you try not to get jealous. it does you no good. but sometimes you get a little miffed when it comes to how women treat your husband, arranged!gojo.
you see how the women giggle at him, how they bite their lips whenever he walks by. you see them giggle to each other, the way they try to catch his attention.
and though most ladies of the high society act this way, some of the servants around the estate, the women of the town, and others behave like this too.
they act as if he’s not married, as if that ring on his hand is purely for decoration. and sure, maybe a couple months ago it was for show but now things have changed and you don’t appreciate those ladies all that much.
and gojo notices.
he knows you’re getting better at talking to him about what ails you, but he also knows that it’s a a lot to get used to at once. he sees the way you tense up at their whispers, the glares you throw their way when you hear his name in their conversation. he understands because he’s the same as you, his feelings mirroring yours.
so he decides to comfort your worries a bit indirectly.
“what…” you whip your head around as gojo stops at a random spot in one of the hallways, taking you away from your tea time with shoko as he fails to give any explanation for his hurried responses, “what are you doing? you have that meeting with your counsel and-”
“missed you,” is all he’s able to say as he slams his lips onto yours, earning a surprised yelp in response.
your back hits against the stone wall, one of his hands against your head to protect it from bumping back as your gasp in surprise, letting him slide his tongue in your mouth as he sloppily kisses your lips.
“satoru, w-wait,” you try to stop yourself from whining out loud, your fingers cuing into his artic strands as his hands move down to hold your waist, “it’s daytime, p-people, people can come…” you can’t speak anymore because he doesn’t let you, lips slotting against each others as your eyes screw shut, heartbeat in your throat as he hands squeeze as your skin.
“i missed you,” he just repeats, nipping slightly at your bottom lip as you mewl, feeling his lips trail down your chin to your throat as you tilt you head upwards to give him a better angle.
you almost want to laugh because it’s only been hours since you’ve seen each other, but for gojo it feels like days since he’s seen you.
you peek slightly too look at him, see the way his lips attack your skin, sucking and biting, surely leaving marks as he makes his way down. you love the way his hair is slightly wavy, most likely from his bath after sparring.
you’re almost too intoxicated from his feverish kisses to notice the sounds of incoming footsteps, but the loud overbearing giggles is what pulls you back to reality.
you tense up, scrambling to push him away from you but he won’t budge. if anything, he seems to be motivated, moving back up to your lips to steal your words away.
“t-there’s people coming!” you try to warn him but he doesn’t seem to care, his blue eyes gleaming with a different look as your whine from one of his hands moving upwards to your chest, giving one of your breasts a light squeeze.
“so?” he murmurs, lips hovering against the corners of yours as his brow cocks upwards.
you go to say something else but he tilts your chin upwards to meet him, one hand balancing on the wall behind you, one on your hip, his hair messy from your fingers gripping at him.
you don’t feel like moving, too drunk off of him to even notice the ladies as they round the corner, not looking their way as you hear their squeals of shock, the way they try to hurriedly leave.
you glance slightly to the right as gojo moves back down to your neck to get a look at them, your fingers still tangled in his hair, one hand draped over his neck, squinting slightly as you remember their faces from last week, when you overheard them talking about your husband.
there’s a slight tilt in your lips as you hear their scrambled apologies, the way they try to leave as fast as they can. you try not to gloat too much in their looks of envy and jealousy.
and if you focused just enough, you could feel the smile on his lips.
“you missed me?” you ask a little breathless, a coy tilt to your voice.
“so much,” he mumbles as he glances up at you from his white lashes, his pupils blown wide, lips messy with spit, red and swollen as he presses a slopping kiss to the slight skin showing of your chest.
“you’re so immature,” you chide, trying to look away, the hide the bashfulness in your face but his hand cups your jaw, pulling your face back down to see his.
“they had to see for themselves,” he tells you, his voice wavering on something darker, “had to see who the only lady gojo is.”
and you smile, eyes a little hazy as your fingers slightly tug on his soft strands, reveling in the way his eyes roll back and his lips find their way back up to yours.
yeah jealousy wasn’t the best. but thank the gods your husband was just as petty as you.
Sylus' favorite part about living together was being able to pamper you to his heart's content. The more you let him do for you, the better.
Sylus' day would begin as yours was winding down. Most days, he woke up when you were in the middle of your shower. The pitter-patter of the water against the tile would pull him out of sleep and he would roll out of bed as you finished up.
In a moment, you would be sitting on the bed with fresh clothes on as you brushed your hair. Meanwhile, Sylus would be knelt on the floor in front of you, rubbing lotion into your legs.
Sylus hoped he could convince you to let him do more. Towel down your body, dress you, dry your hair — he'd do it all if you'd let him. If it were up to him, you wouldn't have to lift a finger once you came home. But of course, that wasn't your style.
Still, this was a nice consolation for him. And anyways, he already spent a good amount of time trying to get to this point. He won't press his luck for now. His focus at the moment was making sure to be employee of the month while on lotion duty. After another few months of consistently high marks, he could perhaps hint at a promotion.
fav thing about obey me is that the characters love you regardless of whether you romance them or not. like you are special to them always.
lucifer still lets you chill in his office and listen to classical records with him while he does paperwork. he still makes smug ass comments that will end up with you cursing him out and him laughing about it. he still makes sure that you’re keeping up with everything well enough, that it’s not overwhelming you. he still confides in you about his fears and worries about himself and his brothers. he still looks out for you and checks in your make sure you’re doing alright in RAD.
mammon is still your dumbass best friend who takes you out the casino because he swears you’re the luckiest person he’s ever met. he still whines and complains about stupid shit to you like getting scammed or getting in trouble for another one of his schemes. he still holes up for movie nights in your room every night there’s no work to be done the next day. he still holds pride in the fact that he was the first demon to see how amazing you are and make a pact about it. (don’t bring up how that pact came to be for your own sake. he still sulks like a madman!!)
leviathan still watches shows and plays games with you. he still farms on your accounts for you so you can pull for that one character you really like. he still stays holed up in his room with you counting the clock to midnight, preparing for the next merch drop with plans to clear out the whole shop. he still trusts you with his insecurities and vulnerabilities, enough to be sincere and genuine in his excitement when talking to you. he still opens up to you because you will always be his Henry no matter what.
satan still takes you to cat cafes and holds a two person book club with you. he still helps you study when you need it and even when you don’t. he still barges into your room to bitch about his latest annoyance. he still trusts you with the parts of himself that he still isn’t sure is really him or maybe a remnant of his brother left inside him by mistake. still makes sure not to let anyone disrespect you in class, because if they do they only have three seconds to run.
asmodeus still drags you to his self care nights. slathers a face mask on you and shares the latest gossip and drama. still buys you pretty things that he thought would look nice on you, or reminded him of you. he still makes sure no one’s talking behind your back, makes sure that you’re doing okay. he’s still comfortable enough to vegetate with you, and let down all pretenses and masks; you are always going to be someone he is comfortable baring himself to. he’ll still freak out with you over stupid shit you’re excited about and he’ll still make sure you’re always good with yourself, kind to yourself.
beelzebub still takes you out to eat and clear out buffets with him weekly. he still invites you to his matches personally. he still gets excited when he sees you show up even though you’ve been attending his games consistently for years now. he still tells you about his brothers and his’ time in the celestial realm. he’ll still tell you about his sister and love you enough to feel comfortable to grieve in front of you. he still makes sure you’re always eating enough—he’s gotta make sure you’re taking care of yourself, yknow? he also still eats your leftovers even when you explicitly tell him not too. sorry. :(
belphegor still takes you to the planetarium when things are getting too much. he takes your nightmares away. makes sure you sleep well. he still drags you down for a nap whenever he feels like it. he still tells you about how he misses his sister, about how he misses his brothers sometimes even though they’re still here, just different. he still trusts you enough to admit that sometimes, he misses himself, and who he was before all this. and then after all that, he still flicks you on the nose and calls you annoying because before he is an avatar of sin he is the spoiled baby of the family, and he knows you’ll always be there to snark right back.
sorry it just. moves me. like you truly do become a part of these seven guys’ found family no matter what. even if you reject every single possible romance option they will still love you and protect you and look out for you and snap at you and annoy you and not even be sorry about it. because you are special to them!!! you will always be someone important to them!!!!
these were the colors of the two youngest of the seven lords. while they were the closest, they couldn't be more different. beel was an early bird, while belphie was a night owl. beel was all about being active, while belphie couldn't ask for anything more than to relax. when belphie was angry, beel was his voice of reason. when beel was spiraling, belphie was there to help him out of the hole he'd dug himself in. even the colors they were associated with were opposites. orange was upbeat, while purple was relaxed. but, it went deeper than that.
orange was the color of the rising sun. it was the color of many butterflies that danced in the wind, and the flowers that they landed upon. it was the color of the sweetest fruit. it was the color of the falling leaves in autumn. it was the color of radiance and joy. there wasn't a bad thing to be said about it.
purple, on the other hand, was the color of the night sky. it chased the setting sun. it was the color of many life sustaining vegetables. it was the color of the most calming scent. it was the color of many precious gemstones that often cost a fortune. it was the color of dreams and royalty. it was mesmerizing.
but, both are equally as rare out in the wild. it wasn't nearly as common as green, or blue. it was always a treat to see them, and left you thinking about them for the rest of the day. you couldn't have one without the other, just like the brothers they stood for.
they functioned in the same way as their respective colors. seeing them out in public wasn't an everyday sight, but it was always something to remember. beel could often be seen out terrorizing the unlucky restaurant of the day, while belphie had likely found somewhere inconvenient to nap.
just like the colors, the brothers that represented them meant something different to you than to everyone else. they'd never believe you, but every time you saw them, you felt just as awestruck as the first time you'd seen them. they were breathtaking, even in their worn out pajamas. their bleary eyes, messy hair, and all. you wished they could see them in your eyes. while they had their flaws, you wouldn't trade them for anything. you'd miss them forever every moment you were apart.
the three of you were happy together. what had started as a trio turned duo, ended as a trio, and they had you to thank for that. you were the patchwork in their torn hearts.
so, where did you fall into all this?
you were somewhere in the middle. somedays, you were more orange, and others, you were more purple. but, this didn't take away from the relationship you had with them. it only strengthen it. you understood them. others might not regard the perfect mix of orange and purple as special, but to the twins, it was the most beautiful color in the world.
and, for whatever reason, if someone couldn't locate the attic club sandwich trio, all they needed to do was check it's namesake. they'd find the three of you cuddled up together, fast asleep. steadfast, and inseparable.
Pro Hero!Todoroki Shouto x Pro Hero!reader - 2.8k words
Todoroki loves you, he just hasn't realized it yet. After you're seriously injured, he starts seeing everything in a different light.
TW: Reader has a serious injury, blood mentions, hospital scenes, fem reader
For @dira333, who gave me the idea and inspiration for this piece, in addition to just being the most kind and lovely person.
"And what is your relationship to the patient?"
The nurse's question makes Todoroki freeze, unsure how he should answer. It feels like mere moments ago that he'd been crouched beside you, holding your limp hand in his, assuring you that everything was going to be okay, even though he wasn't sure you could even hear him. He'll need to have your blood washed out of his suit. What is his relationship to you?
"She works with me at my agency," He clears his throat, "We're friends." The word doesn't feel quite right on his tongue, but it's the only one that comes.
The nurse nods. "Well, I'm afraid we're only allowing family members at the moment. Or a spouse." Her expression softens as she looks at Todoroki. "I'm sorry. You could come back tomorrow. She will be more stable."
He wants to argue, but he knows it's pointless. "Please," He says instead, "Can you at least tell me - will she be okay?"
"The worst is past," The nurse assures him, a gentle smile on her face that makes him want to recoil. "It seems she'll make a full recovery. It will just take time."
"Thank you." Todoroki bows his head slightly, "I'll be back," He promises. The nurse nods in response, but the promise wasn't to her.
Back at home, the silence in his apartment is deafening. He can't help replaying the events of the day over and over. The fight with the villain. The way your body had slammed to the ground. The helplessness he felt as he flew towards you, forgetting about the civilians and his sidekicks, a wall of ice and a jet of flames quickly incapacitating the villain. All that was left was you, and the unnamable feeling that was welling up, threatening to tear him apart.
It's still there, heavy in his chest. It hasn't let up since the moment he saw your battered face, smeared with blood and covered in cuts, scrapes, and streaks of grime. He'd wanted to wipe it clean, but he didn't have any clean cloth, nor did he want to cause you any more pain. Instead, he'd settled for holding your hand. As your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, he'd promised that help was coming. That it would be okay. That he would stay by your side for as long as you needed him.
It wasn't long until the rescue heroes had taken over, rushing you to the hospital and ushering him out of the way of the cleanup efforts. The villain was taken into custody, and at the insistence of one of his sidekicks, he'd finally moved from the spot he was rooted to, rushing to the hospital only to be told he couldn't see you because your relationship wasn't the right kind.
He looks to the empty corner of his couch. If this were a normal Saturday evening, you would probably have stopped over after your patrol with takeout. You would undoubtedly have some kind of silly story to share, one that would make your eyes sparkle and your laughter ring out. You might even stay until late into the night, talking about whatever popped into your mind or just sitting together in companionable silence, half-watching whatever happens to be playing on the TV.
In moments like those, he's never felt the need to define the relationship between you. It has always been enough just to be with you. You're always there with a coffee in the middle of a long patrol, or a meal when he's drowning in paperwork and has forgotten just how late it is. You work side by side every day at the agency. It's become so natural that the thought of you ever not being there simply hasn't occurred to him. Until today.
What is he supposed to do now? He does the only thing he can think of, picks up his phone, and dials.
"Todoroki?" Midoriya's voice sounds muddled with sleep, and it's only now that Todoroki realizes how late it actually is.
"Oh, I woke you. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
"No!" Midoriya interjects, sounding more awake by the moment, "I heard about what happened today, but I didn't want to call in case..." He lets the sentence trail off. "How is she?" He asks more quietly.
"Okay, I think. The hospital said that the worst was past."
"Oh, that's great news," Midoriya lets out in a rush of relief. "Is she awake?"
"I don't know," Todoroki says in a low voice. "I wasn't able to see her. They were only letting family in. Or a spouse." He adds after a beat.
"Ah," Midoriya hums. "Do you think they'll let you see her tomorrow?"
"The nurse thought so." Todoroki hugs a knee to his chest. "I'm going back first thing in the morning." He needs to see with his own eyes that you're really alright.
"Midoriya," He continues haltingly when his friend doesn't speak up, "The nurse asked what my relationship was to her. I didn't know what to say. I've never thought about it before."
"You haven't?" Midoriya sounds surprised. "I'm sorry," He rushes on, "I guess I just thought..."
"Thought what?" Todoroki asks, puzzled.
"Well, everyone's kind of been waiting to see when you would finally make things official," Midoriya says sheepishly.
"Official?" Todoroki echoes as the full meaning of what Midoriya said dawns on him. "Oh. I guess I never, I mean-" He stops. Suddenly, so many things from the familiar fluttering in his middle whenever he's around you to the heavy feeling currently sitting in his chest are beginning to make a lot more sense. "Have I been a complete idiot?"
