the way.”
Kaito finally seemed to register Touya’s presence, his head tilting to the side. “Is this the Todoroki you were talking about, [Name]?”
“Our new bassist,” you answered breezily, grinning as if the words were the most natural thing in the world.
Touya shot you a glare, his posture stiff. “Not yet. I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together, “looks like you’re about to. Lucky for us, huh?”
“Hold up,” Kaito said, stepping closer. “This guy’s the bassist? You’re bringing in someone new now? Do the others know?”
“Relax, they know,” you replied, waving him off. “Oh, and he’s good. Better than good.”
Kaito didn’t look convinced, but before he could argue, you turned back to Touya.
“Guess you’re jumping in sooner than expected.” Your statement was something that can’t be denied; even Kaito caught onto it.
Touya stared at you. He could feel the weight of the bass guitar in his hand, the pressure of the situation finally making itself known to him.
And yet, for some reason, he didn’t leave.
-
The day of the teaser set was supposed to be the day you reclaimed your band’s undefeated title.
The kind of event that set the tone for the upcoming music festival. To keep spectators and sponsors engaged. Not… whatever was happening backstage.
Backstage was tense. You stood near the edge of the curtain, peeking out at the crowd as they settled into their seats. The band was set to go on in less than ten minutes, but your focus wasn’t on the audience—it was on the absence of one particular bass player.
“He’s not coming,” Kaito said from behind you, his voice flat. He leaned against a stack of amplifier cases, arms crossed, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with thinly veiled irritation. “I called it the second he said he hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”
You didn’t answer immediately. You let the curtain fall back into place, turning to face the rest of the team. “We don’t know that yet. He might just be late.”
“True,” Haru sighed dejectedly. He’s the one who handles the keyboard and prefers to keep his opinion to himself most of the time rather than voicing it out loud—a second-year in your class.
Kaito scoffed. “Late is still bad. This isn’t some casual jam session, [Name]. This is our shot at keeping the sponsors happy. If they pull out, it’s over.”
One of the other band members, the usually energetic drummer named Yuuma, chimed in. “Kaito’s got a point. If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not coming.”
You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Then we’ll do it without him,” you decided, trying to mask the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.
Kaito shook his head, clearly exasperated. “This is why I said you shouldn’t go scouting random people at the last minute. You can’t trust someone who’s barely committed. Plus, we could’ve offered the slot to someone else.”
“Kaito,” you frowned, your tone sharper than usual. The entire band looked at you in surprise, and you softened slightly, your shoulders relaxing. “Look, I get it, okay? But we don’t have time for this. We’ve played without a bassist before, and we can do it again.”
He muttered something under his breath but didn’t push further.
The stage manager appeared a moment later, signaling that it was time for your set. You took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your guitar as the band moved into position.
As you stepped onto the stage, the audience greeted you with polite applause, and the blinding stage lights made it impossible to see the faces in the crowd clearly. You swore someone from the technical team really wanted to blind you and your team one of these days.
You approached the microphone, your voice steady as you introduced your band and the first song. “Thanks for being here, everyone! This is a little something we’ve been working on for a while now.”
Yuuma gave the count-off, and the music began.
The first song went smoothly. Kaito’s electric guitar filled in the gaps left by the missing bassline, and your vocals were working overtime to keep the audience engaged. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, clapping along during the choruses and cheering loudly by the end.
But something felt off.
The music was fine, technically speaking. You hit all the right notes and kept the rhythm tight, but it lacked the depth that a good bassline could bring. It was like there was a hollow space in the sound, a space that Touya’s presence could’ve filled.
It should’ve felt like a victory. To be able to perform without a bassist.
You also noticed the way the judges whispered among themselves, one even talking to the university’s president.
“Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” Kaito murmured, though his tone was less than enthusiastic as you all returned back to your practice room.
“Could’ve been better,” Yuuma muttered, packing up his drumsticks.
“I guess,” Haru pouted, flicking his wrist back and forth.
You didn’t say anything. You set your guitar down carefully, your movements slow and deliberate, as if everything wasn’t real just yet.
Kaito noticed your silence, obviously, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not seriously still thinking about him, are you?”
“I’m not thinking about him,” you replied quickly.
He hummed faintly, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop.
As the rest of the band packed up their gear and got out of the room, you stayed for a minute. You found yourself staring at the bass leaning against the wall, untouched and waiting. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would’ve sounded like if Touya had been there, if his bassline had woven seamlessly into your music and added the missing piece to tie the whole performance together.
But then you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.
“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered under your breath, the words more for yourself than anyone else.
“He already made his choice.” You did sound a little bummed out about it, though.
With one last glance at the bass, you left the room, making sure to lock it on your way out, determined to push Todoroki Touya out of your mind. This would be the last time you’ll ever think of him.
Or so you told yourself.
-
The aftermath was everything but light. It was merciless.
The following week wasn’t as pleasant as you thought it’d be; you couldn’t walk two steps without hearing the agitating murmurs.
“I thought she said they had a bassist?”
“What happened? Did the guy just dip?”
“Damn, imagine embarrassing yourself in front of the whole school like that.”
You clenched your jaw and kept walking, ignoring the sting that settled deep in your gut. You had been prepared for some backlash, sure, but you hadn’t expected the weight of it—the way the entire school seemed to know, the way the student council president looked at you with thinly veiled disappointment when the secretary and treasurer greeted you down the hall.
You had been so sure. You had told them, had promised them that you finally had a full band, that you were ready to compete. Just like once upon a time. And now, you had nothing to show for it.
Now you seem like a liar.
And Touya just… disappeared completely from your radar.
It was your fault; you knew that now. The man hasn’t even known you for longer than two weeks, and you expect him to do something as big as perform for a teaser set? You must have been so entitled to have thought of that.
So selfish to have only thought about what you want and never thought about what he wanted.
The meeting with the president later that afternoon only made it worse.
You sat stiffly in the office, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Across from you, the president and a few teachers sat with unreadable expressions, while the event’s organizers and two members of the student council looked far less amused. Haru and Kaito flanked your sides—Yuuma called in sick on the second day of the week.
The president sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ms. [Last Name], I’ll be honest with you. This situation has put us in a difficult position.”
You forced yourself to stay calm.
“We do have a band,” you said evenly. “We just had an issue with our bassist showing up. But it’s temporary. We’ll fix it.”
One of the organizers, a woman in a navy blazer, exchanged a look with the student council members. “That may be, but you don’t have a bassist right now,” she pointed out. “And without one, your band does not meet the minimum requirements to represent our school in competition. The sponsors and judges of high authority weren’t too thrilled with your performance last week as well. We had to compromise some of them to stay for the music festival.”
Haru sighed softly. “Then what will happen to us?”
The president hesitated, as if reluctant to say it out loud. “We’re giving you until the end of the month,” he said finally. “If you can’t secure a bassist by then… I’m afraid we’ll have to dissolve your band.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
Disband? Just like that?
Kaito shot up from his seat, palms flat on the table. “You can’t be serious. We’ve been working our as— very hard on this since last year, please.”
“We are very serious, Mr. Watanabe.” The president's voice was firm but not unkind. “The school’s music program is already under pressure for funding. With many bands making themselves known each year. If we can’t prove that your band is viable for competition, we can’t continue allocating resources to you.”
Haru exhaled sharply beside you, shifting in his seat.
You could feel the walls closing in, the weight of their situation pressing on your shoulders.
One month. That was all you had.
Your mind raced, going over every possible option, every potential bassist you could reach out to. But the truth was, other bands had already scouted most of the available musicians at school. If there were any other bassists capable of keeping up with you, you would have known.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part?
You already had the right person for the job.
You had found someone who could play at the level you needed—someone so good that even Kaito, with all his attitude, had begrudgingly acknowledged his skill.
But he was also the same person who didn’t want to play anymore. And you can’t force someone to do the things that make them unhappy.
You sucked in a deep breath, steadying yourself.
“We understand,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay calm. “We’ll find someone. Thank you for your kindness.”
The meeting wrapped up shortly after, but the weight of it didn’t leave you, even as you stepped out into the hallway. It felt like your heart was lodged in your throat, rendering you silent.
The moment the office door clicked shut, Kaito exploded.
“This is bullshit,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “All because some spoiled rich kid couldn’t be bothered to show up just for one gig?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.”
You didn’t say anything.
Kaito turned to you, eyes sharp. “Tell me you’re not still thinking about him.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m thinking about where we’ll find a good bassist. That’s all.”
Kaito scoffed. “Right. And who exactly do you think is good enough to replace him on such short notice? The others combed through almost all musicians in school.”
“Easy, Kai,” Haru told his friend.
You had no answer.
Because no matter how much you hated to admit it, there wasn’t anyone else.
Kaito must have caught the hesitation in your silence because his expression finally relented. “No. Let’s not think about it anymore.”
You adjusted the strap of your bag.
“We’ll figure it out,” you said, sidestepping the subject entirely.
Kaito sighed.
“She’s right,” Haru said. “We don’t have a choice.”
You nodded once, more to yourself than anyone else.
One month.
One month to fix this.
One month to… figure things out for better or worse.
And unfortunately, there was only one person who could.
And you were sure that he no longer wanted to see you.
But you had to talk to him one last time. For closure.
-
It was late. Touya’s classes usually stretched to 7 in the evening on Thursdays.
Touya was halfway down the stairs of the main building, hands shoved in his pockets, his steps unhurried. The night air was crisp, but he barely felt it. He had done what he always did—attended just enough classes to stay off his professors’ radar, killed time, and now, finally, he was going home.
But then he saw you.
You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, your bag slung over one shoulder. You weren’t blocking his way, but you didn’t move when he approached, your stance solid like you had been waiting for him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were the waiting type.”
You didn’t react to the teasing. Not even a glare.
“I get it,” you said instead, your voice unnervingly steady. “You don’t want to play.”
Touya slowed to a stop, tilting his head.
Something about the way you said it made his neutral expression turn to a simple frown—because there was no anger, no frustration, no accusations. Just a simple statement, like you had already accepted it.
Took her long enough.
He shrugged. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, and for the first time, he noticed how exhausted you looked. Not physically—no, you were still standing tall, still looking him in the eye—but there was something in your expression, something worn down at the edges.
“I know.”
Your hands are clenched at your sides, knuckles tight.
“You could’ve just said no. You could’ve told me in the practice room that you weren’t going to do it. That you actually didn’t care. That you were going to let me stand up there and make a fool of myself in front of the entire school—because at least I would’ve been prepared.”
Touya’s smirk twitched but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never promised you anything.”
Your shoulders stiffened.
“Because you didn’t refuse that day, when Kaito asked who you were. You picked up the bass, played a few chords, and stayed an hour or less than you intended to. You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.”
Touya didn’t respond.
Didn’t shift, didn’t look away, but something in his posture went unnervingly still.
You let out a breath, closing your eyes for half a second before opening them again. “Do you have any idea what it was like?” you asked. “Standing up there, knowing everyone was laughing at us? Knowing the only reason we even got to play was because the judges were being polite?”
He had heard.
He hadn’t gone to the teaser set, but the rumors had found him anyway. Your band had been the first to perform to keep the judges on board—only to be the one band without a bassist.
A missing piece in an otherwise well-practiced performance.
A joke.
The sponsors and judges weren’t happy at all.
Your laugh was quiet, bitter. “We were supposed to set the standard, Todoroki. We were supposed to show them why the school backs us—that’s why we were the first to perform. And instead, we just… gave them every reason to doubt us.”
Touya’s jaw tightened just slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “That’s not my problem.”
“Yeah. I figured.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city beyond the school gates filled the silence—the distant rumble of a passing car, the buzz of a streetlamp overhead.
Then, finally, you straightened.
“But I was happy,” you admitted. “To have seen you play in person. To have known that I was one of the first to approach you for your talent before anyone could even connect the dots with your name.”
Touya was quiet as you spoke, allowing you to tell him how you truly felt about the situation.
“Thank you for taking your time to visit our music room. And… I’m sorry, really sorry if you felt pressured to play because of my persistence. I know that now.”
Well, that took a turn, Touya thought to himself.
“I’m not going to bother you anymore,” you continued. “But I do really—genuinely appreciate you giving us your time.”
Touya felt something in his chest shift, but he ignored it.
You bowed for one last time and turned on your heel without another word.
He didn’t stop you.
Didn’t say anything as you walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit street.
Didn’t watch as you left him alone with the cold and the distant echoes of everything you had just said.
-
The house was silent when he got home.
It always was.
Touya kicked off his shoes in the entryway, not bothering to turn on the lights. Everything was still—too still.
His siblings wouldn’t be home for another hour.
The scent of old wood and polish lingered in the air, clean and sterile. The housekeeper must have been here earlier, tidying up everything that didn’t need tidying. It felt suffocating, the way nothing ever changed here.
His steps were slow as he made his way up the stairs, fingers dragging along the smooth railing. The portraits lining the walls were familiar, but he didn’t spare them a glance. Family pictures. Moments frozen in time. He knew what they looked like without having to see them—his siblings, perfect and poised; his mother, distant yet present; and his father, always standing in the center like an immovable force.
Touya wasn’t in most of them.
Who knows what he must’ve been doing—or what he’s done for him to not be included?
His fingers curled against the wood before he withdrew his hand.
At the end of the hall, his bedroom door stood half-open, just as he had left it that morning. He pushed it open fully, stepping inside.
The room was clean, untouched, just like the rest of the house seemed to be every time he came back. Sometimes he questions if a family truly lives in this house. A house, because it never felt like home.
His gaze flickered across the shelves first. Medals hung from carefully arranged hooks, ribbons still tied neatly around them. Gold, silver, bronze—some gleaming, some dulled with time. A display case lined with trophies sat against the wall, their engraved plates catching the little light from his window.
They were proof of what he had once been.
A prodigy. A name whispered among teachers and musicians alike.
Someone who had been going somewhere.
But none of it had mattered.
His eyes landed on the bass guitar in the corner.
It rested against the wall, still in its worn case, the handle covered in faint scratches from when he used to carry it everywhere. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands again, the familiar press of strings against his fingertips.
But it had been years since he actually played.
Years since he had felt anything when he looked at it.
Touya’s throat felt tight as he stepped further into the room.
At first, he had tried so hard. He had thrown himself into music with everything he had, drowning in it, desperate to carve out a space for himself in a family that never had room for him.
And for a while—just a little while—he had been good enough.
His teachers had praised him. His instructors had fought over who got to mentor him. People had noticed him.
But then his younger siblings had grown up.
And suddenly, his achievements weren’t enough anymore.
His father had never said it outright, but Touya had known. He had felt it in the way the encouragement faded, in the way the compliments grew fewer, in the way Enji barely looked at his trophies anymore.
You should focus on something more practical, his father had said once, as if music had been nothing more than a hobby. As if Touya had wasted all those years for nothing.
So he had stopped playing.
What was the point? What was the point of pouring himself into something that didn’t matter? What was the point of trying when no matter how good he got, it would never be enough?
Touya exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging back to his bass.
Even now, even after years of refusing to touch it, something in his chest twisted at the sight of it.
He told himself he didn’t care anymore. That it didn’t bother him.
But then your words came back to him, quiet but sharp.
You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.
His jaw clenched.
You looked so—tired. Not just angry, not just frustrated, but done. Like you had spent everything you had trying to reach him.
To reach something that could never be reached.
And for what?
Because he couldn’t face his own ghosts?
Touya let out a quiet scoff, running a hand down his face.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He turned away from the bass, shoving his hands in his pockets.
You weren’t entitled to his skills.
It didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter that it used to mean everything to him. It didn’t matter that he used to love it. It didn’t matter that for a few years, music had been the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely.
None of it mattered.
Not anymore.
And yet—
Touya lingered in the doorway, staring at the bass for one second too long before finally walking away.
-
Dinner was quiet that night.
Touya sat at the far end of the long table, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded with the kind of exhaustion that never seemed to leave him these days. The air in the house was the same as always—too clean, too cold, too silent.
He propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching his father from across the room. Enji Todoroki, a powerhouse of a businessman, always the center of everything, even here. He ate in silence, posture rigid, movements deliberate.
Touya barely touched his food.
Natsuo sat two seats away, quiet but visibly tense. Fuyumi kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting against her utensils. Shouto sat at his usual place, unmoving, eating mechanically like he wasn’t aware of the thick tension hanging in the air.
Touya let his gaze drop to the table, to his own reflection faintly visible in the polished wood.
It was funny, in a twisted sort of way.
He used to sit here as a kid, hanging onto every word his father said, desperate for even the smallest ounce of approval. He used to listen to Enji talk about Shouto’s lessons, about the weight of responsibility, about greatness.
And for a while, he had been a part of that.
For a while, Touya had been someone his father actually looked at.
The kid who could play with instinct, who picked up the bass and made it sing like he had been born to do it.
And back then, Enji had actually acknowledged it.
Not praise, not exactly, but recognition. His father had seen the way Touya played, the way his sponsors praised his name, the way his name had spread through competitions like wildfire, and for a short while—Touya had mattered.
Until he didn’t.
Until his siblings started excelling at everything else.
Natsuo was an academic. He soared through school with ease, outpacing everyone in his classes. His teachers raved about his intelligence, his potential.
Fuyumi was diligent and capable, always responsible, always steady, the one who excelled in sports. Swimming, volleyball, badminton—you name it, she could probably learn how to do it within two days maximum.
And Shouto—
Shouto was the golden child. The one their father had molded for years. The one meant for greatness, destined to surpass even Enji himself. He had a fragment of each of his siblings’ greatness.
And Touya?
Touya played music. And suddenly music wasn’t as great as academics, or sports, or arts.
One day, his father had simply stopped asking about his lessons. He had stopped attending his performances. Had stopped looking at the trophies he brought home, the medals he placed on his shelf.
And Touya knew then.
Knew that to Enji, he had already been left behind.
He swallowed down the bitterness clawing at his throat, his fingers curling against the table.
The silence in the room was unbearable.
So he broke it.
“You know,” Touya said suddenly, voice slow and deliberate, “I’ve been thinking.”
Enji didn’t look up. “About what?”
Touya tilted his head, watching him carefully. “About how pointless everything is.”
That got his father’s attention. Of course, it would. Enji finally met his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.
“Watch your tone,” he warned.
“Or what?” His voice was light, careless. “You gonna scold me? Ground me? Tell me that I’m throwing my life away in studying politics?”
Fuyumi’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to interject. Natsuo tensed. Shouto kept eating, but Touya knew he was listening.
Enji exhaled slowly, setting his chopsticks down. “If you have something to say, say it.”
Touya dragged a hand through his hair, breathing in sharply. “Alright. Fine.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I spent years playing the bass. I was good at it. No—scratch that. I was the best at it. You know that. My teachers knew that. Everyone knew that.” His voice hardened. “And you let me. You let me believe that it mattered, that it was worth something. And then one day, just like that, you decided it wasn’t.”
Enji remained impassive. “I never told you to stop playing.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He could still remember it. The shift. The subtle, almost imperceptible way his father’s attention drifted. How the words of encouragement—rare as they were—had faded. How the pride that once flickered in his father’s expression whenever he won had dulled until it was nothing but disdain.
Because music wasn’t important. Because it wasn’t a legacy. Because Touya playing the bass isn’t important. Because music wouldn’t help him become a candidate to rise to the business world.
And that had killed something in him.
“Do you even get it?” Touya’s voice rose slightly, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what it feels like? To pour everything you have into something, to love something so much it becomes a part of you, only to have it tossed aside like it’s nothing?” His fingers clenched against the table. “What was the point? What was the point of me trying? What was the point of all the competitions, the trophies, the lessons? What was the point of any of it if you were just going to decide it wasn’t worth your time?”
Enji was silent.
Of course, he was.
Touya’s laugh was louder this time, almost incredulous. He shook his head, his grip tightening. “I should’ve known, huh?” His voice was quieter now, something bitter curling around the edges. “The moment my siblings started excelling, I should’ve known.”
Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t refute it. Didn’t deny it.
Because it was true.
Because Touya had spent years waiting—waiting for something, anything, that told him he still was important. That he wasn’t just something his father had already discarded.
But Enji was as quiet as ever.
And that told him everything he needed to know.
His fists slowly unclenched. His expression smoothed over into something colder. He exhaled, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape of wood against the tile.
“Forget it.”
He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Fuyumi called out his name softly, but he ignored it. Natsuo watched him leave with something tight in his expression. Shouto didn’t move.
And Enji—
Enji didn’t stop him.
Touya didn’t look back.
Because what was the point in arguing with a wall?
But Touya knew the conversation was far from over.
-
“We need to talk.”
Touya let out a slow breath through his nose, already bracing himself. He didn’t stop to acknowledge him right away, just leaned down to untie his boots, drawing out the motion. He knew how this worked. Enji didn’t like raised voices, didn’t like drawn-out arguments, and didn’t like things disrupting his carefully maintained order. If Touya ignored him long enough, maybe he’d just drop it.
But, of course, Enji Todoroki never dropped anything. Especially not after the stunt he pulled earlier.
Touya sighed and finally straightened, rolling his shoulders as he turned. “Yeah?” He blinked lazily, voice laced with dry amusement. “What groundbreaking wisdom do you have for me this time?”
“You need to stop this,” Enji said, tone clipped.
“Stop what, exactly?” He tilted his head. “Speaking my mind?”
“Throwing a tantrum.”
“Ohhh. That’s what we’re calling it?” He let his voice drop into something almost conversational. “No, you see, I thought I was just telling the truth. You did say honesty is the best policy.”
Enji’s expression didn’t change. His silence pressed against Touya’s ribs like an iron weight.
Touya rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Lay it on me. What’s the lecture this time? That I’m being unreasonable?” He snorted. “That I should be grateful?”
Enji exhaled carefully. “I never told you to stop playing music.”
“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”
“I told you not to rely on it,” Enji clarified, tone flat.
Touya clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Keep it as a hobby. Something to do on the side. Something that wouldn’t distract me.” His voice dipped into something laced with mockery. “Because that’s what you always do, huh?”
Enji narrowed his eyes slightly. “Touya—”
“No, seriously.” Touya let out a sharp, humorless chuckle, stepping closer. “First, you push me into it. You tell me I’ve got talent, that I should hone it, that I should train.” His voice dropped into something razor-sharp. “And I did.”
His gaze burned, unrelenting.
“I played,” he continued. “I trained. I performed. And I was good, wasn’t I?” His voice was laced with something bitter. “I was great.”
Enji didn’t deny it.
“But then one day, you just…” He snapped his fingers. “Checked out. Like it didn’t matter anymore.” His jaw tightened. “As if playing music was the most disappointing thing any of your children could’ve done. Or maybe that case only applied to me?”
Silence.
Touya inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But, hey, that wasn’t enough, was it?” His lips curled into something sharp, his voice laced with venom. “No, because after making it real clear that music wasn’t worth your time, you decided to shove me into something else instead.”
His eyes burned.
“Business administration.”
Enji’s face hardened.
“You actually thought I’d be like you.” Touya laughed. It was a clear joke to him. “Like I gave a single shit about your business.”
Enji exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re intelligent, Touya. If you had stuck with it—”
“If I had stuck with it? Are you kidding me?” His voice rose, heated. “I never wanted that, old man! You wanted that!” He gestured wildly. “And you shoved me into it like you do with everything else because you thought it was better than me playing music!”
He took a slow, measured breath, voice lowering into something cold.
“And the worst part? I still tried.” His lips twisted. “I spent two years in that goddamn conservative, traditional university, forcing myself to study something I hated just because you thought it was acceptable.”
His fingers curled into fists. “And the second I transferred out, you had the audacity to act like it was my decision.”
He dropped his voice into a dead-on mimicry: “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? How could you waste two years?”
“Like you didn’t push me into it in the first place. You do that with everyone—Fuyumi would’ve still been competing today if you hadn’t discouraged her, Natsuo and Shouto as well.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Touya inhaled sharply through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less bitter.
“I didn’t even want to just play music,” he muttered. “I had a plan. I was gonna study law. Be a lawyer.” He scoffed. “Did you even know that?”
Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
Touya scoffed. “Yeah, I didn't think so.” He shook his head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be something. And I still wanted to play, still wanted to keep music as a part of my life—because it was with me for almost all of my life. But you made me feel like that was stupid. A childish dream that I was bound to let go of.”
His throat tightened.
“You made me feel like it wasn’t worth it.”
“Touya, you needed direction.”
“No,” Touya snapped. “I needed a choice. I needed support. But you never gave me one.”
Silence.
“You forced me into music. Then you forced me into business. And when I walked away from both, you just acted like none of it ever mattered. Like I had humiliated everything that you had built for this family.”
Enji’s expression didn’t change.
“No surprise, though, huh?” He tilted his head, voice dropping into something dangerously quiet. “Because Shouto could finally fill in my shoes.”
Enji’s jaw tightened, just slightly.
“Yeah, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Did I hit a nerve there, Dad?” His voice wavered, barely perceptible. “You didn’t need to focus on me anymore, so you didn’t.”
Touya’s fists clenched.
“I should’ve known better.”
Enji remained silent.
“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping out. “I’m going back to my dorm.”
And so, it did.
-
What used to be a room full of noise was now uncomfortably quiet.
You stood in the middle of it, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the half-empty space that had once been yours. It didn’t feel real. The shelves where you used to stack your equipment were bare. The walls, once lined with posters and setlists, were empty now—just blank, peeling paint and old tape residue. The air smelled like dust and memories you weren’t ready to let go of.
You swallowed down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to keep moving.
Yuuma was coiling up the last of the cables, his usual easy grin nowhere to be seen. Kaito crouched near the amplifiers, wrapping them up carefully like they weren’t just equipment but something precious. Haru had already taken down the band’s old posters, stacking them in a neat pile like he couldn’t bring himself to crumple them up or throw them away.
It was too quiet.
The kind of quiet that came with the weight of finality, of something ending when you weren’t ready for it to.
You bent down and picked up a box of loose sheet music, flipping through old setlists and unfinished lyrics scrawled in fading ink. Some of these songs had never made it past rehearsals. Some of them had performed on your biggest nights, your loudest wins. And now?
Now they were just scraps of paper.
You exhaled softly and shoved them into the box.
A few feet away, Haru stacked another case onto the pile by the door and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think the next band’s gonna do anything with this place?”
You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.
Yuuma snorted softly. “They won’t be us.”
No one disagreed.
Because it was true.
You had been the best. The best. Your band was the one that had carried the university through every local competition, every festival for a year straight. You have been known for your energy, your chemistry, and your sound. You were the band that made people stay even after the headliners left.
The absolute blueprint.
But now?
Now, you were just another band that fell apart because people moved on. Your former bassist chose to focus on his internship, which you respected. The others started quitting as well due to some other conflicts, and only Kaito, Yuuma, and Haru stayed. You were thankful for that.
Kaito let out a slow breath and leaned against the table. “We really thought we could hold out, huh?” He smiled, but he was tired, resigned. “Guess we were all kinda stupid.”
“Not stupid,” you corrected. “We just… we wanted it to last.”
And for a while, it had.
For a while, it had felt invincible.
Until it wasn’t.
Kaito didn’t argue. He just nodded, pushing another box toward the door.
You glanced around, taking in the room one last time. The cracked stool where Kaito used to sit when he got too tired standing. The corner of the room where Haru always left his water bottle. The space near the set of drums where Yuuma used to zone out between rehearsals. The spot where you had spent so many late nights rewriting lyrics, surrounded by the sound of your friends messing around, playing half-finished chords, and making stupid jokes.
It was hard to believe that by next week, another band would be standing in this same space.
That this room—your room—would belong to someone else.
“Alright.” You clapped your hands together, forcing a small smile. “Let’s finish up.”
No one argued.
Because there was nothing left to fight for.
So you worked.
Packing up the remnants of what used to be something grand.
-
Touya wasn’t used to asking for things. Not from other people. Not from institutions. Not even from himself.
But here he was, sitting in the suffocatingly sterile office of the university’s administrative staff, pushing down every instinct that told him to just walk out and let things be. He couldn’t let things be.
The chair was stiff. The air was too still. His leg bounced impatiently under the desk, but he forced himself to keep his voice even.
“I’m here about the band that oversees the music club.”
The staff member—a woman who looked about one budget cut away from quitting her job altogether—barely spared him a glance as she shuffled through a stack of papers. “The band that was dissolved?”
Touya clenched his jaw. Yeah. The one I fucked up.
“…Yeah,” he muttered.
The woman sighed, rubbing her temples. “If you’re here to file a complaint, I’ll stop you right now. The rules are clear—without a complete lineup, the band can’t maintain active status, but the club is still available for students who want to learn to play instruments.”
“No, no. I’m not here to join the club,” Touya exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. “And I’m not filing a complaint about the band,” he said. “I’m fixing it.”
That got her attention. She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “You’re fixing it?”
“Yes.” His fingers dug into his palm. “Reinstate the band.”
The woman stared at him for a long moment, then let out a dry chuckle. “It’s not that simple, kid.”
Touya hated that. Hated how she dismissed him so easily, like he was just some desperate student throwing a last-minute plea.
But, to be fair, he was desperate. He’s never been this desperate before, but the moment he saw another band in your practice room, he couldn’t leave it as is.
He swallowed back the frustration rising in his throat. “Look, we need a full lineup, right?” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ve got one. I’m playing bass.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “You?”
Touya nodded.
She tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. “…And this isn’t just some last-ditch effort to get back on a technicality?”
“No. I was just… a little late due to some… personal conflicts.”
She gave him another long look, then sighed, shaking her head. “If the band can prove they’re competition-ready by the end of the month, we’ll consider reinstatement on a probationary basis.”
Touya exhaled, relief flooding his chest. “I’ll take it.”
The woman slid a stack of papers toward him. “Then fill these out.”
-
The first thing Touya did after leaving the office was find you.
It wasn’t hard—because he asked a few students from your department where you usually stayed. The rooftop, they all said.
“What now, Todoroki?” you asked, not even bothering to look at him.
“I was going to play.”
The words were soft. Too soft for him.
Your hand stilled, pausing from rewriting your notes.
Touya let out a slow breath, stepping forward, leaning against the railing a few feet away from you. He didn’t look at you. Just stared out at the view below, where the campus stretched out in the afternoon light.
“I was ready,” he said. “That night. Before the music fest. I had my bass; I was going,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And then my old man showed up.”
Touya rarely talked about his father. Much less to anyone—especially you. You had heard things, of course—whispers, rumors, the kind of stories that floated around when a family name like his carried a reputation. But you never asked. It wasn’t your place.
And your priorities lie elsewhere.
You stayed silent, letting him speak.
“He told me to drop it. Said there was no point. That I was wasting my time.” Touya’s fingers curled slightly against the railing. “And I don’t know why it got to me. I thought I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. But right then, it was like I was a kid again, standing in that room full of trophies that didn’t mean anything to him.”