To his surprise, Midoriya laughs softly. "I wouldn't go that far," He says placatingly. "Sometimes, I think... These things aren't so easy to recognize."
"No," Todoroki whispers. He hates that it's taken something like this to make him realize the truth of his feelings for you. "Do you think she feels the same way?" He asks, not sure he wants to hear Midoriya's answer.
"Well, if you wanted my honest opinion, I'd say that's a pretty good possibility." Relief blooms in Todoroki's chest. "But there's only one way to know for sure."
"Right," Todoroki murmurs, mind already racing as he thinks about what he should say to you. How does one bring something like this up in conversation?
"Well," Midoriya interrupts his thoughts, "I'm sorry to be the one to add that to your plate tonight. You should probably get some rest," He suggests helpfully.
"Of course," Todoroki says quickly, "I'll let you get back to sleep. Thank you, Midoriya."
"Any time," His friend says emphatically before saying his final goodbyes and ending the call. Todoroki takes Midoriya's advice and prepares for bed, crawling under the blankets even though he doesn't know if sleep will ever come.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, because eventually he opens his eyes, and the morning sunlight is streaming in through the curtains. He's waking from a dream of you, lying in a slowly growing puddle of blood as Todorki is frozen, unable to move his body to get to you. Three words are trapped behind his lips, and even though he opens his mouth, they won't come out, even as the light fades from your eyes.
It was just a dream, he tells himself. A nightmare concocted by his overburdened mind. You'll recover. The nurse had said so.
At the hospital, a different nurse is at the desk, and thankfully, his relationship with you isn't even a question. "She's just had breakfast," The nurse explains cheerily as she leads the way to your room, "She's still got quite a ways to go in recovery. I'm sure a visitor will do her good." The door swings open, then, and everything else falls away.
You're lying there in the bed, looking so small with all of the machines hooked up to you and the stark white blanket pulled over your body. You turn your head when the door opens, and a weak smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Your mother is there as well, seated in a chair nearby, but Todoroki barely registers her presence.
"Shouto," You say, your voice low and uncharacteristically hoarse. "You came." You've always called him Shouto. He's never been sure whether you're referring to him as Shouto the hero, or Shouto the person. Suddenly, he finds he desperately needs to know.
"Hi," He breathes out, crossing the distance to you in long strides. "I'm so glad you're awake. I was worried," He admits.
"You really thought a lame villain like that could take me down that easily?" You ask with a weak chuckle.
"Really," Your mother says your name scoldingly. "I do wish you wouldn't say things like that." Todoroki doesn't miss the way her voice wavers before she turns to him. "Shouto - Todoroki-san," Your mother says then. "Thank you so much for coming." She looks at you with a soft expression. "Darling, would you mind very much if I went to get some breakfast, now that Todoroki-san is here to keep you company?"
"Go ahead, Mom," You assure her, "I'll be fine." The moment she's gone, you turn to him. "She's been hovering like crazy," You confide.
Secretly, Todoroki can't blame her in the slightest. "She cares about you," He says, eyes roving your face. Some of the deeper gashes are still bandaged, while the more shallow ones have already scabbed over and begun to heal. Yesterday's grime has been cleaned from your skin, and though you're paler than usual, you're clearly on the mend.
"How are you feeling?" He asks, wanting to reach for your hand but not quite daring to.
"Sore," You admit. "I've got some broken ribs, apparently. Breathing isn't the easiest." You shake your head, "But I'm doing okay. Really." As though you've read his mind, you settle your hand on top of the blanket, palm up, in an invitation even he can't miss. Tentatively, he wraps his fingers around yours. "I heard you made quick work of that villain after I went down," You continue, "And then you stayed with me until the rescue team could get there." You give his hand a squeeze. "Thank you," You say softly.
"Of course," He says quickly. "I would do it over and over again." With your hand safe in his, he feels a wave of courage wash over him. He opens his mouth and says your name.
"My, there was hardly any line at the cafeteria!" Your mother chips, choosing that moment to unceremoniously return to the room. Quickly, he drops your hand, taking a respectful step back. He watches as your lips part, but you don't say anything. "I just brought my food back here, I figured there was no point in sitting down at the tables when there's a perfectly comfortable chair right here." She settles back down, seemingly oblivious to the open-ended conversation hanging in the room.
The rest of his visit is slightly more stilted. He promises to bring news of your condition to everyone at the agency. He assures you that they're all anxiously awaiting an update. He'd stay longer, but he really does need to get to work. When he bids you goodbye, he dares to take your hand again, just for a few moments. He promises he'll be back. He carries the smile you give him all the way back to the agency with him, enjoying the way the warmth curls through his middle.
He visits you every day for the remainder of your hospital stay. It's amazing, how this new certainty in his mind affects everything. Every smile makes his heart clench in his chest. He watches you growing stronger, the machines dwindling one by one, with relief blossoming in his middle. Sometimes you'll share a look that's just between the two of you, and it gives him hope.
You have a near constant stream of visitors, and he never does get any more time alone with you. It isn't until your discharge date from the hospital is set a week later that he begins to think his chance may be coming. You'll have a few more weeks of recovery at home, and along with it will come long stretches of solitude - solitude he hopes he just might be able to share with you.
He takes the first opportunity he gets to visit you. You've had a day to settle in at home, and he stops for takeout on the way from the agency - your favorite. You're expecting him, and the door opens instantly after he knocks. At the sight of you, standing there safe and whole and free from that hospital bed, he feels a crazy impulse to drop the takeout bags on the floor and sweep you up in his arms. He ignores it, merely stepping inside at your invitation with a slight bow of his head.
Your home is cozy as always, the little touches of you splashed everywhere. He can see a nest of blankets constructed on the couch, and you bid him to join you there. He does, gingerly balancing the takeout container to avoid spilling a single drop.
"How are you doing?" He asks as soon as you're settled.
"Much better," You say, already digging into the food. "I'm just glad to be home. The hospital was always so busy. I'm looking forward to a little peace and quiet. Although, I'm sure I'll be pretty sick of the peace and quiet by the time I can finally get back to work." You roll your eyes.
"I could come visit you," He offers quickly, "If you're bored. Or need company." You smile softly.
"I'd like that," You say with a nod, taking another bite of noodles. "Thanks for the food, by the way," You add, "Hospital food is the absolute worst. If I have to see another bowl of jello, I might scream."
"Noted," He says with a small smile, "No jello." The two of you fall into familiarity so easily. You talk about small things while you eat. What everyone has been up to at the agency and how you'd practically had to shove your mother out the door this morning. It feels so normal, and Todoroki is practically bursting with it.
When you're both finished eating, he gathers up the empty containers, carrying them to the kitchen and depositing them in the trash can. When he returns, he takes a seat on the couch a little closer to you. Suddenly, despite everything, he's nervous.
"I - I'm really glad you're okay," He says, starting small. "I was scared," He admits. You nod, encouraging him to continue. "The moment you were injured, it was like I couldn't think straight. The idea that you might be gone-" He swallows, and you reach for his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
"But I'm not gone," You say softly.
"I know," He says, tightening his grip on your fingers. "And I'm glad for that. Because this all made me realize something that I should have realized a long time ago." He watches as your lips part, then draws his gaze back up to your eyes. "I really care about you." He reaches for your other hand now, cradling them both in his. "In fact, I - I love you. I think I have for a long time."
"Oh," You breathe out, and he stills, hanging in the balance of this moment. Slowly, your face breaks into a brilliant smile, and it's all the answer he needs. "I love you too," You say, and his hands come up to cradle your face. Mindful of the fading scrapes, he gently skims his thumb across your cheek.
"Good," He breathes out just before his lips meet yours, molding perfectly in a tender kiss, as though they've always been meant to fit together. Todoroki thinks, distantly, that maybe they have.
"Shouto," You say his name under your breath, against his lips, and he knows exactly what you mean.
When you're finally cleared to return to work, the change in your relationship status is no secret to anyone. Apparently, it's been a long time coming for more people than just Midoriya. For the most part, very little changes. You've always been such a big part of his life. The biggest difference is that, now, he can kiss you as often as he wants. He takes advantage of that every chance he gets, and you don't seem to mind at all.
synopsis: the universe has a funny way of working. gojo always knew he was destined to be with you and so did others. it just took some time for you to figure that out as well.
content warning(s): FLUFF! eventual smut so 18+ mdni, fem! reader, pining gojo (sooo cute), mutual pining, friends to lovers, unproetected sex, gojo calling you baby multiple times while going innn.
word count: 6.8k zoo wee mama... pls read anyway or i'll d—
EDIT: do not feed my work into c.ai. cough grimmjowshitheart cough
SPRING 2008
“So, you’re not gonna miss me? Not even a little?”
An arm was suddenly thrown across your shoulders, leaving you to bear its weight. The press of his uniform stuck to your nape, making his presence all the more difficult to ignore.
Fellow students bustled and sidestepped their way around you two, some even falter in their steps to ogle briefly at the scene unfolding before them.
“Satoru, move!” Shoko— your saviour— jabs Gojo’s side, urging him to budge, but to no avail.
He’s still tethered to your side, twirling around his diploma in his unoccupied hand despite your best efforts to create space between you two. “You’re literally blocking people’s way toward the gates,” she says.
It’s graduation day and the last day of school for the spring semester, bringing the school year to yet another successful end. It also meant that today would be the last time your upperclassmen would walk on school grounds as students.
The sun was beginning to dip behind the many trees surrounding the school, and its marvellous glow cast warm hues of pink and orange that stretched across the sky. Its rays descend onto the school’s campus; setting for a brilliant, comforting atmosphere.
Answering Gojo’s initial question about whether you’d miss him, you avert eye contact with your persistent senior. “I never said that,” your voice teeters between a grumble and a groan riddled with exasperation.
Your eyes sweep the courtyard and you spot a few familiar faces in the crowd. Some are gathered along the steps leading up to the school taking photos to commemorate today. Others linger on campus chatting amongst themselves, and some whack each other with their diploma scrolls while others treat theirs delicately.
And not too far off from where Satoru holds you hostage stood a small crowd of his classmates—specifically, his female classmates— waiting for their chance to bid their goodbyes...
Or stumble out an unprepared confession thrown out in the heat of the moment before they may never see Gojo Satoru again.
Who knows.
All you’re sure of is that they are most definitely throwing you shady death glares from your peripheral.
“Y’know, I’m gonna miss you,” Gojo says, his arm still looped around your shoulders. He has half a mind to drag you away from standing right front and centre in the entranceway and shuffles you off to the side. “All the years we’ve spent together—”
“Two years, by force.”
“— and now we’re being split apart,” he finishes, paying no mind to your sardonic comment. The infliction in his voice prompts you to turn to look at him, only to wind up and see a slight pout tugging at his soft, pink lips. “How ever will we manage?”
You smother down the urge to heave a loud and heavy sigh at the clingy characteristics he’s displaying today and decide to play nice.
Gojo’s always been one to be playful, perhaps even a bit pushy at times but it was all in good nature. However, for some reason, his antics have reached a whole new level today.
Emotions were running high among staff and students alike. Some are more potent and… persistent than others.
“You’ll be fine,” you assure, patting his arm half-heartedly, “and I will certainly be fine. Everything will be just fine.”
In the middle of your sentence from the corner of your eye, you spot another one of your seniors— Geto Suguru. You watch him step out from a conversation with two classmates of yours (Haibara and Nanami) and is now trekking his way over to where you and Gojo occupy the front steps.
“Geto-senpai!”
Geto greets you warmly by placing a comforting hand on your head and gives you a reassuring pat once, then twice. The action leaves your hairstyle a little dishevelled, nonetheless, there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.
You’ve only interacted with Geto a sparse number of times outside of class or at the end of the school day. Whenever you both would cross paths you appreciated how he would regard your presence with temperance. It always left you feeling at ease. You’ll miss him.
You’ll especially miss how he was so quick to offer you and Haibara snacks from the vending machines on campus.
Gojo emits a pathetic squawk at the special name drop.
Pale, white brows are pinched tightly together with faux betrayal. “How come he gets honorifics but I don’t?!” he complains once Geto’s within earshot.
“I see that Satoru's already started…”
Though Geto was talking to no one in particular, Shoko chips in given that she bore witness to Gojo’s incessant pestering toward you ever since the home bell rang. “You missed the part where he blocked her from getting to the lockers for a good several minutes.” Unzipping her bag, she carelessly shoves her diploma into it.
“But anyway, I’m gonna head out for a smoke. I’ll catch you guys later.” Before departing, Shoko stretches her hand towards you and gives your arm an affectionate squeeze. “Get home safe, ‘kay? Don’t let these guys keep you out too long.”
Which reminded you…
“Gojo, this has been fun and all…” Being rag-dolled around by your upperclassman across campus has been anything but fun. “But I really should start heading home now.”
You wanted to beat the rush hour of students and working-class alike trying to go home on a late Thursday afternoon. Looking for empty seats on the 4:25 PM train was brutal and you did not have the energy to stand the entire ride home.
Sensing your air of urgency, he eventually relents. Heaving a dramatic sigh, Gojo steps back a few and gives you some space.
“Gimme a second, yeah?” He rummages around in his uniform pocket, searching for something. It only lasts about a second before he pulls out his flip phone.
“Suguru!” A curt upward nod of Gojo’s head is the only warning Geto gets before he tosses his cell toward his best friend to catch. You’re appalled that he catches it so easily with the little to no notice that was given. “Take a picture of us.”
…Huh?
Your brows drew close-knit together with confusion. “What are y—?!” Before you can even finish your question, you’re pulled tightly into Gojo’s side.
His arms circle your neck once more, but this time, he uses the opportunity of your close proximity to tip his head to the side and knock it against your own.
“Smile,” Gojo murmurs into your ear, his slender fingers pinching at your cheek prodding for you to plaster on a sugary smile for the picture.
You don’t have enough time to register, let alone recover from how his lips faintly brushed against your skin, Gojo’s already obnoxiously yelling “Cheese!” towards the awaiting camera.
Snapping the photo Geto sports a lazy grin admiring his work. “Looks good,” he says before he tosses the phone back to its owner.
You’re still reeling over the gentle graze of Gojo’s lips against your cheek, too dazed to digest what’s going on around you. What. In. The hell. Just happened???
Sputtering out a laugh, Gojo grins down at the image on his phone. “What’s with that face you’re making, huh?”
Eyebrows furrowing, you look up at Gojo curiously. Whatever was in that picture that made him smile that wide couldn’t have been good. “What do you mean?” You question, stepping closer to see what he was referring to on his screen.
Gojo tips his cell over and shows you the photo Geto took. There you both are in grain, Gojo looking the most lively out of you two. Despite the quality of the camera, you can see the proud and happy smile he wears compared to your frazzled and confused expression.
If anything, it looked like you were the one who was graduating and he so happened to snag a photo with you before your big send-off.
“I wasn’t ready…” you grumbled, looking away from his phone.
There’s a faint smile lingering on his face, blue eyes still trained on the screen. His voice's cadence grows warm and carries a small hint of affection.