His voice was quiet. Not bitter, not angry—just honest.
“And I got scared.” His jaw tensed. “Because what if he was right?”
You blinked at him as he turned to face you, though you were quick to avert your gaze.
“What if I was wasting my time?” Touya said more than asked. “What if I walked into that music fest, got on stage, and realized I didn’t have it anymore? What if it wasn’t worth it?”
He got a bit closer to where you sat.
“So I didn’t go.” He glanced up at the sky. “I stayed home. Didn’t answer my phone. Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”
You stared at your notes, but the words were starting to blur.
“You were right,” Touya mused after a long pause. “Giving you hope was the worst thing I could’ve done.” He sighed. “You should’ve hit me for that one.”
You finally turned to look at him, and for the first time, he actually met your gaze. His eyes weren’t cold or distant, not laced with sarcasm or carelessness.
They were just… open.
You swallowed and looked back down.
“You used to love it,” you concluded. It wasn’t a question.
Touya gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”
The wind was the only thing that spoke for a while.
You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to that. To him.
But…
You could hear it in his voice. The regret. The way he hated himself for it more than anyone else ever could.
That didn’t change much. Your band was still dissolved either way. And you’ve been drowning yourself in your studies to ignore the ache.
But maybe—
Maybe it meant something.
His hands were still in his pockets, his shoulders tense like he wasn’t used to saying things that actually mattered. Like he had already braced himself for whatever you were going to throw at him—anger, disappointment, indifference.
But instead of waiting for you to say anything else, he spoke first.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His voice was steady, quieter than usual. “And I’m not asking you to.”
You blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the edges of your notebook.
He sighed, shifting his weight. “But I talked to the organizers, professors, and staff. The university president, too.” He glanced at you, searching for a reaction, but you just stared, waiting. “The band’s registered again.”
Your breath hitched, barely noticeable—but he caught it.
“As long as you want to have a band,” he continued, his tone more certain now, “it’s yours. I’ll play.” He tilted his head slightly, something almost pleading flickering in his gaze. “I should’ve played from the start. So if you’ll let me, I’ll do it now.”
He was serious.
There was no sarcasm, no deflection, no half-hearted attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t doing something that mattered. He wasn’t trying to be cool or detached.
For once, Todoroki Touya wasn’t running.
“And if I say no?”
Touya smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in it—just something quiet, maybe even hopeful.
“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to convince you.”
You looked at him, your knuckles white where they pressed against your closed notebook. The wind picked up, rustling the pages slightly, but you didn’t move. You barely breathed. Forgot to, maybe.
God, you hated him.
You hated how genuine he was being.
But more than anything—
You hated that you wanted to believe him.
“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask. It’s soft this time around.
“No.” Touya’s voice was level, calm. “But it’s a start.”
“You don’t get it.”
“Then tell me. I’ll listen.”
You couldn’t tell him.
Because the truth was, you believed him.
And that was the worst part. You’re too hopeful again, and what if this time around, the damage would be even more severe?
“You don’t have to do this.” Your voice was steady, but underneath it was something raw. “You don’t have to do all of this because you feel bad. Because you suddenly decided it mattered to you again.”
Touya didn’t flinch. He just listened.
You wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Something. Because how dare he stand there so calmly while you were unraveling all over again?
“I believed in you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t have. Even when everyone told me not to.” You had to clasp your hands together and take in a steady breath.
Touya was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly—
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.” His voice was lower this time, more certain. “I know because I did the same damn thing to myself. To be scared of something inevitable, I chose to run.”
That stopped you cold.
This made you realize—
This wasn’t easy for him, either.
The exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands curled into fists in his pockets—
He wasn’t just standing there expecting you to forgive him.
He was waiting for you to tell him no.
Waiting for you to tell him he had lost his last chance. To tell him to stop bothering you.
To leave you alone.
And you should.
God, you should.
But then there was the way he looked at you—
Not with pity. Not with indifference.
But like you were the only person in the world whose opinion could ruin him.
And you had never seen anyone look at you like that before.
-
Practice ran late. Not that anyone was really complaining—well, except for Kaito, who kept muttering about how his fingers were cramping up, but nobody paid him much attention. You were all riding the high of a solid rehearsal, the kind where everything clicked, and even though Touya would never admit it out loud, it felt good.
Really good.
It had been so long since he played in a group like this, since he let himself enjoy it instead of overanalyzing every note.
And then Yuuma, with his usual lack of impulse control, had to break the comfortable silence.
“Okay, but seriously,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers as he leaned against the wall. “How the hell did we get you?”
Touya, who had just been double-checking the tuning pegs on his bass, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “Huh?”
Kaito grinned. “He’s got a point, man. You’re Todoroki Touya.”
Touya frowned. “Yeah. I know my own name.”
“No, but seriously,” Yuuma insisted, gesturing vaguely. “You’re like—this mysterious, untouchable figure on campus. The guy who doesn’t show up to class half the time but still somehow passes. The guy who sits in the back of the room and barely talks to anyone. And now, suddenly, you’re our bassist?”
Touya exhaled through his nose. “You make it sound like some divine intervention.”
“It is,” Yuuma said, completely serious. Then, without missing a beat—“Do you have a girlfriend?”
…
“What?”
“Yeah,” Kaito snickered. “That would actually explain so much.”
You, on the other hand, were completely distracted with your phone to even pay the boys any attention.
Haru, who had been silently observing the conversation like he was watching a wildlife documentary, finally chimed in. “Are you implying that Touya was bribed into joining the band?”
Yuuma nodded sagely. “Exactly. Like—imagine he’s secretly dating some hardcore musician chick who was like, ‘Touya, babe, you need to do this for me,’ and he just couldn’t say no.”
Touya gave him the flattest look imaginable. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” Haru asked, adjusting his glasses.
Touya sighed, already regretting all of his life choices. “No.”
Yuuma snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes that theory.” Then, after a beat, he turned to you. “By the way, do we have a budget for a talent fee?”
You glanced up. “Huh?”
Yuuma jerked a thumb at Touya. “I mean, we basically landed a celebrity. Should we be paying him or something?”
Touya scoffed. “You can’t afford me.”
Kaito snickered. “Damn, that’s bold.”
“What?” Yuuma grinned. “I’m just saying, we might as well treat him like a high-profile guest artist.”
Touya smirked. “You should be honored.”
“This is dumb,” you laughed.
Yuuma, still grinning, slung his bag over his shoulder. “But for real, you’re actually sticking around this time, right?”
Touya hesitated.
The question felt heavier than it should’ve. Because a few months ago, the answer would’ve been an easy no. Why would I waste my time? This wouldn’t matter.
But now?
He exhaled, shifting his bass case higher on his shoulder.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “All the way.”
Kaito whooped, slapping him on the back. “Hell yeah.”
Yuuma smirked. “Good. Because if you did bail again, I was fully prepared to start charging you a dropout fee.”
Touya snorted. “You wish.”
You, who had been watching him carefully, finally exhaled and gave him a slight nod. “Then don’t be late tomorrow. Same time.”
Touya smirked. “No promises.”
You gave him a knowing look.
Yuuma grinned. “Alright, then—welcome to the band, officially.”
And for the first time in years, standing there with his new bandmates, feeling the weight of his bass strap across his shoulder and the lingering buzz of rehearsal in his fingertips—
Touya actually felt like he was home.
-
With the recent turn of events, jealousy is an apparent feeling for those who aren’t as privileged to have snagged Todoroki Touya.
And it all started as whispers.
Small, snide comments whenever you walked past the other bands in the music hall. Barely-there smirks, little glances, and the occasional scoff from some second-rate bassist who thought they were so much better because they had never once lost a performance slot.
You ignored them.
You had better things to do. Your band was back, and with Touya as your bassist, things were better and stronger than before. You were making up for lost time, running setlists late into the night, writing new songs, fixing old ones. The fire was back in your chest, the thrill of the stage creeping closer.
But the whispers didn’t stop.
And eventually, they weren’t whispers anymore.
You were passing by the courtyard, Touya trailing half a step behind you, when a group of students—members of another well-known band—let their conversation just slip into earshot.
“She’s lucky, isn’t she?”
“Right? If we had a prodigy like Todoroki, we’d be unstoppable.”
“I mean, let’s be real, he’s the only reason they even got reinstated.”
“I wonder if she realizes how much she’s riding on his talent. Kind of embarrassing if you think about it.”
Your steps faltered, just for a second.
But you didn’t stop.
Didn’t give them the satisfaction of giving them your time.
Touya, though—he did stop.
You had taken another step before you realized he wasn’t beside you anymore. You turned, frowning, just as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head at the group, expression unreadable.
“Oh, sorry,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize I had groupies.”
The students stiffened. “What?”
“You’re talking about me like I’m not right here.” His tone was light, almost amused. “That desperate for attention?”
One of them scoffed, recovering quickly. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious [Last Name]’s band wouldn’t stand a chance without you.”
You clenched your fists, but Touya—he laughed.
It wasn’t a friendly laugh.
It was sharp and unimpressed.
“Yeah?” He raised a brow, amusement fading into something colder. “Then why is it that even before I joined, they were the best band on campus?”
The students shifted uncomfortably.
“I mean, that’s what pisses you off, right?” Touya continued, taking a slow step forward. His presence was overwhelming, gaze sharp as he looked them over. “They were already winning before me. [Name] built that band from the ground up, and everyone knew they were the ones to beat.”
No one said anything.
He smirked. “But if it makes you feel better to pretend it’s all me, go ahead. Must be easier than admitting you just suck.”
One of them clenched their jaws. “What’s your deal, man? You don’t even care about bands or competitions.”
Touya rolled his shoulders, casting a glance back at you.
You hadn’t said a word, but he could see it—the way your grip on your bag had tightened, the way your jaw was locked. You weren’t going to defend yourself.
Which was fine.
Because he would.
“I didn’t care,” he admitted, looking back at them. “Didn’t give a fuck about any of this.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp.
“But I do now. And you know what I found out?”
The weight of his words sank in, and no one had a response.
“I actually kind of like it,” he hummed. “So try to keep up. Because for the remaining two years, we’ll never lose as long as [Name] and I are onboard.”
With that, he turned back to you, nodding toward the path ahead. “Come on. We’ve got practice.”
You stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a slow breath and walked beside him, leaving the others behind.
They didn’t talk about it and didn't bring it up again.
But as you headed toward the music room, Touya nudged you lightly with his elbow.
“They’re just jealous,” he said, voice quieter now. “You know that, right?”
You exhaled, then, finally, nodded just a little.
“Obviously.”
-
“Alright,” Yuuma had said one afternoon, spinning a drumstick between his fingers, “hypothetically, if you were going to make it up to [Name]—properly, not just half-assed—what would you do?”
Touya, who had been tuning his bass, barely spared him a glance.
“I already apologized.”
Kaito snorted. “Yeah, and she tolerated it. Barely.”
“Then what do you want me to do? Write her a sonnet?” Touya asked.
Haru, from where he was perched on top of the amplifier, added, “Not a sonnet. A song.”
“Excuse me?”
Yuuma grinned. “Dude, it’s perfect. She’s all about the band, right? Music’s what she actually gives a damn about. So if you really want her to believe you’re in this for real, show her through music.”
Kaito nodded. “Exactly. Words don’t mean shit to [Name] unless there’s proof behind them.”
Touya frowned, fingers idly running along the strings of his bass.
Writing a song.
It had been years since he’d tried—since he let himself create rather than just play. Back then, his notebooks had been filled with half-finished compositions, lyrics scratched out and rewritten over and over again. He had loved it once.
He was conflicted.
Yuuma clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You in?”
Touya exhaled sharply. “…Fine.”
Yuuma grinned. “Good answer. It’s sooner or later that you’ll learn that we actually can’t take no for an answer here.”
-
The first problem?
Touya had no idea where to start.
Sure, he knew how to write—he knew chord progressions, rhythms, and structure. But what the hell was he supposed to say?
It wasn’t like he was about to write some sappy, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole.’
The actual writing process was a disaster in itself.
Yuuma wanted a fast tempo—something that hit hard and kept the energy high.
Kaito argued for something more melodic, something with room to breathe.
Haru, the only one thinking practically, kept reminding them that it had to fit your vocal range.
Touya, meanwhile, wanted to strangle all of them. It’s hard to believe that he and Yuuma were in the same year because the latter acted so childish—so energetic.
It took days of back-and-forth, of testing out different riffs, of scrapping entire verses because they weren’t good enough.
But eventually, they had something.
Something undeniably theirs.
Now all that was left was playing it for her.
-
Practice started like any other day.
You arrived on time, as usual, already flipping through your notebook and mumbling about setlists before anyone could even say a word.
Touya, despite knowing what was about to happen, stayed silent.
It wasn’t his place to introduce this.
It had to be them. All of them.
And, sure enough—
“Actually,” Kaito cut in, casually adjusting his guitar strap, “we’ve got something new to go over today.”
You tilted your head to the side. “What?”
Yuuma grinned. “Surprise.”
“If this is another one of your pranks—”
“It’s not,” Haru assured you. “Just listen.”
You sighed, clearly not in the mood for their antics, but you leaned back against the chair anyway, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if this sucks, we will proceed with the hardest entry as our warmup song.”
Touya smiled. “Noted.”
And then they started playing.
The first few notes were soft, subdued—a simple melody carried by Haru’s keys, the kind of sound that felt like waking up from a long dream. Then the bassline came in, low and steady, grounding everything. Touya’s fingers moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over, like the song had always existed in him, just waiting to be played.
Kaito’s guitar layered over it, bright and sharp, a contrast to the weight of the rhythm section. And then Yuuma’s drums kicked in—fast, insistent, alive.
The song had movement.
Had feeling.
It wasn’t an apology.
It was a promise.
By the time the last chord faded into silence, [Name] was staring.
Not in shock, not in disbelief—
But something Touya couldn’t quite name.
He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, avoiding your gaze.
“Well?”
“…You wrote this?” you asked.
Touya nodded, feeling strangely exposed. “Yeah.”
There was a long pause, and for a second, he thought maybe this had been a mistake. That maybe you’d say too little, too late.
But then—
“…It’s good,” you told him, laughing quietly. “Is this our entry for the Music Mayhem Event?”
Yuuma grinned. “Hell yeah, it is.”
Touya smiled, nudging at you a little. “So. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“I… actually forgave you when you sought me out on the rooftop.”
“Wait, really?:
“Yeah, I— really don’t hold grudges for long.”
Yuuma clapped him on the back. “Dude, that’s so romantic.”
Kaito laughed. “Congrats, man. You got to apologize twice and wrote a song for the competition. Killed two birds with one stone.”
Haru just nodded, satisfied. “Saves us the trouble and time, then.”
Yeah.
Looked like it was.
-
The venue was packed.
Touya rolled his shoulders, gripping his bass a little tighter than necessary. The strap dug into his shoulder, grounding him, reminding him that this was real. No running this time. No excuses.
You were beside him, your fingers tapping against your mic, an old nervous habit you refused to acknowledge. You exhaled through your nose, a slow, measured breath, but Touya could see it—you were excited. No, more than that—you were ready.
Kaito was tuning his guitar, barely holding back a cocky grin. Yuuma stretched his arms, rolling his neck, hyping himself up under his breath. Haru was calm, adjusting his keyboard settings with precise movements, unreadable as always.
“Make sure your voice doesn’t crack, Todoroki,” you commented.
Touya chuckled. “We’ll see.”
Then the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers:
“Next up—give it up for—”
The crowd erupted.
Lights flooded the stage, hot and blinding.
And then, it was just them.
-
If you told Todoroki Touya that he’d be playing the bass again after eight years, he would’ve laughed right in your face.
(Mm, yeah, I know how this goes…
You stand in the light, I fade in the smoke…)
He would’ve told you that he didn’t care how good he used to be. He’s lost interest, to put it into simpler terms.
(Didn’t ask you to chase me down—didn’t need another fight…
But there you were, reckless and loud, saying we could get it right…)
He would’ve told you that he had better things to do.
But now, he did. Touya was playing the bass.
Touya didn’t just play—he felt it. His fingers moved on instinct against the strings, like they had a mind of their own, like he was carving out something raw, something familiar, something that had been trapped inside him for too long.
Then came the pre-chorus. The tension built.
And that’s when he came in.
(Yeah, I left you hanging, left you cold—swore I’d never play that role…
But damn, you still play me like a note…)
His voice was rougher, rasping with emotion, clashing with your smoother tone in a way that shouldn’t have worked—but it did. You turned toward him, stepping closer, your voices winding together like opposing forces caught in the same storm.
And then—
The chorus hit.
(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—
Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!
Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—
But we both know I’m still hanging there!)
You and Touya met in the middle of the stage, mic stands forgotten.
You were fire; he was smoke.
Then came the second verse, and it was yours to claim as his voice faded into the background.
(You don’t beg, you don’t plead—
But I hear it in the way you breathe…
Sick of ghosts and dead-end dreams—
But somehow, you still look at me…)
Your gaze caught his. And Touya—he didn’t look away. He looked at you because you were the only one he could see—that he wanted to see.
The music dipped again, shifting into the bridge. Everything stripped back—just the bass and your voice.
(You don’t get to walk away, not this time…
Not after leaving me behind…
You play ghosts, I play fire…
But even flames need something to burn inside…)
The way you sang it—low, steady, sharp as a blade—it sent a shiver down his spine. It tugged at his heartstrings in a way that didn’t feel like him.
Then—
The build.
Drums creeping back in. Guitar humming under the surface. The energy climbing—
And then everything crashed into the final chorus.
(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—
Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!
Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—
But we both know I’m still hanging there!)
It was undeniable. It was everything.
As the last note hit, ringing through the venue, the whole place seemed to hold its breath.
And then—
The deafening eruption.
Viewers screamed. Hands shot up. The cheers were deafening. Even the judges looked impressed, their quiet conversation lost under the sheer force of the audience’s reaction.
You stood at the front, chest heaving, sweat beading at your temple, but your eyes—your eyes—burned with something victorious.
Touya, gripping his bass, let out a slow breath.
This was it.
For the first time in a long time, he felt it.
Not just the music. Not just the stage.
But the want.
The need.
The need to keep playing.
You had done it.
Done this to him.
And it was only the beginning.
-
Todoroki Touya never thought he’d come to this point.
His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dripping down his temple, his adrenaline spiking so hard that he could barely stand still. The entire band was high off the energy, voices overlapping as they half-shouted, half-laughed at each other, Yuuma swinging an arm around his shoulders while someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands.
“That was insane!” Your guitarist, Kaito, was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. “Holy shit, did you see how the crowd lost it when we hit that last chorus?”
“Dude, [Name] killed that bridge,” Yuuma added, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Touya? Bro, your bass solo? I felt that in my soul.”
Touya barely registered the words.
Because across the room, you were glowing.
To Touya, you had this look about you, the way you always did after a performance—flushed cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin making you radiate under the dim backstage lights. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing breathlessly, one hand gripping the back of your neck as you spoke with their events coordinator, your body still thrumming with the rush of the performance.
Touya swallowed.
There was something clawing up his ribs, something tight, something desperate, and before he even realized what he was doing—before he could stop himself—he moved.
His fingers curled around your wrist, firm but not rough, and you barely had time to react before he was pulling you with him, slipping past the others and into the dimly lit hallway behind the stage.
“Hey—Touya, what—?”
You didn’t finish.
Because the second you were out of sight, the second you two were alone, Touya turned, one hand still gripping your wrist, the other lifting without hesitation—
And he kissed you.
It was instinct, thoughtless and reckless, but it felt right.
You went rigid.
For a single, heart-stopping second, you didn’t move, didn’t react—so still that Touya almost panicked. Almost pulled away, almost started to stammer some kind of half-assed explanation, almost—
But then you inhaled sharply, and your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like you were trying to ground yourself.
And that was all it took.
Touya’s grip tightened, his palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek. His lips moved against yours with the feeling of overflowing feelings that are just too good to put into words.
The music, the rush, the way your voice had wrapped around his on stage like you had been made for this, for each other.
Whatever this feeling was, it had been simmering beneath the surface, lingering in the way he always found himself seeking you out, the way he stayed just a little longer after practice, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.
And now—now—it was spilling over, like an overfilled cup, impossible to ignore any longer.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless; Touya didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your face, fingers brushing along your skin.
You were staring at him, wide-eyed, your lips parted in shock, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.
“Huh..?”
Touya exhaled sharply, trying to steady his pulse, trying to make sense of the mess in his chest.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough, strained.
His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breath still mingling with yours, but one thing’s for sure.
if my heart was a house (chapter 3) - a shigaraki x f!reader fic
It's been nineteen years since Tomura was sentenced to death, and you've built a life in the space he left behind, braced each day for the worst. You're prepared for everything - the questions your daughter asks, the memories that sting a little more in the winter, the specter of the news you've been afraid of for years. But of all the things life's thrown your way, it's the one you haven't dared to hope for might be the one thing you can't handle. (cross-posted to Ao3)
The prequel can be found here: what I can't remember now written for @pixelcafe-network's Challenge Friday event! Banner/divider by @cafekitsune
extra-special thanks this time to @shigarakislaughter for the emergency beta-read!
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3
It’s two am, and you gave up on the idea of sleeping well before midnight. Midoriya Izuku apparently wasn’t planning to sleep at all. When you called around eleven, hoping he’d be asleep and you’d have until morning to brace yourself, he picked up the phone, sounding just as chipper as he does in every one of his voicemails. And he’s a talker. You’ve been on the phone since eleven, and you aren’t sorry about it. There’s a lot you need to catch up on. And you’re not the only one. Spinner’s on the line, too.
Spinner was Tomura’s best friend before, and Spinner’s pissed at you. You can tell, and part of you just wants to poke the bear and end the suspense about why. But you want to hear what Midoriya has to say even more, and Midoriya is a seemingly endless fount of information about the state of the death penalty and life in prison. You avoided learning very much about this during the trial. You were trying to hold onto hope, and it already wasn’t working very well. Most of what Midoriya says is news to you. You’re taking notes.
It’s only once he’s given you and Spinner a thorough background in the whole thing that he starts in about Tomura’s case in particular. “What’s interesting about Shigaraki’s case — the thing that jumped out at me first — is the life sentence. The court imposed the death penalty for six of the murders, but tacked on a life imprisonment for the seventh. It got lost in the shuffle of the death penalty thing —”
“Yeah, I never heard about that,” Spinner says. “Did you?”
“I did, but it didn’t mean anything to me,” you say. “It was all just awful. It all meant he’d never be free again.”
“I hear you. But it meant something for sure,” Midoriya says eagerly. “The victim in the life-sentence case was Shigaraki’s biological father.”
You curse. You can’t stop yourself, and Spinner’s voice takes on a note of urgency. “What was that? What do you mean?”
“His dad was –” You hated him when you first heard about him. Now that you’re a parent, you hate him even more, and your limbs start to hum with fury, such that you have to get up and walk it off. “His dad’s the reason Tomura ended up with his adoptive father. He hurt Tomura. I don’t know everything, but it was bad enough that they took Tomura away from the family.”
“So there were mitigating factors,” Spinner says suddenly. “They knew that at the trial?”
“Yes. I dug up a psych evaluation from after Shigaraki was removed from his biological parents’ care, and it had PTSD written all over it. Literally.” Midoriya pauses for breath, then launches back in. “And there’s no evidence that his adoptive father ever pursued treatment for him. Which is — we’ll get into that in a second. Anyway, the fact that the court recognized a mitigating factor in one of the cases signaled to me that there might be room for movement on the death sentence. If I could prove that the same mitigation factor existed across all the murders.”
“We tried that the first time around,” you say. “It didn’t work.”
You remember how dismissive the defense attorney was to you, how it was clear he’d already written Tomura off, how all the money you and Spinner and the others raised wasn’t enough to hire someone who cared. “I heard things have changed a little bit,” Spinner says. “Not a lot, but — Twice counsels kids who are in the system, and he says that they look at that stuff in juvenile sentencing.”
“It’s spilled into adult sentencing as well. The older generation of judges and prosecutors is retiring and the newer ones aren’t as hard-line,” Midoriya adds. “I felt pretty hopeful for at least getting the death penalty knocked down to life for Shigaraki. But once I started looking at the old trial, it was a mess. There was a lot of reason to doubt that Shigaraki actually knew what he was doing at the time of the murders — and when I pulled the confession out of the picture –”
“You can’t do that.”
“His interrogators got indicted two years ago for drugging people who didn’t confess and asking them again under the influence. Yes I can,” Midoriya says. You feel like you’re going to be sick. So much for pacing. You sit down hard. “Once I took the confession off the table, the situation changed a lot. Our legal system, regardless of what the codes say, starts from the presumption that the accused is guilty. I looked at the evidence again, this time based on the presumption that Shigaraki was innocent.”
It’s quiet for a second. You can’t take the suspense. “And?”
“Shigaraki was definitely present when the murders took place,” Midoriya says, “but it’s likely that the only one he took part in was his biological father’s. And it’s not clear that he would have done anything if he hadn’t been under the influence.”
“He was drinking?” Spinner repeats, bewildered. “He’s a lightweight. He’d start throwing up way before –”
“Not alcohol. GHB. That’s –”
“The date rape drug,” you say. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. “That was twenty-five years ago. How –”
“The same night the murders occurred, Shigaraki’s adoptive father took him to the emergency department, claiming that he’d been drinking. I pulled the records, which included a blood test that was taken at the time. Negative for alcohol, positive for GHB.” Midoriya sounds a little sickened, too. You squeeze your eyes shut. “So Shigaraki’s dad was with him the night of the murders. Shigaraki’s dad took him to the ER due to intoxication on a substance most people don’t use recreationally, but a lot of people use for — you know. And Shigaraki’s dad provided almost all the evidence against him. The state’s case would have fallen apart without it.”
You don’t even know what to say. You should shut up. Instead: “Tomura never got treatment for his mental health stuff. Every time I thought I’d talked him into it, his dad would talk him right back out again.”
“Because he wanted Shigaraki to be unstable,” Spinner says, and swears. “He fucking framed him.”
“Why?” you ask hopelessly. “What would even be the point –”
“I’ve got theories. But that’s not on me to do,” Midoriya says. “One of my classmates from law school is still a prosecutor, and he’s already arrested Shigaraki’s adoptive father. My concern is with Shigaraki, and what’s going to happen when he’s released.”
“We’ve got him,” Spinner says at once. “We can help him get back on his feet. Whatever he needs. We all have money.”
You don’t have very much money, but you want to help, too. You have to help. You have to see him again. “I can –”
“No, you can’t.” Spinner cuts you off, and does it with more venom than he used on Tomura’s apparent psychopath of an adoptive parent. “I don’t even know why you called. You don’t get to care about this any more. You fucking ran!”
“Hey,” Midoriya cautions. “That’s kind of aggressive –”
“I don’t give a shit. He’s finally started writing letters again, and you know who he asks about in every letter? You,” Spinner spits, and your chest deforms from the weight of your guilt. “What the fuck are we supposed to tell him? Sorry, Shigaraki — your girlfriend dropped off the face of the earth and none of us have heard from her in nineteen years? We thought you were dead. Then Midoriya comes up with your fucking phone number –”
“How did you get my number?”
“Uh –”
Spinner cuts Midoriya off before he can answer. “You should have been here with us, fighting for him. You gave up. Why are you even here? Why don’t you go back to living under a rock and let the people who actually love him –”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap. “I didn’t give up. You have no idea what it was like for me, during the trial — everything –”
“Yeah, you had it so hard.” Spinner’s voice is heavy with disdain. “We weren’t having a great time, either. You know what helped? Staying together. You weren’t just his girlfriend. You were our friend, too. You dropped us all like we didn’t matter and ran off when it got hard.”
“Would you shut your mouth? You have no idea how complicated it got –”
“It’s not complicated at all,” Spinner shoots back. “You dropped us and ran away to the countryside to have your perfect little life –”
Your composure breaks, and for once, you don’t try to keep it together. “Fuck you, Spinner! If you would listen to me for two fucking seconds –”
“Mom?” Chihiro’s bedroom door creaks open, and you freeze. “What’s going on?”
The sound of her voice is all it takes to bring you back to earth. To notice how fast your heart is racing, to notice cold sweat dripping down your spine. “I’m just on the phone. I’m sorry it got loud. Go back to bed.”
You stumble through the explanation, but it doesn’t warn Chihiro off. She comes closer. Spinner must have choked on his own spit, because he’s coughing too hard to respond. At first. “Of course you got married and had a kid. How long did it take you to hook up with some loser and forget all about –”
Chihiro reaches over and presses the video call button, then turns the camera towards herself the instant Spinner and Midoriya both accept. “My mom didn’t hook up with anybody,” she says. “Shut up.”
There’s a clatter on the other end of the line as Spinner drops his phone in shock. Midoriya manages to keep his composure a little better. “Hi,” he says. “What’s your name?”
Your daughter introduces herself warily, and shares her age when Midoriya asks. “Why do you want to know?”
“Once — well, we’ve already filed a lawsuit against the government for violating death row inmates’ human rights, and Shigaraki is one of several plaintiffs. And once he’s released, we’re going after them for wrongful imprisonment.” Midoriya’s writing something down. “Part of the lawsuit is proving the negative impact of the government’s treatment of Shigaraki, and this will help. His wrongful imprisonment didn’t just hurt him, it kept you from having a relationship with your dad. He is her dad, right?”
That one’s for you. “Yeah,” you manage. “I didn’t find out I was pregnant until after the sentencing.”
“We’ll need to do paternity testing to confirm, but –”
“They’ll know.” Spinner’s phone is shaking, and you can see the shock on his face. “You look just like him.”
“You look like an asshole,” Chihiro says, and you take your phone back in a hurry, aware that you should be disappointed and sort of proud instead. Chihiro sits down next to you on the couch. “Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m —” Spinner coughs, looks away. His eyes look blurry. “I’m one of your dad’s friends. Spinner. Sorry, I just — you’re kind of a jump-scare. So’s he.”
For somebody with such a striking appearance, Tomura was pretty sneaky. He didn’t scare people on purpose, but he had no problem startling them a bit. You wonder if he’s still like that. How much will have changed since the last time you saw him. “My mom didn’t hook up with anybody,” Chihiro says. “I’ve never even seen her date. She gets sad every winter because it reminds her of him and she definitely still misses him –”
“Chihiro!” You cut her off, but it’s way too late, and Spinner actually looks relieved. You’re — what? Mortified. Sad. Ashamed. Angry. “Stop making that face, Spinner. If you’d let me finish talking, I would have told you –”
“You were still wrong to leave. But I get why you thought you had to,” Spinner cuts you off. “This is good. I’ll tell everybody so they stop putting together a hit squad, and Shigaraki –”
“No,” you say. Spinner, Midoriya, and Chihiro all jump. “Neither of you can tell anyone, especially not Tomura. It has to be me.”