“That face of yours is what I’m gonna miss the most.”
SUMMER 2009
To no one’s surprise, you and Gojo kept in close contact, even after graduating high school.
Well… More so Gojo kept in contact with you. Consistently.
Whenever he can.
He was there during your spring graduation (shocker), much to the elation of the entire female population from your graduating class. Looking back, the number of times he stopped to pose with random students around the school when he came to greet you was absurd.
You’ll also never forget how loud he cheered when your name was called despite Principal Yaga telling the audience to hold their applause and hollers until after the ceremony.
Fast forward to the summer of ‘09 where Gojo consistently seeks your presence to go and hang out with him now that you have a freed-up schedule. Whether it's with him alone or with Geto and Shoko, you can always rely on him to shoot you a ‘u busy?’ text an hour before dragging you out for the rest of the day.
“Sooo,” you start slowly.
Your eyes skim across the playground, watching the few children who were there amble and climb on the jungle gym before you. The sun was beginning to descend below the skyline, and hues of warm orange press onto your features casting you and your surroundings in a soft glow.
“You’re a… guardian now,” you state, eyeing how Gojo stretches his legs out beside you.
You both sit at a park bench, the chorus of laughter and playful shrieks surround you as you watch Megumi— a kid Gojo now supposedly looks after— poke mindlessly at something buried beneath the playground’s sand.
“Yup!” he chirps, but then it’s swiftly followed by a hesitant, “Well, sorta kinda…”
There’s a mental warfare going on in his mind as he combs through the various explanations he can give you, searching for one that would be both concise and easy for you to digest.
“To put it simply, from here on out I’m going to be a constant in Megumi and Tsumiki’s life.”
You think of the step-sibling duo. They’re the sweetest pair of children you’ve had the delight of coming across, and now…
“They’re doomed,” you say with pity, your gaze still focused on the youngest Fushiguro.
Gojo gasps in disbelief at your bold accusation with his hand flying to his chest, clearly having taken offence. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” he asks.
But before you could give him a smart alec answer, the cheerful exclamation of your name pulls your attention elsewhere. The soft thump of Tsumiki’s shoes approaching prompts you to smile brightly. With open arms, the girl practically throws herself at you and giggles.
You give her cheek an affectionate squeeze. Despite her being in the second grade, you couldn’t help but coddle her. “Why hello, Tsumiki!”
It takes her a few moments to finally release you from the hug, backing up a bit she glances up at you. “Where were you? I missed you on Tuesday, the swings weren’t fun without you!” she says, pouting.
“I wasn’t feeling the best, so I had to turn down Gojo’s invite to meet you guys at the park that day.”
Upon hearing all the commotion, Megumi spots Tsumiki talking to you a few steps from the play area. It prompts the young boy to walk over and join you three at the bench. He nods his head over at his step-sister and says, “She thought you guys broke up.”
Huh?
You blink rapidly. “Broke— Broke up!?” You squawk, the inflection of your voice rising at the ‘up’ part.
Where could she have possibly gotten that idea from? You and Gojo weren’t even dating!
Gathering your composure you plaster on a sweet smile, ready to explain to the young pair that you and Gojo weren’t together like that before a heavy arm comes hunkering down onto your shoulders. “Even if she tried, she can’t get rid of me that easily,” Gojo comments.
Christ.
Tsumiki claps her hands together in glee at this revelation. “Yay! ‘Cause I like you!” she confesses. “I thought I’d have to deal with Gojo and his friend with the big ears pushing me on the swings forever.” And with that, the girl’s already off running to the big yellow slide, pulling Megumi along in her wake.
The sweet smile you wear grows more and more strained the longer you two sit there on that damned bench with Gojo’s arm still lodged around you like it belonged there.
Long delicate fingers drum themselves along your bare shoulder which leaves a tingling sensation that lingers against your skin.
“Gojo Satoru…” you hiss between clenched teeth.
Your hand creeps up to give his knee a mean pinch, but as always, Gojo reads your movements like a damn book and catches your hand in his before that could happen. “Hm?”
“What do you mean ‘Hm’?” You gesture in the general direction of where the kids are playing. You feel your brows start to pinch together. “Why would you tell them that?!”
“It’s true though, no?” Snowy white wisps of hair fall in front of his eyes shaded by his signature round sunglasses. “We haven’t ‘broken up’ and we’re still together. Just not in their understanding of it.”
“You—! That’s not—” You flounder for words, trying to spit out why he can’t go around inadvertently feeding into the imagination of whatever relationship Tsumiki and Megumi thought you two had. But you come up blank.
“You’re irritating, you know that?” you say, as you try (and fail) at removing his arm which still rests comfortably around your shoulders, pressing you tight against him. “You’ll wind up confusing them.”
An easy smile slips onto his lips as he observes Tsumiki and Megumi scramble up the slides. “Relax,” he responds. “They’re smart kids.”
And until it was time for the Fushiguros to go home, there you two sat underneath the thinning ochre sky. Stuck under the guise of an unspoken relationship.
WINTER 2011
Being the “middleman” between two people who are so obviously into each other but cannot figure out how to hang around each other normally was all too common for Shoko.
It’s a shame that Geto wasn’t available to come down and hang out with the three of you tonight, he would’ve revelled in getting a kick out of this expected yet unexpected… turn of events.
Brought in as a buffer between you two, with an unlit cigarette dangling loosely from her lips Shoko leaned back in her chair and watched the buzzing scene before her unfold with bemused eyes.
Underneath the comforting golden glow of the restaurant’s hanging table light, Gojo picks at the cookie dough chunks that litter your plate to which you turn a blind eye. Now, Shoko could’ve easily brushed this occurrence off, seeing that friends often eat from each other's share of food all the time.
But something was... different.
With Gojo seated to your left inside the booth, he neatly cuts up a piece of his soft, creamy cheesecake and leverages the small serving on his spoon. “Here, try some of mine,” he says.
Harmless, right?
So, you reach for your own spoon to retrieve the sample of dessert that he was offering you. But without any hesitation, Gojo lifts his cutlery to your lips and prods the food toward your mouth.
There was no way that he intended on doing this right here, right now. In front of Shoko especially.
“Say, ‘Ahhh’!”
Concern creases your brow when Gojo continues to press the spoon against your lips, idly humming as he waits for you to open your mouth so he can spoon feed you as if he were your mother. A delicate, yet sure hand cupping your chin and everything.
He was being serious.
From your peripheral, you catch the slow spread of a Cheshire-like grin creeping onto Shoko’s face.
You press your fingers onto Gojo’s wrist and frown. Trying to retreat from his hand, a peal of nervous laughter bubbles out from you at his display of reckless affection at the table. “Give me a br—”
Gojo uses the opportunity of your uncertain state to slip his sharing of the Japanese cheesecake into your mouth in the middle of your sentence. Your eyes widen a small fraction at its creamy taste, prompting him to comment, “It’s good, right?”
The cigarette threatens to slip from Shoko’s mouth, as her lips slightly gape at what just happened before they curve into a soft smile. Her brown eyes are warm with… something. It’s as if she knew something that you didn’t.
“Ehhh…” Is all she says before you’re already jumping down her throat to clear up any misunderstandings.
“It’s nothing!” you supply in a rushed manner. Your main objective was to simply imply that this was nothing for her to lose her head over. Hell, even the friendliest of friends feed each other all the time! Right?
But at your remark, Gojo’s mouth downturns into a cute little pout. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” From the corner of your eye you glance at how he’s fixed another spoonful of the dessert, and it's hovering in your direction.
“Sato—” Fuck.
You quickly correct yourself on your mistake, and school your voice to have a bit more edge to it. Despite that, you don’t overlook how hard Gojo’s beaming at you. “Gojo, not now.”
“Ehhh?” Shoko exclaims once again, but this time the cadence of her voice has changed. It’s gained an amused note to its tune. “You call him Satoru now? Since when?”
“I’ve been begging her to use it for the longest time ever,” Gojo answers on your behalf, and he ignores your mutter for him to please stop talking in favour of jabbing an accusatory finger at you. “You know how painful it was to see you be all chummy and on a first-name basis with everyone but me?”
Lord. You’ve forgotten how dramatic he could be.
There’s a teasing glint in Shoko’s eye that you quite don’t like, and her lips purse heavy with consideration at his comment. “You make him beg?”
Groaning, you cross your arms against the table and bury your face. You can’t with them. Your two former upperclassmen were the bane of your existence right about now.
“I’ll kill you both,” you mutter, your speech muffled by the fabric of your sweater.
A FEW YEARS LATER
A calming blue nightly glow ripples through your curtains, casting your room in nothing but moonlight. Amidst the serene silence, you idly stare at your screen and read the text Satoru sent you right as the clock struck midnight.
Satoru: Are you home?
What an ominous question. Your eyes skim over his message again. And then again.
…And again.
Thumbing through your phone, you glance at the time displayed on the top of your screen. It’s been five minutes since you’ve opened his text. You should probably send something back soon before he quintuple texts you.
As you’re about to respond right when Satoru immediately shoots you another.
Satoru: I KNOW you see this!!! ( `ε´ )
Satoru: Hurry hurry hurry
You: yes... why?
Now it’s his turn to take a while to respond. First, it takes a couple of minutes for you to receive that pinging chime; indicating that he’s texted you back— which isn’t too bad because you like to consider yourself a pretty patient person.
But then five minutes slowly turn into ten, and that ten becomes a whopping fifteen until finally he answers.
Satoru: Open your door.
What the fuck.
Satoru: Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl
So that’s why he took so long to reply. The man was coming all the way down from his place to come and visit you!
You: you're actually insane.
You: hold on!
Rising from your seated position on your bed, you stalk over to your bedroom door and are about to exit when you spot yourself in a nearby mirror.
“Oh!” you exclaim to no one in particular. You can’t open the door for him looking like… this.
Wait, why do you care about what Satoru thinks of your clothes?!
He’s seen you wearing much worse. Like that one instance in first-year, when you had to borrow Geto’s spare parachute pants because Haibara accidentally spilt his soda all over your lap during an informal outing with everyone.
Yeesh.
Shaking your head, you slip out of your room and pad down your apartment hallway wearing your discoloured oversized band tee and shorts. Upon reaching your door, your hand hesitates on the doorknob.
It stays like that for a few seconds until the doorknob is rattled in a fashion that’s all too persistent, annoying, and all from—
“Satoru!” you hiss, swinging the door open. You’re ready to chew him out on how much of a nuisance he may be for your sleeping neighbours a few doors down. But your looming reprimand falls short on your tongue once your eyes take in the man facing you.
“Happy birthday!”
In the darkness, the soft glow of sparklers illuminates your features and highlights the exquisite details of a beautifully decorated cake held in Satoru’s hands.
Wordlessly, your hand aimlessly searches for the light switch to brighten up your hallway so that you may get a better look at what’s on the cake.
Something trembles in your chest and it hurts a little to breathe. But not in the way that you detest.
He’s cute.
Gojo Satoru is so heartbreakingly cute.
On the cake, you see that damn grainy photo you two took on his graduation day back in ‘08. The photo you love to hate.
Wetness springs to your eyes from the entire gesture, from the fact that he ensured he was the first one through text and physically to wish you a happy birthday, and from the fact that he’s here right now.
“Hey…” There’s concern creasing Satoru’s expression as he pokes his head down a little to get a better read on you. “Are you crying?”
You sniff back your tears and grunt out a watery, “No… Shut up and come in already.”
Ushering him inside, Satoru hands you your cake, toes off his shoes and heads straight to your living room. Good to see that he’s already making himself at home.
Plopping himself down onto your couch you hesitantly follow behind him, suddenly feeling like a stranger in your own home. “Come, come!” He waves a welcoming hand at you and pats the seat beside him, insinuating that you should sit.
With immediate interest, you do as he says and take a seat beside him after you position your cake in the middle of your coffee table. The couch feels so small now, with him spread out like that.
Pulling out something from his pocket with one hand and tugging off the party hat from his head with the other— had he been wearing that the whole time?— Satoru clears his throat. “Before you cry again, I gotta make sure you’re able to see your present first.”
He takes your head in his hands, and you realize his fingertips are a little cold as they press on your warm cheeks. Stretching the string down from the party hat a bit, he places it under your chin and snaps the cardboard cone into place on your head.
Breathing a noise of satisfaction seemingly content with how you look, a cheeky grin dances across Satoru’s face. “Perfect. You can now go ahead and open your gift,” he says, handing you a small black velvet box with the company logo HW scrawled across it.
“Wait, what,” you deadpan.
This can’t be what you think it is.
“It’s not a ring!” Satoru blurts. But composes himself seconds later with a quip of, “Unless you want it to be?”
Har. Har. Very funny.
You disregard what he’s said and peel open the box with caring hands.
Inside was the most extravagant necklace you’ve ever laid eyes on. A diamond pendant laid bare inside the box in the shape of a forget-me-not with your birthstone at the flower's centre.
That could’ve easily cost him a little over one million yen if you think about it deeply.
“Satoru!” you squeal.
Without thinking, you throw your arms around his neck and squeeze your longtime friend into your loving embrace. Satoru’s gift to you almost topples and sinks into the crevice of your couch had it not been for his quick hand to catch the necklace.
Your heart’s racing, and initially, his body goes rigid until he gradually relaxes under your hold. “You’re crazy, ’s too expensive!” you sparingly chastise him.
Satoru swallows hard and brings a careful arm up to reciprocate the hug. You feel the warm press of his arm against the thin material of your shirt.
“Nothing’s too expensive if you’re involved,” you hear him murmur into your ear. “So, don’t worry ‘bout it.”
You give him one last bone-crushing squeeze, hoping that your rare show of physical touch does not go unnoticed and exemplifies how grateful you are. Pulling away from him you look him dead in the eyes. “Thank you, seriously.”
Shrugging you off like it was no big deal as if he didn’t blow double, maybe even triple the money the average Japanese businessman earns on a singular paycheque toward your necklace, Satoru casts you a gentle smile and changes the subject.
There would be no need to dwell on it any longer with what’s to come.
“Now…” He gives your lower back a soft pat. Once, and twice. “A birthday kiss from the birthday girl.” Satoru puckers out his lips and shuts his eyes real tight, making a huge show out of it.
For extra effect, he even hums a prolonged Mmm-ing sound to emphasize him waiting for you to initiate it.
It’s a joke; you know he’s joking. He has a ridiculously long history of being overly affectionate with his teasings and whatnot.
But this time, you really do lean in and take said kiss from him.
There’s something incredibly adorable about this kiss that has your heart surging in your chest. Partly because it’s the first time that you’re kissing each other, but mostly because of how frigid and careful it is. It made you feel as if you were in high school all over again, trying a plethora of new things for kicks and giggles.
The tension was almost palpable, thick enough to suffocate the air he breathed. Even when you pulled away creating space between you both, Satoru still felt a lingering lump in his throat.
Cracking your eyes open, you see that Satoru’s own are blown wide. Piercing cerulean eyes stare unblinking at you. Normally, you would’ve found that to be off putting as hell, had it not been for the slow rise of a blooming pink crawling up his neck.