“That’s bullshit. She’s Shigaraki’s kid, too.”
“My name is Chihiro,” your daughter says. “I’m eighteen. I’m not a kid.”
“Okay,” Spinner says after a second. “Yeah. He still has a right to know.”
“And he should hear it from us,” you say. You put your arm around Chihiro’s shoulders. “Not from you. And not right away.”
Spinner argues, but Midoriya breaks in over him. “I agree,” he says. “A prison sentence like his does things to people. I don’t know what he was like with surprises before, but a surprise this big, the instant he’s released — it’s a really bad idea. That kind of psychological shock can hurt somebody. We want his transition back to civilian life to be as smooth and quiet as possible.”
“He’s going to keep asking about you,” Spinner says to you. “You have to say something.”
You think Spinner’s right. What are you supposed to say, though? How can you say anything without saying the two of you have a daughter together? “If he’s going to stay with you at first, send me your address, Spinner. I’ll send a letter for him.”
“If you want it to get here before he does, you’d better mail it tomorrow,” Spinner says. Chihiro stiffens in her seat next to you. “Midoriya, when’s he getting released?”
“Sometime within the next three weeks. Our PR department has a few editorials lined up to hurry things along,” Midoriya says. He grimaces. “Sorry about the article yesterday. We didn’t sign off on that.”
“The Kizuki one?” Spinner looks disgusted. “She’d better quit mouthing off. Toga’s this close to doxxing her.”
“Don’t tell me things like that,” Midoriya says. “We’re working on it, I promise. PR and the legal stuff is my job. Your job — you two, not Chihiro — is to make sure Shigaraki has a soft landing. As soft as it can be, anyway. This is going to be hard on all of you for a little while.”
“No shit,” Spinner mumbles. He yawns. “I’m supposed to do a book signing tomorrow –”
“I have work. And Chihiro has school.”
“Get some sleep,” Midoriya advises. “And you two — work it out. Please. You trying to kill each other won’t help Shigaraki at all.”
He says goodnight and hangs up, but Spinner stays on the call a little longer. “Hey. Uh, Chihiro — can I talk to your mom for a second? Alone?”
“Are you going to be an asshole?” Chihiro asks around a yawn of her own. Spinner shakes his head, and Chihiro looks to you. “If he starts being an asshole again, just hang up.”
You nod and kiss her forehead before she heads back to her room. Once her door shuts, you make eye contact with the camera. “Now what?”
“Look, I shouldn’t have blown up,” Spinner says. “And you shouldn’t have run.”
“I shouldn’t have done a lot of things,” you say. “Why are we still talking? You said you had work in the morning.”
“I do. But this is important.” Spinner looks as serious as you’ve ever seen him. “When you write Shigaraki this letter, don’t promise anything you can’t follow through on. I don’t know how much of what the kid said is true — the kid. You have a kid. That’s insane.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Spinner forges on. “Even if everything she said is true — about you missing him and everything — that doesn’t mean you want to get back together with him. Don’t say something you don’t mean.”
You can do that, you think. You need to figure out what you mean first. You nod. “This shouldn’t be the only time we talk before he gets out. Let’s check in sometime once we’ve both gotten sleep,” you say. Spinner nods, and something occurs to you. “Why’d we both end up on that call? I mean, we were the closest to him, but for something this big –”
“I was there because Shigaraki authorized it,” Spinner says. “You’re here because he named you when they locked him up.”
“Huh?”
“When people get to death row, they have to name the person who will get their personal effects and ashes — afterward.” Spinner looks away. “Shigaraki named you.”
Spinner must give your number out, because over the next week, you find yourself fielding calls and texts from Toga, Twice, Magne, and Dabi. None of them have brought up Chihiro, which means Spinner and Midoriya have kept their mouths shut, but that means that you spend a lot of time being yelled at. You get why they’re mad, but you’re getting tired of people being mad at you. Chihiro being mad at you is more than enough.
She’s not quite as mad as you thought she’d be. It could be a lot worse. She’s still talking to you, still says she loves you when you drop her off at school and when the two of you say goodnight – but the consequences of your lie by omission are lurking in every silence, and when she comes to you with questions, it always turns into a fight, no matter how much detail you include in your answer. They’re small fights, just a few minutes of raised voices and tears. Maybe other parents are used to this with their teenagers, but you and Chihiro never fought like this before. It could be a lot worse, but it’s awful.
You haven’t cried in front of her, but you’ve cried plenty on your own. In the bathroom with the shower running. On walks in the woods where you come back after dark. In the bathroom on your breaks at work when you’ve gotten another angry text or you fought with Chihiro on the way to school. And of all the calls you’re getting, none of them are the one you really want – the call from Midoriya, telling you that Tomura’s release date has been set.
You wrote the letter, like Spinner said. You mailed it the next morning, and Spinner let you know he has it, on one of the multiple daily texts you’ve been exchanging. Your interactions with him are probably the least contentious. Spinner’s trying to get his house set up to host Tomura, and because you lived with Tomura, he has a lot of questions for you.
For some reason, he’s called you today instead of texted you, and he hits you with a question before you’ve even said hello. “What kind of mattress does he like?
“Huh?”
“Soft, medium, or firm. What kind was your bed?” Spinner asks. Wherever he is, there’s a lot of noise in the background. “It would have been one of them.”
“I don’t remember. I think we bought it used.” Neither of you had very much money. “We were sleeping in a twin bed for the whole first year we had the apartment.”
“Yeah. Something was wrong with you guys,” Spinner says. You roll your eyes. “So the mattress – was it really squishy? Or really hard?”
“Neither. I think it was just a normal mattress.” The noise in the background is even worse. “Where are you?”
“I’m at IKEA. Midoriya said we might get news on a release date soon, and I’m not making Shigaraki sleep on my couch,” Spinner says. He’s at IKEA. You’re too bemused at that to really respond. “I don’t have any clothes for him, either. Do you remember what size he was?”
Yes, but – “He could be different.”
“He’s not,” Spinner says, and your stomach lurches. “Skinnier, maybe. What size?”
Spinner’s seen him. He must have. As much as your instincts are screaming at you to ask, you hold it together. “You don’t need to buy him new stuff,” you say. “I still have his things.”
“You – what? Really?” Spinner sounds shocked. “That’s – it’s been nineteen years. You kept all of it?”
“Of course,” you say. You don’t know what else to say.
The trial is a blur, but what happened after it wasn’t, as much as you wish it was. You couldn’t afford your apartment without Tomura, and because you couldn’t tell anyone why you were leaving, you had to pack up alone. You were exhausted. You weren’t sleeping and you were constantly throwing up, and when it came time to deal with Tomura’s things, you got as far as taking his coat off its hook by the door before you burst into tears. You sat on the floor with your face buried in it until it stopped smelling like him.
Getting rid of his things was never an option, not really. Even if you’ve never unpacked them, even if you haven’t looked at them since you closed the boxes, it’s meant something that they’re there. You’ve been waiting for Chihiro to ask about them. Dreading it. But maybe you can get around that. “I’ve got his clothes. And his old games. I can send them.”
“I’ll take the clothes, but you should keep the games,” Spinner says. You blink. “In case the kid wants them.”
Oh. “Chihiro doesn’t really game.”
There’s an awkward silence. “When you tell Shigaraki about her, don’t tell him that.”
You would have gotten Chihiro games if she’d ever seemed interested, but you aren’t much of a gamer, and you haven’t seen her play much except for Animal Crossing, Stardew Valley, and really old Pokémon games. Of all the things you’ve worried about when it comes to telling Tomura about his daughter, the fact that she’s not a gamer didn’t factor in, and you find yourself cackling semi-hysterically into the phone. “It’s not funny,” Spinner says, and you laugh harder. “He’s already going to have a hard time with it. What if –”
He's cut off with a series of staccato beeps. You have another call coming in, and when you check the caller ID, your stomach clenches tight. “Midoriya’s calling,” you say. “I have to –”
“Yeah. Go,” Spinner says at once. “He’s probably going to conference me in, so talk to you soon –”
You end the call and accept Midoriya’s, the questions spilling out in an anxious flood before he can even say hello. “Did you find out anything? I know you’re busy and I haven’t wanted to bother you, but – he’s been there for nineteen years and he should never have been there at all. Why is it taking so long to get him out?”
Usually Midoriya would have interrupted by now, but he’s quiet. All you can hear on his end of the line is ragged breathing, and your anxiety goes from uncomfortable to painful in a split second. “Say something,” you plead. “Is he –”
“It’s me.”
You don’t have to ask who it is. You’ve never forgotten the sound of his voice, even if it’s rougher and raspier than you ever heard it, and your own comes out in a strained, airless gasp. “Tomura,” you say. “Are you – out?”
“Yeah.” He sounds so tired. There’s a strange rattle in his breathing. “Midoriya wants his phone back. I can’t talk long. But I needed to hear your voice.”
“I’m – I’m glad you called,” you manage. It feels like the wrong thing to say, but you can’t imagine what the right thing is. You feel like you’ve been shoved off a building – the sick, swooping feeling in your stomach, the inability to orient yourself, the confusion and fear. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
Tomura starts to answer, but he starts coughing instead, and Midoriya grabs the phone. “I would have warned you if we’d had any warning, but – it was just supposed to be a pre-release conference. If the judge hadn’t insisted on holding it at the prison – it’s only been a week –”
“Breathe,” you say automatically, like you’re talking to Chihiro instead of to a grown man. “Tomura’s out. That’s good, right?”
“The judge ordered his immediate release, so he can go to the hospital. That’s how much his condition has deteriorated!” Midoriya sounds like he’s vibrating with rage. “I know you want to talk to him, but I need my phone so I can call Kacchan and tell him that if he doesn’t indict Warden Torino and everyone who’s worked under him in the last twenty years –”
“Why is he going to the hospital?” you interrupt. Your voice is shaking. “Midoriya, tell me.”
Midoriya’s not listening to you. “This is why prisoners don’t take legal action even when they’ve been wrongfully imprisoned! They know they’ll be retaliated against with impunity. How are we supposed to effect meaningful change if everyone’s too scared to ask for help?”
“Midoriya!” Your voice cracks. “What happened to Tomura?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Midoriya says. “Dehydration, malnutrition – stop that, you’re supposed to be resting –”
“Give me the phone and I won’t have to fight you over it.” Tomura’s barely audible over the coughing, but when he speaks again, it’s clear he’s got the phone back. “I need to tell you something. I promised myself I would.”
“Okay,” you say. Your heart is pounding. It’s hard to breathe. “Tell me.”
“It was real,” Tomura says. His voice goes quieter, raspier. “It’s still real. I love you.”
He starts coughing again, harder than before, and before you can say a word in response, Midoriya has the phone again. “Can you update Spinner and the others? I won’t be able to make those calls. I have to deal with this – and find a way to protect my other clients –”
“I’ll do it, but you have to update me,” you say. “Even if it’s just a text. I have to know what’s going on.”
“Fine. I’ll work on getting Shigaraki a phone,” Midoriya says. “He can call you once the oxygen mask comes off. Until then I’ll do what I can.”
The oxygen mask. Whatever’s wrong with Tomura, it’s so bad that he’s in the hospital or on his way there. You have so many questions that you don’t have a prayer of getting any of them out. “Okay,” you say, trying to buy yourself time to think, and Midoriya hangs up on you.
You slump back against the wall, your head spinning. There’s cold sweat dripping down your spine, and when you lower the phone from your ear, your hands are shaking so badly that you nearly drop it. Tomura’s out of prison, but he’s in bad shape. Midoriya hung up on you. Tomura called you so he could hear your voice, so he could tell you he loves you, and you don’t know when you’ll be able to talk to him again. And you didn’t have a chance to say it – or anything – back.
Something happened to you when you heard Tomura’s voice, the same thing that happened to you when you found out he’d been exonerated, except this time, you don’t have Chihiro’s presence to force you to ground yourself. It’s like you’re twenty-two again. The world’s turned upside down, everything you thought you knew shaken up and shifted beneath your feet. You don’t know what happens next.
Yes, you do. Call Spinner. Call the others. Tell Chihiro, because you promised you’d tell her as soon as you knew anything, and then finish the rest of your day at work. You can do this. You’ll do it the same way you’ve always done it – one step at a time.
You text Chihiro first. She should be the first one to know that her dad’s out of prison. Then you call Spinner – Spinner, who’s definitely still at IKEA, based on the noise in the background when he picks up. “What’s going on? Midoriya never called me. He’s supposed to let us both know when something happens.”
“It wasn’t Midoriya. It was Tomura,” you say, and Spinner goes dead silent. You take a deep breath, let it go, and on the other end of the line Spinner does the same. Not that it helps much. Everything has changed, and it threatens to overwhelm you all at once – but you’ll handle it one step at a time, until everyone’s looking away and you can fall apart in peace. “He’s out.”
Some of the most rawest feelings I’ve ever felt was from any of this authors works.
Especially this fanfic, something about the pure portrayal from shigaraki’s isolation to the sweetness and hope depicted in the third chapter for reader just… reads understanding. This whole 3 chapters is so raw felt, reading it gives me gray hues and visuals and lighten up as I proceed with every chapter. Truly, not just this soul sucking story but ANY! Of this authors works. Please check them out guys! It’s worth it, I promise 💜
Happy Lunar New Years everyone one!! Chúc mừng năm mới!!!🧧🧧. Wishing everyone a lovely and prosperous year. May we become a little bit wiser and intuitive! May you make those chances you wish to make and transform like the year of the snake. 🐍
Hey guys! January and February’s posting schedule is looking like it might be a little more barren than previous months…. Unfortunately I had planned to post New Year’s oneshots but alas… sickness. As for the coming months, I’ve got a bunch of competitions and personal matters going on!
However, as it’s almost Lunar New Year I’ll be sure to post something!! If you’re curious as to what it might be… consider the year of the snake 🐍💚
Genshin and blue lock fans look out :P ))
Hope everyone’s January is going well! Please hydrate and enjoy yourselves everyone
HEHE HELLO !!! as the year 2024 comes to a close . . i wanted to send my gratitude to you for being here this year !!! it’s been made better because of you – no matter how much we’ve interacted, or how long a time we’ve been mutuals, i’m thankful that we were mutuals and friends and got to interact ♡ i hope every single bit of love you put into this world is returned tenfold to you! 🥹 and that the next year is as kind as you are ♡ i’m proud of you for doing your best this year, and that’s more than enough – something to celebrate! you made it !!!! i’ll end off this letter with a reminder that you are so worth loving, thank you for existing in the same time as i do ♡
AWWW YING 😭💚… This is so sweet thank you thank you thank you! You are such a ray of sunshine for my dashboard I’m so glad we’re moots <33 Hoping that when you see this your day is going well too!! Please take care of yourself and here’s to more interactions as mutuals! <33
(I’m sorry I got to this late… Unfortunately nymphs of bad luck plagued me with the cold on new years so I’ve been in recovery)
My biggest flaw about my blog right now is that my themes been the same for way too long 😭. And that I really need to decide on a writing style that’s consistent….
SYNOPSIS... where a far overworked employee takes to participating in The Steambirds newest news program, 'Penpal System'. Only to fall horribly in love with your penpal buddy... who’s also someone you know?
DISCLAIMERS... , female reader, 3.2 archon quest spoilers, small enemies to lovers, cursing, aether traveller, very nerdy + silly reader who is soo emotionally stunted, not proofread
BARISTA'S INTEL... posting this like a year after I pulled alhaitham during his first banner o7... Anyways this fanfic went through so many revisions I hope yall enjoy (alhaitham loml <3)
CAFE TUNE... love story // Indila
LETTER X: Promotion
Working with a boss who is self-sufficient and only prioritizes finishing his nine to five job may actually just kill you.
Even if he’s really, really, really, cute.
Ever since the "great all-mighty" Alhaitham and the hero nicknamed 'The Traveler' saved your "wonderful" Sumeru. A day with the notorious 'Acting Grand Scribe' of Sumeru's Akademiya typically goes like this;
You wake up from a half satisfying sleep, realizing you've once again spent your night face smushed across the hard cold wooden desks of The House of Daena's library. Students who had a life less toxicating then your own; stared, whispering a far bit louder then what they thought would be out of range. Your eyes droop in defeat, having given up frantically -well, to the onlookers, maniacally- explaining that your boss was an egotistical know-it-all that forced you to stay late nights. At some point, all reason to argue became needless months after serving as Alhaitham's secretary.
Staggering half-mindedly down the pavilion, Sumerian robes fluttering loosely around your body as you swipe them sleeves closer to your chest, you tilt your nose up to the aroma of fresh baking from the stalls below. A savory smell of spices licks at your senses as you wander closer to the trail of delectable food waiting for you. It barely takes more than a minute for you to come waddling into Lambad's Tavern
Your daily saving grace, as you peak through the windows, eyes shocking open.
Peering over the windows, you glance nervously side to side as you scour the filled tables for signs of silver flickering hair adorned with a snobby headset of golden. A relieving sigh flies past your lips when you find that no such person exists. At least... In the Tavern.
Although, a tall brunette man peers above the counters, wooden dishes in hand as he notices you. Chuckling knowingly as he serves his customers, watching you stalk his windows. Like a creep-
Goodness, sometimes you almost felt bad for Lambad...
Motioning for you to come in, relief overtakes as you stomp in satisfied, waving politely and flashing a sweet cheery smile at the regulars as you march towards Lambad's bulky figure, his muscles flexing as he waves happily.
"[Name]! It's been only half a day since your last visit! I trust you're still buried head to toe in paperwork? Come, have a seat!"
Graciously, he leans over the table, pulling out a barstool for you as he hunkers back, grabbing a bottle of something underneath.
"Archons grace, you're such a sweetheart Lambad... You're way too kind. You have no idea. Gods, sometimes, I don't even know if I'm dreaming or wide awake and still working this hellish job!! Pleaseee Lambad... You've have got to save me!" Rambling on and on, you thump on the stool, groaning instantly as you slump over the counter, stretching your hands over your face.
Pulling down your cheeks with your hands, a quiet dramatic sob leaves your drained face as you stare all sopping like at the man.
Pouring out a baby yellow drink out of the bottle, Lambad pushes forward a chilled glass, adorned with small chunks of Zaytun peaches. Your mopey eyes trail to the faint sweet smell, launching out to pull the drink in as you place your chin on it.
Ahh... Sweet refreshing cold.
"Oh wow... Sure sounds like you've been through a lot [Name]! Here, try this new peach lassi I came up with recently! It'll be sure to cheer up your stomach at the very least! We can't have Sumeru's best worker going around on an empty stomach now can we!"
Sipping at the drink, the smooth texture of the yogurt mixed drink softens down your throat. An icy touch following with as the sour sweetness beckons you.
Whenever hungry, overworked, and far to underpaid to give enough of a damn, you could always count on Lambad Tavern.
Lambad himself was so used to listening to your daily problems he'd had learn overtime how to soothe your bitter heart. A nice new treat and the bonus of a bar seat left you no room for complaint. Often, he'd make sure to leave a small key underneath a nearby bush, hidden safely in a stowed away box.
Months back, when your boss had first been appointed at his position, and those darn Akademiya scholars had deemed you the perfect candidate to be his dog, Lambad had requested the Kshahrewar Darshan students to craft a small box for the extra key. A distinctive little wooden keep, shaped like a leaf with several knobs pointing out like twigs. Upon his request, the darshan had taken extra care to make the box as interesting and interchangeable as possible.
It made for a good pass time as you spent dewy, chilled mornings, left locked outside your apartment (archons forbid you remember the akasha terminals password for it) as you spent your early hours spent on a bench. Leaning over your crossed legs, you'd nit-pick on the box for hours, fiddling with the pin tumblr locks as you held the box close. Listening for small clicks left behind as the springs allowed for one lock to unlock another.
Zoning back in, you come to notice the lack of sweet yogurt lassi left in your chilled glass. Droplets now trickling down the sides of your glass as they collect, condensation pooling over your stunned fingertips wrapped around from the time you spent spaced out.
.
.
.
"Are you back yet' scholar? You blanked out longer than usual this time around. Hey, you spent so long thinking about whatever caused you to mope this time around, that you forgot to even tell me!" Laughing hardily, Lambad swipes the glass from underneath your freezing hand. Glancing back questioningly.
Strange. You don't usually space out when you're around company.
"Sorry Lambad, I don't know what that was... I just- Well, it felt like I just got wisped away... Weird." Pulling back your hands, you palm over the residual water in your hand, wiping it away on the ends of your Sumerian robes, clothes taking on a darker tone from the soak.
"No problem, lady! It's alright, happens to the best of us. Hey, that does remind me of a story I've been hearing though! Lately, other adventurers and Akademiyian scholars have been boasting around..."
Leaning in over the counter, Lambad whispers, eyes narrowing they dart around nervously,
"I hear that Adventurer's Guild Katheryne has got her hands full with this new program. It's from Fontaine's Steambird! Called the 'Penpal Program'... Sounds fun doesn't it?"
"I- What does that have to do with anything just now! Lambad... Are you crazy?"
"No, no! Let me finish. What I'm saying is, folks have been so upset in their work they've been writing about it across seas to anonymous friends. I hear it wisps you away into your own little escape!" Chuckling, Lambad pulls back, reaching into yet another cabinet as he searches the crevices for something.
"So, you're just nuts... Great, my only genuine friend... Lost to weird media," letting out a sigh, you plop back down on the counter in defeat.
Maybe you really weren't salvageable... First the weird spiraling, and now this strange program.
"Aha! Found it! Here, just give it a try [Name]... I'm sure it won't hurt you! You could really use a friend that wasn't a tavern owner you know..." heaving out a pile of papers, throwing them down; a puff of dust erupts. Lambad reaches for the top paper as he passes you it, huffing as he reorganizes the rest somewhere deep in his storage.
"You know, I worry about you lady... Seems like all you've been doing the past couple of months is working your end off for Scribe Alhaitham!-"
"Sh, sh, sh! Stop! Don't! Do not say his name. Oh, so help me Archons-"
At some point during the long arduous navigation to becoming Alhaitham's secretary, a strange phenomenon found itself into your life.
Sadly, every time you or your friends had mentioned the annoyance of a man, it seemed he'd find his way into your conversation one way or another... Almost predictably.
In any case, it made for a horrible superstition that the mere mention of his name could even summon him. Making it almost impossible to carry your normal tangents about the woes you faced. The oh-so-treacherous life of a secretary under a selfish boss.
At your defense, you had learned soon enough to warn your friends of the weird illusion. Finding out that if you could just convince them to omit the use of 'his' nine letter name it would solve his convenient interruptions into your life. Archons, the lengths you would (and have) taken to ignore this mans absolute atrocious presence...
Unfortunately, that never was a foolproof plan.
"Sorry! Sorry! I apologize... Forgot about that weird notion of yours to for a second..." Chuckling nervously, Lambad looks around, leaning in close to whisper,
"He couldn't possibly be around at this hour though... Could he?"
Inching in closer yourself, you murmur;
"I promise you, he's everywhere. It's so creepy... you have no idea!... One time-"
"[Name]? Is that you? Does your shift not start at 9 o'clock on the dot at the Akademiya secretary?"
"Fucking shi-"
Jumping up from your seat, your hand slams violently onto the wooden table (ouch) as you hop haphazardly out of your stool.
Glaring at Lambad, you watch as he sheepishly backs away, happily taking to ignoring your stink eye as he hums over your menacing hate. Forcing you to turnback your attention to the (unfortunately) approaching silver haired man as he strides in full glory.
Alhaitham, the notorious boss.
The man who caused you great distress day and night as he looms over your scholarly papers that he pushed onto you. Taking to taunting you and criticizing your work as he knowingly clocks out at five pm on the dot.
God, even his stride and speech was tantalizing.
It took every flexed stiffened muscle in your body not to revolt and gag on reflex as your eye twitched.
"Oh!... Alhaitham sir!... How- cough- good to see you so early. Yes, I know when my shift starts sir. I was merely grabbing a treat before I went to slave away- I mean, work on the demands the Akademiya higher ups sent in last night." Are you being dramatic, maybe, perhaps even yes, gags ensue.
Perking up a questioning brow, his muscles flex as he pulls down the golden headphones that laid flat over his head. Silky smooth voice clear as he ignores your obvious frustration,
"Right. Well, be sure to come by my- our; office sometime during your shift. I've received peculiar news you may just want to listen to. If you're so willing..."
Everything about him speaks superiority over you, it's almost more irritating that he still insists on calling the office he'd obtain over his promotion "ours".
A small noticing you had gained as you listened to how silky his baritone voice was, projecting across any room in a great demand. A reeling pull that you couldn't let loose from your mind.
It never was clear why he insisted on claiming the office was both his and yours. After all, the large thing of a room was piled head to toe in work addressed to him, letters asking for him and his advice, gifts and bribes designated to partition his favor; not yours.
Shaking off the thought, you nod, knuckles tightened beneath your long robe sleeves as your jaw clenches.
"Right. I'll be sure to come by as soon as I finish my business here, sir."
With that, a small nod flicks his head as he turns, walking pridefully away without a single glance back, closing the door in triumph as you groan.
It haunts you, the way his voice rings through your head and whispers behind your back;
honeyed low, demanding.
...
When you arrive at the infamous office, exactly 10 minutes before your actual clock-in, it barely surprises you to find Alhaitham already refined and sipping on a mug of coffee.
His dreary eyes running over the latest edition of The Steambird as he ignores your entry.
Huffing, your own eyes roll over, used to his lack of acknowledgement as you take to waiting on the soft (oh so warm and comfy) couch in his office.
Puffing the pillow up, you plop exasperated on the inviting seat, making sure to irritate him with your loudness as you reach to grab a novel from the neighboring coffee table.
It takes a couple awkward minutes as you both sit in dissonance silence, both flipping through each others respective readings. A habitual dance that was often played until either you or him in his pride chose to cough artlessly.
This time, after finding his fill of the latest news, Alhaitham's cough rings through the silence. Your momentary peace, broken, as soon as it was obtained...
"Are you done with that novel? Come, we have important matters to work on and I'd rather not waste the rest of today lingering around."
Cold and harsh, you reply in return,
"Just hand over whatever it is you're pushing on me this time, archons, it isn't as if you'll actually work on anything that doesn't benefit your personal goals Alhaitham." A tsk leaves your lips, stomping up and over to his table angrily as you peer over his newspaper.
His irises pool in irritation as the greens of his eyes close, eyelashes following. Narrowing his eyes as he surveys you back, maintaining an unknown feeling between your connection of gaze.
As of late, many mornings were spent with moments such as this, awkward responses, short curt flickering stares of temperate interactions. Alhaitham remarking about some part of your "lack of efficiency" to which you'd reply with a snide off hand remark.
Looking into his eyes, it was almost tempting to leave their chokehold on you, a want to trail your eyes down his sharp jawline, the hallows of his neck, the curves of his muscles and collarbone down to where the black of his shirts fabric tightened, defining their shape.
It felt almost reachable.
Kissable.
An urge to kiss away that silly, vexing, knowing glare of his. The uncouth way he continues to stare, waiting for you to respond first. As if he wasn't the one constantly pushing you to your limit, killing your spirit with his very presence.
What would it take to wipe that cocky morality of his?
A kiss to his jaw? Or maybe right where his soft, supple looking skin meets with the fabric of his tight shirt? Or perhaps even the back of his neck, where you once noticed was covered with equally luscious hair, and wires that connected with his headpiece.
Woah.
Where did that come from? That's not right...
This is Alhaitham, scribe of the Akademiya, your employer.
The man you detested to see each and every day. So where did these sudden fantasizing thoughts come from?
"Tch, here, lately, the Akademiya has been writing to me about the work you have done for them. It seems the work you produce meets with their subpar expectations. Congrats. This is your notice of promotion and details of increased wage. Please, feel free to celebrate this... Achievement elsewhere. After, you have finished your shift."
A letter stamped with the markings of a green wax leaf pulls from the desk, held in the palm of his hand as he continues to stare.
All this time, Alhaitham continues to look into your eyes. Prying at your very heart.
"... Oh, t-thank you sir. I'll be sure to review this..."
Still thinking about that strange string of thoughts you had, relectantly, you grab at the letter. Pausing just short of his extended hand,
"Are you... Toying with me?"
"Huh? Are you so disbelieving that I could have supported this recommendation from the scholars? Do I seem like such a dimwitted employer to you?"
"No! No... You're right, never mind. Thank you Alhaitham... Sir."
His hand is cold as you grab at the letter, electricity shocks through your fingertips as they connected with his.
A tint of warmth tingles through your body, rushing out of his office without a second thought.
Nerves run hyperactive throughout your body as your stand, knees wobbling as your back presses against the large wooden doors.
Letter crumpled into your clammy hands, a strange fuzzy feeling bubbles.
His hands... Seemed inviting. But oh, the way he stared. His eyes, they felt so tender and fond as they glowed, looking at you longingly, or so you could name.
Could visions very well do that to a wielders eyes? Make them glow with an unnerving amount of affection?
Your palms continue to grow sweaty as you try to soothe your pacing heart, pulsing still zapping through every bone in your body. A strange uneasiness clouding your head.
It takes you several minutes stood outside his door, trying to comprehend what the strange fuzziness was, before you opened the letter.
At least, maybe the letter could bring some sense into your clouded judgement.
Indeed, inside of the letter contained faked sugary words as they lined the new contractual rules. A bunch of normal office regulations listing out alongside a congratulations as you finally skip to the bottom, seeing a place to sign. Besides lay the words "Administrative Assistant" bolded and in cursive. The combining of a very, very, long set of numbers attached to the title, issuing your new wage.
Oh, sweet archons, you’re going to be rich.
Letter I: Introductions
Lately, a strange new habit has intruded on his normal life.
He often finds himself thinking a little too long about a certain someone within his life. It frustrates him to no end, considering how much it plagues him and drives him away from pure concentration to get through his workload. Alhaitham ponders the possibility of divine interference, confused as he sips on his mug of coffee.
After watching you leave in a rush just the hour before, it oddly piques him how quick you were to run out after your promotion. Though he knows you hate his guts for some reason or another, a strange tingle tugged at his chest as he had watched you leave. Strangely, he could almost say the feeling was sadness.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the sad little feeling bubbling up in his pumping heart as he listened to the sound of your footsteps leaving without a second thought. How annoying.
You should at least have the decency to show your gratitude in front of him, instead of running away like he was the plague. Barely bothering to even smile at him when he had handed you the letter.
But... Your hands did feel nice against his own, a sharp zap of something eliciting through the mere touch you two had shared. He wishes that he could have been brave enough to grab at your hand, that weird tingly feeling of possessiveness as the thought of holding your hand twirled in his mind.
But only for a brief moment.
And there it is again-
Moments like this were bizzare to him, for the past hour he had spent at his desk all he could think about was how your fingertips had grazed his own. An unusual sensation of what could only be described as joy as his mind danced around the idea of your hand in his.