“Sorry,” you offer weakly. Sensing that you may have gone too far, you make an effort to scoot off his lap. But a determined arm holds you in place.
“Again.” He swallows thickly, and your eyes follow that mesmerizing movement in his throat. “I… I didn’t do it right. Please.”
And who are you to make him beg? So, you do as he says.
Leaning in, your lips press against Satoru’s once more. And this time, he has the sense to close his eyes and bask in it, not daring to let his nerves get the best of him (though he’d never admit it).
Slotting yourself to be more flushed against him, the tips of your noses brush and you feel Satoru’s hand smooth down your spine. The pads of his fingertips press onto your exposed skin peeking out from underneath the hem of your shirt bunched around your hips.
God, you wanted him bad.
It’s abrupt, the way you push yourself off him and force yourself to stand on your feet, breaking the kiss. The rise and fall of your chest is a bit staggered and Satoru’s is too. He’s all red-faced and his snow-white hair is a bit dishevelled, considering how many times you’ve combed your fingers through it.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Cute.
That alone made you want to jump his bones even more.
You shake your head and get one good look at him before you leave him to head down your hallway. He looked perpetually enraptured by you, eyes hyper-focused on your every movement. “Come to my bedroom.”
Satoru’s stunned, the implications of your remark not lost on him.
And like a keen lost puppy, of course he follows. He joins you in your bedroom seconds after you and stands in the doorway, just kind of hovering there. Not sure of what to do.
Wait. Did he come here too fast? Did that make him look overly desperate? A million and one questions rush through Satoru’s mind as his neck grows red, stained with embarrassment, want… arousal.
Seeing how he seems to be short-wiring at your doorway, you beckon him to join you on the bed with your hand. Once he does, he sits extremely close next to you. His clothed thigh brushes against your bare one, which sends a jolt of electricity through you.
Your fingers find his nape once again and they stroke up on his fresh undercut, prompting him to shiver a bit. “Why’re you so shy all of a sudden?” you question, your voice going gentle with a provoking edge to it.
Gaining some of his personality back, Satoru pinches your cheek. “‘Cause I didn’t think you’d want to kiss me!” But his mean hand then turns soft and slides along your jaw, his thumb rubbing smooth circles into the skin just below your ear.
“Well, I’m here,” you say, scooting impossibly closer to the man beside you, “and wanting.”
Message received.
Hauling you onto his lap, Satoru cradles your face in both hands and kisses you deeply. It’s full of emotion, expressing all the things he’s been wanting to say for the longest time. A trembled exhale escapes you, and it’s through that that Satoru uses the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside yours.
The kiss is frenzied, but so filled with love.
“So you like me?” he asks, his breathing laboured.
“Yes,” you bite, pushing him away from you and onto the mattress. “As if swapping spit with you wasn’t enough.” You guess you’ll have to show him how much you undoubtedly like him, love him even, through other means.
He huffs a breath of laughter and drops his back onto your bed. Underneath you, you see Satoru’s eyes sparkle as he watches you have your way with him.
But something’s up.
His eyes climb up a little higher and this time, he barks out a real laugh.
You still have that piece of fuck sitting on your head. You probably look stupid as hell right now.
Discerning that you’re about to raise your hand to your head, Satoru holds your wrist in his palm. There’s something bright that gleams behind those alluring pools of blue, warm and tender. He bites back a smile. “The birthday hat stays on during sex.”
You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re so dumb,” you growl with artificial frustration and tear off the cone-shaped hat from your head, tossing it into the depths of your room. He whines at its loss, but you’re quick to placate him with a slow roll of your hips into his lap.
Satoru’s jaw clenches and his hands fly to your waist, gripping you tightly as you continue to grind yourself down onto his erection. Your ministrations pull a wanton whimper from his lips, one that has you grinding with more purpose— the purpose of hearing that sound again.
“Do you like that?” you ask.
He nods, not trusting himself to speak, else he’ll let out a pathetic string of moans.
“I know, me too.” Satoru’s dick lurches in the confines of his pants as he watches you dry-hump him into the mattress slowly, your eyes shining with lust. Fuck, he could get hard just off your expression alone. “It feels reeeally nice being up on you like this,” you continue.
You have a fucking dirty mouth. One that Satoru’s growing more and more addicted to the more you speak.
There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs that you can’t quite alleviate. While rolling your hips into Satoru’s lap— with his occasional thrust to match your movements— felt good, it can only do so much. You wanted and needed more.
And so did Satoru, because he’s already pulling at the waistband of his pants. His thumb loops two layers and tugs both his pants and boxers down, revealing his toned V-line.
Fuck.
You fall victim to Satoru’s enamoured gaze from below, which makes you squirm hot with arousal. “Take it off,” he commands.
He wants you to strip him of his clothes.
Caught taking a startled breath, you ignore the wicked, handsome smile that slinks onto his face as you slip off his lap so you may curl your fingers around his waistband and pull. Your pussy clenches when his erect dick springs into view, and the heat pumping through your veins runs a little hotter.
You shiver at how pretty and filling his dick looks. After a few seconds of openly ogling at his lap, Satoru clears his throat which successfully gets you to drag your eyes back up to his face.
“While that was nice,” he starts, leveraging himself up onto his elbows and grins at your cute error, “I meant you, baby. Take it off.”
“Oh.”
Seriously? Just ‘Oh’?
Mentally facepalming, you shimmy your shorts down your legs along with your panties. They pool down at your ankles and you step out of them to stand between his legs.
Fully sitting up, Satoru pats his lap; encouraging you to sit on him again. “C’mere.”
You crawl onto his lap, but you don’t sit down fully. Hovering a few inches away from his cock, your knees press on each side of his thighs, trapping him in.
There’s no way in hell you were gonna sit down right now, knowing that if you do, you’d be pressing your bare pussy onto his naked thigh and he’d feel everything. Exposing how wet you are.
Humming, Satoru lifts the hem of your oversized top to your breasts and sighs. “Pretty,” he murmurs before he leans forward and captures your nipple into his mouth.
You gasp harshly at the titillating feeling. Your hands balance on his shoulders for support, as he rolls your nipple on his tongue.
“Sa— Ah!” You cry out. The hand between your legs startles you and has you whimpering in the open air.
“You’re wet,” he comments, slipping a finger against your slick pussy.
“Shut up about it…”
But he doesn’t. Another finger joins the first and delves down between your lips, gradually easing them inside you. They push against your walls, curling in a way that has you gasping into his neck. “You got wet from grinding alone, huh?”
A breath stutters out of your mouth and you rock yourself against his hand. You can’t take this anymore. You want more. “Do you have a condom?” you ask.
“I—” he groans when your hand slides between you two, your fingers curl around his dick and stroke his tip along your leaking slit. “I didn’t bring one, because I didn’t think we’d—”
Oh.
Biting your bottom lip, you sling a heavy arm across Satoru’s shoulders. You meet his hungry gaze with one of your own and inch closer toward his dick that rests against his stomach. What you’re about to do could be risky, but at this given moment you couldn’t find it in you to be overly stressed about it.
“No worries,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, “I trust you enough to pull out in time.” And like that, you push down on him and ease Satoru’s cock into your aching cunt, making him bottom out inside you completely.
You’re so wet and slippery that it took little to no effort for him to slide inside. The noise of your slick sticking to where you two meet at the hips has you two moaning softly in unison.
The harsh mutter of your name echoes off your bedroom walls and goes straight to your cunt. “So tight,” he grits out behind clenched, white teeth.
Each time you slide up and down on his cock, Satoru grows more unrestrained with his vocal appreciation of how well you take him. Desperate little moans escape him each time your sweet cunt squeezes him of all he’s worth.
You were no better. Choppy, broken whimpers can be heard from you, loving how he stretches your walks with your length. He fits perfectly inside you like your cunt was destined for this moment, for him alone.
“Let me fuck you,” Satoru blurts out. He was losing it, and he could feel him tipping closer and closer to the edge of release.
“You are— Ugn!” you say weakly when his hands grab your ass and he stands, lifting you with him as if it were nothing. Kicking off his bottoms, Satoru props you on your back against your mattress.
Crawling between your legs, he positions the crown of his cock to press against your opening. “No,” he drawls, with one hand on the base of his shaft and the other propped beside your head. “Let me fuck you.”
He pushes in and you swear you see stars.
Satoru pistons himself faster and faster inside of you, rocking your bodies against the mattress which makes your wooden headboard tap noisily against your drywall.
You fear your neighbours may have some… less than pleasant words to share with you about the noise tomorrow morning.
“Ah! Fuuucking— shit!” You wail. Euphoric tears start prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t stop, please!”
The pleasure melts through you when Satoru presses down harder into you, his hand finding the back of your right knee and hikes your leg around his waist so that he can fill you at a new angle.
“Baby,” he murmurs into your neck. He says it like you’ve been his for years. “Say my name.”
“S—Satoru!”
Laughing a little, probably too fucked out of his mind, Satoru removes his face from your neck and presses a hot, searing kiss onto your lips.
You yelp when he drives his cock more harshly into you, growing more desperate with the urgency to come inside you.
Riding his high, Satoru says the first thing that comes to mind, which is a long drawn-out, “Haaa…”
What Satoru meant to accomplish was to wish you another ‘Happy Birthday’, but of course, it all gets garbled up in his throat due to his approaching orgasm and comes out sounding fucking obscene.
That’s what gets you.
You come hard, your back bowing off the bed. Satoru, remembering your initial statement about how you trust him to pull out, does exactly that. Albeit, he did it at the very last second, but you avoided a pregnancy scare. So you can’t be mad.
Thick ropes of his cum splash across your bare belly and some get on your top. You’re hyperaware of how it trickles down your abdomen, some dipping into your belly button.
Wow.
Breathing hard and heavy, both coated in sweat among… other sensual fluids, Satoru rolls onto his back.
“Stuck with me for life, huh?” he asks, delicate fingers intertwined with yours.
You hum. “Seems so…” you agree quietly.
Now that you think about it, there hasn’t ever been a moment where Gojo Satoru hadn’t been present in your life, ever since meeting him during your high school days.
You two lay like that for some time, soaking in each other’s company until the early traces of morning light ripple through your curtains.
You’re about ready to shut your eyes until your thoughts are accosted by something you offhandedly forgot.
“Satoru?” you begin, tone nice and sweet.
“Hm?”
You sit up slowly so you can peer down at his blissed-out face. “By chance, was the cake you got for me made out of ice cream?”
You know how deep his love for sweets goes. You just pray and hope to whatever higher power that he chose the safe route and chose a normal ca—
“…Yeah, why?”
Jumping out of bed, you rush to the living room where the cake is probably spilling its guts out all over your expensive, mahogany coffee table. “You IDIOT!”
A string of curses follows you out into the hallway, as Satoru sits on your bed confused.
“What’d I do?!”
Whether you liked it or not, you were stuck with this bumbling idiot if he had any say in the matter, an invisible string keeping you two bound.
don’t tell any of the girls arranged!gojo used to sleep with that he’s really soft with you because they might just scratch their eyes out.
don’t tell them how he pulls you into his chest right as you’re about to go to sleep, one hand rubbing up and down your stomach as he whispers all the things he loves about you into the vast universe.
don’t mention how gojo takes you horseback riding through the fields on his days off, or how he sets up a little spot near the secluded lake for the two of you to eat dinner. or how he cooked the meal himself after begging the cooks to teach him how so he could impress you.
gods forbid those girls found out how gojo ties you into your corsets, and ties you out when the night comes. how his fingers hover over your skin as he tries to commit the feeling to memory. or how he sometimes pulls you back into his body by the outline of the bodice, how he groans in your neck when he smells your lavender oil.
those girls would cry tears of anguish if they found out that gojo, the man who refused to kiss because it was too intimate, felt like he’d die if he hadn’t felt your lips in an hour. how he’d messily kiss your fears and sorrows away.
some of them might’ve pulled their hair out if they found out that gojo tilts his head back and laughs, a booming sound, whenever you tell a story. the man who never showed emotion now isn’t afraid to show it all. how he’d smile just at the thought of you, how he’d pout petulantly if you weren’t near.
you think some of them might just drop dead if they saw the way gojo removes your heeled shoes after a night of dancing, or how he slowly kisses up your ankle to your thighs.
but truth be told you don’t care if those girls ever found out. because for once in their miserable lives they might realize that the man they longed for wasn’t incapable of love, he was just incapable of loving them.
☆ Mori "acts of service"s his way into a relationship
☆ Morinozuka "Mori" Takashi x reader, 6.2k words
☆ fluff, getting together, cw for mentioned classism, y/n used for reader
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you attempted to drag your soaked form out of the fountain, the cruel giggles of the girls that pushed you in still ringing in your ears even as their yellow skirts disappear from your line of sight. Just your luck, the second week of school and you'd already been identified as a viable bullying victim. Biting your lip to keep the tears at bay, you hauled your bookbag out of the water before stepping out yourself, more worried about keeping its contents intact than the fact that you looked (and felt) half-drowned.
Sinking to your knees on the cobblestone, you cautiously opened up the bag before breathing a sigh of relief. None of your textbooks looked damaged, your notebooks were only a little damp at the edges, and your wallet was still secured inside. You silently sent a thank you up to the universe for giving your past self the idea to splurge on a waterproof bag before the new school year. While you may have had rainy days in mind when you bought it, it apparently being bully-proof was a very welcome bonus. You were already here on scholarship, there was no way you could afford to regularly replace your things. Especially since it looked like you already had a target on your back for the crime of daring to sully Ouran's prestigious halls with your commoner self. Stupid rich brats…
A long shadow fell over you. You cursed under your breath and braced yourself for more abuse, clutching your bookbag to your chest as you lifted your head defiantly. But instead of the mocking visage of a count's daughter or a mogul's son, your gaze met cool grey eyes and an impassive expression. You blinked up at the newcomer, cataloging him from the tips of his spiky black hair to his immaculately polished shoes. He was big, for a lack of a better descriptor. Handsome too, in a cold and stoic sort of way. Though there wasn't so much as a wrinkle in his uniform, he had the glow of someone who had just finished a rigorous round of exercising, the sun glinting off the leftover droplets in his hair from his post-workout shower. The sudden sound of his voice jolted you out of your scrutinizing train of thought.
"Are you alright?" he asked, cocking his head slightly as he looked down at you. His voice rumbled out of his chest and washed over you, the timbre deep and commanding. As though triggered by his question, you quickly became hyperaware of the way the spring wind hit your wet clothing, forcing a series of shivers out of you. Your hair was plastered to your forehead and steadily dripping down your back, and you were certain you were kneeling in your own personal puddle of fountain water. The realization of the sorry sight you presented, especially in comparison to his perfectly kept appearance, had you holding your bag tighter and looking away from him, half-heartedly praying the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
"Do I look alright?" you ground out, teeth gritted as you pointedly kept your gaze trained away from him. Hopefully he'd get offended and buzz off so you could finally get some space to put your pride back together and start walking home.
Unfortunately, you so rarely get what you wish for.