A secondary thought of how confused you had seem peeks through, his eyes closing briefly as he tries to picture your face again. Rolling around the image of your confusion, hearing the saccharine tone of your voice thanking him as you had rushed out.
Was he really such a dreadful boss that a promotion seemed unlikely?
In any case, his eyes remain closed for a little longer, wrinkles adorned across his forehead as he tries to reimagine what he could have done wrong.
It's not as if he was some vile, inconsiderate man.
True, he had used the term 'dimwitted' and perhaps he had been known to be a little sharp tongued in the past. But it was all within sound reasoning. Right? …
Snapping out of his trance, his hand reaches for the tanned papers laid beside his mug. Bolden letters, inked in black, flowery design stretched out as it reads "Penpal Program ! hosted by The Steambird". Reviewing the contents of the column before placing his fingers around a random pen, itching to sign his name on the line. Perhaps taking the time to connect with people outside of simply you would anchor him back into reality. Anything that wasn't the constant cycle of you that replayed in his head.
It was unfortunate to say, but the amount of time he had lost in his work just thinking about what it would be like to spend his days with you really did affect his intellect more than he would like to admit. More unfortunate yet, even his 'friends' had taken notice. The bothersome room mate he housed, Kaveh, had found it amusing to make a game out of guessing what had gotten him so dazed as of late.
If it wasn't for the fact that sometimes, and only sometimes, Kaveh could offer decent advice, perhaps he wouldn't have considered the idea of figuring out one distraction with another... temporary one.
Afterall, why try and understand this vexing emotion when it would mean, he would have to confront you head on. Which sounds incredibly more irksome.
His room mate had been quick to point out this was not sound logic-
Kaveh did suggest, that perhaps Alhaitham could anonymously bring up this issue with a pen pal. A clean slate with no attachment to neither him or you, and could provide reasoning as to why he felt so... Unlike him. It would do him good to have someone to consult with, since, to his annoyance, Kaveh had stated he wasn't one to speak on his truths to anyone else, finding it annoying to deal with people in real life.
In his moment of brief intelligence, Alhaitham remembers him bringing up the mention that journalling and writing letters was a scientifically proven method of narrowing down how one feels. A key part that could help Alhaitham get to the bottom of his trance.
Though it peeved him that the blonde had been right, it was a good idea to journal his thoughts. It was simply a bonus that he would be receiving live feedback. Not that he would need it. Certainly, after taking some time to think it through these symptoms, it would obviously turn out to be he was right, and these feelings of butterflies were absolutely nothing at all.
Yet, fleeting memories of your face flash in his mind. Uncontrollable as he signs his name on the small contract slip below the newspaper. Thinking to himself how enchanting it would be to understand you. To peer into your vast thoughts, wondering if you too, ever contemplated him. Ever noticed him.
.
.
.
After spending nearly an hour ranting on to Lambad about your new promotion and massive paycheck, you find yourself in the establishment again, dwelling over a new dilemma.
Sitting on a stool in the Lambad Tavern once more, the lights flicker softly. Looking outside, the sky envelopes in a dark night. A chill breezing past your ankles as you scribble. The tiny noise of scratches and cups clinkering in the background as you squint your eyes.
Lambad peers over your shoulder, plates and cups alike stacked high on plates as his muscles flex to balance them. Raising a brow he looks curiously at the segment asking for your origins.
'Hello Participant! The SteamBird welcomes you to our new program. As of the new Inazuma border opening, our catalog figured it was time to branch out and bring together the people of Tevyat!
For suspenseful purposes, participants will not be allowed to reveal their true name. Keeping it a secret will be more exciting for both sides, don’t you think?
Below please list: age, gender, place of birth, and address for delivery.’
In your messy handwriting, out laid the letters spelling out the name of the nation of freedom.
"Mondstadt? I didn't realize you weren't native to Sumeru [Name]! Gosh... I have so many memories from sailing to Mondstadt. Tell me, did you move to Sumeru for your academics?"
It had been so long since you had been back to Mondstadt, having lived in Sumeru throughout your teen years, that the habit of writing it for documents was the bare minimum of what was Mondstadt-like.
"Oh! Yes, I did move here for the Akademiya. Actually, I left the nation so long ago I barely even remember what it was like..."
"Really? Well that's mighty interesting! Hey, you should write that on your first letter! I'm sure your pen pal would love to hear about that little journey!"
"Huh, wait. You're right, that is a good idea... Thanks."
Tilting your head, you laze over the blank piece of paper. The newsletter for the sign up stuffed to the side of the bar table as you glare at the letter.
Sigh, and so the writers block.
Existential dread looms over your head as you glare harder at the letter. Maybe, if you stare long enough at the paper it'll write itself.
It takes you eons to adjust, shifting in your seat as you tune out the sound of clinking dishes in the background. Your pen tapping just over the paper in essence as you try to scour for something to start with. In final, you decide on the simple message of hello and a few follow up questions,
'Hello friend! This is your exchange penpal, [alias]!
Nice to meet you. How are you doing? I hope for your sake you're doing well!
As an ice breaker, here's the basics on me, your pen pal. I am originally from Mondstadt, I'm a scholar, and I work tirelessly because my stupid boss thinks he can shove all his "lesser" work on me! Honestly, I moved from Mondstadt a long while ago to pursue a degree under the Haravatat Darshan... But it's been an upward battle ever since I was recommended (well actually, volen-told) to become the second hand for my department. Sorry, you're going to hear a lot about this boss... Unfortunately, he is a pestering constant in my life. Honestly, this would all be fixed if he was just a bit more understanding... Or maybe even used his annoying voice to communicate! It would be great if you had advice on how to get rid of him. Preferably in a corporate fashion, but I don't expect that at all! But enough about my silly world, who are you?
What do you do pen pal? Where are you from? What is your favorite subject to gloss over? Do you also suffer from daily troubles? Do you have any interest in studies or are you more of a physical person? That's totally cool too!
I'm not sure what else to write, but here's a fun fact? Maybe this can be our little thing!
Did you know, the first ever gear was created out of wood? At some point, a nation decided to use it for windmills and waterwheels. Though Tevyatian history doesn't really define where it originated, I've always considered the true contender as my home town! Mondstadt is so full of breezy winds and windmills it would be hard to think otherwise. '
Yours truly, [alias] :)
Adding on between the lines, your fingers release from the pen, stretching out instinctively before folding the letter, all marked with messy, clearly annoyed handwriting, before bringing the lip of the matching envelope to your tongue.
Carefully sliding the letter into casing, you grin with a thumbs up towards Lambad, who watches you in proud fondness. Returning the thumbs up, you skid the chair back, packing your stuff away quickly as you shove both the letter and the promotion letter into your pockets. Without a second glance back, you skip gleefully towards Katheryne's Adventurer's Guild.
Mid way, in all your excitement from finishing the days work, a part of your shoe catches in an uneven part of the road. In a moment, your whole body tilts, sending you crashing down in surprise.
...
You never touched the ground.
But, when you open your closed eyes, wincing for impact, your faced completely upright.
Not a single bruise nor scratch. Completely standing still as if you hadn't almost made a show out of your clumsy self.
"Oh! Are you alright? I hope you aren't hurt!" a small, child-like giggle.
Where is it coming from?
Are you hallucinating?...
Maybe the excitement has gone to your head.
Whipping your head around, you see no one. Not a single soul.
Only the flickering yellow lamps as they illuminate the path in front of you, highlighting the stupid little dent in the road that had almost tripped you.
But still, not a single person, only a faint giggle that echoes in your ear in a whisper.
Strange...
Rubbing your eyes, you shake your head again. Looking around one more time in awe, trying to adjust your eyes in hopes of seeing whoever- whatever- was speaking to you. It takes seconds as you stand still, scanning your surroundings for any little detail.
Nothing but a small green leaf floats around.
Before long, you're scratching at your eyes again, pulling at your ears just to check if you were dreaming.
You weren't, but still, an uneasy nerve sends a shiver down your spine. Urging you quickly to run towards the Adventerer's Guild to submit your letter.
It takes less than a minute to throw your short letter on the pile stacked on the counter. Scurrying off before that creepy child voice comes back and really proves you're crazy.
Stranger yet, the faint image of Alhaitham floats in your head, his blank expression bringing a sort of comforting solace in your head as you mad dash towards your apartment.
LETTER II + III: Personality (or lack thereof?)
When Alhaitham arrives home, the click of the door alerts a certain irritable blonde of his entry. A small tch leaves his lips as Kaveh furiously runs up to him, not a moment to spare between.
"Where have you been?! You took way too long, I almost died of anticipation!"
"Hmph. I was conducting business as usual, you would understand if you knew what it was like to maintain a constant job-"
"Why you! How dare you! You and I both know that I maintain everything in this house day and night!! Oh never mind that- Look, I got the letter for you from that Steambird catalog! Isn't this great?!" His face flushed red from exasperation, Kaveh practically pounces on Alhaitham, flailing the cream envelop, marked with a cute little wax stamp of flowers. Jumping up and down in excitement Kaveh pushes Alhaitham out of the door way. Too impatient to hear his response, instead taking to pushing him down onto the living room coach, shoving the letter into his hands.
"Are you perhaps concussed? It is merely a letter of simple exchange, why exactly are you so impressed Kaveh? Or is it that even bare socialite activities are foreign to you." Sneering playfully, Alhaitham's eyes glint with superiority as he looks at Kaveh, whose leg was practically bouncing in anticipation.
"Just- Why just open it! I want to know all about the unfortunate man-or women, who had to be partnered with you!"
It takes several minutes to settle his room mate down, much to his annoyance. Before ripping the envelope open to read your letter, admittedly, there was a twinge of hopefulness in his heart when the sight of blackened handwriting appeared out of the opening.
...
"Oh, sweet Celestia, they're relatable! And friendly too! Thank goodness for that!" Kaveh sighs in relief, taking the letter out of Alhaitham's hand to read over again at your letter. In his face a smile of childlike wonder as he considered the contents. Somewhere in his mind, he was grateful that the person wasn't some random old man... But rather someone who seemed to relate to his own situation and seemed quite young.
"Wasn't the point of coercing me into this... Silly letter exchange because you wanted me to get to know people and give perspective to my issues? This seems more like your own exchange rather than mine Kaveh." Sighing, Alhaitham yanks back the letter in force, glossing over its contents.
"Huhh?! You are so-... Okay yes- Fine! It was, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the experience with you. But... Come to think of it, you do need to write a response letter to them. Afterall, they seem friendly enough, and archons forbid you mess up this befriending too because of your pestering cockiness!"
"That is not true- I simply am-"
"Up up up! Shh. I do not trust the likes of you Alhaitham. So, as the most forgiving and kindhearted friend I am, I will help you give them in advice in return! Afterall, an annoying boss is probably not something you can relate to, can you." Snickering to himself, Kaveh quickly whips out a pen and paper, slamming it on the table in triumph.
"It seems like their problems are issues caused by their own neglect of setting boundaries. In fact, I truly believe I could come up with better advice then whatever you may have to offer. It would be so much easier if they would just try to avoid contact with their boss unless necessary."
.
.
.
"I cannot even believe you said that out loud. Never mind, you really do need help."
...
Within two exhausting work nights, an answer comes in the mail. Surprisingly fast for an international event. In anticipation, you rip open the nearly folded envelope, the postal stamp covered, hidden from any snooping. Unfortunately.
‘Hello [alias]. It is a pleasure to meet you.
For the purposes of our little exchange, you may refer to me as “σοφός(Sophós)”. I am not one for small talk, so I’d like to get through these formalities quickly.
As for my current occupation, I am currently an acting... (the hand writing darkens here, almost as if the writer paused to consider before continuing) manager for my workplace. It is rather easy if I may express. Many of the workers that interact with are simple in mind and can for the most part, handle themselves. Leading on, in response to where I am from, I choose to keep that confidential.
After all, did this program not specifically request us to hide or names as to add on to the suspense of interacting with an anonymous person?
It seems you failed to read clearly through the intentions of this program. It is alright however, that is an overlooking on your part which I will look over.
Moving on from this, I particularly enjoy reading long complex books which others cannot understand. I do not hold any preference towards what these novels may contain. However, often I find myself reading on the mechanisms of products more often than others. Privy to your Darshan if I must identify. Reading this, I think you can infer I am someone who enjoys academic knowledge rather than physical prowess. This would be an astute assumption as I am more often than not, researching and accompanied with a piece of literature at all times.
Of all your questions, I did save this for last, as I unfortunately find myself depending on a bit of outside advice. This is much to my own dismay, as I am always a person of rationale.
In the past months, I’ve found a strange phenomenon happening in the region where my heart lies. Whenever I meet with this coworker of mine, just seeing them sends this… Incomprehensible wave of pulses, they are uneven and not the usual beats per minute that my cardiovascular system would sustain.
It is also strange that alongside this symptom, I fail to focus on my perfect nine to five routine. Often, I find myself unwillingly dozing off, abnormal memories haunt me while doing so. Worse yet, these symptoms have also affected my [insert smart word for good brain] as I cannot focus and feel often lightheaded without a sensible pattern of reason why.
Now, it could be that these are physical issues that must be addressed by a professional, but I have reason to believe otherwise. Say [fake name] what is your insight on this dilemma? I would appreciate any thoughts you may have to give.
In appreciation for your counselling as for the spirit of this literary exchange, here is a fact about orthography. Of the undefined origins, researchers have suggested the reason that different nations of Teyvat write from left or right or vice versa could be cause of the material our ancestors once used to write. Example wise, how ink would drip down scrolls, so they needed time to dry. Afterall, our population has always been privy to dextrality. If Inazuman's wrote from right to left, the ink they used would have smudged under their clothes. Thus, leading to the change of writing furthest away to adhere to this problem.
It is a pleasure to work with you,
Signed, σοφός'
Wow, as much as life had taught you not to judge by first impressions, it was quite hard not to.
The letter you had received in turn felt very abnormally. Cocky.
In a way, maybe it bothered you a bit more than it should have, but the way 'Sophós' wrote out their letter reminded you of a someone. So incredibly like someone and yet you couldn't put your finger on it.
The way they wrote though, was nonetheless entertaining, it was almost as if they were a shut in. And though judgement was not one of your mottos, it was honestly kind of cute how they seemed stiffened to write to someone. Honestly, it was surprising how it didn't provoke you. Thinking about it, a sudden realization comes to your head-
Aww- how sweet.
It seems like your pen pal is inexperienced in the world of sociability. they were struggling with romantic feelings. Boy, was it hilariously dense for someone who seemed very smart.
Of course, it had taken you a moment too to realize what their symptoms were. But, for obvious signs of puppy love it felt so amusing to read about the tea. Heh, even the description of it all was so first love coded. To a tea. All covered under the guise of intelligence and yet your pen pal was reallyyy dense.
It doesn't take long before your quick to cozy up on your bed, a book on your lap as a surface to write on, as you click your pen. Looking down as you scrunch your face in concentration, giggling a little inside. (Maybe the interaction was healing a bit of the teenage girl you had burnt out years ago)
'Dear Sophós,
Wow! It sounds like you've got quite the life. Does it ever get boring? I sure wish I could be there in your position... A nice relaxing managerial job would make me feel so much better. Imagine the benefits! Unless of course, your coworkers are horrible and don't cooperate. But yours do so that's awesome!
Anyways, about your- as you said "cardiovascular" problems and memory issues. Fear not! I think you're just suffering under the common ailment of your "first ever crush"! Which is superr (you had made sure to bolden your words with several exclamation marks) cool! It's of course, nothing to be embarrassed about and it's totally normal!
I won't pry, considering this is all you asked for, but this isn't something you need to go to the doctors about! So don't worry. But crushes like yours have drastic differences in symptoms. I'm guessing yours has just begun to develop? Be careful! This illness can take down even some of the strongest! (a joking winking face follows suit)
If you want advice, I'd say just go with the flow! Do whatever you've been doing up to now, but hey, if this person you're crushing on seems to have flushed cheeks, or maybe suspicious behavior towards you to, that could be a sign of shared liking?
That's honestly all I can say... Not really someone who grew up involved in this! Still, a lot of good advice can be found in Inazuman novels! If you really want to move forward with this, read up on some of the weekly top choices for their romance novels!
Best of luck, just remember, consent is always key! Don't pressure whoever it is, give them space, but show your interest in small gestures! Maybe... like doing stuff for them? It's always nice to receive gestures from people :) whether it be gifts or freed up work!
Your awesome wingman, [alias]'
P.S Fontaine's leisurely otters will hold hands when they sleep so they don't drift off from each other! They also sleep on beds of native marine plants like we do on mattresses.
...
'Greetings [alias],
This is a very peculiar variable to reconsider into my life. Indeed, I fail to distinguish if this... Crush is a benefit for me or a burden. Can it be both? What do you think? On one hand, they motivate me to arrive at this hole of a job, but on the other, they seem to distract me from my duties as a manager of sorts. Perhaps, I could utilize these emotions to do otherwise?... I will have to research into this. It peeves me that a person such as I am struggling with these inexplicable feelings. However, now that I have solved the root of my symptoms, I feel as though I can properly move forward and decide from here.
I appreciate your help [alias]. In return, as for your qualms.
Perhaps it would be best to consider that your boss is always going to be a constant. I think it is best to try and not dwell on what you can't fix and instead work on what you can do. For example, refusing to do work outside of the office, perhaps even coming in early to work with other workers to finish the days load.
This is all the advice I could offer, I find it quite difficult to relate to this situation, so I hope this suffices. I know you will be okay, simply try to remain above the average work and get caught up on what you are doing and beyond.
As for a fact, several of the fruits from native nations have been a biproduct of human trading. The revered sweet tangy peaches of Sumeru are actually native to the Liyue region, having been brought over a long time ago.
Much appreciated, σοφός'
Upon receiving the letter, a chuckle escaped your lips. Smiling at the sheer idiocy of the letter, almost dumbfounded at how obviously entrapped your pen pal was with their crush.
Perhaps this program was more interesting than any sort of office life drama.
...
Smiling to yourself at their feigned confidence, it wasn't surprising to you found yourself re-reading the letter you had recieved on the way to the office. (To think a new friend to bother was all it took for you to feel better about yourself)
Maybe staying up late to continuing to write letters back and forth between your pen pal was a stretch, but it did excite you. And the darkening of your eye bags was barely noticeable as your mood brightened by every interaction.
Although it was strange at how quick the mailing was to you still, you had come to terms with the fact that it benefitted you in talking with your new friend.
And of course, you had taken your friends advice very seriously. Out of respect for their help.
Still giddy at the thought of your letters, the clicking of your shoes against the marble rang a warning bell to your coworkers, all at their usual buzz as they stared. Of all mornings, today their whispers seemed even more noticeable to you. All of them murmuring under hushed turned heads about the smile you held walking. A curious comment caught from one conversation to the next, wondering why you were suddenly so cheerful as if your boss wasn't the debby downer Al Haitham.
This time, it didn't bother you at all. Instead, you found yourself even waving at your friendlier coworkers, greeting them happily as if this were a normal morning. Not even the thought of Al Haitham could bring you down from your new friend. The perfect pick me up following your new gigantic paycheck.
Dumbfounded, the gathering Sumerian scholars begin to fade out, returning your warm greetings as they scampered. Better not to ruin your cheery mood they feared. For the past weeks, they had found you abnormally happy, even to meet Alhaitham.
A melody humming from your lips, your fingers fiddle over the corner of the envelope, sealing the precious letter. Finding a giddy joy in a new friend you could console in and gossip with as you march up into Alhaitham's office.
Bursting in, your voice thunders out,
"Hellooo Sumeru! How are you sir? What needs to be done today Alhaitham? Hey,
"Stop. Wait [Name]." Alhaitham stands abruptly from his seat, raising a hand to pause you as you shut up immediately. Eyes widening as you took a deep breath of air.
Almost hesitantly, his hand drops to your shoulder, patting it, weirdly.
(Honestly it felt very nice to have that closure, but he doesn't need to know that)
His hand takes to guiding you to the coach, the one you often found yourself waiting on as he took his time finishing his morning newspaper.
Speaking of which, where was the newspaper? He wasn't laid back in his chair like usually reading it when you walked in, was he?
Plopping you down on the couch oh it's soft AND comfy-
"You... Seem out of it lately. For the past week, I have observed changes in your work behavior."
His voice (but mostly the soft... comfy... cozy couch) really did soothe you away from any argument.
"What is unusual for me is that you have been ahead of even me in our work. Every day I return to this office, I find that another scholar rushes in to give me more paperwork as typically instructed by the higher ups, only to atypically come back within the next day to see all my extra work gone"
Silence rings.
"Rightt...? Well, sorry if it bothered you Hai- Sir. I've been coming in early every morning to finish it. That way I don't have to stay late and you don't have anything to complain- ahem- I mean worry about," a lazy smile spreads across your lips as you drowsily glance up at Alhaitham. (That lack of sleep was hitting now)
His body looms over the back of the coach, broad shoulder bulging a little much as he crosses his arms. Glaring at you with an interested brow.
"Really? Is that so?"
(Something about a man with his muscles and his voice saying that to you did things they shouldn't do)
Every vein across his arms flexed a bit as he shuffled to ask, muscles flexing at every move, defined under the morning light peering from the window behind him. His silver hair reflecting god-like down on you as you continued to lean your head back, pulling into him until he leg was just barely making contact with the back of your head. The bare touch sending a heat towards your head that was utterly suffocating.
Laying like that, you could see the way his Adams apple moved delicately as he breathed, the way his eyes mirrored shades of greens to greys when the shadows moved.
A lazy, serene tension laid thick as thieves between the two of you.
Not uncomfortable you'd like to add, but sweet. As he stared it felt almost as if you could see his eyes shifting. From that stern scolding look, to, as seconds passed; soft, relaxing, worried, a dotting love somewhere in that sea of feigned control.
"Tch. Perhaps it would be wise to consider that work is not a mandatory activity outside of your assigned hours [Name]. Afterall, you just received that promotion bonus, what use is there in overworking yourself more than necessary?"
His voice turns slow, calculating, the same as his eyes when he looks at you, his whole body seemingly turns light as he stares. The way he looks at you now, you could have sworn you had him like honey in your hands.
Carefully, not waiting for your response, he moves to tuck back a piece of your hair that had strayed from the rest.
His fingers again, felt light, but home on your skin as they sent fluttering heat towards everywhere they touched.
Lingering to cup your forehead, and then your cheek, his eyes still watching in absolute infatuation, they fit perfectly against your face. Molding there like they were meant to be.
Gentle, inviting gestures of physical touch.
"As an official assignment as your acting sage, I am asking you to rest here until I return from an errand. Do you understand?"
"Mmm..." It was quite hard to protest when you could barely even find the will to keep your eyes open to look back at him.
Your head drops from it's stretched position, your body snuggling closer into the couch. Your eyes are starting to drift to a close, fluttering shut as his hand combes through your hair. Delicately pulling through where it could and letting go to return to your head. The whole motion setting you up for deep, deep, uncontrollable drowsiness.
By now, the morning sun had risen above Alhaitham's head, it's tender warmth cuddling to you as a blanket of sorts. The whole set up felt almost- no, was perfect for a reenergizing nap.
One that was well deserved you thought..
Blinking in intervals as you felt the warmth of his hands leave briefly.
Quietly, a pressure draws over your lap, maybe a blanket? Who could tell.
His hands return to comb through your hair, still sending their tingling heat throughout your body as you murmured.
"Mmm, sleep well... [Name]"
...
Walking back to his desk, Alhaitham finds a sense of calmness eroding away at his pacing heart.
Just watching you stare up at him, doe like eyes following his hands like butterflies to milkweed. The very sight almost brought him to his knees. For a man made of a steel core, he's never once felt the way he did when you stared at him, looking back at him as if he was the only one in the world.
By gods, you made him feel so alive.
The way his heart raced was unlike anything else he's ever felt. The blood rushing to his head and without thinking, he was already reaching out, caressing your cheek gently with one hand, gripping the back of the chair with his other.
Sinfully, he wasn't sure if he could have handled holding the whole of you in both of his hands in that moment.
Everything about you made him quake in his shoes, his body always felt so light. The scene replays in his head.
The every aching moment he spent, gripping at the back of the chair, careful not to disturb you, thinking how horrible of a man he had.
Where was all his self control now?
All he wanted was to hold you. Grab you by the cheeks, but oh, so carefully, so preciously, because he couldn't ever think of hurting you. Gods no.
In the back of his mind, Alhaitham could only think, in a sliver of his mind, were the archons testing him?
Begging in his core, the very urge to kiss you. Shower you in affection, hold you so dearly in his arms as he would feel you melt into him.
You were just so... Much.
The most he ever wanted.
Looking down at his desk, he grabs at the torn open letter, on top, a pinned checklist. Vaguely, the makings of your handwriting lay on top of the smooth paper.
Except, stapled to it, a checklist, small but noticeable in a light green color, written out in his writing.
How to win her over:
-Be consensual, but always remember consent
-Do stuff for her (Possibly lighten her workload?... She has been doing much as of late.)
-Read more romance novels. (A lot of this male love interests seem to give things with meaning, flower language and such. Perhaps a bouquet? Would she even like that?)
Staring at his checklist, he promptly scratched out the third item of the list. A flushing pink spreading throughout his body, palms unusually sweaty as he could feel his body heating up.
Gods, he was smitten. And it was all your fault.
Stuffing the checklist and letter into his pockets, he found himself stomping out, embarrassed at his flushed face. He'd be sure to not meet Kaveh on the way out, the architect would simply make a whole parade of it.
Stumbling out of his office, he miraculously found it in him to resume his stoic face, carefully closing the door as to not wake you.
He looks back one more time as the image of you floats in his head. This time, it comes with a smile.
...
The House of Daena remains to be the sole place Alhaitham finds enjoyable.
Having just walked out, a stack of book carries between his arms, light in his grasps. Before he could rush back to the office however, he finds a blonde (thankfully not Kaveh), a fairy, and Nahida, walking towards him.
"Alhaitham! Hello! How is the Acting Grand Sage doing? Wowee! It's been a while since we've seen you! What'cha up too?"
The voice of the floating little Paimon rapidly approuches, following behind the traveler waves, quiet as ever.
Tailing behind, Lesser Lord Kusanali follows, bumbling with a sweet smile as always.
"Hello Paimon, Traveller, Lesser Lord Kusanali I am more than well thank you. I was on my way back to the office actually. Coincidently, I am not off of work yet as it is still within my work hours. I was simply checking out books for... a coworker." Shifting to his side, he hides the title of his novels pressed to his leg. Carefully trying to keep hidden the titles and clear images of light colors, pictures of illustrated fictional characters holding each other. The titles even more evidence that they were in fact romance novels.
"That sounds wonderful! But please, we're long time friends now! You don't have to call me Lesser Lord. It feels... Well, ehe, unusual for what we've gone through"
"Paimon agrees, you don't have to worry about formalities like that Alhaitham!" Paimon laughs.
"We're all friends here aren't we? Your too stiff sometimes hehe... But! Anyways, those books look interesting. What are they about?" Peeps Nahida, her cheery tone matching exactly the way she looked, Alhaitham thought. Cheery, bright, and decorated with various Sumerian leaves.
His breath hitches, "Hmm. They aren't anything of interest. In fact, they're quite confidential for their intended purposes. Actually, I really must get these back to my coworker."
"Aww... Really? Darn! Well, since you're on your way back to the office, why don't the three of us all come down there with you? It'll be fun to catch up on your life Alhaitham! Maybe we can even say hi to Kaveh on the way!"
A breath of exhaust leaves his lips.
"We won't bother you too much! It would be so very interesting to see what you do Alhaitham" Nahida's voice pops in, traveller nodding along as the two press on. All three of them pushing into him, eyes glowing in curiosity. (Would it be a divine offense to reject a gods request?... Tempting.)
"Prettyy please? Oh grand acting sage sir?"
It seems his work evening would be lasting longer than he assumed. It also didn't seem like the three of them would give in anytime soon. Rather than later, he'd appreciate getting back to you before you woke up and started working again before he could say no.
Out of all his options, unfortunately, it seemed he would have to bring the lot with him.
"Huff, fine. But you have no need to call me grand acting sage. And do be mindful and quiet when you enter. I have a guest in my office who I urgently must tend too."
Before Paimon could open her mouth, Alhaitham made sure to turn quick on his heels and start speed walking towards his office. But even that was not enough to stop Paimon from asking questions of the guest, who it was, and if they were important to him or not.
The poor traveler had to keep holding Paimon back, threatening to eat her as dinner if she didn't hush up.
...
When you woke up, your body well rested, an eerie feeling followed suit.
"Holy shit."
Almost immediately after gaining full conscious, all of what had happened replayed in your mind. Painfully tracing over every single detail.
The way his hands had caressed your face.
Oh, great archons be damned.
Your fingers ran through your hair, pulling at it as you squealed into the nearest pillow. Absolute regret pulsing through your head as you remember how soft he had held you just hours before. Almost choking you in a burning heat that blew up in your face. Over and over you re-imagine it. Tenderly touching your own fingers to the places, he had caressed, longing for strange closeness again.
Footsteps gradually approach the grand doors.
"Shh... Please be wary of your voices. My secretary is asleep in my office as of currently."
The familiar deep voice of Alhaitham's rings out behind the door, muffled but still audible to your ears. The heat burns as fast as your heart's beat.
"Are we bothering them? We can always leave Alhaitham..."
A voice, deeper in tone, yet not one you remember, speaks up. Right as the door creaks open and Alhaitham peers in cautiously. Eyes narrowing in on you.
His stare stills you cold.
"Ah... It appears that she's already woken up. Never mind then, it'll be fine Traveler, come on in you all."
By the sound of his voice, and the slight twitch of his lips, you couldn't tell if he was bothered by the company or if he was enjoying himself.
It was a bit of place, watching as a young blonde man, hair beautifully braided back and adorned with simple clothes walked in, a nervous tap to his steps. Following suit... A very bouncy fairy? And a young girl? Adorably, she pokes her head first by the crack of the door, before seeing you and smiling brightly, feeling confident enough to skip in.
What strange company for Alhaitham.
Admittedly, you never once thought to dwell in Alhaitham's personal relationships. You were always so busy finding him hateful and prude to notice if he had any actual connections with people aside from you and the workplace. It was quite the sight to see his assumed friends to be two younger children and a foreigner by the looks of it.
Alhaitham motions for the guests to take a seat on the opposing sides of you. Finding his way over to sit beside the man he called 'Traveler'.
A bit of your heart drops.
The whole couch was empty except for you, the couch he was sitting on with the Traveler was even more cramped then if he had sat with you.
(It's nothing, right? Immature noticing's is all)
"Well, Traveler, Paimon, Lesser Lord- ahem, Nahida, I suppose I should introduce you to my second hand, this is [Name]. An employee personally appointed by the Haravatat Darshan. They have... cough, well, been a great help to me."
"Oooh! Hello [Name]! Wow... Paimon's never heard Alhaitham compliment anyone before! You must be some sort of superhero! Paimon is pleased to meet you!" It takes only a blink for the squeaky fairy to get up in your face, zooming circles around your head as she studies your face curiously, a finger at her lip as she looks.
"I um- Thank you! I try my best really... It's a pleasure to meet you too Paimon. As for you Traveler! Are you the same Traveler everyone else has been gossiping about? Wow... It must be really tiring to travel around the nation like you do!"
"Oh, you don't need to flatter. Thank you, I try. I'm sure you must do a great amount to for Alhaitham. He is well... A very studious worker" Traveler nods, smiling as he turns to Alhaitham. The two sharing a secretive look.
Moments pass on, light conversation flowing between the five of you. The traveler and his friend bombarding you about all that you do. Wondering about your interests in mechanics, curious of your life's story.
Occasionally, the sweet young girl Nahida would butt in, asking about your thoughts the more obscure matters of the latest mechanical developments. 'What do you think of transversal waves Ms. [Name]? Have you ever thought about applying them too...'
It surprised you how knowledgeable she was about mechanical waves and even beyond. Deep, thoughtful theories passing between you and her, a common connection you found, was that she often wondered about the makings of mechanical wears.
It was nice, pleasant to feel welcomed after the momentary bitterness you felt. (It still lingered, but you found yourself dismissing it as childish.)
Alhaitham and Traveler seemed well content talking amoungst themselves of... Adventures. Something you never once knew about Alhaitham. Never would you have thought he was a man of travelling. Though it was common for Akademiya students to be well-rounded in every field, it left you a bit hollow that this fact had been hidden from you.
As the hour passed, it only grew. The silly backhanded thoughts in your mind. 'Who are they talking about?'.
'I've never knew his break from work was because of the Traveler...'
'Why is it so easy for them to talk to eachother?'
It was hard for you to wrap your head around their conversation. Passing phrases like foreign language to you. How was it they seemed smarter then you? Why did it seem they had known each other forever? What was it about their allure that made them so easy to feel frustrated for?
By the closing second, as much as you tried to listen to Nahida's remarks you could barely stop the way your eyes unwillingly travelled back to the way the two sat with each other. The pressed down cushions beneath them caving in, pushing their bodies towards eachother.
They seemed to know everything about him. More than you had ever gotten to ask him about.
They knew about what he did in his free time... The things he hated. The books he reads. Especially the studies he liked talking about.
Why does your stomach feel funny?
Your heart just minutes ago was beating far past its average rate, but watching the way Traveler and Alhaitham sat close had dropped it to a cold, fearful low.
An awkward silence passes between the room, your eyes to busy fixating on the way Alhaitham didn't bother to scoot away from the unnerving touch of bare fingertips.
Suddenly it feels a little too real all over again.
You knew this feeling.
The dead pit way your stomach felt empty. The way your head felt numb, the way your heart stung. A dark, selfish, want bubbling in the place you held Alhaitham dear.
Being from a school of top-academics, it was expected from all the students to feel the inevitable complex about each other.
The one they labelled the "inferiority complex". A hidden part of the system everyone ignored. A deep, pushed down hatred the scholars would often feel.
As successful as your life had been academically, never once had you learned how to deal with it.
The drowning thoughts that took over, telling you that everything you ever strived for wasn't enough.
There are smarter people.
A breath sucks through your teeth.
.
There are people with more awards.
You breath it back out.
.
There are people who have gotten visions, divined and noticed by gods.
Your mind fuzzes.
.
There are people, who are simply just better.
The air feels cold.
.
.
.
In truth, it was never explained to you how to defeat this dragon. This terrifying beast that told you things you knew somewhere in there was wrong.
Your worth shouldn't be compared to different situations.
You knew better.
Your worth isn't determined by the quality of your work.
You wanted to believe.
But every striving student feels the pain of being casted aside. Outshined by another child's brilliance. Their more outstanding grades, their more outstanding test scores, their more outstanding glow.
The Akademiya was no place for the weak minded. Not when there was so much to accomplish and so much more to prove. When put in a palace of the talent, you felt talentless. But it was never like it wasn't your only struggle.
Other problems came along, and they fought with you, and they tugged at your heartstring and your mind, but in the end, your value in comparison, your life, and your inferiority were the one thing that stayed constant.
Maybe that was why, when he had shown up in your life for the first time, you found your aged wine, mulled with the crushed fruits bared from your nights of overwork, from what ifs, poured on top of his silky grey hair. Until it eventually soaked him, and all you could do was take of your shoes. Stepping over those same fruits, working over and over, day and night, crushing the new wine, all to pour back on his head.
And yet he still outshined your efforts.
Sitting on top of his throne of amaryllis. Glowing in color, brightening his everlasting superiority.
And yet your dry, mulled fruits, remained sad in color.
Comparison.
A part of you remembers when he had first walked into your life. A blooming young student you were, always outdoing the rest. Your every waking hour was spent on wishing for the wonderful, for true greatness. Ingenius discoveries and more.
But the moment he had taken your seat upon the throne, the fruits below had dimmed in color.
Yes, Alhaitham had always been as glorious as he was now.
Everlasting genius he was. He sparked a flame in you to improve, to be better, to never fall behind.
But never once had he taken a notice to you.
Never once had you found him talking to you.
Instead, the months would pass by, and you would never once catch up again.
Every, single, class and award, he took rightfully his.
Stone cold face peering down at the shining medallions, a scoff upon his perfectly smooth and youthful face, before walking off stage, leaving you to take the ranks of fourth or fifth.
No matter what you did, he never did realize you were a competitor.
Never once did he even congratulate you, even at graduation, when the two of you stood side by side in class photo.
.
.
.
Maybe that's why when you had finally secured the job working for the Grand Sage, you were overjoyed. Even if it wasn't what you had imagined, you had finally made it a step closer to his pedestal.
But when you had introduced yourself, a sunny naive smile dotted on your face, he gave you the same disgusted face he had always given you.
His voice only came in demands from there on.
He didn't remember you. Not at all.
No, he chose to forget you.
...
It had taken you months for him to even remotely warm up to you, and longer days yet for him to talk about himself with you. At some point, the effort became nauseating.
You couldn't stand to even mutter his name.
So perhaps the Traveler was a better person than you were. A smarter person than you. Maybe they were in league with Alhaitham from the very beginning. Maybe to him, he thought the Traveller as someone of his level. A worthy ruler to sit beside his pedestal.
The feeling boils deeper, that sickening feeling of jealousy produced by those fruits of your younger years you had so desperately tried to hide.
(A tear threatens to trickle.)
"Ah... [Name]? Are you alright? You seem out of it right now. Do you feel tired again?" The Traveler notices the shift in your eyes. Your face having dropped a while ago, staring into nothingness.
.
.
.
"Ms. [Name]?..." The green in Nahida's eyes swirl a bit, a nervous worry across her face now, noticing you aren't responding.
"Oh. Sorry. It seems I'm not feeling too well right now Traveller, Nahida. I'm sorry, but it seems like I must leave for the night. It is after my workhours anyhow..." your voice sounds meek in comparison to the Travelers.
"Oh no... That's no good. Would you like one of us to walk you home? Maybe Alhaitham?" Nahida suggests. Oh, bless her sweet heart.
"That... Would not be very professional Nahida. If it is alright, there are matters I must discuss with the Traveler in private."
Again, you notice how there's a glint of catching eyes between the two men.
"Oh, but Paimon doesn't think [Name] should go home this late at night by herself! We spent so long talking it's near night already."
Your gut sinks a little more, embarrassment flooding through your system, "It's fine guys. I can go by myself! My home is just a walks away."
"It's okay! I can go with you [Name]! There is something I'd like to talk to you about too!" Nahida peeps up. Looking at her smile, something about her careful gaze felt almost motherly.
Quite comforting even.
"... Thank you Nahida. Sure, why not." There is no will in you to argue.
After short good byes, you leave, breath hitched as you fight the urge to look back at his silver eyes.
Your sure they must have looked beautiful, as they always had.
...
That night, after plopping down on the couch and thanking Nahida profusely, she thanks you, stating something odd,
"I hope you sleep well [Name]. You seemed troubled earlier. May the Archons watch over you."
Barely enough energy to spare, you find yoursef on the hard wooden floors. Chilling to the touch, but most welcomed compared to the humid weather.
That night, strange memories form dreams, merciless as they plague you.
Flashes of memories of you and Alhaitham, back from the Akademiya days switch from one to the next. Almost in parallel, you'd remember one scene, before a flash of change, to the perspective of someone else.
It was like you were watching yourself from your perspective to an outsiders.
And every time, without a fail, the change would take away Alhaitham. Instead, the outsider would murmur in frustration, low in tone, things you could barely make out. But a longing, desperate feeling, unlike the one you had felt away, would find its way back to the outsider, every time they would look at you.
It was weird.
When you woke, you could barely remember what the strange person narrating was saying. Still, the sun shines, commencing another day of work.
LETTER IV: Ghosting
By the time you arrive at the office, it is still night. The sun barely peeking past the horizon.
Your in no mood to work however. Instead, you take out the crumpled letter paper, rummaging for a pen, and sit down, writing out your thoughts.
'Dear Sophós,
I'd hate to cut welcomes short, I hope as always you are doing well, but I urgently need help.
Do you remember the boss I had talked to you about?
Well, it's been long since he's rude and terrible behavior. It's actually miraculous. Out of nowhere he has been acting all nice and well mannered! Even though it was off putting at first since well... He's never done that ever. It was very sweet and nice. (you pen out a cute drawing of rainbows and sunshine to emphasize). But... Another issue has started.
I feel weird around him.
Not just him specifically, but, when he was meeting a friend, this long standing issue I've had came back.
I started feeling all these horribly sickening emotions. Jealousy is what it was. Just from watching how close the two were. They acted as if they had known each other for years Sophós... Something about it really hurt me to watch. And they talked to each other so easily too! Do you know how frustrating that is? I had wished for that type of bare closeness with him for so long, but for this friend of his, it seemed so easy. So Sophós I really beg, how do I fix this? I know for sure it was caused from something, but I can't pinpoint what from...
I know that I have felt it before, back in my Akademiya days, when often the other students would outshine me in my craft, so I know for a fact it isn't romantic possessiveness, but still, the feeling isn't the exact same and I don't understand why it's happening.
Can you help me pen pal?
It's bothering me that such trivial baby feelings are getting to me. I feel lost. Am I jealous because of their friendship? Or is it that maybe I think that friend of my boss's is far superior to me?
With immediacy, [alias]'
...
For days, you couldn't find it in you to confront Alhaitham. You knew for sure he wouldn't have known what he did wrong, but the thought of how he had been so trusting of the Traveler compared to felt to frustrating to confront.
You knew it was childish. But for days you ignored him.
Your own boss, who you had finally learned to enjoy company with, was now back to be strangers with you.
Worse, every day you would find yourself desperately checking the mail, wondering where Sophós response was.
Your only friend outside of your chaotic worklife, out of nowhere, had suddenly disappeared the moment you needed them the most.
Now you were only more frustrated. Spending days trying to ignore your boss and also waiting for your friends response had taken to much of your valuable time.
An aching anxiety stayed conjuring in your body.
Surely your penpal hadn't already gotten tired of you right?
You couldn't trust yourself to make reasonable decisions without them. You had never taken the time to understand your emotions throughout your schooling, and so maybe you were too dependent on Sophós to advise you.
Still you waited. Spending every waking hour of the job, waiting desperately for help from your friend while nervously dancing around the building, hiding from Alhaitham's calls of your name.
...
Alhaitham hasn't seen your face in days.
He's started to worry a long time ago. And the guilt eats him alive.
That night, he had rejected to walk you home as he needed to ask Traveler, despite his ego, what to do about his feelings.
When Nahida had come back to see the Traveler and Paimon as well, he had further buried his high head to ask for help from the archon.
It took him everything to cover his flushed face, bright red as the annoying high-pitched fairy had floated close to his face, asking all sorts of questions about his interest in you. Clearly surprised as if he couldn't hold sentimental connections.
Tch, the nerve of them.
The following weeks though, it seemed you had taken it the wrong way. Moments, he would find you across the hall, having chocolates or flowers he had plucked stuffed in his pocket, wanting to sneak them to you, only for you to run away.
What annoyed him more was, by the second week, it was 100% clear and noticeable to the whole office he was being ghosted by his assistant.
It took him days on end to search for even the slightest sliver of your hair, only for you to find some convenient place to hide. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why you were upset with him.
It had even become noticeable to Kaveh.
By the Friday of the second week Kaveh had appeared at the office, under the guise of some Architectual project to yell at him again.
"You've forgotten your headphones twice now Alhaitham! What is the matter with you lately? By Archons Alhaitham we have mail piling up at home and I'm pretty sure your pen pal is waiting on a response right now!"
"Keep it down won't you. Listen, I have better issues to attend to of late. There are far more important priorities than the pen pal thing." He scoffs in annoyance, looking back down at his checklist and then to the stack of paperwork he had been putting aside.
Trying to find you in the massive building turned out to backfire, spending most of his time occupied by you had put him behind on work he could care less about. What worried him was that you had called in sick that morning. Something that had never happened even once in his term of office.
"Is that... Late papers?!... You-" Kaveh points dramatically, "have missing papers? Now there really is something wrong. Spill it. Now. I have to know what's been throwing off the almighty Alhaitham."
"I can practically hear the sneer dripping off your sentence Kaveh. Don't get too excited. It's just... Well. [Name] has been gone for the past days." His eyes flutter to anywhere else but the obviously dramatic jaw drop Kaveh had on.
"[Name]? Your assistant? Uh oh. What did you do this time? I knew it... You annoyed them to death with your attitude!"
"No- Before you continue, it was not because of me. At least, I don't believe so." His words trail off in doubt, feeling wrong even to him.
"Before you continue yelling in my ear, it happened to be I may have... Made her angry. But I don't know by doing what."
"Well then you've got to figure it out!... I'm tired of having to walk from here and back for the stuff you forgot. It's getting on my nerves! Tell me about the day before she started ignoring you, maybe that'll help your dense head."
...
Upon recounting everything to Kaveh, Alhaitham's guilt had only worsened.
It was not a feeling he was enjoying.
"She obviously was taking the hint you liked her! And then you up and left her to walk herself back?! What is wrong with you?!"
"I- I was talking to the Traveler about her. I would have never thought she could have been jealous from that..."
"Well, she clearly was! If anything, she probably thought, he was competition! You have to go fix this. Now."
"Kaveh, have you not retained any of the information I've given you. I have been trying, but she ignores my attempts to consolidate."
"Well... That sounds like a you problem! You need to figure it out. Maybe even arrange a date and finally confess like a man Alhaitham!"
The bickering between the two of them lasts for an hour before Kaveh stomps angrily out. A semi-conclusion reached as he yells for Alhaitham to get his act together.
"She likes you Alhaitham! So, get your crap together and tell her you feel the same!"
By the time the blonde's angry footsteps stop ringing across the floor Alhaitham feels the stress overflooding all over again.
For a man who prides himself in remaining calm always, even he couldn't cool himself down from the sheer embarrassment at his lack of romantic realization.
You liked him.
And the thought made him an absolute mess.
His long fingers crunch around the nearest paper, the other hand folding over the bottom of his face, desperate to cover his bright rosy cheek. Uncharacteristically, he feels nervous.
Memories of your face that day floods into his head again. Dizzying him only further.
How unfortunately timed.
It takes him minutes to calm down, trying to shake your pretty face out of his mind.
When it does finally happen, and he feels like he can breath again, his stoic face returns, letting go of the sad papers he had crumpled.
The checklist, still stapled to the letter you wrote, and a managerial essay you had written after surveying a project, all crushed together.
Looking closer, Alhaitham notices the little pictograms between each other line. Both on the professional paper and on the personal letter.
His brow raises, pulling the two items closer, he looks carefully at the writing. Looking at the way their addressed to him. The specific way that both show off similarities. The hand drawn emojis, the tilt in your letters, and the way your mannerisms showed in both of the papers.
Suddenly, he finds himself rushing out of his office, running towards your address. The street number coincidently returning to his memory from the very first day you had applied to be his second hand.
LETTER: INTERCEPTED
Gloom had taken over your body.
The longer you spent moping over yourself, the more you felt pathetic and childish for even believing your friend and most (newly) trusted advisor would remain forever.
Entertaining the wild possibility, you liked Alhaitham and that had caused all your pent-up jealousy wasn't even worth thinking about now.
Tissues now stuffed your trash, several scrapped up papers detailing letters to Sophós laid crumpled up and piled on the dining table. The pen long lost somewhere in the ground as you slumped over the couch.
Wasn't love supposed to be beautiful? The fabled spell uplifted you and made you feel powerful?
So why was it yours felt so different?
For the past weeks you've felt a dry spell in motivation. A drought you've never experienced before, all to be replaced by loneliness. Your own pride eating you up inside as the thought of having apologize for your 'unprofessional behavior' felt like it would simply add on to your despair. Before you can continue sobbing to yourself, thinking about how far you had gone in life just to reach this point-
The doorbell rings.
You stay quiet. Praying that whoever it was would go away.
"[Name]... I can tell you are in there. Your usual shoes are still out here. I- Well, I wanted to talk about what has been going on."
The soothing sound of his voice brought you almost back to frustrated tears. As much as you missed him, a piece of you feels confused.
Still, you walk towards the door, the way you look like a sopping wet cat be damned.
When you open it, carefully, hesitantly, his eyes lock with yours. Just as they always have.
Naturally. Adoringly.
"Would it be wrong to ask if I may come in?"
Your voice seems to lose itself somewhere in the midst of it. Watching the way the sun shines behind his towering body, just as always, showcasing his presence over you.
You shake your head, opening the door wider to let him in. Parts of your head still screaming at you to keep your pride.
For the first time in a long while, you shut down the little girl who learned to be a prideful scholar.
...
An hour goes by, and then a second.
Alhaitham's sittin on the other side of the couch, still the one you are on, but far enough away to give you space to curl up in your blanket. Soft as it pretends to be your shield.
With a deep breath. You speak first.
"I'm sorry."
From there, it all spills.
And gods, as flawed as he was, Alhaitham could tell you needed to let it out.
He sat there so patiently, maintaining that fierce eye contact that sent your legs limb as you explained every little detail. Afraid of any miscommunication killing what the two of you had left.
Minute after minute you explain how you had always had a complex over how you compared yourself. Talking out about how you had met him, how he had changed your perspective. How at first you hated him and now... Well. It sort of spilled somewhere in the mix. In some part of the whole messy confession, you had started crying, uncontrollable heart wretched sobs as you apologized profusely over and over. Scared for what he might do, fire you maybe? You wouldn't blame him. If anything, you deserved it for your behavior.
Still he waits. His eyes watch you carefully, watching the tears trickle down your face. The way your cheeks and nose turn red with scratches as you swipe away at the hot tears, stinging at your face.
In the midst of it all, Alhaitham finds himself reaching for the box of tissues placed on your table, handing you several as he sits back down waiting patiently for you to finish your sobbing.
It takes another hour to explain.
He doesn't interrupt at all in that hour. No comforting words, no consoling gestures. Instead he continues to sit, continuing to watch tentatively, which only brings you to tears again as you feel horribly guilty for keeping him waiting.
When there are no more tears to cry, you find that you're met with pure silence.
.
.
.
Then it becomes his turn to explain.
Fear returns when he lifts out the papers, showing them to you as he explains. Scooting in closer to your fetal body as he finds himself wanting to hold you.
In him, a rage boils over, to him, it's disgust. Not a hatred for you, but to him. He feels like he has failed you. For someone who claimed to love you, he certainly had not expressed clearly that he did. And so he continues to explain, taking time to watch how you react. Which, at this point, was barely anything.
Your eyes are swollen from crying and apologizing. He takes care to notice the way your throat seems to have swollen, the way you nod slowly to ensure he knows you're listening.
"I am sorry [Name]. I... Should have consolidated with you instead of being a coward. I was foolish in taking to a pen pal program instead of talking to the real person I cherished- No. The person I love."
Again, he finds himself dropping all the papers. Turning to you. Lifting up your swollen cheeks with both his hands.
"I am sorry."
Your eyes threaten to tear up again, a twitch of your nose as you sniffle. You look at him, facing him as he was, and suddenly, it feels safe again.
The burden of your guilt lifts a little, and though you don't have the voice to say, you launch forward, hugging him tightly.
He feels warm this way.
His hands drifting down to around your waist. Their almost... Oddly placed. As if he isn't sure where to hold you.
So, you wrap your arms around his upper back, squeezing him gently as you sniffle into his shirt. The faint smell of books wafting from his clothes. In you, a chuckle escapes, finding the strange scent comforting.
He copies the way you hold him. Taking to brush through your hair again. Detangling the long worn locks as he combs through, gently, lovingly.
He takes to laying his back against the couch's arm. Guiding you with as you lay on his chest. Staring up at the barren ceiling.
His hands continue to comb through your hair, stopping every now and then to pat it all back down from friction. His chest rising and slowly back down as you lie.
Slowly, you find yourself breathing alongside him, an occasional hiccup as the two of you lay quietly. Thinking about who knows what, but grateful the same.
He still smells like books, but you notice, a hint of woodland. Then, you notice how his fingers were long and nimble, combing through long sections of your hair with breeze. But the way he felt, lying underneath you, not a word to say more, felt domestic.
It made you feel alive again. It made you feel worth it.
He loved you.
He had said.
And you loved him.
Ever so tenderly, he turns your head up to him, your eyes finding each other's as they always did, so naturally, so full of love and a softness you had now come to realize had always been there.
He lifts your face, turning it slightly as his eyes wander over all it's beauty. Archons, to him, you were beautiful.
To him, you were everything he needed.
He doesn't think before it happens.
Kissing you.
Lips touching, just and warm and loving as his gaze on you. Sweet, brief.
He holds on, just a bit longer. Biting at your lower lip, nibbling. Pushing in, you return the favor. The taste of iron between the two of you. His arms snaking up behind your shoulders, pulling you down desperately as your legs turn into him, find their way around his hips. Desperately, you let loose for air.
"I love you." He says.
With a new found confidence, your heart beats faster. A grin on your lips as you mouth the same back.
Your lips find their way to his neck.
A groan leaves his mouth.
His legs buckle, hands pulling down your neck.
MEMORY OF AN ARCHON: finale (to be added)
BARISTA'S INQUIREMENT... hey guys!! merry christmas/happy holidays. I know I've been promising this one for a while and I had originally planned for more Christmassy content but... Life happens. I found myself revising and rushing at the end to post but I do hope everyone enjoys <3, there are a bunch of little secret messages/meanings I hid in here for interpretation! (my inbox is always open for speculation, questions,and discussion about fics!! )
SYNOPSIS... wind breaker men really are crazy aren't they. picking fights everywhere. anywhere. with anyone they can! even, you.
it's a good thing you can fight then... right? Maybe there's more then just the fights that their picking at.
CHARACTERS... sugishita kyotaro, togame jo, kaji ren,
DISCLAIMERS... cursing, gender neutral reader, romantic, part II, manga spoilers
BARISTA'S INTEL... again, all based on my silly little depictions of what styles combat each character the best!
CAFE TUNE... from the start // laufey
PART I (sakura, suo, kiryu)
SUGISHITA KYOTARO (wing chun)
Sugishita has always been a man more of anger than actual thoughts. It was one of the more obvious traits that came out of his character at first glance. That being said, it always made him harder to read than any of the other Bofurin men.
His devotion to Umemiya was his pride and power, his driving force that made him understandable... If not a bit genuinely emotional.
So why is that your standing face front of his idol, Umemiya Hajime, watching as the guy bashfully rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side as he asks,
"You see... Ah, how do I explain this?... Sugishita just needs a little push! Yeah, that's right! Just a little nudge. I'm worried he's spending too much time brooding over how Sakura pisses him off rather than actually practicing...", a small sheepish chuckle leaving his lips as he glances as you. Eyeing you nervously as if the favor was a debt.
Is this really Furin's head? Man... He's wimpish- oh but don't let dear Sugishita hear you say that-
"Anyhow! Are you up for it [Name]? I hope this isn't too much to ask for! I promiseee, I'll pay you back! I'll even have Kotoha make you an omurice! On the house!" He's clasping his hands together now, looking at you pleadingly as he scoots in, dress shoes scrapping against the rooftops dirty cobble.
Man... It's really hard to deny him, isn't it, Sugi?
"First off, are you even sure Kotoha would be okay with that?? I know you guys are close, but man I'd be pissy if someone made me return their favor without notice- Also, hey! Your acting as if I'm all hard headed, I'll do it! Just please... Stop looking at me like that. It's gross... And very unfitting for the leader of a gang school..." you grimace, sneering a little -against your will- sighing at his pitiful puppy eyes.
"Ohhh... Kotoha wouldn't mind at all! We're sooo close! My little sister would be thrilled to help me! But! You'll do it?! Thank goodness! Thank you! Oh phew... I can finally tell Hiragi too chill out without a worry!" Now he's bounced up to his proper height, blocking out the sun as he jumps in joy, giving you a close eye smile.
"Thanks [Name]! Please go easy on Bofurin's loyal dog! Now shoo, shoo! Since we've taken care of this, I've got zucchini to water!..." Without a second thought, he pushes you, gently, out the door, shooing you as he waves a frantic goodbye.
The door slams behind you with a thud.
Once again, your sitting in your own thoughts, stuck dumbstruck at the sheer... Naivety, even if feigned, of Umemiya. Actual whiplash, you suppose.
Finding a heavy sigh release from your lungs again, your vision adjusts to the dark staircase winding down to the third floor of the school. Strangely, there's something, or someone... Propped up against the wall, mid way through the staircase.
Taking a couple steps down, your eyes narrow.
"Hmph."
Oh my god it's Sugishita-
"What the fu- Sugishita!? Goodness gracious you're like some sort of ghost- Wha- What are you even?-" before your able to stammer out the rest of your surprised exclamation, Sugishita glares at you. His hauntingly long ghoulish hair draping down his face, as he grunts.
He barely glances back, locking eyes with you once, scanning you up and down. Holding onto the moment, for a couple seconds longer, he huffs again and stomps up the rest of the flight of stairs. Crunched over in bad posture.
"What the heck was even going on there... he's so creepy..." murmuring to yourself as you finish walking down the stairs, listening to Umemiya's ecstatic voice dim into the distance.
Suo and Nirei had told you he was a bit of the brute.
You just hope Umemiya knew who he was assigning you to.
...
Sparring with BoFurin comes with evident chaos.
Grunts and shouts echo across tatami covered floors, windows blazing open as pairings of sweaty exhausted fighters sway back and forth across the rooms.
Your dead set in the middle, having just taken a break from your first partner, scouting for Sugishita per captain's orders.
Hiragi finds you first, walking up to you in his usual state of prolonged stressed.
"[Name]! Are you looking for Sugishita? That damned brat was stationed outside with some of the other members."
"Oh? Are you not watching them Hiragi, sir?" You're taking a noticing to his unique sharpened teeth... Like a shark. Wondering, can he bite someone with those? Would Sugishita be able to do that too?... His teeth are just as sharp aren't they?...
A sharp barking sound wakes you from your daze.
"Hey! Wake up! Umemiya said you'd be the one sparring with him today, teach him a thing or too, okay? That brats got way too much bite on him. Needs somewhere to chew it off. Go on, scat! Beat him in for me!" Hiragi chatters up a storm, motioning you away, shooing you to the exit as you jog out of the building.
What is it with the leading men here demanding things and shooing you off? Hmm...
Immediately after stepping outside, the hot air hits you like a wave. Absolutely ironically. If it wasn't bad enough that you were sweating buckets from sparring, the Japan heat would most definitely take you out.
From the side, you hear outrageous slams, hard disgruntled and pained sounds as you feel a slight shaking of the dirt beneath your boots.
When you've swiveled your head towards the noise, you see several upperclassmen twitching slowly and painfully... laying gruesome and distraught on the ground.
Holy sh-
Sugishita's running up towards another student, poorly defended, jumping high into the air as he brutely lands a devasting blow smack damn to the side of his face.
You. Were most definitely. Screwed.
But more so concerned-
Isn't he usually lazed in fighting?... Unless it had direct connection to his famed idol, you really couldn't understand where the sudden boost of energy came from...
"[Name]! [Name]! You're here! Please help us out, switch in with Sugishita right now! He might just kill half of our classmates [Namee]!!..." Nirei's ran up frantically beside you, making dramatic fanfare as he pleads.
Cracking your knuckles, you sigh fearfully, once more nodding at those damned begging puppy eyes, stepping forward.
"Sugishitaa!"
...
Okay so maybe this wasn't so bad.
So far, you've managed to stay alive. Watching ever so keenly at the bent over black haired boy glare at you. He does this weird thing with his eyes... As if he's daring you to take him down.
He runs, he punches, and then he forces all his strength down on you all over again.
If Umemiya had wanted you to push him and his thinking, you would.
He's stepping forward now, bracing himself angrily as he yells in rage, permanent scowl on his face furrowing even more at his bushy brows. He spins his kick, trying to land one at your side.
Gracefully, you push into his momentum anticipating his already raised fist, ready too gut you in the face.
With one quick movement and then another, his parade of punches are narrowed away. Your hands, flat and straight, palm's facing out each way as you flick his fists away effortlessly.
The more you redirected, the angrier he got, pushing into you as he tries to find some sort of opening.
Eventually, out of realization, he takes to backing up, making space for kicks and uses outside of savage shots.
Unfortunately, you knew otherwise. Pushing in to keep your wing chun usable. As he tries to step in again, quick to throw another, you palm faces in.
A rapid palm strike going forward.
And it knocks him back off his feet, as he falls miserably.
Now you've really ticked him off... He's glaring, messy long hair dancing down the front of his face, covering his fierce eyes as he stares you down. His teeth grind together as he lets out some sort of angry emotional grunt-
Spinning into a kick again, snapping back and forth between legs relentlessly. Switching up his pace to match your quick hands.
Shit. Now he's learning a little too quick for your liking.
Desperately, you look for an exit, as your hands start reddening from the sheer force of his brutality.
He's opened his field of vision, keeping good distance away from you as you struggle to keep the fight within the courtyard.
A small group of onlookers have gathered around you both now, members hooting at you both to finish it off. Murmuring about how beastly Sugishita's strength was.
The more you tried to make good distance, the more he'd learn. Catching on quickly, your palm strikes and attempts at striking the side and front of his body were failing, as he -you hope learned- to keep good balance between his body.
In your momentary distraction from the crowd, classmates chanting your names both, he had found an opening below your waist.
Diving in sanctuary as he wrapped his arms around your waist, your hands left upwards from your wing chun as he tightened.