The tall boy let out a soft "hm" before dropping into a squat, putting the two of you on the same level. The duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder hit the ground with a smack and you internally cringed at the casual carelessness rich people seemed to be prone to. He reached out to touch you before apparently thinking better of it, shifting instead to put himself back into your line of sight. A very petty part of you was tempted to turn your head away from him again, but all things considered he was the nicest person you'd met at this school so far, regardless of how low that bar was.
"That was a silly question. I apologize." That damn voice again. It had a soothing quality that, if anything, annoyed you further. Not only was he born into wealth you probably couldn't even fathom, but he had to look and sound like a dream too? The universe was infinite in its unfairness.
You turned your attention back to him only to notice he was digging around in his bag, his face set in concentration as he searched for…whatever it was he was looking for. You heard the sound of wood knocking on wood as he rummaged through his things (what on earth did he have in there?) Before you could voice any coherent thought or opinion about his actions, fluffy white material filled your vision.
"I know it's not much, but I swear it's clean, and you should dry off as best you can. It wouldn't do for you to fall ill and have to miss school at the beginning of the term." It took all your willpower not to gape and stare at his display of generosity. It was a trick, or a prank, or something. It had to be. No one that went to this school looked like they even knew the meaning of the word compassion. But as a hard gust of wind cut clean through your clothing and chilled you to the bone, you figured you might as well take your chances.
You set aside your bookbag and gently, as if it was a dangerous explosive rigged to blow any moment, you took the towel from his hands. It was soft, softer than you thought a towel had any right to be, and felt heavenly in your hands as you turned it over. A flash of gold caught your eye, and you brought the towel closer to your face to inspect it. On one corner, the letters "MT" were immaculately embroidered in gleaming thread.
"MT?" you repeated aloud, your eyes flicking up to his. "Are those your initials?"
The boy nodded. "Yes. My name is Morinozuka Takashi. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
You huffed, caught somewhere between ebbing irritation and creeping amusement. "Well you're certainly the first person to feel that way, at least among your peers." You lifted the towel to your hair, deciding to do something about the small river carving a valley down your back. Mori moved from a squat to a sit, clearly thinking nothing of the possibility that the ground might dirty his uniform. He waited patiently as you methodically dried off, the relief of going from dripping to just damp clearly evident on your face. Once you were done you made eye contact with him, a grateful smile gracing your features.
"Thank you, Morinozuka. I'll wash this and return it to you as soon as I can, I promise." The look in your eyes was earnest, but he waved a hand at you as if to dispel the notion.
"You can call me Mori. Also don't bother yourself. You can keep that one, I've got plenty."
"What? No, I couldn't possibly-"
"I insist."
"Well I insist on paying you back somehow. I don't like owing people, and it's obvious you've done me a pretty big solid here. So, say what you want and if it's within my power and my budget I'll make it happen."
Mori cracked a smile at that, small but genuine, and you realized with a mix of delight and horror that the expression only made him more handsome. "Well, I'll have to take some time to think of something I want that you can provide, but to start I'd like to know your name as well."
You nodded, figuring it was only proper that the two of you be actually introduced. "It's Y/N."
He cocked his head again. "And that's your given name?"
"Yes."
"What's your family name?"
"Does it matter? It's not attached to any titles."
"Of course it matters. Not being wealthy doesn't make you undeserving of respect."
It's stupid, really. The sentence was objectively true, baby's first lesson in class consciousness. It was the barest of minimums. But after two weeks of being surrounded by droves of people who genuinely believed that the circumstances of their births made them deserving of special treatment and gave them permission to trample over the less fortunate for their amusement, it didn't feel like a given. It was grounding to hear this boy, dressed in clothes that probably cost more than both your parents would make in a month, easily and freely admit that he wasn't more important than you because of his last name. Reminded you that a whole world existed beyond Ouran's gilded walls, and when the year was up and you'd served your time the real world would be ready to rescue you from this cherry blossom fever dream.
"Alright then. It's L/N." The smile you gave him was soft, and it only grew as you heard him repeat after you, the syllables of your name rolling around his mouth.
"So you're the new third year transfer everyone is talking about?" he asked, his eyes glimmering with interest. "The whole class is still buzzing with the news of this year's scholarship winners." You tried not to grimace at the thought of the entire third year class talking about you behind your back, but you must not have been very successful if the way Mori's expression turned sympathetic was anything to go by.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm sure it's been a difficult adjustment for you."
"Difficult is putting it mildly." You blew out a shaky breath, trying to focus on the way the late afternoon sun filtered through the jet black strands of Mori's hair and not on your own complicated feelings about your enrollment. "When we got the results of our end of year exams from my second year, I was second overall. The person that beat me had also nailed the Ouran scholarship, which was fine by me, really. But then it came out that they had cheated on the exams and their scores were nullified, making me top of the class. I'm still not entirely sure why I inherited their scholarship as well as their rank. Maybe the board of directors was feeling particularly philanthropic that day, who knows. What matters is me and my folks realized there's no better shining star on a resume than a diploma from this place, so we got our paperwork in order and I was shipped here. I feel like I should be grateful that such an incredible windfall came my way, but now I'm in a school where I can't even afford the uniform and I feel like a fish in the desert."
Mori nodded as you concluded your mini-speech. "I won't say I understand where you're coming from, because it would do your feelings a disservice for me to pretend our backgrounds are similar. But I do know that you earned your position here, and you shouldn't let anyone tell you otherwise." Mori lifted himself from the ground at last, slinging his duffel bag back over his shoulders before offering a hand to help you up as well. You hesitated for a moment, but the sincerity in his gaze banished any of your lingering doubt. You placed the gifted towel in your bag before slipping it on and ran a quick hand over your clothes, trying to return to as presentable a state as possible. Then you reached up and took his hand.
Your palm was smaller than his, and the warmth of him began to leech into you almost immediately. You stifled a soft yelp as he hauled you up with shocking ease, bringing you to a standing position with very little work on your part. Almost desperate to keep what was left of your dignity intact, you moved to extract your hand, but he held you firm. The quizzical look you shot him was countered by another one of his small smiles.
"L/N, I believe I've changed my mind. I would like to cash in that favor now." Your eyes widened slightly at his admission, but you gestured at him to continue. "I want you to call me Takashi."
You couldn't fight back the laugh that burst out of you then. A single clear sound that echoed through the courtyard before you slapped a hand over your mouth, though your eyes still crinkled with mirth. Mori waited patiently for your outburst to die down, the smile never leaving his face.
"Really?" you managed to say at last. "That's all you want?"
A nod. "That's all."
Your smile then was the largest yet, pure and unrestrained. "Okay. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. From this day forward, you're Takashi and I'm Y/N."
"You'd let me use your given name as well?"
"Why not? It might be presumptious of me, but I think we're friendly enough, no?"
Something unreadable flashed in his eyes before they returned to a neutral state. "Yes, I'd say we are."
Mori walked with you to the gate of the school, even going so far as to offer to call a driver to take you home, but you insisted that you'd encroached on his kindness enough for one day. You walked home that day with a warm feeling in your chest that had nothing to do with the setting sun.
Whoever your guardian angel was, that son of a bitch was a real slacker.
You gazed forlornly through the library window at the downpour outside, which had already been raging for hours and showed no signs of letting up soon. The forecast for the day had been clear, sunny skies, so like any sane person you'd left your umbrella at home. Well, as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, the weatherman was a good for nothing liar, and the weather had taken a sharp turn right before classes let out for the day. Most of the student population had simply hurried to their limos and sped off to spend the rest of the rainy day in their heated homes, but your only mode of transportation to and from school happened to be your own two legs. It wasn't even as though you lived far away, but the 20 minute walk looked deeply unappealing as the rain fell in thick, gray sheets.
You had hoped to wait it out by getting some extra studying in, but nearly two hours later you were out of homework and the storm still raged on. Groaning, you slammed your books shut and started packing your things, resigned to putting on your big girl pants and trying not to eat shit as you sprinted home.
Preoccupied with your own misery as you left the library, you rounded a corner and walked face first into a solid wall. You barely managed to avoid being knocked on your ass, stumbling back a couple of steps and cursing as you rubbed at your nose. You looked up to shoot a petty glare at the offending object only to realize what you'd mistaken for a part of the building was actually a human being, and a very specific one at that.
Mori was standing before you, looking down at you with a mixture of confusion and concern. He had his familiar duffel bag over one shoulder, and a large umbrella in his left hand. You immediately felt butterflies (and a touch of envy) erupt in your stomach, even as mortification began to creep up your spine.
Unfortunately for your blooming crush newfound friendship, the fact that you'd caught Mori alone that afternoon was nothing short of a miracle. During school hours him and his cousin were attached at the hip, not to mention his dedicated gaggle of fangirls that wouldn't dream of letting you anywhere near him. The Host Club (which you'd been shocked to discover he was a member of) kept his afternoons full as well. The most you had managed to squeeze from him in 3 weeks were a few smiles and nods before and after class, so having his full attention again was a delightfully overwhelming sensation. You scrambled to straighten out your clothes and hair and make yourself look like you hadn't just been moping about in the library for hours.
"Takashi! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!" You said, trying to inject some cheer into your voice as you apologized. Mori shook his head and took a step closer to you.
"Please, the fault is mine. I should have been more aware. I must admit though, it's good to see you again Y/N."
Ohhh he was trying to kill you. He was on a mission to make you spontaneously combust. You let out a nervous chuckle and looked away, praying he wouldn't pick up on how out of sorts you felt. "We see each other in class every day, don't we?"
"Yes, but we haven't had a chance to truly speak with each other. I've found myself missing your presence."
A 20 minute interaction 3 weeks ago and he was missing you? Maybe your guardian angel needed a raise after all. Not trusting yourself to respond without saying something crazy, you turned your attention instead to the rain still battering the school's windows, a frown returning to your features as you were reminded of your predicament. Following your gaze, Mori's eyes darted to the window, then back to you.
"Are you planning on walking home in such heavy rain?" Mori asked, his brows furrowed slightly. You heaved a sigh.
"I don't exactly have a wealth of choices. Of all days not to bring my umbrella…"
Mori seemed to make up his mind then, and held out his umbrella to you. But before he could open his mouth to verbally offer it, you beat him to the punch.
"No. Absolutely not. I refuse to let you inconvenience yourself for me a second time. Keep your umbrella."
"I can't let you walk home unprotected in this weather."
"I don't want to be your charity case, Takashi."
His lips quirked down into a small frown and he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, his grip on the umbrella tightening. After a few seconds of obvious inner turmoil, he ironed out his expression and fixed you with a piercing stare.
"At the very least, let me walk you home." It wasn't a request, if anything it was a demand. You wondered if he was capable of selfishness at all.
Just as you opened your mouth to deny him, a loud clap of thunder rang out that you swore made the building shake a little. You glanced at the window, then at his umbrella, and the protest died in your throat.
You sighed and adjusted the strap on your bookbag. "Okay. I can see there's no use trying to change your mind. Just, I don't know, don't get your hopes up about the state of my house."
Relief flashed over Mori's features. He followed you as you began making your way towards the school's entrace, perfectly matching his long stride to your pace.
"To be honest," he said, his tone contemplative, "I don't think I would care if you lived in a shack under a bridge. Nothing could make me look down on you."
You could feel a prickling heat creep up your cheeks. Was it the Host Club that taught him to drop compliments as easily as drawing breaths? He never even seemed remotely fazed by anything that came out of him mouth, no matter how flustered it made you.
The two of you stepped outside, Mori's sturdy umbrella already up and shielding you from the downpour. It took a bit of maneuvering to keep you both dry, considering the height difference and the fact you had to walk a half step ahead to lead him to your home, but soon the two of you fell into a good rhythm.
"Do you live very far?" Mori asked, eyes taking in a part of town he'd either never seen or only noted in passing as his driver sped him off to more important locations. You shook your head, chancing a look back at him.
"No, it's only about 20 minutes from the school, plus we're basically halfway anyway so we should get there soon." He nodded at your response and adjusted his hold on the umbrella, stepping a little closer to you in the process. You tried to ignore the shiver that ran through you at the proximity.
"You know, Takashi," you began, fidgeting with your bag strap to give your hands something to do. "it feels like you're always saving me from water based situations." A nervous giggle left your mouth as you glanced sideways at him. He let out a hard exhale and his mouth twitched up, but it was more than enough to send your stomach's resident butterflies into a frenzy.
"Maybe you angered a water spirit in your past life, and now I have to rescue you from its wrath." His tone was even, but the mirth in his eyes as he glanced at you was clear as day. You rewarded his efforts with a soft laugh and a smile, and your heart sped up as he mirrored your expression.
True to your word, it wasn't long until the two of you came upon your street. You pointed out which house was yours and Mori dutifully walked you to it, not dropping the umbrella until you were both safe under the shade of your covered porch. You were suddenly extremely grateful that your father had insisted on a more western look for your home.
"I really can't thank you enough for this, Takashi. It would've been miserable trying to get home on my own." Mori nodded, accepting your thanks with humble grace.
"It was nothing, truly. Like I said, I enjoy your company." The heat again. You busied yourself with fishing your keys out of your bag and unlocking the door, hoping to hide your flustered expression from his view. Once the door was open, you looked back at him.
"Aren't you going to call your driver to come get you?"
He nodded again and reached into his pocket to grab his phone. You gave him the exact address to relay to his chauffeur before moving to head inside. You were halfway over the threshold before you noticed he wasn't following and turned back to look at him. He was standing where you'd left him and staring at your retreating form, rigid as a statue.
"Takashi," you called out, trying to shake him from his weird trance. "It's cold out here. You should come in while you wait for the car to arrive."
Mori's mouth thinned, and you swore his cheeks were dusted with pink. "Is that…I mean, your parents aren't home. It wouldn't be proper."
You would've laughed if he didn't look so serious. "My folks are doctors, they're never home. Besides, it's only for a little while. You're not going to try anything, right?"
His eyes widened at your implication and the pink turned to a deeper red. "I would never!"
"Then there's no issue. Come on, I can make us some tea." You gestured for him to join you, but he simply stayed rooted where he was.
"It wouldn't be proper," he repeated, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. With a sigh, you closed the door and moved to stand close to him.
"If you're going to wait outside, I'll wait with you. You're on my property which makes me the host, and my mom would have my head if she found out I left a guest out in the cold."
"You don't need to."
"I want to."
For a long moment, Mori just stared at you. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, the blush on his cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears. Eventually, he seemed to resign himself to your stubbornness. He dropped his bag on the floor, shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the outer wall of your home. He turned his face away from you, content to kill time by watching the rain fall.
He looked ethereal with the glow of the streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement and onto his skin, his hair slightly damp from a few miscalculations with the umbrella. You were momentarily seized by a longing so great it was almost terrifying, crawling up from your stomach to shove aside your lungs and nestle itself next to your heart. Before your brain could catch up to the whims of your body, you had already closed the distance between you and him. His gaze snapped to yours, and the gentle heave of his chest stopped. His gray eyes looked almost black, twin singularities ready to consume you whole. Slowly, you brought your hand up to tug at his unbuttoned blazer, and before you could blink he was off the wall and on you.