For a second, it felt quite safe as he squished, grunting exhaustedly, almost sweetly, around you. It almost felt like a hug, surprised, you found your arms wrapping around him as well. The faint scent of some sort of... Yuzu? Sandalwood? Wafted up, as strands of his hair flicked in your face, wafting away as he looked up at you.
And you swear.
His berserked eyes softened slightly, and his frown disappeared.
Before you both fell, bruised on the ground.
...
When all of the crowd had faded away, giving congratulations to you both for the good effort of the fight, Hiragi and Umemiya approach you. Umemiya's got a bright smile on his face, laughing about something -probably about you and Sugishita- to Hiragi, who looks pained to even be near the bright man.
Considering Umemiya's appearance, you now understand where the sudden burst of spirited energy came from.
Really, it shouldn't surprise you that Sugishita's drive came from Umemiya's watchful gaze; arms crossed as he stood tall behind you, smirking knowingly.
The conversation comes quick and clear, Umemiya congratulating you and giving many thanks towards your bruised efforts, making a jab towards how relaxed Hiragi was inside the building while you were out scrapping for your life.
"Maybe we should have you as permanent watch dog for Sugishita [Name]! I've never seen him so pumped up! Man, that was really the show!"
"The only reason he was fighting so hard was because of you Moron! He saw you staring him down and wanted to impress you dumbass! Now look at them, [Name] make sure you head inside and put something on those bruises. Sorry you had to deal with this idiot's brilliant plan..." Hiragi lets out a big sigh, grabbing for his pack of pills as he crunches down on the powdery capsule.
Is that... Normal-
"Hey! This whole idea was for your sake Hiragi! Your always so uptight I was worried having you watching the freshmen would turn you bald!" Umemiya points and accusing finger at Hiragi, faking a pout.
"It's not even these new kids Umemiya! It's just Sakura and Sugishita, their all-fucking nuts!"
Now, Hiragi's got his sharp teeth pointed out as he groans back at Umemiya. The two continue arguing for minutes while your forced to stand there awkwardly...
It seems very one-sided, Umemiya trying to justify how he was only worried for Hiragi, only to get a hit to the head.
Suddenly, those bruises on your body are really started to ache.
"I uh- Is this an argument you guys need me to be there for... Or can I-
'Huh? Oh, look what you've done Hiragi! We've left poor [Name] all by their lonesome. Yes, yes, go on now [Name]! Thanks again! Please check up on Furin's dear loyal dog for us would you!" He flashes a bright smile towards you, giving you a thumbs up as he starts dragging the angry Hiragi stood beside him, fume puffing out from his nose as his forehead creases.
Before Hiragi gets to argue back, he's pulled away, shut off again as you hear bits and pieces of the compliments Umemiya gives you about your fight, covering over his begrudging complaints.
...
Sitting down on the hard wooden floor, your arm move swiftly as you wrap the rough cotton tape around your knuckles, the healing ointment, sheer and oily, spreads underneath the bandages, cooling down the aching of you reddened knuckles. Like wise bandages are wrapped around your waist and knees from the less graceful falls of earlier.
There's a slight humming of birds that twiddles in from the open windows, cooler air breezing through the house as the sun sets in warm oranges outside. Beside you, Sugishita sits quietly, eyebrows still furrowed as he tries to hide his struggle, unable to wrap the bandages around his left knuckles.
It's hard to ignore him when he's aggressively huffing beside you, his long legs sprawled out forward and his again- very sharp shark like teeth, gnaw at the fraying ends of the sports bandages.
It's so tempting to study his face...
Really, teeth that sharp make his pretty brown eyes stand out. Fierceness from his dark eyebrows as his brown eyes are encapsulated from his dark silky-smooth hair. The yellow light peeking through the window shines on parts of his raven hair, reflecting gorgeous tones of dark blue as he blinks. If you could just get a closer look at his long eyelashes too-
Oh no. Now you've been staring too long.
He grunts and growls and sharply turns his head.
And now you're the focus of those charming brown eyes.
"What."
Oh my goodness. He speaks.
"I- Uh- Did you... Want help?"
He huffs, and for a second you panic, thinking the worst, that you've offended him and pissed him off.
"Sure... I guess." He chokes out, shifting his head away quickly too look out elsewhere. Did you embarrass him?
Oh, but be quick now, you're losing your chance [Name].
Wasting no time, you scoot yourself in towards him, closing the space between you two until your knees are just barely scrapping each other.
He's still looking out the window, and his stupidly elegant hair is too long, blocking you from reading his expression as it tumbles past his sharp nose. A short sniff of some sort of distain you guess, as you tap his hand in warning.
Grabbing it gently, you unroll the mess of bandages he had made before. The ointment now all messy and sticking to your hands as you toss the wettened bandaids.
His hands are very smooth...
Grabbing the box of supplies, you try not to focus on how long and nimble his fingers are. Trying, well, attempting to focus instead on spreading the healing cream between his... Very, smooth knuckles and the tips of his fingers. His nails are also well kept, but the only part of it that was unsightly, yet beautiful, was the dried paled parts of his first two knuckles. Calloused white and paler then the rest of his hand, there's evidence of previous scrap ups that remained permanently. It's pretty, you think, and a trophy of his personality.
"Tell me if it's uncomfortable alright? This sort of cream works better when it's massaged in..." You murmur, lifting your head up as his striking eyes cast against yours.
God, he made it so hard to look directly at him.
"It's... Fine. Do whatever. Tch." He bleats out, eyebrows again furrowing as he looks at you.
As you take to palming the fingers on his hand, spreading the ointment, you fail to notice the slight undeniable tint of pink that shades his high cheekbones, as he stares at you, softening his gaze.
The awkward seconds of silence between his curt response doesn't last long, as he clears his throat and grunts again,
"Your... Fighting earlier. It was... Good."
"Thank you, I tried, to um- Well to make you think, quite honestly", you take care to mind the reddened parts of his arms, scrapped up from the final fall.
"You're not too bad yourself," to which you can already tell he's smiling cockily too,
"What was it? The fast fists thingy"
"Oh that? It was wing chun! You know, it's actually really useful in fighting... The person who made it was this Buddhist monk named Ng Mui who actually was a women! It's a very extricating story actually! Her story on developing the style caused for it being recommended by Bruce Lee... oh, wait I'm blabbing all over again... Sorry!" stammering out, your hands stop as you furrow your face in embarrassment.
His right hand, delicately, taps on your hands too continue, as he speaks,
"No, continue. I want to know."
"Really?..." Now your head has turned up, your other hand blindly grasping around on the ground for the bandaging tape as you lock eyes.
He looks at you in this strange, angry yet longing way, his eyebrows are furrowed, and he seems pissed off, but his eyes. Oh, his eyes. Their locked in on you with this cute peaked interest, shining as you speak. This time, you take notice of his soft pinkened cheeks and the nervousness of his body language.
So, you continue speaking. Wrapping his hands thoughtfully as you retell the history of your fighting style. Recounting the learnings and teachings, explaining why you thought Umemiya even chose you too spar with him. Which he grunts too exasperatedly.
By the time you've finished completely bandaging his sores, you've sat crossed from him, glancing up and down anywhere but his face.
"I hope I didn't bore you through that... I just thought, you'd like to understand why Umemiya made me spar with you. I swear I wasn't trying to steal him away from you or anything!"
Sugishita scoffs a bit, flicking his head to the side as his hair falls away from his face.
"Tch, don't apologize. I don't care. I like your talking."
"Are you? Sure?... I swear I'm not trying to earn brownie points with him. It's not a goal of mine... Honestly, he makes me sort of nervous andalsoI'mnotsureifhe'evenlikesme- Mmph!"
Mid-croaked speech, Sugishita huffs another sigh, pushing his hair back from his face. Leaning in quick, pressing against your lips, opened. Sweet, short, and shocking.
"I- Oh my god- Wow. Um-"
"Let's do this. All of this. Again." He's shocked himself off his feet now, fidgeting with his bandaged hands as he stomps towards the door. The night time sky, dark outside, the only lights coming from the building and the lamps outside.
Turning his head, one quick glance more, he mumbles through his blushed face.
"You’re cute. Stop worrying about it. See you..."
Before you able to scramble to your feet he's scrunched himself over and angrily stomped his way all the way across the street.
"Wait!- What?!-"
You hear the angry slam of the gate.
Touching your lips, there's a slight tang of metal as you run your tongue over where his lips had been. Excruciatingly hot, your whole face becomes.
But now there's a slight nip of blood, where his little vampiric teeth had accidently scrapped.
TOGAME JO (aikido + kung fu)
"You'll wait for me, won't you Kami-chan?"
"Mmm... Maybe. If you remember to come back for me" he teases, grinning his long feline smile as he looks down at you through his shaggy mullet. Black hair dancing softly with the light breeze as fireworks blare up above.
He's slumped over the wooden railing of the arched bridge, gazing out at the red Torii gates as the wood creaked. A small paper bowl dawned Mitarashi Mochi, steaming hot from the vendor as the sticky sweet soy sauce glazed over it glowed under the flickering fireworks.
Flashes of red, greens, and yellows echo above. As you gaze at him, taking in his striking soft lazed eyes. His silly grin molding into a frown as he raises a brow.
"Hmm? What's wrong Tori? Why aren't you responding?", he seems so unbothered by your moving. If only you could tell him, it was him that was distracting you.
"It's just that... Well, what if you forget me?" you mumble, stuffing your face into your sweaters sleeves as you curled on top of the wood.
You don't have to look at him to feel his eyes narrow in some sort of strange annoyance.
"I won't. Even I know better than that [Name]. We've been friends for long enough, haven't we?" Leaning forward, creaking noises barely mix with the loud cacophony of the fireworks.
He stares at the patterned lights of a red heart. The sparks floating away like fairies as they disappear.
You could sit in this moment forever.
Soak in the fainting scent of his hair, the boring old public bath soaps mixed with his own strange, food embedded aroma. Something from his love of festivals you had always noticed.
Luminated underneath the sky, his green eyes held sparks of such vibrant color. From the straight, dark gaze he held for a moment, he turned, grabbing your hand with one of his own, grabbing what was left of the mochi with his other, as he looked at you, deeply,
"I'll remember you. So, write to me while you're gone, won't you?"
Lost in his darkened gaze, you only nod, smiling meekly as his hand closes into yours.
It's cold. Very, very, cold.
He's always had cold hands.
When he stands up straight, he pulls you in by his side, your hand warming up to his, heat rushing through your finger tips as he palms the front of your hand. Running over the knuckles hardened from your several brawls.
"Come on' at least let me bet ya' one more time before you leave Tori"
With that, the mood blazes a little more, eliciting a giggle from you as he grins and jogs the both of you towards the large, opened sumo mats. Left open for freelancing competitors.
When he lets go of you, it's a lot more noticeably cold. A choke of air left loose from your throat as you reel your hand back. Desperately holding against the urge to grab again at his empty hand. Watching as he turns his back, throwing away the mochi, clueless.
Ducking under the flexing ropes, you both enter, cracking knuckles, stretching legs, grinning childishly.
"I'll get you this time Jo!" Teasing, you bounce on your heels, cart wheeling towards him.
"We'll see about it [Name]... I've been beating you since we were babies, maybe you'll win this time..." His baritone voice drags out the last syllable, watching knowingly as your eye twitches from his annoyance.
"I'll beat you and then send you to the States instead of me Kami-chan!"
"Mmm, we'll see doll"
He hopes you don't notice the way he's jaw is latched shut. The way his eyebrows furrow in annoyance. And especially not the way small crystalline tears dabble his pretty green eyes you so adored.
Realizing that you're leaving him.
...
"I'll be home soon Kami. Do you still remember me?" - Tori
“Ohhh Kame-chan! Kame-chan, Kame-chan! Look what I brought! Ume-chan said the bakery down in their precinct had extras so I brought home mochi!” Choji giggles in playful delight as he jumps up and down.
Watching as his friend crumples a small piece of paper into his palm. Togame takes to it quickly as he shoves it deep inside his Shishitoren jacket. He tilts his head.
...Kame-chan never hides secrets from him.
And he certainly had no reason to start now.
"Hmm~? What's that Kame-chan? What is it! It looked important! Was it from Sakura-chan? Ooo, I haven't seen him in forever! I wonder what he's up too-"
"It's... Nothing Choji. Leave it. This isn't for you to see anyways." Togame mumbles, shifting uncomfortably onto one of his wooden sandals. Eyes following off to the side, finding interest in the sky instead of his friend. Shuffling something in his pocket, digging deep into it; indenting the shape of some sort of crumbling.
He was ruining the note!
"Hey! Wait, wait, wait! Kame-chan what's on the notee?! I wanna' know! Give it here! You'll ruin it!" pouting, Choji jumps forward, yanking at the orange letterman jacket. Pulling at Togame's wrists as he tried to reach for the crumbled paper.
"Wait Choji- Hey!-"
Successfully wrestling the note out of his friend's grasp he fumbles over the folded edges, lifting the note up in triumph as he grins and reads,
"I'll be home soon Kami!- Tori, Oof!"
Only to get plundered to the hard concrete rooftop of building.
'Kame-chann! Ow... That hurt! What was that for?!"
"You... Dumbass. That note has nothing important... Leave it alone would ya'..." Furrowing his brows, the emeralds of his eyes narrow as he glares at the folded-out letter in Choji's hand. The last letter of your signature just barely peeking out in a soft stroke of pen.
"It's clearly very~ important if your hiding it from me Kame-chan! Who is it? Who is it? You've never hid secrets before! Ooo... I wonder, is it a lover do you have someone you like Kame-chan? OhwowIcan'timagine-"
"It's not my lover dumbass! It's... From someone. I guess..." Togame groans in exhaustion, watching Choji through colored lenses as he jumps giggling up and down. Bouncing on the fronts of his feet like a little child. All the fanfare as his eyes glow in anticipation, staring deep into his lazed eyes.
Togame swears he felt his eyebrow twitch,
"It's... From an old childhood friend. Okay? Ya' done yet?"
He should of hid that note quicker.
"Oh?! Oh!! Kame-chan has a pen pal! Woahh... Wait, is it that one girl from your old secondary school?! Kame-chan you've got to tell me more than that!" Now he's circling him like a vulture. Tugging on the whites of his sleeve as he twirls in circles around him, all the energy in the world.
Choji would ring this opportunity out of Togame if it was the last thing he did.
"... It is them... I guess. But keep your mouth quiet dumbass. We didn't end on good terms last time around... Anyways, I haven't seen them or talked to them since that letter..." huffing, Togame bends his knees, laying flat on the ground as he put his arms behind. Staring up into the clear sky as he traced over the clouds. Suspiciously heart shaped and fluffy.
"Wahh~... But then doesn't that mean this is your chance to make it up to them?", Choji takes the time out of his boundless energy to plop down beside the tall, clearly saddened man, as he turns and stares. Unblinking.
"Hahh?! Are you kidding me? No thanks... We haven't seen each other in forever. It's stupid... I got all angry and annoyed after they left. I stopped answering their texts and when they tried sending letters I... Just. Couldn't"
A breeze blows a strange chill down Togame's spine.
When he turns to look at Choji, fearing the silence, his face is met with the very, very, chilled and deadly hands of Choji Tomiyama.
His friend had latched his eyes opened, inches away from Togame as he grinned, emotionless. Unfazed. Blankly.
Petrified, Togame forces himself to stare back, eyes opened in near heart attack.
"If you're going to be such a wimp about it. Then I'll make it happen. Myself."
The air stills.
.
.
.
"Haha! Gotcha'! Was that good? That was my pep talk! Ume-chan said good leaders know how to encourage their right hands! Didya' get the message Kami-chan?"
Togame feels his heart skip a beat as the hands gripped tightly over his cheeks let loose as Choji jumps to his feet spontaneously.
"Yeahh... Sure Choji... Uh huh." Recovering from his near shock, he takes the hand extended out towards him.
"It's okay to be scared Kami-chan! All of us are at some point! But sometimes you've got to learn to face your fears head on! You've got me, Sakura-chan, and all of Shishitoren holding you up on your back anyways! Trust in us! We're here for you and your sad romance!"
"There is no sad romance! Ohhh... Never mind"
"Come on Kame-chan! Let's enjoy this mochi before it goes cold. Maybe that'll get your mind off things for a bit!"
Letting out a cold hard sigh of frustration, he follows behind the bumbling child. Watching as Choji leaps through the doors, never looking back. Knowing full well that he'd follow.
It reminds him of how you'd tail behind him.
Back when you two were just friends.
...
When the sky turns bleak in darkness, Choji hums a lullaby as he waits outside the train station, being the only one within radius of the neighborhood Togame lived in.
Scrolling absentminded on his phone, he waits for the intercom to stop it's announcement.
"Arriving, Makochi Station. All passengers may now exit"
Flicking his phone off, he tucks it into his jacket, still having not changed since his meeting with the dark raven haired man.
A devilish grin adorns his face as he zeros in on the person exiting the train. Two large luggage cases trailing behind their person as the curl up the scarf rung over their neck.
Skipping up to them, his grin widens.
"Hiya! Your Tori-chan aren't cha'? Ooo, it's so nice to finally meet you! I'm Choji Tomimiya! Are you lost?"
He leaves you no time to soak in the shock of the name he calls you by.
Watching you keenly as your eyes widen in surprise, not expecting the greeting; your cheeks-stained light pink from the cold of the night. Immediately going into a familiar praying mantis stance. Thumbs and palms folded like knives as you step back cautiously.
"Now hold on! I don't mean harm! I'm Kame-chan's friend! Oh wait- That doesn't help... Togame's friend!"
His eyes gleam mischievously as he watches your eyes widen even more, a gasp puffing from your lips as he clasps his hands together. Rubbing them together like a pesky fly as he skips.
"You and I have so much to talk about!"
The poor, unsuspecting you.
...
When Togame arrives in the dark, gloomy lit room of The Ori his subconsciousness immediately perks up to the appearance of someone, familiar, as their back turned to meet him.
“Hi. Kame-chan”
Your voice has a newfound bitterness he’s not used to, although it was expected. In the back of his mind, he could feel a twitch snap its way up his spine as his eye winced.
When you have fully faced him, a coldness wallowed your eyes. Your lips pressed thin against each other as he watched your shoulders stiffen. An uncomfortable silence crowding the both of you in.
For a while, it seemed like neither of you were going to move. Watching each other blankly as your fists closed. Palming inwards as white crescent shaped imprints were left from your nails.
“Hi. Kame-chan.”
Shit.
This was all Choji’s idea wasn’t it.
Nothing could explain the way you looked at him. Something begging for him in shame.
“Ah, hello. [Name]."
Anxiety bubbles up in his stomach in rippling waves.
Choking down the pitiful tears that bubbled up in his stomach, taking a step forward, he watched as your brow twitches.
"So, are you going to explain yourself? Have anything to say to the person you ghosted for months?" Bitter is your voice as it rise, angry, wrathful stomps, following step by step, until your close enough to punch him.
Or even kiss him.
But he doesn't need to know that.
"Aha.. Ha. Listenn [Name], I. A lot of things happened while you were gone, I met new people, had new things to take care of... I'm sor-"
"If you were sorry, you would have replied. You would have answered my letters. You should have answered them."
And now you've backed up, popping your knuckles as you snicker, mocking him as you glared.
"What, were you too awestruck by your new little best friend that you forgot me Kame-chan?"
How much had Choji told you? Anyway, he was really going to kill him one way or another. If he could get past you first.
"Hey. Eyes here Togame Jo. I don't take shitty emotional outrages lightly turtle head. I don't give a damn if you've join some sort of gang or what not, but if you've got a problem with me, we'll fight it out like we've always done" Twisting your neck, cracks resound, bouncing up and down as you take deep breaths, slowing down your racing heart.
Tradition would have it, that whenever you were arguing, as children do, your parents would force the both of you into a padded garage, the mats firm but cushioned as they'd demand you to fix your issues through regulated fights.
For the both of you, this had always been the way fights were fixed. Nothing staged, no parades, no bitter tears, just simple, very simple, rough housing.
It was always natural to you, finding your fix in taking out your anger in the punches, blocks, hard slams onto the mats with him. The five year old versions of you and Togame being snotty emotional babies, taking out your frustrations with tactless takedowns and silly punches.
He doesn't stop to think as he grins, bittersweet. And Togame thinks about how pretty you look underneath even the horrible yellow dim lights of the Ori's theatre stage.
Kicking off the sandals below him, digging the palms of his feet into the cracked wood of the stage, his smile widens. Lazy doe eyes perking up at you, reeling you in, through shaded yellow glasses. Previous sadness dissipating as he watches you bounce, playfully.
That's right, it had always just been you two and your silly little fights, hadn't it. There really was no reason he should have been scared.
Aiming for your leg he ducks, sweeping as you jump over. Swaying like a snake as your hands lift and tuck.
Now you grin too, a nostalgic feeling bubbling in your heart as you watch his black hair flair. Beautiful as he grapples for you, aiming closer and closer.
It really was so hard to be angry at someone as beautiful as him.
The next time he aimed for you, you barreled, grabbing at his arm as you throttled him over.
His eyes widen in the split of the second your faces align, watching as his body glides over yours in a swift throw.
God, he admired the way you grinned and chuckled as his body crashed to the wooden floor.
A threatening crack left in the imprint of the stage.
His back was aching.
But for some reason, he was thrilled.
No, he knew why. You could see it, as he grunted up from the floor, you backed, still swaying as you pounce towards him. Grappling for his limbs as he backed and tried to his own throw.
For minutes, you two grappled at each other, tiring yourselves out as he crouched lower and lower, as you yanked quicker and stronger.
Fiery passion dancing in unseen ways between the quick glances. Your eyes catching each other's as short looks found their way into your messy brawls. Just like little kids again, you both grinning like maniacs, little children, forgetting the whole reason behind your dirtied fists, crappy stage, and labored breaths.
When it had felt like hours, and the wood planks of the stage had started to tilt under the pressure of your heavy body slams, only then did you both pause to catch your breath. Short, raspy catches of air as your eyes locked.
And the moment holds.
Bent over, hands on knees, as he looks at you, hair disheveled and little hair tie lost somewhere in the midst, his bright green eyes glowing brightly as he stares. Watching your hair, splayed out and unkept, clothes dirtied with patches of dirt. Still with a determined look of fierceness held on your gaze. Moment holding, before you both leap at each other, tangling arms and legs.
It takes even longer, as you both tumble to the floor, breaths quickening as limbs lace around each other, trying to find an opening to throw. Rolling around, dirty and grim bulking over each others clothes, as the floor below threatens to give.
When you finally give, throwing your head onto his, knocking the breath out of him as he one final breath gives leeway.
"Ow! Damn it-..."
He glares, your legs crossed over each other as he lays up, propped on his shoulders below you.
You blink.
He blinks.
And suddenly, a quiet rumble erupts, and your both giggling as you stumble over him, lying next to him. Crazed, pure psychotic laughter as your hands cover your face shielding from the light.
He's slow, deep looming tone, echos across the walls as he grins, looking up at the ceiling, eyes droopy as he turns.
"... I, missed you, Tori" This time, you're sure you heard a choked back sob.
"Wait- Hey now... Wait, don't get all sappy on me Togame Jo!" Alarmed, you turn, propping up on one elbow as you clasp your calloused hand at his cheek.
Watching as a tear slides down his cheek.
"...Kami-chan... Are you alright?"
He doesn't reply. Sitting there, watching your dolled face, anxious with worry as you hold his cheek. Everything felt warm, inviting, exciting. And he didn't want it to leave.
"Can we, stay like this?..."
Without hesitation, or need for explanation,
"Of course. Of course we can Kami"
So, you lay back down, staring up at the ceiling looking that the lights as they start to flicker. Wondering whatever happened to the best friend you knew as lazed and cool.
It doesn't take long before you hear the shuffling of Togame, long limbed as the beast he is, scooting closer.
The softness of an orange coat floats over you, draping elegantly as you let out a deep sigh.
He looks at you, smiling, body aching, knees giving out, as he turns, facing you, taking in your details as the butterflies in his heart explode like burning pain.
He lifts the orange coat, blackened by design ink and dirt that coats its outside, as he tucks you in.
"I'm sorry"
He thinks.
As he turns upwards, laying on his own arm, thinking about how the wood seemed even brighter than the mornings blue sky.
...
"Woah dude... What was that about? Didja' see that boss? That was crazy!..." Kanuma squeaks, hiding behind his puffed out sleeves as he whimpers behind the wooden door.
"Shhh! Shh! They're gonna hear us if you don't shudd'up idiot!" Arima whispers -yelling through his teeth- trying to peak over the top of his friend.
"Woahh... He did it! He did it! Kame-chan talked to his crush!" A small, fluffy blonde hair boy peaks over the top of the two eavesdropping rats. Pumping up his fists in cheer as he grins maniacally.
"Wait- What? Boss that's Togames crush?! That's crazy... There's no way!" Almost fearful, Kanuma ducks behind the wall.
"No, it totally is guys...! When I talked to them yesterday, they told me about how they used to like him when they were kids... Just look at them. Their totallyy in love!~" The blonde boy snickers, sticking out his tongue at his friend as he watched the lover birds sleep.
Trying to peak again, Kanuma looks over Choji's head, squinting at the two lying forms. A sudden twitching motion coming from Togame as his eyes flicker, turning slowly to the sound of rustling clothes.
"... Uh oh! I think he noticed us guys! Scatter! Kame-chan's gonna kill us if he knows we were eavesdropping" Choji tip toes out of the line of sight as he gives a closed eye smile. Putting up a finger as he motions to be quiet. Scampering off with the two mischievous members tailing close behind, giggling like children again.
Togame Jo would not be hearing the end of it any time soon.
KAJI REN (capoeria (e.g of reader (cw: indecency) MANGA SPOILERS
Kaji Ren hates stupid people.
He hates stupid people with an ego even more so.
Thinking about it makes him even more ticked off, which doesn't help the crowd he's with at all.
There are bruises traced all over his face, purple as they start to darken. His mouth is parched, his bottom lip is busted and bleeding slightly as the iron taste touches his tongue. A sharp iron taste lacing itself in his mouth as he wipes the blood pouring out the scraps on his face and skin.
Stuck between two boys, who seem quite obviously ages older than him; cornered him towards the large jungle gym. His back pressing up slowly against the cold metal bars. Their eyes preying as they snickered, cracking their knuckles in viciousness. Having already landed harsh, unfair blows at his back and chest. His wrists ached from where they had iron gripped at, leaving red marks. His legs wobbled slightly as he backed, he was sure he could feel more bruises forming.
"Where's your little protector now Kaji? You're not all that scary without Hiragi anymore are ya' punk", the taller of the two boys, spits, getting his saliva all over the wood chips decorating the floor.
Really, Kaji Ren can't stand nasty little idiots like him.
Pieces of the cocky bastards' spit got over his cheek, gross and slimy as his eyes narrow. Swiping at the disgusting remanence with his school uniforms sleeve, it stains the cuffs.
Spitting back, "Get the hell away from me moron." Kaji tries to duck underneath the two boys.
Only, behind them were several other upper classmen, all dressed in a strange coat printed with some design of a blacked-out snake, curling in on itself. The logo of their gang he guesses. Damn it, as he tries to swerve away from the group of teens the more they close in.
His headphones had already been off as they had died hours ago, having forgotten to charge them before heading out, much to his annoyance.
Hiragi had told him to contain his anger, tune out the dumb people with his headphones and music, hold his tongue from starting fights with lolipops and sweets to chew on. Yet, his headphones would be no help and there were far too many people trying to instigate with him for him not to start a fight. Especially when his body was already battered and bruising as he tried to stand up right.
The shorter of the boys, freckle face and yellow hair, perked up, inching closer as he grabbed at Kaji's collar.
"What happened little boy? Where's all that bark now huh??- Guess those rumors your short temper were all yap huh. Come on now! Show us your rage, your anger." Lifting him up in the air, Kaji grimaces, closing his fists tight as he tries to struggle loose. Suspended in air, moments last.
A strong back handed fist landing the boys nose as he drops down and back.
"Ow- Fuck! You damn brat!" Blood leaks from the boys nose, a strange joint sticking out as he covers his nose. Eyes widening at the awkward angle it held.
"Fucking! Damn it don't just stand there! Get that fucking dog in a cage!"
Several of the members jump at the command, charging at the white hair boy with bats in hand. Closed fists, weapons of wood, and blood thirsty looks on their face as they push past the wounded teen.
Twisting his body he launches into the air, careful to hold onto his headphones as he lands, kicking members from every side.
His knuckles flame and burn as he lands blows, screaming bloody murder, words muffled; hell, if he knows what he's saying. His body manipulates like a ballet, twisting and spinning as he jumps to dodge and throws with full intent. Every muscle in his body aching as his legs collide with the onslaught of members. Kicks sending back several at a time as he sweeps below. Ducking under one before launching up to round house another.
The air gets colder the longer he stays outside. It's almost completely black when the streetlights turn on. Everyone tucked away in their homes.
Out of nowhere a punch connects with his jaw, sending up sideways.
Standing up, he wobbles, trying to get back his vision at his attacker(s). His jaw is stinging with numbing pain; almost broken he thinks. But it's nothing he hasn't had before.
Limping, his back curves to a straight stand, trying to clasp back his fists. A fatigue enveloping him as he tries to stand. Only to have someone yank him from behind, strong and quick as he lands on the wooden chips of the playground. His coat flaying off him with the attacker. A scream releasing from his lips as pieces poke sharply into his back.
"Damn it..."
His throat hurts from violent pain, labored breathing leaving him as he tries to calm himself.
1...
2...
3...
Everything fades. Every little breath he counts as he tries to stop the blurring of his eyes, widened in fear as the blackened shadows approach him.
He can't lose it again.
Where are they? Where are the headphones? His lollipops even? He can't feel anything.
Where are they?
The headphones. Their gone, they're not on his neck, his eyes blur even more, eyebrows raising as he frantically stands, stumbling as he grips around his neck, looking for them.
"Looking for this little boy?" The taller teen steps forward, headphones, pale white, in hand as he sneers.
"Give. Those. Back. You fucking moron!"
Prancing around him, dancing with a sing song-y voice, the boy taunts,
"Come and get em' doggy"
Fuck.
He can't see, everything is blacking out, he can't lose them. Not now, not yet, Hiragi didn't give him those precious headphones just for them to be taken away.
He couldn't disappoint Hiragi like this. Not like this. Anything but the headphones. Anything but that pitch blackness and the bodies that would pile up when he woke.
It's too late, he's already losing control of himself. He can't even feel his arms anymore. He feels dazed, let lose. Black dots stabbing at his vision as the last of the men trail in, crouched low as they sneer and snicker. Taunting. Enticing. Looking down.
On him.
What would Hiragi think? Kaji apologizes in his head. Feeling the last of his consciousness fading away as his muscles relax.
"Sorry... Hiragi, sir..."
For a second the world slows as he tilts, falling lightly.
It's almost peaceful.