His perpetually warm palms cradled your face with heartrending gentleness as he curled around you, his large frame occupying your every sense. One hand was fisted in his jacket, the other grasped at his shirt. His earthy cologne filled your nose, and his breaths sounded louder than any thunder. His eyes bored into you, pinning you, dissecting you, picking apart everything you were and had ever been. Then he glanced down at your lips and you were gone.
You couldn't say with certainty whether you initiated the kiss or he did, but in the end it was a pointless line of questioning as both parties were eager participants. His mouth slotted against yours like it was meant to be there, and your lips moved against his like they were made to do so. One of his hands slipped from your cheek to hold the back of your neck, and it only served to melt your brain further.
Just as your lips parted to deepen the kiss, the rumble of an engine startled you both out of the solitary bubble you had created. A sleek Cadillac rolled down your street, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who it belonged to. Mori let out out a disappointed huff as he disentangled from you, his features lined with reluctance as he straightened out his clothing and hefted his bag over his shoulder once more. The car rolled to a stop in front of your house and you silently cursed the driver. Was a spontaneous road blockade too much to ask for?
You turned back to the boy in front of you, wondering briefly if he would stay the night if you begged. Before your frazzled mind could put any half-baked plans into action, Mori was squeezing your shoulder, a reassuring smile on his face.
He leaned down to murmur softly in your ear. "I'll see you at school," he said before moving past you, down the porch steps and into the car. You watched the driver rev the engine and peel out of your neighborhood, your eyes glued to the vehicle until it disappeared around the corner. Groaning, you scrubbed a hand over your face as you turned to head into your own home. It was going to be a long weekend.
You had practically skipped into school Monday morning, eager to see Mori again after the weekend had dragged by. But he wouldn't meet your eye when you walked into class, and he was noticeably absent from all the places the two of you usually crossed paths. No matter what you tried you couldn't get even a shred of recognition from him, much less catch him alone. Confusion, anger, and more than a little hurt bubbled up in you at his blatant avoidance. Did you do something? Had he gotten cold feet? The uncertainty made your stomach churn and kept you up at night, mind racing with possibilities. Each conjured scenario was more heartbreaking than the last and the speculation only served to make you feel even worse.
By Friday your patience was on its last leg. You resolved to get to the bottom of this one way or another, for the sake of your peace of mind if nothing else. A part of you wanted to have faith in him, to extend him the benefit of a doubt and believe there was a totally benign reason for his odd behavior. The rest of you was rooted in reality.
One of your mother's patients had gifted her a voucher for a high end boutique that she had immediately passed on to you, insisting that a young lady should update her wardrobe at every opportunity. The district the shop was located in was far outside your usual stomping ground (and usual budget) but the weather was good and your Saturday afternoon was free, so you reasoned you might as well embrace the distraction.
As if your frustration had pierced the heavens and sent a message straight to the universe, you got off the bus and immediately caught sight of a familiar duffel bag and head of spiky black hair. He was dressed casually, sporting only a black tank top and athletic pants, but the height was unmistakable. He had his back was to you as he made a beeline for what you assumed was the kendo dojo you had spotted on the way here, but you'd be damned if you let this opportunity slip through your fingers.
The shopping trip long forgotten, you channeled a week's worth of irritation into your legs and ran him down, all but throwing yourself in his path. As predicted, his well-trained reflexes kicked in and he skid to a stop to avoid the sudden appearance of an obstacle in his path, giving you the chance to watch his face morph from confusion to dread in real time.
The way guilt painted every inch of Mori's features, one would think he was on trial for murder. The way anger painted every inch of yours only served to lend credibility to that assumption.
"We meet again at last. Were you banking on avoiding me forever, Takashi?" Despite the sour taste his name left in your mouth, you couldn't muster any real animosity towards him. All you had to draw from was a deep well of hurt, one you hoped this conversation would get rid of, one way or another.
Mori's grip on his bag tightened and his eyes darted between you and the rest of the sidewalk, as if considering whether to just sidestep you and continue on. You would hardly be an obstacle if he was really intent on getting past you. But he remained rooted in place, his voice low and resigned as he spoke.
"It's good to see you, Y/N." The nerve of him to say that while he refused to focus on you, his dark eyes looking at everything but your form right in front of him, stoked the fires of your righteous fury.
"Oh I'm sure. Tell me, what did you win?"
Mori's face morphed back to confusion, and he finally settled his gaze upon you. "Win? What do you mean?"
"Come on, Takashi, it's not my first day on Earth and it certainly isn't my first day dealing with immature boys. It was a bet right? 'Win the heart of the transfer and win a magnificent prize!', something like that, yes? Well I want to know what the prize was!" You couldn't quite discern the emotion on his face, but it looked vaguely like horror.
"It wasn't…I wouldn't…there was no bet."
"Oh so you ditched me all on your own, then? Even fucking better." You could feel the telltale tightness in your chest and pressure in your eyes that signaled an oncoming crying fit, but you suppressed it with all your might. You wouldn't shed tears for him. At least, not in front of him.
Mori took a half step forwards, the hand not holding his bag extended slightly, like he was fighting the urge to touch you. "Y/N, it's not like that, I swear. Please let me explain."
You crossed your arms and held your ground. "I'm listening. Prove that you weren't trying to make a fool out of me."
Mori inhaled deeply before letting it out long and slow. He ran a hand through his unruly locks and you really should've received a Medal of Honor for holding yourself back as the movement caused his arms to flex sinfully.
"I…I'm sorry, first and foremost. I was selfish. I was so caught up in my own emotions that I failed to consider how my shortcomings would affect you. It pains me to have caused you pain. Please forgive me." He bowed his head to you, and the genuine hurt in his voice gave you pause. He certainly didn't sound like someone who had masterminded a plan to embarass you, but you'd withhold judgement until his reasons were revealed. You silently gestured for him to continue and he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"To make it simple I was…" He trailed off and took another deep breath, gearing himself up to confess what had been weighing on him. "I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of my feelings towards you. When I first saw you, sitting by that fountain, I thought you were beautiful, but it wasn't deeper than that. At least, I convinced myself it wasn't. But after our conversation, I found myself thinking of you constantly. As a host I interact with pretty girls every day, but their smiles never affected me like yours had. I treasured every interaction between us, no matter how small. And then last week, the fact that you trusted me to get you home safely, being so close to you…I was besides myself. I acted…irrationally."
"Do you regret it?" You asked, almost scared to hear the answer.
"No." His answer was quick and firm, leaving no room for doubt or second thought. Your heart fluttered in your chest. "No I don't, but I think that's what scared me so much. I'm not accustomed to wanting things. I know that sounds callous, but I'm being literal. I've never had a great deal of wishes or desires. I believed I was entirely content with what I had." His hands moved to rest on your shoulders, and you didn't move to stop him. You barely dared to breathe.
"I was wrong. Y/N, I was so wrong. I want you with everything I am. I know you have every right to be upset with me after my behavior this week, but if you give me the chance I'll make it up to you tenfold for as long as you'll have me."
You didn't think. In truth, your mind had been blank from the moment he said he wanted you. You gazed at his face, his perfect, handsome face, carved from stone and glowing in the afternoon sun, and your body moved on pure instinct. You cupped his face and pressed your lips into his.
The kiss was softer than the first, but no less sweet. Vaguely you registered his arms wrapping around you, drawing you into him. He pulled away much earlier than you would have liked, but the smile on his face soothed your disappointment.
"I assume I'm forgiven?" He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. You snorted and lightly smacked his bicep, though made no move to exit his embrace.
"Yeah, yeah, you're off the hook. Also, have you ever considered writing romance novels?"
A sharp exhale. "You think I could?"
"You have a gift, my dear."
He chuckled and, to your dismay, extracted his form from yours. He grabbed his bag from where it had fallen (when had he dropped it? You had no clue) and glanced at the nearby dojo.
"As much as I loathe to leave you, I do have a prior engagement." You frowned, more than a little reluctant to part so soon after learning your feelings were returned. Then, a lightbulb moment.
You reached into your back pocket and dug out the voucher. You gave Mori a glowing smile and batted your eyelashes, waving the coupon like it was the winning lottery ticket.
"You could go. I won't stop you. But there will be more kendo practices in the future. I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime here."
He quirked an eyebrow. "The chance to do what, exactly?"
"The chance to take your girlfriend shopping and pick out my outfit for our first date."
You could just barely hear his sharp inhale but it had you suppressing a smirk all the same. Hook, line, and sinker.
His eyes darted back to the dojo, then to you again, and you could tell his mind was made up. You extended your hand to him and he took it without a moment's hesitation. The grin you flashed him as you began to tug him in the direction of the boutique was near blinding.
"And what exactly are we doing on this first date, dearest?" He asked, matching your pace easily. You shrugged.
"I figured we could plan it on the way."
He laughed and intertwined your fingers with his, and the warmth that bloomed in you had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
No treasure neither jewel could compare with you. No pact or sin could hold up to your soul. You are the best of them, of all of them merged into one being with something still so unique, utterly, wholly, irrevocably you.
And it's always been you.
Slow mornings without the rush of the usual workday, coffee and tea brewing with you perched on a chair, the same chipped cup that you never let the others throw away despite having plenty of others. Your perfume in the hallways, a signature scent that calms their heart and reminds them that they are home.
They always associate that scent with you now. Ensure one of its base notes are always in their own collection.
Eight mugs on the wooden table, eight pairs of cutlery and eight pairs of slippers in the house because you insisted shoes in the house was unsanitary. Eight of everything, even when you aren't there. Even when you won't be there. Eight glasses of hot chocolate from the stall set up when autumn arrives in the Devildom, same vendor since you always preferred that one. Your favourite fruit which is always brought first above everything else because you mentioned once about liking it. It never runs out in the house, even when all the other groceries do.
The silly doodle of Cerebrus on the wall which has <3 faces on it for all the three heads. Lucifer always complained about you making his guard dog appear silly but has never erased it, and it's been half a decade now. The wooden shelf above the counter near the entrance to the kitchen with which your head collided when you were chasing Mammon around the house. You got a nasty bruise to boot and the scratch mark your nails had made on it in the process. Still there, always there.
Your gaming console, which was Levi's, but now it's yours. Always will be your's. It has been picked up and used by you so many times it is only fair. And your favourite reading spot near the window in the library, which is was Satan's, but he will never let you know that. He always reserves it for you now because you sit there. Like how you have a favourite chair in the house too.
The left drawer of Asmodeus's vanity has all your items. Human world cosmetics because this realm's would damage your skin. You kept wondering why your moisturizer kept running out so often. If you'd smell Asmo's cheek you'd know it was him. And he still purchases it, never lets the brand die out in the human world.
You will always find your jacket pocket filled with candy and vitamin D, because humans need it to stay healthy. And Beel wants you to be happy and thriving. You said you ate sweets when you were stressed, that it helped you calm down. Now it's a habit he cannot get rid of, despite whatever years may come. Belpheghor's stationary pouch will always have pens with rubber on them because you prefer the solid grip they allow your fingers when sweating in anxiety through exams.
They don't need a sun, because you shine brighter than one.
You are their Sun in this realm.
Always been you, mind, body and soul.
Banter that fills busy mornings when one of them hijacks your bathroom because the others are taking too long in going about their business, or even 'taking too long to shit,' as one of them had put it. You simply sighed and brushed your teeth as the shower turned on, then rolled your eyes when the door opened again. The stepping stool put out for you in the areas with high shelves so that you don't fall, and which you used to square up to Lucifer when he was getting all high-and-mighty.
You must be the season between spring and summer, between monsoon and winter. Between death and rebirth.
With all your flaws and all your shortcomings, you're you.
Whatever may happen, has happened, it will always be you.
It's when you're laughing at something and looking at them first, teeth showing as your eyes crinkles. Or when your cheeks are red from crying, tears threatening to fall as you still look at them, after everything that has happened. When your brows furrow in annoyance, or when lips thin into a line in anger. They want it all.
Human, you are, and the best of them all.
Your toothbrush which still sits near your sink, haircare products in the shelf. Clothes waiting to be worn again and the slippers that are kept by your dressing table. All your items waiting for you to use them, whatever millennia it may be in.
You'd promised you would always find them.
And they're waiting for you to come back, bring with you all the seasons and the in-between, the sun and the warmth that you always have to give.
synopsis — satoru gojo is your bestfriend and you are his. but sometimes, lines between friendship and something more seem to blur.
pairing — bestfriend! satoru x reader
word count — 10.6 k
warnings — making out, somewhat heavy petting, they take off each other's shirts but that's about it LOL, angst (not a sad ending though), reader feels unwanted at times.
Satoru Gojo.
How long have you known him? Your whole life, probably.
Scratch that. Not your whole life, but definitely the majority of it.
It started in preschool.
You were the quiet kid—the one who clung to the edges of the classroom, never quite fitting into the messy, chaotic whirlwind of children who seemed to make friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. You didn’t know how they did it—how they found each other in the noise, how they paired up so effortlessly, how they just knew where they belonged.
You, on the other hand, spent most of your time alone, stacking blocks in the corner, drawing quietly, or waiting for the teacher to tell you what to do next.
And then there was him.
Satoru Gojo, the loudest, brightest, most obnoxiously happy kid you’d ever met. He was the kind of child who ran instead of walked, who laughed at things no one else found funny, who always had a scrape on his knee but never seemed to care. He was larger than life, in a way that made your stomach twist—not quite jealousy, not quite admiration, just… confusion.
So when he plopped down next to you one day, completely uninvited, you weren’t sure what to do.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, peering at the tiny house you were building out of wooden blocks.
You shrugged. “Building.”
“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Can I help?”
You hesitated. You didn’t want help. But before you could answer, he was already reaching for the blocks, stacking them in ways that made no sense.
“You’re ruining it,” you mumbled, frowning.
He blinked at you, then back at the house. “Oh.” And then, without missing a beat, he knocked it over entirely.
You gasped, horrified.
He just laughed. “Now we can build it again!”
You decided, in that exact moment, that you hated him.
But Satoru Gojo was persistent.
He started following you around—not in a creepy way, just in an annoying way. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he’d pop up again like a bad penny, grinning that ridiculous grin of his.
Eventually, you just… let him.
It was easier than trying to get rid of him.
And somewhere along the way, he became your first real friend.
Your moms met not long after.
It happened at pickup time, when Satoru ran straight past his usual waiting spot to grab your hand instead. “Can I go to their house?” he asked his mom, all wide eyes and uncontainable energy. “Please, please, please?”
Your mom looked vaguely alarmed, having not expected to suddenly be responsible for another child, but Satoru’s mom just laughed.
And that was that.
Your friendship expanded beyond the preschool walls, spilling into weekends and playdates. Satoru’s house became as familiar as your own, with its too-big windows and fancy furniture that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to jump on (but did anyway). In return, he practically lived at your place, showing up unannounced, eating snacks straight from your pantry, making himself at home in a way that should have been irritating but never really was.
By the time middle school rolled around, he was less of a friend and more of a permanent fixture in your life.