.
.
.
"Waitt-!!"
"Stay alive dude! You've got this, hold on!"
Flashes of clothing appear. A sudden figure leaping towards the rest of the gang, fists tight as they move in weird dissonance. Their legs bent and swaying like a snake.
It wakes Kaji.
Whoever they were, they didn't stop to check if he was still awake. Or if his legs were still holding up him. They kept bouncing up and down, flairs of all sorts, cartwheels and tornado kicks combined.
They moved like a dance, cutting off each member slowly as they jumped and leaped. Taking the stage as they landed kicks across every member. Bodies dropping one by one as each kick and punch landed.
Violent pulses of coughs left from their victims, short, asphyxiated breaths. His legs gave out watching them. Vision returning slowly in color as they watched the way the darkened figure danced. It felt like anything but a fight, much more graceful than his. It felt staged, long lasting, as they took out men with their long loose limbs. The power felt almost raw, beautiful, but untamed and violent in a way even he could understand.
Until finally, the very last member stood. The very boy that had taken his headphones off. Quaking in fear as his knees buckled, hands held high as he tried to run.
"Hey! Come back here dummy! Why are you so scared? I'm not done yet!" Grinning, you launch upwards, flipping dramatically as you land. Cascading down like a little fairy as you smile in a sadistic glee.
Pinpoint on his back, leg first.
His head hitting the floor in a disgusting, awestruck crack.
“… Uh oh. Is he alright?! Shoot, I didn't kill him did I...? Shit” you mutter under your breath.
Despite your word a devilish smile entertained your face. It was almost horrific the way you sat on the poor boy's back.
Kaji watches you sit in silence for minutes muttering under your breath before you snap back to reality. Jumping up spontaneously; surprising Kaji as he sits up right, before you yank out the white headphones, inspecting them.
Giving a little kick at the bodies arm, you reach out with your empty hand, feeling for the certain beat of his heart with your two fingers. Inspecting the pulse as you hummed, strangely unbothered.
When you were satisfied, a grin left of your face from where Kaji could see, you skipped towards him. Headphones in hand you bent down all bubbly as you smiled and offered him a lending hand.
"Hiya! Are you okay dude? Was a bit worried back there to be honest! I thought you died or something..." A nervous chuckle left your, very pretty lips, Kaji noticed, hyper focused on the way they moved as you went on bumbling,
"Do you need... Bandages? Water?... Does it hurt a lot?"
Something about the way you spoke held him in a weird trance.
You were mesmerizing. Maybe it wasn't even just the way you spoke, but the way you looked. The way you acted. Maybe even, especially the way you completely saved him from months of regret and wallowing in his own self pity. Something about the way you fought and the way you were looking over his face and knuckles. Eyes keen on his bruises that decorated his cheeks made his face feel warm.
There was an unfamilar fuzzy feeling bubbling in his stomach. Was this... Anxiety? Now? It was weird. It didn't feel exactly like times before. But still, he felt something that was new and foreign. Something that he wasn't sure he enjoyed.
Your eyes are glued to his knuckles next, turning over his hands to inspect his palms, and he notices the way your eyes furrow and you continue to mutter under your breath.
Now he just feels like a creep-
"I- Um- H-hey, let go of me!! It's nothing I swear- I'm used to it by this point! -"
"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt you any less! Don't say things like that! Trust me, I've had my fair share of fights too... Getting treatment makes the recovery process easier than you think!"
"But-" He starts.
"Shut up! Nope. Be quiet! Here, take this, we'll get you something for the bruises and then I guess we can also repair these-" holding out your hand, you hand him back the headphones. This time, their scrapped and chipped by the sides, only noticeable if you looked closely. But still. It hurt Kaji a little to see them even remotely damaged. What sort of person was he to ruin Hiragi's gift like that?
Not noticing his little frown and the way he narrows his grey eyes to squint at the damages, you pocket out a couple hundred yen. Handing him the money as you chuckle, watching his face flush pink underneath the moonlight.
His eyes dart shyly elsewhere you could see the way his cheeks puffed slightly as he avoided your gaze. Sweetly, they looked absolutely squishable, it took everything not to reach out and grab.
"Hey! [Name]! Where are you ya' damn brat...! My friends are waiting and I am not having your family yell at me for leaving you out here in the dark!"
Shit-
"Coming! I'm coming! Hold on!-" turning your head quickly towards the voice your eyes shock open. Looking back, you smile quickly at Kaji, whose head is tilted, curious as he stares.
"Sorry I gotta' go pretty boy! See you around?... Till next time!"
Running away quickly waving your hand high above the air, flickers of the moonlight glows across your air as it reflects off. Before he blinks you've run off as fast as you appeared.
Leaving him confused, flushed red as his stammers a breath.
Looking down at the wad of yen in his hand, he notices a small tab, a sticker.
The image of a white rabbit, a popular character that the girls in his year always had merch of. Its eyes looked almost soulless, staring back at him with its little x-cross shaped mouth.
"Cute..."
He thought. The blush on his cheeks growing redder as he stood in the light, staring at the gift left by his little savior.
He should have asked for your name...
Peeling the paper off its smooth backing, he sticks it in the middle of his headphones, right center as it covered over the most noticeable of the scratches.
Man, he really wished he had asked for your name now.
...
"Alrrrright Kaji sir! Firrrst yearrrs are surrveying the norrrth homes! Grrrandma Sato rrreporrted her daughterr was missing sir! Let's search around the marrrkets arrea! Gram'ma said she was sent over therrre last." Enomoto yells, fiercely as he jabs a finger towards the pastry stores up ahead.
A smell of fresh bread hints itself in the air. Motioning to Kusumi with a few quick words, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket he nods. Kaji scampers off quickly as he sighs, adjusting his headphones. Sucking hard on a pink lolipop, his lips pop slightly as he runs.
The old women lost her poor baby cat every other day. Not to confuse the way she described her daughter, the animal in her possession was indeed a white feline.
On days where patrol was slow, and the only calling for Kaji was the needing for his and Bofurin's athletic prowess, he'd find himself walking straight past that park.
Looking longingly as he scoffs, noticing the way the wooden chips dipped softly, just barely noticeable, right next to the metal bars of the big jungle gym.
If it wasn't for the fact he had a job to do, and people he'd much rather not disappoint, he'd find a seat, right on the very tip of those cold metal bars as he dangled his legs over. Turning up his music to a certain lovecore playlist replaying that very night back in his head over and over. Humming slightly to some overseas American artist, Laufey.
He was never a fan of soft lullaby songs, all pathetically whimsical as they sang of love and possibilities.
But, months after that very scramble, he'd found a couple pragmatic online posts about the white little rabbit, stickered onto his headphones. Apparently, the girls who loved the so-called mascot rabbit 'Miffy' were systematically linked to artists associated with Laufey or lovecore.
As much as he'd love the posts to be proven wrong, the playlists always did reminded him of his first love.
He'd always spend the time, staring down at the floor, closing his eyes as music blasted, thinking about how your hands had been so very warm against his own. How bright you giggled as you were nervous, and how pretty your hair looked against the moonlight.
Kaji, oh dear captain of his year, was head over heels for a person he'd only met once.
And by gods, was it horribly embarrassing.
Slowing down from his jog, Kaji stares at the park. Pausing for a quick minute,
"It's just for a quick breath" He thinks.
His cheeks puff slightly at his amusing thought, slight tint of pink as he shakes his head angrily. Huffing a breath of annoyance, as he thinks;
Patrol comes first.
Out of the corner of his eye, mid thought, there comes the shine of something white. A small instant flash as the figure bounces across the wooden chips onto the small road.
"Darn it... There she is"
It doesn't take a second longer, as Kaji runs towards the movement. Watching the little naughty cat pounce across the road. Stopping to look back and give a teasing stick of the tongue. Damn Grandma, she spoiled this cat way too much.
Running after Risa, the flicker of her tail tucks as she ducks under stalls and their produce stands, scampering across the market place.
"Hey! Come back here damn it!"
Tripping over loose rock, he runs to catch up with the slimy rascal. Together as they duck under trashbins and banners, flipping over buildings as he yells. Just a few steps short as Risa bends underneath some bridge, skittering to a stop as Kai jumps down. Only for her to jump right back up as she pause once more, blinking innocently as she mews and sits pretty and perched. Kaji's sure he seems like a maniac now. He's yelling at the stupid cat as if it'll slow down, watching as he finally climbs up onto the bridges railings, nearly tripping again as he finally catches up to Risa behind a darkened part of the neighborhood.
A neighbor of the lower tax bracket, as litter is scattered on the floor, and a few abandoned houses and an amassed amount of weeds and strangling plants left alone as he watches the pearl cat finally sit still. Stuck right in front of him as she licks her paw, glancing at him in a sneering amuse he swears is an insult about his intelligence.
Mewling all sweet and baby-like, she beckons him to come closer. Watching him slowly crotched, annoyingly scoff as he rips open another lolipop. Having lost his previous one in the chase.
It's sour flavor of lemon pinches his tongue's tastebuds, souring his expression more as he starts to stomp fiercely towards the mocking kitten.
"Hey!... Look dude! A white cat! Aren't those like, superrr expensive?" a voice calls out, the small of a head of hair peeking overtop the overgrown weeds. A snicker comes with, and before Kaji and let out another tsk of annoyance, a group of guys about his age pops out behind the tall grasses.
One by one teens, Kaji guesses third years, stampeded towards Risa, gossiping in loud tones as they crouch, narrowing in on Risa.
He doesn't like the way they look at the cat, eyes preying in on her white fur like a prize, like predators.
"I'm sure it'll make for some good cash guys..."
"Hell yeah it will! Senior folk go crazy for cats this colo..-"
"Hey! What do you guys think you're doing?!" suddenly, another voice chimes in, it sounds... Almost familiar to him.
He takes the surprise of the guys to his advantage, sweeping up Risa in a quick swift motion.
She yowls in protest, echoing across the fields.
Kaji's suddenly grateful he still has his headphones on, the muffling feature in full works.
Glaring at the guys, flashes of angry shouts come as they run towards him. Based on their reactions, he's almost certain they're yelling at him for stealing their cash cow-
Cash cat?-
Kaji doesn't get the chance to think before he grips his arms tightly around the soft kitty. Careful not to hurt her as he dodges out of the way, trying to make a mad dash towards the Bofurn plaza.
There were better days and better times to pick a fight. Even Kaji could tell, especially when he was carrying a very fussy and prickly cat that was very keen on escaping.
Trying to turn his back, he fails to notice the sound of a whole body slamming into the dirt ground. Several more shouts erupting as some sort of flashy black shadow twirled and danced, kicking towards the older guys.
Before he's able to run far, someone grabs at the back of his hoodie, yanking him to the floor as Risa panic, hissing violently.
"Shit! Come here Risa-chan... Sorry-"
He's lifted and turned around as a punch collides with his face.
Crap.
In the brief last second, he somehow shakes free, taking the punch as he feels his lip bruising.
Scurrying backwards he sees his attacker holding Risa by the scuff of the neck, perking their lips outwards in a taunt.
Risa's claws are just short of reaching his face as she hisses in frustration, swinging wildly as her claws extend.
"Shoot... Damn it. The cat!" Whisper yelling underneath his breath, he pops off his headphones as he runs towards the attacker. Throwing raw punches towards his opponent while trying to carefully pick Risa back up.
Blows exchange as he tries to step in front of Risa, having been let down as the grip loosened. When Kaji had finally noticed the other attackers had been laying on the floor unmoving and a shadow was curb stomping them almost breathless, he yelled
"Hey damn it! What's taking you so long?! Help the cat!"
The figure whips around confused,
"Oh shi- Sorry! Didn't know there was still more!"
Giving a swift low kick to make sure the men were still unconscious the person joined, flipping wildly into cartwheels as their knees bent. Raw jagged movements left your body as you confused the man in front of you. Striking at key targets hitting the arteries that would stun him as you aimed.
Kaji once securing the pretty cat, joined, holding the cat in both arms as he spun as well, kicking sporadically.
Together you both danced around the man, mixing styles in sychrony as you paraded over the blood leaking out of noises and cuts.
The attacker blocks over and over, lifting his hands up as he tries to run.
"Shit- Sorry! Sorry! Okay I get it! I'll leave!"
It doesn't take long for the coward of a man to run, legs wobbling as he quickly picks himself up, flipping you off as he runs.
A sigh of relief escapes your lips, only for your eyes to shock open widely, searching for your partner in crime.
"Oh dude! Are you okay? You aren't hurt are you?"
As you inch towards the boy, you notice locks of silver hair, and a pair of headphones you had long looked for.
"Holy shi- your that pretty boy from the park!"
...
For Kaji, this coincidental moment felt like a whole years worth of voices silenced. When the shadow had disappeared from your face, his eyes widened, his cheeks flushed, and his grip on Risa loosened.
It was almost a miracle the cat hadn't tried to run off again.
You, you were there.
In front of him.
And this time you weren't fighting for his safety but had done it with him.
Suddenly, he almost felt bashful. Embarrassed as he scuffled to his feet, mouth left open as he struggled to respond.
"Hi..."
Damn it Kaji Ren, that was absolutely moronic.
His palms are sweaty, and he can feel Risa's fur sticking to it.
He can tell his pupils are dilated as he hyperventilates. Staring at you in awe as replays what happened. Your beautiful flair kicks that had caught his attention, coming back to reel him in for more as he fought.
The chemistry you shared, the way your hair was disheveled even less than the last time, and the way your face had matured. Small features that had changed, indications of the time between when you guys had met.
A weird feeling bubbles in Kaji's stomach, turning and twisting in a way that made him confused. Did he want it to stop? Or was he just crazy?
Your eyes look even prettier in the sunset, with the scene of old dark houses shining against them. Your own face perks up curiously,
"Hey uh- Are you just gonna stare?..."
"I uh- Shit. Sorry, um yeah I am that guy... Ya' know... The one you saved last time" Shit, he thinks his voice cracked. Did it crack? Was he hallucinating again?
"No no I remember! I'm just surprised to see you on this part of town... I'm guessing by the uniform you joined Bofurin! Is the cat a neighbor's then?" A smile laces your lips as you inch closer, lifting your index finger to scratch underneath Risa's chin.
As you inchd, Kaji could feel his breath cut.
A sharp cut of his unsteady breathing, as his whole body stiffened, almost too aware of how close you were to him.
It feels like hours watching you scratch at the cat in his arms.
Right... The cat, not him.
It's the cat your paying attention to.
Why is there a stingy sensation now? What is it with all these emotions. It's pissing him off. The weird bubbly feeling replacing itself with a weird giddiness and a hint of something he could only think was jealousy.
Of a cat? How stupid...
When you finish, you stand up straight, grinning even more brightly at the cute kitty time.
"Hey- If you need to return the cat now, how about I walk with you to your side of town? I feel like this meeting was just an absolute sign we were supposed to get to know each other!"
Clasping your hands together, Kaji's whole face erupts in a fierce red, a slow nod as he turns his head away, hiding shyly as his cheeks puff abnormally.
You could almost see the steam bubbling out of his ears.
"S-sure... But just to return the cat!" he babbles, trying to hide his warming ears as he shoves his headphones over his ears with one hand, struggling to put them on all the way.
"Hehe, if that's what you want!" You giggle, reaching out again to pet the sweet soft kitty in his arms. Reaching up once more to readjust his headphones.
All while Ms. Risa sleeps peacefully, and your hair brushes past Kaji's nose, warm hands clasping near the cuffs of his ears by accident as you push the headphones on fully. A glimpse of the bunny sticker showing itself to you as you do so.
A happiness boils inside your chest. Almost a sense of pride as you take notice how yours is the only decoration upon his grey headphones.
And how clean the sticker held up.
A soft smile lifts from his flushed face. Listening to your coos as Risa yawns. He chuckles to himself, thinking again about how awesome you were as you fought, as he timidly reaches out a pinkie. Shifting his grip on the cat as he moves.
Looking away quite obviously, he hooks his pinky with yours as you two walk.
Neither you nor him notice the flushing cheeks and the averted gazes as you hold pinkies.
Short and sweet contact, yet all the warmer as speckles of pink and red dances across your cheeks both.
...
"So, Kajiii whose the new perrrson?!" Enomoto yells, shaking Kaji violently as he spits accidently across his face. For the past hour, since the return of Kaji, his face had been stricken with uncontrollable fear. Thinking his captain had gotten lost.
Only to meet Kaji with a whole essay of questions.
'Yeah, yeah! Tell us Kaji!' A text message rings from Kusumi, his grin widening by the minute as he captures photos of Kaji's red flustered face.
"You neverrr said anything about your crrrush dude! This is crrrrazy! Did Hirrragi sir know about this?! Damn did you leave us out of it Kaji?!" Relentlessly Enomoto shakes, hands quivering at the thought of it all. Kaji Ren with a partner.
"S-Shuddap'! Their not a crush!! I just-"
"What's this I hear?! Kaji you have a crush now?!"
Shit.
Hiragi's face explodes as he drops the plant he holds. Umemiya following close behind as his face drops in horror.
For the plant or for Kaji, he doesn't know.
But he knows he's screwed for sure, looking over to the side of the balcony as you come towards him, smiling as you lift up a hand, showcasing the cute white bunny sticker sheets as you skip.
Maybe he is crushing. Just a little.
SPECIAL BREWS...
Tori-chan // Togame nicknames [reader] as Tori-chan as he views them as someone sweeter than him. Tori or Torii refers to the red gates found in Japanese Shinto shrines. It's a nice play on his monk like religious persona
Kami-chan // [Reader] refers to Togame as Kami as it means paper but also gods/divine beings. For reader and Togame I wanted to symbolize their relatiionship with small religious monikers. Reader also thinks of Togame being laid back and loose limbed like paper, which Kami can also mean!
Lovecore // I wanted to show how innocent and dreamy Kaji's love was. In comparison to his harsh personality, I also headcannon he's the type of guy to listen to music to reminsce and remember his s/o <3. Also just think that lovecore playlists are bangers that remind me of cute character like Miffy and such (I def was not listening to lovecore playlists writing this)
BARISTA'S INQUIREMENT... part II of two! not proof read... Was supposed to be gender neutral but I have a sneaking suspicion I forgot it somewhere. Please let me know if I did! Unfortunately, was very burnt out and couldn't find it in me to write an Umemiya part :(( I will try to post Umemiya content in the near future!
SYNOPSIS... the lantern rite festival was always the most glorious season of festivity. And yet, the god of geo found no happiness in his heart roaming his nation. If only he had a person to share with him a sprinkle of the festive spirit....
DISCLAIMERS... angst, no comfort, female reader, short series, spoilers for Guizhong's story , lunar new year's special !
BARISTA'S INTEL... sorry to all the lumine travellers! please enjoy the first "official post" and a happy lunar new year's to those who celebrate! chúc mừng năm mới <3.
TAG LIST... @sizure , @imma-too-many-fandoms , @yle-xar
CAFE TUNE... Heather // Conan Gray !
“Paimon votes we visit Xiangling!” the giddy floating fairy cheers, bobbing up and down as her blonde-haired companion nodded in agreement.
Turning her head, her eyes landed upon the silhouette of a brunette man, his attention solely focused on the eccentric storyteller in front of him.
“Eh? Zhongli? What a pleasant surprise meeting you here!” the fairy alludes, companion following alongside as she approached the man.
“Come one, come all, allow me to forward you a special tale for this years Lantern Rite, abundant and glorious as always!” The storyteller speaks, hands motioning the pair in as his eyes begin to glow with pride.
“Listen closely now, for this tale is one you won’t ever hear anywhere else! A speciality for my audience” the man grins, winking sidewise at the blonde traveler, motioning him in for a seat alongside the brunette, who merely nods politely before redirecting his attention.
“Listen closely… for our story begins before the age of war…”
Dainty gray eyes laid upon his figure. So divine, so prim and proper, fingers grasped gracefully around a stone cup of tea as he conversed with the two ladies.
Morax he went by, god of mora, Archon of Geo. Cloud Retainer, the women with red rimmed glasses. And Guizhong, the refined goddess of dust, so elegantly did she sit, reflecting the man in front of her. His eyes gazed so… Lovingly. She held his undivided attention, lips curling into a saccharine smile irreplaceable by any.
“Y/n? Who do suppose is correct Goddess of the Forge?” she calls. Her voice so tauntingly pristine as her grey eyes shifted towards yours.
“Hm? Ah, forgive me… It seems I was dazed. Could you restate the question?” you call. Your own voice slightly breaking, pitching off into a unsettled tone.
It was so mocking. How her figure was so respected, so desirably faultless. Both in brain and brawn… Your own stained with battle scars, body tainted with the wounds of the steel, whilst hers was untouched, silk smooth, faultless. All the things you weren’t.
“Ah, no worries! I had simply inquired about your opinion on my design. Our dear Cloud Retainer here seems to think hers is superior…” Her eyes are so beautiful…
It wasn’t fair… How you both shared the same hue of gray for eyes. Yet somehow hers shined so much brighter compared to yours, so bleak and dull like iron ore.
“Hm… This design… It needs some tweaks, but I do believe that Cloud Retainer’s design is superior within this field…” you murmur, eyes gazing upon the blueprints that laid out in front of you.
“Is that so? Morax! You are righteous… Who do you believe withholds the superior model?” Guizhong questions.
Righteous?... Was she… Mocking you? Questioning your values? Your judgment?
“Upon inspection… I do believe that your design is superior Guizhong”, his eyes are so thoughtful, filled with the beautiful waterlike goldens and browns. His eyes narrow, concealing his bright colored eyes like the lakes that adorn themself atop the mountains.
Ah… As you inspect closer… It’s true his judgment is impeccable. And yours, at fault.
Guizhong giggles in glee, shiny gray eyes, the ones that were the exact same shade as your own, reflected so much pure light. Like white iron ore… in every way. She was better.
You watch as he smiles, playing along with her child like joy. His eyes bubbling with happiness, spirit so moved by her own.
He never looks at you that way… Perhaps he never will…
Cloud Retainer stands behind you, concealing her worry for your state as she watches your own hues dim down with envy, discouragement that you failed to fully tuck away.
The day Guizhong was lost. You saw as he retreated away, you saw the scars she left on him. You heard too, the cries he echoed out in the solitude of the mountains.
You watched her soul slowly slip away, body loosening at the lack of character to withhold it. You never knew what it was that plagued you with such sinful cruelty. But… watching her die, perish in front of you, your own body and mind helpless to save her. You could only feel the slightest bit of regret. Regret that you hadn’t saved her.
When you could have.
Instead you watched by the sidelines, watched as he gazed at her so lovingly, mind and body relaxed around her presence, whilst not once, did he ever glance your way.
That night… When the Goddess of Dust had perished, you fled. Fled away to the mortal realm, locked away in an Adepti contraption. War was at brew; you could feel it. You knew of the harm that would come to you when it did, the pain and hopelessness that would plague your mind if ever you were to succumb to the desires of evil divines that would ask for your aid in battle.
Goddess of the Forge.
That was your name. Sealed away in stone.
“Many blacksmiths and warriors alike pray to the Goddess of the Forge for the finest of ores and the best of the best in the weapons they wield. Many adventures that come from this nation of Geo have commonly shared the goal of searching for where she lays… However, never found she was…” the storyteller murmurs, hand stretching out to flicker his fan as he gazed over it darkly.
“But of course! This is merely a tale! Who knows if this “Goddess of the Forge” really does exist!” He coughs awkwardly, shivering at the intense gaze that was being radiated from the brunette man in front of him.
“Indeed… What a pleasant story sir…” he mumbles, face solemn. Eye's blanking out in a distant sorrow. His mind drifting off into an unknown world.
A women walks by the station of the storyteller, gray eyes empty and uninviting. She glances at the brunette man, stuck in his own land of thought, as she hides away from view.
It’s been decades. And yet his memory haunts your every waking step. A scar on your body that will never heal yet comes back to haunt you with the acknowledgement of its story. Succumbing you into a void.
It’s so selfish. How all those years ago you could have saved her. You were there weren’t you? Just a couple fields away picking glaze lilies for him, it wasn’t her… Goddess of Dust, that you were thinking about. Not even when she had laid unmoving in front of you and all the others. Not even when the guilt recked your insides knowing you were just a few sprints away from her; could have saved her.
It was him, his milky golden eyes, his proper figure, so collected.
It was never you on his mind, always her. Always Goddess of Dust, always the prettier, shiny, ore. And perhaps it was why you had left, fleeing in agony and regret. It hurt how his eyes were only ever on hers, how they shared fleeting touches, when you were his forever best friend. Always by his side to guide him in battles and spars.
She was everything you could only dream to be...
The night you had left… You had fled to the far breeches of Liyue, residing in a self-inflicted encagement, meant to trap away the deadliest of monsters.
Whether or not he had truly cared for you, shed tears for you, you never were there to see it...
SPECIAL BREWS...
Goddess of the Forge // I found that the irony in reader being the Goddess of the Forge compared to Dust which is a much lighter title compared nicely to her dynamic, I do hope I was able to highlight this aspect well... (Haha get it, irony, forge?...)
White Iron ore // Using this comparison felt very natural and more in depth, I found it easier to be able to relay the emotions of the story to the reader by using a similarity, after all, it's salt to the wound for those who have felt incompetent to someone before
in which : alhaitham speaks to you in 5 different languages, unaware that you understand every word he says.
wc 7.3k (pls give it a chance lol), academic rivals to lovers, unrequited hate, attempt at humor, college au, denial + pinning.. crazy ik, he falls first (and harder), tw stalking by a drunkard, a genius on paper but a total dumbass when it comes to crushes, lil smau at the end!, ft. sumeru gang. art by @/gamegatchihaja on x.
ps. translations ay nasa maliliit na titik, katulad neto!!
ps. translations will be in small letters, like this!!
PROLOGUE: GOD I HATE THIS GUY! (DOES HE THINK IM STUPID?)
the semester is nearing its conclusion, and the imminent approach of finals marks the most critical period of the year; students rush through the halls, clutching their notes and textbooks like lifelines, while you pour every ounce of effort into your studies —not just for your grades, but also to surpass a certain arrogant scholar.
alhaitham.
the name tastes like spoiled milk on your tongue, a sour reminder of all the times he’s bested you, even if it’s just by a small margin, leaving you dumbfounded when the difference between your marks during the last exam was a mere 1%.
you were groveling in front of your professor, “please, just round the marks up?” you could practically feel your dignity slipping away. and the worst part? you were so desperate that you started mentally calculating how many odd jobs you’d be willing to do just to sweeten the deal.
(maybe you’ll help organize the office, run around the campus to buy him drinks every day, or even wipe down the windows of his car…)
disclaimer: he ultimately said no, but he did compliment your impeccable taste in coffee so, a win is a win?
anyhow, alhaitham’s nonchalance only adds to your frustration, especially when he switches to a different language mid-conversation. it feels like he’s rubbing salt in your wounds, why of course you can understand him perfectly —after all, you aren’t majoring in linguistics for no reason, plus he's not the only one who’s fluent in multiple languages.
though you keep that to yourself, perhaps because the things he says in those languages, which he assumes you don’t understand, are far from innocent, unknowingly letting you have a glimpse into his true feelings.
ACT I: WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I DETEST YOU.
alhaitham would never fall in love —such irrational and illogical emotions held no value to him.
that was what he always believed, but then he saw you.
the way you laughed so unapologetically at cyno’s jokes, how you always stood firm by your beliefs, your refusal to compromise who you are; you were a breath of fresh air in a world that often felt stifling.
as much as he tries to act unfazed, he can't help the heat prickling his skin nor the way his composure falters just slightly in your presence. and when his heart raced for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew —he was completely, utterly screwed.
(“fix me, kaveh.” / “hah. who do you think i am, ‘y/n’?”)
when kaveh told him that he just had a simple “crush”, he nearly rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck there permanently.)
likewise, this ugly arrogant handsome bastard here, is one you’ll never fall in love with.
he’s infuriating, completely insufferable, and yet there’s something about him, something hidden beneath that arrogance, that draws you in. the idea that you could ever fall for someone like him seems laughable, impossible even. he's exactly the kind of person you should avoid and you know better than to be charmed by someone like him. yet, there's that nagging feeling, deep down, that perhaps you’re not as immune to him as you think.
by some stroke of luck, you’re in the same major, same year, and even enrolled in the same lecture periods, which means you end up in the same place at the same time more often than not.
but you can’t deny that, in some twisted way, you admire him. his intellect is beyond impressive, even if it annoys you to admit it. so surely, in his eyes, you’re still inferior, and you often wonder if he even considers your ideas as worthy of attention.
(they are.)
ACT II: YOUR WATCHFUL EYES, I CAN’T IGNORE.
your pen glides across the pages as you jot down notes, fully absorbed in your studies, barely registering the faint sound of distant chatter.
unbeknownst to you, a group of students has gathered just outside the lecture hall, peeking in from the door with curious, amused expressions. they’re clearly there for you, exchanging glances and murmurs, waiting for the moment you step outside.
you don’t notice, but alhaitham, seated a few feet away, certainly does.
his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene. he doesn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenches ever so subtly. as you begin to pack up, you glance up to find him standing in front of you, his tall figure effectively blocking the group outside’s direct line of sight to you.
with a discreet glance over his shoulder, he shoots them a cold, unmistakable glare. they visibly shudder, seemingly getting the message as they awkwardly shuffle away.
“what was that about?”
alhaitham leans against your desk, “nothing important,” his tone is dismissive, laced with irritation, his gaze still fixed on the now-empty doorway.
you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “really? you just scared them off for no reason?”
“just getting rid of some… distractions,” he says casually, turning his attention back towards you. you raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing his words. “distractions? they weren’t bothering me.”
his expression remains impassive, “khi họ cứ để ý đến em như vậy… em thấy không phiền, còn tôi thì có.”
“seeing them constantly paying attention to you… you're not bothered by it, but i am.”
“bởi vì cái cách mà em chú tâm hoàn toàn vào một việc gì đó… nó quyến rũ vô cùng.”
because the way you completely focus on something… is truly mesmerising.
you blink, feeling a momentary flush of confusion and surprise at the words slipping from his mouth. did he just—? but before you can fully process it, he continues.
“vậy nên tôi cũng không thể trách họ khi họ muốn nhìn em gần và lâu hơn được.”
so i don’t blame them when they want to look at you closer and longer.
his words linger in the air, a moment passes before it clicks —he doesn’t think you understand. that’s why he’s speaking so… freely; letting slip things he’d never say outright in a language you both speak fluently.
“nhưng mà… chắc không ai trong số bọn họ có thể sánh ngang với tôi, em nhỉ?”
but… none of them can compare to me, right?
your chest tightens as a surge of warmth courses through you.
his detached attitude only fuels your irritation. but there’s also a certain satisfaction in knowing something he doesn’t: you’ve understood every single word he’s said.
feigning ignorance, you raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with what you hope is a neutral expression. "what are you going on about?" you ask.
his expression remains as stoic as ever, not a single crack in his mask. he simply shrugs, eyes still on you, "just telling you to focus more.”
your grip on the pen tightens, there's a part of you that wants to wipe that smug look off his face, to show him you're not as clueless as he assumes. but not yet —you’re curious to see just how far he’s willing to push.