“Okay, but listen,” Satoru said one afternoon, sprawled across your bedroom floor, Switch in hand. “If you had to pick one Digimon partner, like one to be stuck with for the rest of your life, who would it be?”
You barely looked up from your homework. “I don’t know. Agumon?”
“Agumon?” he repeated, scandalized. “That’s so basic. It’s like saying your favorite Pokémon is Pikachu.”
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally the main character’s Digimon.”
“Exactly!” He threw his hands up. “No originality. None. Zero. I expected better from you.”
“You asked me,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes.
“Yeah, but I thought you’d at least think about it.” He sighed, dramatically flopping onto his back. “I should’ve known. I’m best friends with a casual fan.”
“You should be grateful you have a best friend at all,” you shot back.
Satoru grinned, tilting his head toward you. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”
At some point, he started wearing glasses. Not for fashion, not because he wanted to, but because years of staring at screens in the dark, playing Digimon and Pokémon and whatever else he was obsessed with at the time, had officially caught up to him.
“I’m blind,” he announced the day he got them, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely, totally blind.”
You snorted. “You’re, like, mildly nearsighted.”
“Same thing,” he said, already taking them off to examine them. “Do I look smarter with them?”
You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Not really.”
“Rude.” He huffed, sliding them back on. “What about cooler?”
You threw a pillow at his face.
He laughed, catching it easily. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
—
Then came high school.
At first, nothing changed.
Satoru was still Satoru—loud, annoying, always in your space. He still showed up at your house unannounced, still texted you at odd hours about random nonsense, still sat next to you at lunch like it was a law of the universe. He was your best friend. Your person.
And for the first two years, you were inseparable.
There wasn’t a single moment where people saw one of you without the other. Satoru Gojo and you. You and Satoru Gojo. Always a pair. Whether it was cramming for exams together, getting kicked out of the arcade because he got too competitive, or spending Friday nights playing whatever old game he got obsessed with that month, he was your constant.
Until junior year.
It started small.
A casual comment in gym class about how fast he was. A joke from a teacher about how he should try out for the football team. A half-dare from some of the guys he barely knew.
And somehow, against all odds, Satoru Gojo became an athlete.
You didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another one of his phases, right? Like that time he swore he’d master speedrunning or decided he was going to learn five languages at once. But he was good—annoyingly good. Tall, fast, with ridiculous reflexes that made him impossible to catch on the field.
And people noticed.
By mid-season, he wasn’t just some new player—he was the star. The guy everyone knew, the guy who had a crowd around him in the hallways, the guy who got called out over the school speakers for game-winning plays.
The guy who no longer just belonged to you.
The first time you really felt it was when he showed up at your house one evening. That part was normal. He still did that, still made himself at home on your couch, still stole whatever snacks he wanted.
But something was different.
You were sprawled out on your bed, flipping through a book, when you glanced up and noticed.
“Where are your glasses?” you asked.
Satoru blinked, as if he had to think about it. “Oh. Right.” He shrugged, plopping down next to you. “They’re kind of a hazard in football, so I switched to contacts. Figured I’d just stick with them.”
You sat up, frowning. “But you hate contacts.”
He grinned, stretching lazily. “Not anymore.”
And just like that, something in your chest twisted.
It wasn’t just the glasses.
It was the way he stopped rambling about Digimon, the way he never asked if you wanted to rewatch old anime together anymore. It was the way his schedule started filling up with team hangouts and parties you weren’t invited to. It was the way people started looking at you differently when you were with him.
Because Satoru Gojo wasn’t just Satoru Gojo anymore.
He was Gojo.
Senior year was when it really started to hurt.
He still sat with you at lunch, still texted you silly memes at night, still acted like nothing had changed. But everything had.
He would often cancel on your invitations, his responses still typed in that absurd, unmistakable way of his—yet his excuses always seemed to follow a familiar pattern. It was always something urgent, something unavoidable: he had to rush off to practice, or there was a party he couldn’t miss, or someone needed his help and he simply couldn’t bring himself to say no. Each time, it felt like a rehearsed script, as though his priorities were perpetually elsewhere, leaving you to wonder if you’d ever truly make the cut.
Every time he plopped down next to you, people stared. Whispered.
“Why’s he sitting with her?”
“Shouldn't he sit with the rest of the team?”
“Is she, like, his childhood obligation or something?”
You weren’t an idiot. You heard it. You felt it.
And it made you snap.
“You don’t have to sit here, you know,” you muttered one day, keeping your eyes on your tray.
Satoru frowned. “What?”
“I said, you don’t have to sit here,” you repeated, sharper this time. “If you’d rather be with your actual friends—”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
You clenched your jaw, hating how defensive he sounded. “Nothing. Forget it.”
He didn’t forget it.
You fought about it. About how he didn’t get it, about how easy everything was for him, about how he could walk into any room and belong while you felt like you had to justify existing.
“You act like I abandoned you,” he snapped, voice low and frustrated. “But I’m right here. I’ve always been here.”
And you hated that he was somewhat right.
So you patched things up. Not because you fully understood each other, but because you both wanted to. And by the time graduation rolled around, you could almost pretend things had gone back to the way they were.
But then came college.
And somehow, Satoru Gojo managed to be even more himself than ever.
Bigger. Louder. More impossible to ignore.
If high school had turned him into a star, then college made him a supernova.
He was everywhere—at parties, in clubs, on the field. Everyone knew him. Everyone wanted to be around him.
And somehow, despite it all, he still tried to keep you close.
“Come with me tonight,” he’d say, sending you an invite to some massive party. “It’ll be fun.”
You always said no.
At first, he laughed it off. But after a while, he started looking at you differently—like he noticed the way you avoided him now, the way you barely answered his texts, the way you pulled away whenever he tried to meet your eyes.
And one night, when he showed up outside your dorm after another party, half-drunk and grinning, you saw the exact moment that grin faltered.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Why would I be mad at you?” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt, as if you could brush the question aside with a casual shrug.
Satoru studied you intently, his glasses nowhere to be found, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it one too many times. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “Because you’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe, or hurt.
You forced a laugh, the sound brittle and unconvincing. “I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Not you.”
The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your throat tightened. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s just—” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to piece together the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for weeks. “You don’t need me anymore, Satoru. You have them. All your cool—I don’t know, jock and cheerleader friends, everyone else who likes you. You don’t have time for me now.”
He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His hands gestured vaguely, as though trying to grasp the words you’d just thrown at him. “You think I’d just—replace you? Like it’s that easy? No, like seriously fucking explain to me what the absolute hell you mean?” He mutters out angrily, words slightly slurred.
The air between you felt heavy, charged with emotions neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving only silence hanging in the space between you.
You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I’m tired, Satoru. Tired of feeling like a ghost when I’m with you. Tired of pretending I’m okay with being the weird friend you keep around out of habit.”
Satoru opened his mouth, then closed it.
And for the first time in your life, you saw it—hurt. Real, genuine hurt in his stupidly bright eyes.
“You think that’s what this is?” he said, voice quieter now. “Habit?”
You didn’t answer.
Because if you did, you might have to admit that you missed him. That you missed the late-night anime marathons, the dumb inside jokes, the way he used to act like you were the only person in the world that mattered.
But you weren’t sure if that version of him still existed.
And you definitely weren’t sure if you had the courage to find out.
Satoru stared at you for a long time, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t decipher the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something—but wasn’t sure if he should.
Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“I don’t get it,” he admitted, voice lower now, quieter, like he was afraid too many words would push you further away. “You’re acting like I left you behind, but I’m right here.”
You bit your lip. “You don’t see it.”
“Then make me see it,” he shot back, suddenly frustrated. “Because all I know is that one day we were fine, and the next, you started treating me like a stranger.”
That stung.
Because wasn’t that what he did first?
He wasn’t the one being looked at differently in high school when he sat next to you at lunch. He wasn’t the one feeling like a burden when you tagged along with him to something you thought was just going to be the two of you. He wasn’t the one realizing, little by little, that your best friend was outgrowing you.
But how could you even say that? How could you explain it in a way he’d understand?
“It’s not just one thing, Satoru,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… everything.”
Satoru exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s real specific.”
You rolled your eyes, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me.”
You hesitated. He looked serious, standing there under the dim glow of the dorm hallway lights, arms crossed, gaze steady. But what would it change? Telling him wouldn’t undo the years of growing distance, wouldn’t erase the fact that you felt like you didn’t fit in his world anymore.
Maybe it was better to let it go.
So you shook your head, stepping back toward your door. “It’s late. You should go.”
Satoru let out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said, jaw tightening. “Run away, then. You’re good at that.”
That hurt more than it should have.
But you didn’t argue. You just stepped inside, closed the door, and pretended the ache in your chest wasn’t real.
It got worse after that.
You thought maybe that argument would clear the air—that he’d finally see why you had been keeping your distance. But if anything, it only made things weirder.
Satoru still texted you, but not as much. He still invited you to things, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he asked, like he was bracing for rejection. And when you turned him down (because of course you did), his replies became shorter, more clipped.
Then, one night, he stopped asking altogether.
You didn’t realize how much you had come to expect it—his name popping up on your phone, his easy confidence that somehow, eventually, you’d say yes. But when Friday night came and went without a text, something inside you twisted.
Maybe this was what you wanted. Maybe it was easier this way.
So why did it feel so awful?
A week later, you ran into him by accident.
Literally.
You were coming out of the campus library, arms full of books, when someone rounded the corner too fast and nearly tackled you.
“Oh, shit—sorry—”
You looked up, heart dropping to your stomach.
Satoru.
Your hands clenched around the books, pulse stuttering. It had only been a week, but he already looked different—like he’d fully settled into his role as that guy. Loose hoodie, messy hair, the faint scent of cologne and something vaguely alcoholic clinging to him.
You swallowed hard. “Hey.”
His expression flickered—just for a second. “Hey.”
It was awkward. Awkward. When had things ever been awkward between you?
You shifted your grip on your books. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah, no, my bad,” he cut in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Silence stretched between you. Too long, too tense.
Then, suddenly, his eyes dropped to the stack in your arms. “Of course you’re carrying, like, ten books at once.”
It was such a Satoru thing to say that, for a second, you almost smiled.
Then his gaze flicked up to yours, something softer in his expression, and your breath hitched.
And then—
A voice called his name from across the quad. Some guy you didn’t know, waving him over. Satoru hesitated. Then, with a small exhale, he gave you a lopsided grin. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
He didn’t wait for a response before turning away.
And you stood there, watching him go, feeling like something important had just slipped through your fingers.
Days passed. Then a week. Then two.
And for the first time in years, Satoru Gojo wasn’t part of your life anymore.
No more texts. No more unannounced visits. No more standing at your dorm door at 2 AM, grinning like he belonged there.
You had wanted this, hadn’t you? You had wanted the space, the distance, the freedom to not be caught in his orbit.
But now, without him, everything just felt… quiet. You hated it.
You missed him.
—
It was months before you and Satoru spoke again.
At first, you kept waiting for him to text you, to pop up at your door with some stupid excuse, to send you a meme like nothing had happened. But days passed. Then weeks. Then months. And Satoru Gojo—your best friend since childhood—became just another person you saw in passing.
Sometimes, you spotted him across the quad, surrounded by his usual crowd. Sometimes, you caught glimpses of him at the library, laughing too loudly with friends who barely even acknowledged your existence.
And it hurt.
More than you wanted to admit, it hurt.
But you told yourself this was how things were meant to be. That he had moved on, and you needed to do the same. That whatever had existed between you belonged to another lifetime, one where you weren’t the quiet girl who spent her nights buried in books, and he wasn’t the golden boy who belonged to the whole damn world.
You thought you were doing fine. You thought you were getting used to it.
Until the professor announced lab partners.
The moment your name was called, a small, high-pitched voice cut through the classroom.
“Uh… who?”
Laughter rippled through the room. You felt your face go hot, every muscle in your body locking up as the girl—some blonde from Satoru’s usual group—looked around in exaggerated confusion.
It was humiliating.
Because she wasn’t just some random classmate. She was someone who had spent actual time with Satoru. Who had probably been to his dorm, who had probably sat next to him at parties, who had probably heard him talk about people in his life.
And she had no idea who you were.
You didn’t even dare look at Satoru. Didn’t want to see his reaction. Didn’t want to see whether he’d step in, whether he’d say anything—
But he didn’t.
He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t correct her either.
Didn’t turn to acknowledge you. Didn’t make some joke to brush past it. Didn’t do anything at all.
Just stared at the table like he was somewhere else entirely.
And that, somehow, was worse than anything.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral as you scribbled down the details of the assignment. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
—
Working with Satoru again was… weird.
Not just because of everything that had happened between you, but because neither of you seemed to know how to be around each other anymore.
Gone were the days of effortless conversation, of teasing remarks and stolen fries and arguments about Digimon evolutions. Now, everything felt stilted, careful, like you were two strangers trying to relearn the language of each other.
Sometimes, it almost felt normal.
Like when you sat across from each other in the library, bent over research notes, and he’d randomly hum the Sailor Moon theme song under his breath. Or when he muttered something stupid under his breath about the professor’s handwriting, and you nearly choked on your water holding back a laugh.
But then, inevitably, the moment would pass.
Because girls from his usual group would come over, acting like you weren’t even there, their voices too sweet as they draped themselves over the back of his chair.
“Satoru, are you coming to the party on Friday?”
“Satoru, when are you free? We should all hang out.”
And he’d always answer them. Always give some noncommittal shrug or a lazy smirk. But you could tell—even if no one else seemed to notice—that he wasn’t really there. That when he looked at them, he wasn’t listening.
And yet, he never told them to leave. Never told them that you were working. Never acknowledged you at all when they were around. So, after a while, you just stopped expecting him to.
And then, one day, you got sick.
Not just a little sick. Not just a sore throat or a cough you could push through. No, you were the kind of sick that made your whole body ache, that sent shivers down your spine no matter how many blankets you curled under.
But it was a project day. And despite everything, you still had responsibilities. So, begrudgingly, you shot Satoru a text.
Come to my dorm. I can’t go out today.
He didn’t reply right away. But twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You barely managed to drag yourself over, your vision swimming slightly as you opened it.
And there he was.
Looking the same as always—messy white hair, sharp blue eyes, hoodie slung over his frame like he’d just rolled out of bed.
The only difference? The way his expression immediately dropped the second he saw you.
“Shit,” he muttered. “You look awful.”
You groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks for the confidence boost.” He kicked off his shoes, setting his bag down before eyeing you carefully. “Have you been drinking water? Eating enough? D’you eat somethin’ you weren’t meant to eat?”
You rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to know, I just woke up sick as hell.”
Instead of a snarky remark, Satoru just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, before you could protest, he was guiding you toward the bed, nudging you to sit.
“You’re not working like this,” he said firmly. “Lie down.”
“I’m fine—”
“Lie down.”
You hesitated.
This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the version of Satoru you had gotten used to in the past year. The one who was always a little distant, a little out of reach. This was… him.
The Satoru you had known since childhood. The one who always knew when you were exhausted, even when you swore you weren’t. The one who used to push his fries onto your plate when you were too stressed to eat.