"right," you mutter under your breath, tapping the pen against your notebook. "focus. got it."
he leans down slightly, one arm resting on the back of your chair while the other presses against the table, effectively caging you in.
"you're wasting time, finals are coming up." he takes a brief pause before continuing, "i wish you the best of luck, you’ll need it.”
your eyes snap up to him in a glare, “don’t you have somewhere to be?" you bite back.
alhaitham straightens, giving you a final glance before turning towards the door. “naturally, i have studying to do.”
“bởi vì tôi sẽ chứng minh cho em thấy rằng chỉ có tôi mới xứng tầm làm đối thủ học thuật của em, không một ai khác.”
because i will prove to you that only i am worthy of being your rival, no one else.
why did he frame it as if it’s a privilege only he can claim? or is he trying to… flatter you?!
you shake your head, no way, that’s ridiculous. finals are coming up, there’s no time to dwell on whatever mind games he’s playing. though if the almighty alhaitham wants a rival, then you’ll show him exactly what it means to stand at the pinnacle.
ACT III: IN MY DREAMS, I SCORED HIGHER THAN YOU.
you’re tired, the kind of tired that seeps deep into your bones. every blink stretches longer than the last and you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the words in front of you. stifling a yawn, you feel the pull of sleep tugging at you, whispering sweet promises of rest.
there’s still time till your next class.
maybe you'll take a moment to close your eyes, just for a few seconds…
did you not get enough sleep last night, or did you stay up late studying again? alhaitham watches silently from across the room, his eyes narrowing as your head droops lower, your exhaustion becoming painfully obvious with each passing second. his gaze lingers on the way your pen pauses mid-sentence, the line on your notebook trailing off as your hand grows heavy.
he pushes himself up from his seat, and approaches your desk; he notices the sunlight streaming through the window, harsh and unrelenting, hitting right over the table where you’re sitting. he looks at you —eyes closed, with the faintest crease of discomfort on your brow.
without a word, he reaches out and slips the pen from your grip, the slight shift causing your fingers to twitch, but you don’t wake.
for a fleeting second, he considers waking you. but then, as you shift again, settling more comfortably into your chair, he decides against it. what good would that do, anyway? you’d probably just brush him off and keep going until you collapse from sheer fatigue. typical.
instead, he adjusts his stance slightly, positioning himself just right to make sure the sunlight is fully blocked from your face, casting you in a cool shadow.
you mumble something incoherent, and he can’t help but roll his eyes at your state. did you really think burning yourself out like this would help you focus?
“stubborn,” he mutters under his breath.
you're always like this, pushing yourself past your limits, and while part of him respects your determination to outdo him, he won’t allow it to come at the expense of your health.
you stir from your slumber, lifting your head, your gaze lands on a familiar figure standing to the side of your table. his back turned, facing the sunlight that streams in from the window.
alhaitham.
he’s close, so close that his broad shoulders completely block out the sunlight from the window. the sight sends a rush of confusion through your already sleep-addled mind. did he… stand there the whole time? why?
you shift slightly in your seat, your movement catching his attention. without turning, he speaks in that low, steady tone of his, “you’re awake.”
“alhaitham?” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.
he glances over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the calm expression on his face. “you’ve been out for a while,” he comments, a hint of amusement in his voice. “i was starting to think you’d sleep through your next class.”
you rub the sleep from your eyes, “why didn’t you wake me up then?”
his shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, still facing away from you. “you looked like you needed the rest. besides, it’s more entertaining to see how long you’d stay asleep.”
a flicker of annoyance courses through you as you roll your eyes, “oh, so you mean you care?”
he turns slightly, and you can see a hint of a smirk on his lips. “don’t read too much into it. i just prefer my competition functioning at their best.”
you wish you could roll your eyes harder because this man has an uncanny talent for grating on your nerves while somehow being insufferably charming at the same time.
“ah yes —because you need me to keep up with you,” you remark sarcastically.
“exactly.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you lean back in your chair. “you really think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“mushiro, kimi no koto o hijō ni takaku hyōka shiteiru yo.”
if anything, i think highly of you.
your brows knit together in surprise, and you can’t help but scoff. “what was that? i didn't catch it.”
“i said i won’t go easy on you.” oh, the audacity. he’s lying again, and he knows it.
the corners of your mouth twitch in disbelief as you scrutinise his expression. there’s that familiar glimmer in his eyes, a spark of mischief that tells you he’s enjoying this too much.
“whatever,” you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “not like i want you to anyway.”
despite your words, you can't deny that his actions earlier were surprisingly endearing. you wonder how long he intends to keep this up. perhaps it’s time you let him know.
“ii ne, kimi ga iraira shite iru toki wa kawaiikara.”
good, because you’re cute when you’re all riled up.
you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at his words, okay maybe you shouldn’t let him know. you instinctively look away, as if avoiding his gaze can help you regain your composure.
cute? what does he mean “cute”?! he thinks he can get away with calling you cute —well… well, there’s not much you can do about it, you’re not ready to confront him about this either.
the mere thought of asking him directly makes your stomach twist with a year’s worth of embarrassment. yet, as you try to refocus on the book in front of you, you find yourself biting your lip, struggling to suppress a smile that threatens to break free.
ACT IV: I WOKE UP TODAY, AND A DREAM CAME TRUE.
the hallway buzzes with excitement as students gather around the large announcement board, eager to see the results of their theses. you push through the crowd, heart pounding, the low hum of chatter filling your ears.
when you reach the front, you quickly scan the list; the moment your eyes land on your name, your breath catches in your throat.
there it is, in bold red ink at the top of the board —a score higher than you’d ever hoped for, higher than his. and your name, on top of his.
alhaitham.
you glance over and spot him approaching the board, approaching you. his expression is, as always, unreadable. but you know him well enough by now to catch the slight pause in his movements, the brief moment where his eyes linger just a second too long on the board.
you try not to think too much about it as you collect your thesis, with alhaitham following closely behind, his fingers nearly grazing yours as you both sift through the stack of papers on the table.
you take in the glowing praise from your professor, each word making you feel like every all-nighter was worth it. you clutch the paper, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot.
glancing sideways, you wait for him to say something, maybe some backhanded comment, but he remains silent. your eyes meet, and there’s a shift in his gaze as the usual sharpness in his eyes dulls ever so slightly, your smile lingering like the first light of dawn breaking through the night's embrace.
it’s subtle —just a flicker —but you catch how his gaze falters, softening, if only for a heartbeat. the edges of his stare blur, drawn to the warmth of your expression as though it’s something he hadn’t meant to witness, yet can’t look away from.
at this moment,
"looks like i finally beat you," you say, not bothering to suppress the grin spreading across your face now.
he feels like
there’s no scowl, no sign of frustration —just the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “hmm. by a point.” he pauses, studying you for a second longer than necessary before returning his gaze to his paper. “enjoy it while it lasts.”
he's in heaven.
it’s as if he’s not bothered by the outcome at all. in fact, if anything, he seems... satisfied?
"hindi dapat ganito kalala ang epekto ng ngiti mo sa akin."
your smile shouldn't affect me this badly.
“—huh?” your mouth drops slightly open at his words; out of everything, you didn’t expect him to say that. it catches you off guard, making your heart race just a little faster. if you peer closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of the gentle arch of his lips, a ghost of a smile.
the silence stretches on for a beat too long before he clears his throat and shifts his gaze away from you. “ang iyong ngiti ang pinakamagandang tanawin ng aking araw.”
your smile is the most beautiful sight of my day.
“what?” the word slips from your lips, barely a breath, a soft gasp that hangs in the air. it feels almost surreal and you wonder if you’ve misheard him.
each heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythm that matches the erratic flutter in your chest. why is he saying these things, what for in a different language…? there’s no way that he—
"—tulad mo na ang hinangad ko na ligawan, ngunit sa bawat ngiti mo, halip ay mas lalo akong nahulog para sayo."
—like you, who i wish to court, but with every smile, i instead found myself falling for you.
your breath hitches as your heart stumbles, the implications of his words washing over you like a wave. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, “what… did you say?”
his shoulders stiffen, and there’s a subtle tension in the way his fingers curl against the paper he’s holding. “see you tomorrow, [name],” he mutters, his voice low but hurried, and before you know it, he’s already walking away.
two strange things happened today:
1. you finally beat your sworn enemy!
2. said enemy… complimented you?
huh, it’s as if the words slipped out before he could catch them, as if he’s been holding them in for far too long, as if… you notice the way his neck reddens, even as he turns away.
behind the door, alhaitham lets out a quiet breath.
“gago… nagkamali ba ako?”
stupid… did i make a mistake?
to his dismay, an annoyingly familiar voice cuts through the silence. kaveh, who had been waiting just down the hall, notices him standing there, a little too still.
“oh, what do we have here?" there's a slight pause, followed by a raised eyebrow. "is that—no way, your face is red!” kaveh teases, amusement dancing in his eyes. “what happened there?" he leans in, clearly enjoying himself. "come on, spill the tea..!”
"not a chance," alhaitham retorts, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defensively.
just then, kaveh spots cyno and tighnari; grinning, he waves them over. “what’s going on? did alhaitham finally crack under pressure?”
alhaitham would rather reorganise the entire library than listen to kaveh recount what happened.
“i’m leaving.”
"no, i'm afraid you're not getting out of this one.” cyno steps forward, blocking alhaitham’s path; and tighnari, who has been quietly observing till now, chimes in, “don’t leave us hanging.”
“you’re outnumbered.”
alhaitham sighs and shakes his head. he hadn’t even thought it was physically possible for him, of all people, to do something as ridiculous as blushing —until today.
(on the other side of the door, their banter echoes through, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself at alhaitham’s misery.)
ACT V: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY, YOU SAY? BUT EVERYONE CALLS IT FLIRTING.
“i think alhaitham likes [name].”
the whole table falls silent before kaveh dramatically slams his glass down on the table, causing a splash of alcohol to spill over the edge. “oh finally, it’s so obvious! have you all seen the way he looks at them?”
across the table, tighnari taps his fingers absentmindedly on his notebook, his attention only half on kaveh’s (incoming) rant but clearly invested enough, as shown by the slight twitching of his ears, to be listening.
cyno snickers, “you’re telling me the man who can dissect any philosophical argument can’t handle a little crush? that’s rich.”
kaveh waves a hand dismissively. “come on! remember that time they were partnered up for a project? he was so... uncharacteristically patient! i’d almost say it’s cute if it weren’t alhaitham we’re talking about!”
right, it’d be almost endearing —if it weren’t coming from the most stoic, intimidatingly aloof guy in the entire school. it’d be adorable —if it weren’t alhaitham, who instinctively covers the corner of your table with his hand when you drop your pencil, ensuring you won’t hit your head as you bend down to retrieve it.
oh, you don’t notice (of course not). but your friend dehya, sitting nearby, catches the whole scene out of the corner of her eye. she raises an eyebrow, nudging the girl beside her.
(“candace, do you see that shit.” / “yeah.”)
“a soft spot for [name], you say? well, i’ve got a story of my own, too.” cyno glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot, then lowers his voice conspiratorially. “have you noticed? he doesn’t wear his earphones when he’s around them.”
kaveh pipes up, nodding eagerly.
“he’s got those earphones practically glued to his head, he doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to, and he certainly doesn’t talk unless he’s forced to. but around them?” cyno pauses, pretending to think for a while. “not once. he’ll put them away entirely, like he’s actually willing to be… present.”
sure it’s small, subtle, the kind of habit no one would pick up on unless they were looking closely. but to anyone who knew alhaitham well, it tells them more than words ever could.
for him, actions speak louder than words, even if he often doesn’t realise the meaning behind his own gestures.
his earphones slide down, resting forgotten around his neck, all so he can be close enough to catch the delightful lilt of your laughter. his chair inches a fraction closer, seemingly by accident. a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, so fleeting and often passing so quickly if one weren’t paying attention.
for him, it’s a language without words.
dehya laughs softly. "for someone who supposedly ‘doesn’t like being bothered,’ he sure seems invested in whatever [name] has to say."
and what sealed their suspicions?
definitely the time when kaveh complimented nilou’s new bracelet. he glanced over at the man beside him, nudging him lightly. “what do you think?”
alhaitham gave the bracelet a cursory glance, before replying, “it’s nice.” though his gaze flickered back; and almost absently, he added after a pause, “[name] has the same one too.”
oh… oh? well that was oddly specific. kaveh’s eyebrow quirked as he fought to suppress a grin.
alhaitham had noticed a detail seemingly insignificant about [name] —the kind of thing he never cared to show the slightest interest in when it came to anyone else.
the glint in nilou’s eyes seemed to mirror kaveh’s unspoken thoughts, silently agreeing with his suspicions.
now they’re certain —100% sure, in fact —that alhaitham has a crush on you.
“well, speak of the devil… lovely seeing you here, alhaitham,” kaveh quips. tighnari, ever observant, gives him a pointed look. “your jacket’s missing.”
“someone took it,” alhaitham replies, his tone as composed as always, giving nothing away.
—nothing until you walked past. draped over your shoulders, unmistakable, is alhaitham’s jacket. you don’t notice the way every pair of eyes follows you, or the way kaveh barely stifles a triumphant laugh.
...make that 110%.
(translation: he means he borrowed his jacket because [name] was cold.)
ACT VI: IT’S YOU, WHO COMES TO MY RESCUE.
the quiet night hangs heavy, the road empty and bathed in the dim glow of distant streetlights. you weave through the streets, but no matter how many twists and turns you take, that weirdo just won’t leave you alone.
he’s been trailing behind you for blocks now, his persistence grating on your nerves, cornering you with endless “compliments” and invasive questions. you’ve tried to shake him off, but his determination far exceeds your patience.
"come on, just give me a chance," he insists, stepping closer, a little too close for comfort. you take a step back. the smell of alcohol reeks from his breath, and his grin is making your skin crawl.
"i told you, i’m not interested," you say firmly, keeping your voice steady, but the panic was starting to creep in. you glance at the empty bottle in his hand —he’s definitely drunk out his mind.
“you sure?" he completely ignores your clear discomfort. "how about you just give me your number, yeah?" he slurs out.
"no, i have a boyfriend." you lie through your teeth, hoping that would be enough to make him back off.
unfortunately, he’s as insufferable as he is persistent.
he snorts dismissively, "yeah, right. a boyfriend? you’re just playing hard to get."
you sigh, you aren’t in the mood for this, not here, not now, and especially not with someone like him. "i already told you, i have a boyfriend," your voice now tinged with frustration. "so please, just leave me alone.”
"oh, don't be like that," he steps in front of you, blocking your way. "prove it. call your boyfriend. show me you’re not lying."
your heart races as the man reaches out for you, dodging his hand, you take the chance to look behind him for an escape. just then, you see an all-too-familiar figure in the distance.
alhaitham.
you barely manage to suppress a relieved sigh as you wave frantically in his direction. he spots you almost immediately and without hesitation, he rushes over.
"what, this your boyfriend?" the guy sneers with derision, still sounding a little too cocky for someone who was about to get a reality check.
alhaitham steps beside you, you can feel his eyes on you for just a brief moment, the faintest flicker of worry flashing across his face. it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you catch it—and it makes your chest tighten.
his voice is low, unmistakably carrying a warning, "yes, i’m their boyfriend. and if you don’t want things to escalate, i suggest you leave."
the man’s face twists as anger flares in his bloodshot eyes. he takes a step forward, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle, the glass slightly cracking. "you think you can tell me what to do?" he slurs, gaze wild and unfocused. “y-you think you’re some kind of saviour? *hic* a-and you! how… how dare you reject me?!”
alhaitham doesn’t move, his expression cold and unbothered, and that only seems to make the man angrier. his frustration boils over, and with a snarl, he clumsily swings the bottle in his hand, aggressively lurching towards your direction.
the world seems to slow for a moment. though before you can even react, alhaitham pulls you firmly behind him with one swift motion, his other arm instinctively rising to shield the both of you from the blow. the sound of glass meeting his forearm is sharp and jarring —you can hear the high-pitched tinkle of glass scattering, the jagged shards bouncing off the pavement, and some skittering across the ground.
but he doesn’t even flinch, his stance unwavering as the man stumbles back, glass crunching underfoot. you’re still frozen from shock, your heart racing in your chest as you watch the scene unfold.
“big mistake,” he starts, and the man visibly falters. “harassment, assault —keep this up, and you’ll regret every choice that brought you here tonight.”
the man shifts around, clearly disoriented. his eyes dart between you and alhaitham, but it’s clear that the fight’s already left him. “you— you can’t do this!” the man stammers, trying to regain some semblance of courage; unfortunately for him, the tremor in his voice is unmistakable.
“do you really want to find out?” alhaitham asks, to which the man shakes his head vigorously. “get lost,” he mutters. the man, looking more pathetic than threatening now, quickly stumbles away, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath.
you’re breathless, still clutching the edge of his jacket, fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline courses through you.
"are you alright?"
you nod, forcing a small, unconvincing smile."yeah... i’m fine. thanks to you."
alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. you follow his gaze instinctively, glancing down at yourself. that’s when you notice it —not on you, but on him.
streaks of red stain his forearm, where jagged shards of glass must have cut him during the confrontation. the gash bleeds steadily, a dark line of blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket.
"wait," you breathe, your heart sinking. "you're bleeding."
your stomach twists with guilt.
"why didn’t you say anything?" you exclaim.
he shakes his head, a dismissive gesture that does nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach. "it’s nothing," he says, but the slight furrow in his brow and the tension in his jaw betray his words.
"nothing?" you fix him with a hard glare. "idiot… you just blocked a glass bottle with your arm, don’t try to downplay this."
you grab his sleeve, tugging it gently but firmly, the fabric sliding beneath your fingers as you pull it up. “—and unless you think an infection is ‘nothing’, you’ll let me take care of this."
"hold still," you murmur as you settle beside him on the couch, your supplies spread across the coffee table in front of you.
the scent of antiseptic fills the air as you take a disinfectant wipe and gently dab it against the gash. the sting of the alcohol makes him flinch slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. you mutter a soft apology, your movements slow and deliberate as you try to be as gentle as you can.
you open a tube of ointment, squeezing a small amount onto your finger before smoothing it carefully along the edges of the cut. the cool gel glides over his skin, and you can feel the tension in his arm ease ever so slightly under your touch.
“nǐ zhème guān xīn wǒ, huì ràng wǒ wù huì de.”
if you care so much about me, i might misunderstand you.
your fingers pause briefly, the words catching you off guard. you glance up at him, but he only averts his gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on a distant spot beyond the room.
misunderstand? misunderstand what, exactly?
the bandage wraps securely around his arm as you smooth it into place. as you tuck the end of the bandage, his voice comes again, just as soft, but no less clear.
“—wù huì nǐ duì wǒ yǒu gǎn jué.”
"—misunderstand that you have feelings for me."
your brain short-circuits, and in your shock, your hands jerk. in turn, the bandage tightens way too much, causing him to wince and tense up. before you can apologise, he lets out a light chuckle.
“suǒ yǐ nǐ dān xīn wǒ… nǐ shì bù shì gù yì ràng rén xīn dòng de?”
“so you're worried about me… are you purposely trying to make my heart race?”
his words only make you more flustered, and you find yourself fumbling to fix the bandage. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to—”
his chuckle only grows softer, and you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. “it’s fine.”
you quickly finish adjusting the bandage, trying to focus on anything other than how your heart is now racing. (ironically)
“you seem flustered,” he comments casually, as if he isn’t the one who just made your head spin. “did i say something wrong?”
you shake your head quickly, hoping to hide the flush creeping up your neck. "no, not at all.”
his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smirk.
"nǐ bù bì yǎn shì, wǒ xǐ huān nǐ hài xiū de yàng zǐ, tǐng kě ài de.”
“you don’t have to hide it. i like seeing your flustered expression, it’s quite cute.”
(oh this bastard!!!!)
you try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. what do you say when someone’s teasing you so openly —and they think you don’t even realise it?
after a long moment, he stands, “it’s getting late, i should get going.” alhaitham gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment —and there it was, that trace of softness reserved only for you.
he heads toward the door, you watch him, feeling a strange sense of emptiness when he turns away.
“i’ll see you,” he pauses. "...and thank you for tending to me."
you watch him leave, the door clicking softly behind him, and the silence settles back into the room.
you blink, taking a deep breath. what a rollercoaster of a day. yawning, you turn to start tidying up, but your eyes land on something on the couch.
it’s his jacket, draped over the armrest. you notice a tear on the sleeve, just where his injured forearm had been. what truly catches your attention, however, is a folded piece of paper slipping out of the pocket.
intrigued, you unfold it, revealing his neat, precise handwriting.
ACT VII: THE SECRET I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN.
To [Name],
I once believed you to be little more than a nuisance. A bright, well-meaning nuisance, no doubt, but a nuisance nonetheless. One who seemed intent only on striving for perfection, always seeking to best me at every turn, not out of malice but out of some earnest desire to prove your worth. In my arrogance, I mistook your relentless pursuit for a need for recognition, as if you sought my attention in some petty rivalry.
Though very quickly, you made me think otherwise.
You saw the world differently, you also saw me differently. You didn’t treat me with the reverence others seemed to, nor did you shy away from challenging me. You refused to be seen as anything other than yourself; and that, in itself, was what made me admire you —what made me long to understand you more.
Now, I find that I am standing with half a heart and an emptiness I never knew I could feel, because you showed me what it truly means to crave something more, something I never thought I deserved.
You may think I’m a coward for not expressing my feelings more directly, perhaps you are right. I am a coward for fearing to lay bare the vulnerability of my heart. But even in my cowardice, know that my thoughts have always been of you.
If you have seen through my silence and hesitation, if you understand my actions when my words fail me, then perhaps you have already known this truth. I care for you, more deeply than I can fully express. Though I may never be able to say these things as openly as I wish, I’d like you to know that my actions have always been my confession.
Even now, I’m still a coward for you.
So please, if you decide to give me a chance, I’ll be waiting at nightfall.
Helplessly,
Alhaitham.
you absentmindedly trace the edges of the letter with your fingers while your eyes skim over his writing for the nth time, the ink seeming to blur together with your thoughts as you try to process everything. your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, a foolish smile creeping onto your face.
tomorrow’s nightfall feels impossibly far away, yet you can’t wait for it.
alhaitham lays on his bed, his arm aches slightly from the injury, but it’s nothing he can’t ignore. plus, the bandage you had carefully wrapped around his arm is enough to keep the discomfort at bay.
(originally, he had only planned to meet you, slip you the note, and be on his way. things didn’t go exactly to plan, but either way, he hopes you’ve read it by now.)
of all the possibilities, he’s never accounted for the one he’d be at mercy of his own emotions; he had always prided himself on his rationality, his restraint. but now? he’s reckless, absurd, foolish even —he can admit that to himself. but he finds he doesn’t care in the slightest.
for as much as he is a coward in your presence, he is just as much a fool in your absence.
ACT VIII: UNDER THE RAIN, I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY.
“alhaitham isn’t really an expressive person, so don’t worry if he comes off as distant or uninterested. it’s not that he doesn’t care, he just… shows it differently.”
ah well, ‘differently’ indeed.
“—most importantly, alhaitham doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t care about, so you must mean a lot to him.”
maybe you didn’t mind how your heart raced when you heard that.
“don’t fuss over it [name], you’ll know when he’s in love.”
how so?
if he was in love, what would it look like? would you be able to tell, or would it be just another one of those things you had to catch on to?
you wrapped the his jacket tighter around yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips. it wasn’t the answers to those questions that mattered, but asking them in the first place —that was what made you realize you already knew all along.
the evening air is cool against your skin; a gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling quietly, and your heart beats louder than ever, urging you forward.
in the distance, you spot him, standing still in the dim light. and without a second thought, you quicken your pace.
“haitham.”
the sound of your voice catches his attention as he turns to face you; you can’t help but notice how his gaze flickers down for just a moment, his eyes taking in on how his jacket looks on you, before meeting yours.
his posture is unnervingly perfect, rigid almost to the point of stiffness …is he nervous?
“hey,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “there’s something i need to tell you… though you’ve probably already figured it out. you’ve always been sharp.”
“i… ” he falters, and it’s the first time you see him hesitate. “i’m not sure how to put it… since i’m not exactly great at this.”
you tilt your head, subtly urging him to continue.
“but you’ve managed to make me care about things i never thought i would. and now i can’t seem to stop thinking about it —about you.” his voice lowers, softer now, but there’s a rawness there that’s unmistakable.
“i’m telling you this now, because not saying it... doesn’t feel right anymore."
suddenly, you feel a soft mist that barely kisses your skin, a slight chill against your cheeks, then a few tiny drops, until they start to gather in your hair, the beads of water slipping down the back of your neck, but you don't move. neither does he.
his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, droplets trailing down his temple. his clothes cling to his frame, soaked by the rain, yet his attention remains solely on you.
“[name], i am irrevocably in love with you.”
you stand there, the rain falling relentlessly around you, the pitter-patter mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. the water trails down his face, but it’s hard to tell if it’s just the rain, or something else.
his lips part, as though he wants to say more, but the words seem caught in the storm, swallowed up by the downpour. the rain is cold, but his gaze? his gaze feels impossibly warm.
it’s only when you feel the dampness of his jacket beneath your fingers, that the words finally come. “you don’t need to convince me of that.”
you take a step closer, and for a moment, the world outside seems to disappear.
“i’ve known,” you add. “but hearing you say it,” you pause, allowing yourself a small smile, “makes all the difference.”
reaching up, your fingers graze his damp skin as you gently push a wet strand of hair from his forehead, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cool skin.
“'uhibuk aydan, alhaitham.”
i love you too, alhaitham.
a single droplet slides down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before falling to the soaked fabric of his collar. another follows. and then another. his breath catches in his throat, and a shaky exhale leaves his mouth.
you wrap your arms around him, and he sinks into your embrace, his hair tickling your cheeks, as his chest rises and falls against yours.
“you’re gonna make me cry too, idiot,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, your eyes glassy. “you really are a fool,” you tease softly, a slight smile playing on your lips. “but only for me.”
slowly, his hands rise, trembling slightly, until they cup your cheeks, gently stroking it.
“la yujad 'ahad akhar 'urid 'an 'akun 'ahmaq min 'ajlihi.”
there’s no one else i’d ever want to be a fool for.
his palms are surprisingly warm despite the weather. his thumb grazes your cheekbone as he leans in, and the world falls away —nothing but the warmth of his presence and the soft press of his lips against yours.
“this is my first time in ten years seeing this guy cry! can you believe it?!” kaveh whisper-shouts, peeking out from behind the shrub.
nodding along, cyno agrees, poking his head out just right below the blond’s. “[name] is truly exceptional. though i must say, seeing alhaitham cry is quite tear-rifying.”
kaveh rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ugh, you and your puns.” he mutters under his breath while zooming in on his phone, which is currently recording the whole scene.
“quiet down, you two!” a voice hisses from behind them —tighnari, face flushed with panic. “they’re literally right there, and you’re making more noise than a herd of goats.”
“relax, we’re out of their line of sight anyway!” kaveh raises his phone higher, almost giddily, eyes glued to the screen. “and damn this is a good angle.”
tighnari exhales sharply, “you’re incorrigible.”
“look who’s talking,” cyno raises an eyebrow at tighnari… who’s also peeking out from behind the bush. (what a hypocrite)
…
“they kissed oh my g—” kaveh’s voice rises in disbelief, but cyno quickly covers his mouth with a swift hand. the three of them scramble to duck behind the bush just as you turn to glance in their direction.
(“is that… senior kaveh?” you squint your eyes, “cyno, and tighnari?”
alhaitham clears his throat before glancing over at his friends with a deadpan expression. “yes and unfortunately, they’re very invested in my personal life. so please don’t mind them."
you laugh, finding the whole situation a bit too amusing. “not in the slightest, but i’m sure they’ll never let you hear the end of it.”)
EPILOGUE: IN EVERY LANGUAGE, I HEAR LOVE YOU.
“how long?”
you blink, feigning confusion. “how long what?”
alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, an expression you know well. “how long have you understood everything i’ve been saying?”
you bite back a smile and offer a small shrug, “...ever since you started?”
his lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you can’t tell if he’s upset or impressed. then, he sighs, almost amused. “and you let me embarrass myself all this time?”
“you were being honest,” you shrug, a smirk forming. “plus i knew you’d figure it out eventually.”
he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “may ideya ka ba kung ano ginawa mo?"
do you have any idea what you’ve done?
"mas lalong umibig sakin?"
made you fall in love with me even more?
you tease, but there’s a tenderness in your voice that softens the edge of your words.
“yes, and you really are insufferable,” he mutters with no malice. his tone is different now. softer. warmer, even.
you lean in slightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “that’s not what i heard you say before.” your fingers graze the skin of his cheek before you tenderly pinch it, giggling softly at the reaction you provoked.
in one smooth motion, he catches your hand before you can pull away and tugs you towards him, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. you tilt your head back to meet alhaitham’s gaze.
you’ve often thought he’s the most-perfect boyfriend, undeniably handsome in every way —but there’s really just one flaw: his height.
“ugh, you’re too tall," you grumble, rubbing the back of your neck. "i’m having a neck sore just looking at you."
he quirks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “you could use a stepstool.”
"or," you counter, "you could get on your knees and save me the trouble.”
he slowly lets out a breath, his lips curling ever so slightly.
“'akida, 'antaziri hataa 'ashtari alkhatama.”
sure, just wait till i buy the ring.
"wh—"
he crosses his arms, "what’s wrong? isn’t that what people expect when someone gets on their knees?"
you roll your eyes, half-smiling. "fine, then i’ll eagerly wait for that day.”
his gaze softens as his hand reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face; his eyes drop to your lips for a moment, and you know what’s coming even before he speaks.
this fic was not sponsored by duolingo, but with the help of my beloved friends!! wouldn't have been possible w/o em please give them a round of applause xx
vietnamese — @https-sourlimes
tagalog / filipino — @vxnuslogy
arabic — @ughscara
chinese, japanese — me!
ty @mitsvriii for proofreading, love u all <3
Apologies for the inactivity guys; I promise I will still be posting Christmas stuff and more. Recently there’s been a new change in my life’s schedule so I’m trying to work through it!
Meanwhile, happy holidays <3, I absolutely swear I’ll be getting that Alhaitham fanfic out
I am this close 🤏 to getting sick of smuts. Like come on, where's the angsty little fluff fanfics??? I swore there were many fics to read w that genre and now its almost like every time i scroll its all 90% smuts.