The one who, for the first time in months, was looking at you like you were still his best friend. So, slowly, you lay back down.
Satoru exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get you some tea or something. You have any?” You nodded weakly. He moved toward your desk, rummaging through your stash of instant tea packets like he had done it a million times before.
And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was familiar.
Safe.
And even though you felt like death warmed over, for the first time in months, you didn’t feel so alone.
—
From that day on, something shifted.
It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—a quiet, almost imperceptible change in the way things were between you and Satoru. The library, once the default meeting spot for your project sessions, was suddenly off the table. He stopped suggesting it altogether, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. But then, one afternoon, he showed up at your dorm unannounced, arms loaded with snacks and a careless shrug when you stared at him, bewildered.
“Library’s too loud,” he said, brushing past you and stepping inside like he owned the place. “Figured we’d get more done here.”
You didn’t question it. Not then, and not a week later when you found yourself in his dorm instead, sitting cross-legged on his bed while he scrolled through research notes on his laptop.
“Library’s too crowded,” he explained that time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
After that, it just became… routine. Your project meetings moved from the library to your dorms, back and forth, as if by some unspoken agreement. The shift was gradual, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You still weren’t quite friends again—not the way you used to be, back when everything was easy and uncomplicated. There was still a careful distance between you, an unspoken awareness of all the time that had been lost, all the moments that had slipped through your fingers. But things weren’t cold anymore. They weren’t distant.
Satoru filled the quiet moments with mindless chatter, the way he always had. He teased you about your typos, stole your pens when you weren’t looking, and groaned dramatically whenever you made him do too much reading. Slowly, bit by bit, the pieces of your friendship started falling back into place. Not completely. Not yet. But enough that sometimes, when the two of you were laughing over something stupid, it almost felt like the past year had never happened.
Then, one day, everything cracked open.
It was late—much later than usual—and the two of you were sitting in his dorm, textbooks and notebooks sprawled across his desk. You were both exhausted, the kind of tired that made your eyes burn and your thoughts sluggish. Satoru was absentmindedly flipping through one of your old notebooks when he suddenly snorted.
“Oh my God.”
You blinked up at him, too tired to muster more than a mumbled, “What?”
He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at a messy doodle in the margin. It was a Digimon—a rough, scribbled outline that barely resembled anything recognizable. But something about it made him grin, leaning back in his chair like he’d just uncovered a hidden treasure.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Feels like a whole different lifetime ago.”
And then, in a voice so casual, so familiar, he added—
“Remember when we made a whole ass PowerPoint ranking every Digimon evolution?”
That was it.
That was what broke you.
It was so stupid—just a random memory, an offhand remark. But the second he said it, something in your chest twisted violently. You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard, telling yourself not to be dramatic. But then your vision blurred, and suddenly, you were crying.
“Oh—oh shit.”
Satoru’s chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
You barely managed to shake your head, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady yourself. But the tears kept coming, and then—through the hiccups, through the pathetic, trembling gasps—you broke.
You clenched your jaw, trying to hold it together, but the tears spilled over anyway. Your chest heaved as you choked out the words, “I miss you. I—God, Satoru, I miss you.”
His face went slack, his usual confidence faltering as he stared at you, stunned. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, like he was trying to process what you’d just said. Then his voice came out quiet, almost fragile. “What are you talking about? I’m right here.”
You shook your head, your hands gripping your knees so tightly your knuckles turned white. “No, you’re not. Not really. You’ve been… gone. For so long. And I—” Your voice broke, and you hated how weak you sounded, how raw and exposed you felt. “I don’t want to be without you anymore. I don’t—I don’t want you to hate me.”
Satoru’s breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw his composure crack. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to fight it, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, his voice trembling as he muttered, “You’re so fucking stupid. How could I ever hate you?”
You let out a shaky laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I don’t know. You just—you stopped talking to me. You stopped needing me. And I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”
He shook his head, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “I care. I care so much it’s stupid. I just—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to come back after everything. It felt like you were pushing me away.”
“You could’ve just— I don’t even know what to say,” you hiccuped, your voice barely audible. “You could’ve just… stayed. I don’t know— like yell at me, tell me that you care for me or something. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn about not speaking to you either, but god, maybe I just wanted you to like— tell me how much you needed me. Because it never felt like you did anymore.”
Satoru’s face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’d already ruined everything.”
You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just… I needed you. And you weren’t there. And really, it was my fault too, for not communicating—”
He cuts you off, his own tears falling freely now, though he didn’t seem to care. “I know. But I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to fix it. I— I should’ve been there for you more often because God, life without you is just so horrible, and I’ve been so horrible— ”
“You’re fixing it now,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me again. Please.”
He let out a choked laugh, his hands finally reaching for you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “I won’t,” he murmured into your hair. “I won’t. I promise.”
You buried your face in his shirt, your hands clutching the fabric as you cried. His body shook against yours, and you realized he was crying too—quietly, almost like he was trying to hide it, but you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled as they held you.
“I missed you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every fucking day. I just didn’t know how to say it.”
You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because the weight of everything—the months of silence, the distance, the ache of missing him—was finally crashing down on you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t a bad kind of crash. It was relief. It was the feeling of something broken finally starting to heal.
Satoru’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm despite the tears. “Not again. Not ever.”
You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”
It took a long time for the tears to stop, for the sobs to quiet into shaky breaths. But even when they did, neither of you moved. Satoru kept holding you, his arms tight around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. You felt like you were home.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy, but he was smiling—a small, tentative smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “You’re stuck with me now, like y’know, the annoying kid who’d follow you around as kids,” he said, his voice soft. “Just so you know.”
You laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “Good. Because I miss that Satoru, and I’m not letting you go again either.”
He grinned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Deal.”
And just like that, something shifted. The distance between you closed, the cracks in your friendship slowly mending. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was a start. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.
—
After that night, Satoru made it a point to talk to you during class.
It was weird at first—uncomfortable, even. Because now, whenever he sat beside you, people stared. People whispered. But Satoru didn’t care. And after a while, neither did you.
Then, one day, it happened.
You were in the middle of a conversation when one of the girls from his usual group strolled up, her friends lingering just behind her.
“Dude,” she drawled, arms crossed. “We’re waiting for you.”
Satoru didn’t acknowledge her.
She huffed, looking at you for the first time.
“Who even are you?” she said, wrinkling her nose.
Silence.
Then—calmly, lazily—Satoru turned to her.
“Fuck off.”
Her expression twisted. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he said, resting his chin in his hand. “We’re talking.”
You swore you saw steam coming out of her ears.
She spun on her heel, storming off in a flurry of designer fabric, and Satoru just turned back to you like nothing had happened.
You blinked at him, stunned. “That was… aggressive.”
He shrugged. “Don’t like her.”
You snorted. “You used to hang out with her all the time.”
“Yeah, well.” He gave you a pointed look. “I was an idiot.”
And maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, the way he leaned in just a little closer like this—this—was what mattered.
But for the first time in a long time, you felt something settle inside you. Something warm. Something steady. Something that told you, without a doubt—
Satoru Gojo wasn’t leaving you behind again.
—
It happened slowly.
At first, it was just the way things had been before. You and Satoru were best friends again—finally, properly—and you were making up for lost time.
You sat together in lectures. You ate together between classes. You spent hours holed up in each other’s dorms, either working in silence or complaining about whatever god-awful assignment was due next.
And it was good. It was easy.
But then—then—things started to shift.
It was subtle at first.
A hand brushing against yours for just a little too long. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in a too-crowded study session, his breath fanning over your ear as he leaned in, muttering something you could barely focus on.
The way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.
The way yours lingered, too.
—
It was a Friday night, and you were at Satoru’s dorm, lying on his bed while he sat at his desk, spinning lazily in his chair.
“I don’t wanna study,” he whined, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s do something fun.”
You turned a page in your book, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you define as ‘fun’?”
“Dunno,” he mused. “Wanna go for a drive?”
You sighed. “Satoru, it’s almost midnight.”
“And?” He grinned, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “C’mon, live a little.”
You exhaled sharply through your nose. “You just don’t want to do your readings.”
“Obviously.” He snorted. “But also, I feel like getting snacks.”
You hesitated, torn.
Then, finally—
“Fine.”
His eyes lit up. “Knew you’d cave.”
You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
—
It was raining by the time you got to the convenience store.
Not heavily—just a light drizzle, enough to make the streets shimmer under the streetlights.
Satoru grabbed half the store’s supply of junk food while you rolled your eyes, paying for your single bottle of tea. Outside, the air was cool, the pavement slick beneath your feet.
“I’m driving,” you said as he dug through his bag of snacks.
“Nah.” He grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. “I got this.”
You gave him a look. “You almost crashed last time.”
He scoffed. “That was a red light, not a crash.”
“You ran the red light.”
“Meow.”
You cringe, snatching the keys from his pocket. “Oh my god. Absolutely not.”
Satoru laughed but let you.
And for some reason, that made your stomach flip.
—
Back at your dorm, Satoru made himself at home—because of course he did.
He sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other mindlessly tossing a snack in the air and catching it with his mouth.
“You should be paying me rent at this point,” you muttered, shutting the door behind you.
“I would,” he said, grinning, “but I’m broke.”
You huffed, settling onto the bed beside him. “What, your trust fund isn’t enough?”
He smirked. “Nah, gotta save that for important things.”
You rolled your eyes. “Right. Like overpriced sunglasses.”
“Exactly.”
You shook your head, reaching for the remote.
And then—a shift.
Satoru turned his head to look at you, and when you met his gaze, something in his expression softened.
“Hey,” he murmured.
You swallowed. “Hey.”
He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
Your breath hitched.
His fingers lingered at your temple, just for a moment. His touch was warm, featherlight.
You exhaled, heartbeat stuttering.
And then—just as quickly—he pulled back, flopping onto his back with a dramatic groan.
“What should we watch?” he asked, stretching like nothing had happened.
You exhaled.
Your chest felt tight.
“Uh.” You cleared your throat. “Dunno.”
And just like that, the moment passed.
—
But the tension didn’t. If anything, it only got worse.
It was in the way his hand brushed your waist when he reached past you.
The way he sat just a little too close, his knee knocking against yours under the desk.
The way his fingers trailed across your wrist when he grabbed something from you, his touch slow, deliberate.
And—God—it was in the way he looked at you.
Like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.
Like he was waiting for something.
Like he wanted something.
And maybe—just maybe—so did you.
—
By the time second year rolled around, you weren’t sure what you and Satoru were anymore. Still best friends, technically. Still Satoru and you. But there was something else, too.
Something unspoken.
Something fragile and complicated and new. And neither of you dared to acknowledge it.
—
The weather had started to change, the air cooler as autumn crept in. You could feel it in your bones—when the days shortened, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows. It made everything seem a little softer, like the world had gone quiet just to give you and Satoru a chance to breathe, to figure things out.
You were both sitting in the small, somewhat neglected corner of the university park, surrounded by towering trees with golden leaves fluttering to the ground. You were both on the grass, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed whenever you shifted. It was the kind of quiet afternoon you could’ve stayed in forever, and maybe that was why you weren’t quite ready to let it end.
Satoru stretched, his arms reaching high above his head. “Ugh, my back’s killing me. Who knew studying could be so physically demanding?” He rolled his shoulders, groaning dramatically.
You shot him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. “I think that’s just you, Satoru. You’re a professional at making everything harder than it is.”
He shot you a grin, a smug little thing, like he knew you couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Oh, please, I make things look easy. It's a gift.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the great Satoru Gojo.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, catching the teasing tone in your voice. “That’s right. You should be honored to sit next to greatness.” He nudged your shoulder with his, the warmth of his body spilling into yours. The touch was light but undeniable. Familiar.
You chuckled, nudging him back. “I don’t know if I’d call you ‘great’ when you still lose to me in Mario Kart every time.”
Satoru gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just struck a mortal wound. “You—I’m just going easy on you because I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m a gentleman like that.”
You could hear the playful teasing in his voice, but the way he looked at you—his eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish grin—felt like something deeper.
“I don’t need you to go easy on me,” you teased, leaning in just a bit too much, your voice soft. “I’m pretty good on my own, thanks.”
That was when you noticed it—the way his eyes flickered for a second, his lips curving down ever so slightly before he caught himself. His gaze held yours for a second longer than normal, and for the first time in a while, you both just stayed there. Not a word. No jokes or banter. Just the space between you thick with unspoken things.
Satoru was the first to look away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, want me to go grab us something from that little café over there? You could use some food if you’re gonna keep up with me.”
You hesitated. He’s back to that again. The Satoru who was always making sure you were fed, always thinking ahead for both of you, even when he had to act like nothing was different.
But you didn’t want to ruin the moment, not now. Not when everything felt right.
“No, I’m good,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But... thanks.”
Satoru studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “I swear, you’re impossible.” But even as he said it, his hand reached out—just a quick pat of his large hand atop yours. The briefest of contact, and for a moment, the world paused around you.
The warmth of his hand lingered even after it was gone, and you could feel your chest tightening, your pulse picking up. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.
And for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed like that. Silent. Comfortable in the space between you, letting the quiet be enough. But you both knew it wasn’t just the park that made the air heavy—it was everything unsaid that clung to it.
Eventually, the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the grass. You sighed, looking up at Satoru. “We should probably get back soon. It’s getting late.”
He glanced at his phone, then at you, and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” He paused. “Hey, you want to walk with me to my dorm? I’m not ready to head back alone yet.”
It wasn’t even a question, not really. But you could feel his eyes on you, like he was waiting for your answer to matter just as much as the offer itself.
You nodded, and the tension between you both lifted just a little as you both stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. “Sure, let’s go.”
As you and Satoru walked side by side, the night air crisp and cool against your skin, the silence between you felt heavier than before. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It was charged, like something waiting to tip over the edge. Every step you took together seemed to draw you closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body beside you, even in the chill of the evening.
You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his hand brushed against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. The tips of his fingers grazed your knuckles—light, tentative. Like he was testing the waters. Like he was waiting for you to stop him.
But you didn’t.
You swallowed, trying to focus on the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath your feet rather than the way your skin tingled where he touched you. It was such a small thing, barely even a touch, but it sent your heart skittering against your ribs. And when you finally dared to glance up at him, Satoru was already looking at you, his lips curled into something between amusement and something softer, something unreadable.
“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
Satoru tilted his head, his silver-white hair catching in the glow of the streetlights. “Nothing.”
A lie.
Because there was something—so much something—wrapped up in the way his eyes flickered over you, lingering for just a second too long on your lips before he looked ahead again.
The air between you felt tight, humming with something unsaid.
You were nearing his dorm now, the pathway growing quieter, fewer students passing by. It was just the two of you, footsteps slowing, the night pressing in close.
Satoru exhaled a slow breath, and then—without thinking, or maybe because he had been thinking about it too much—he reached out again. This time, his fingers laced through yours, not just a brush, not just an accident. A deliberate touch, a quiet declaration.
Your breath caught, and you felt him squeeze—just slightly, just enough.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he should be asking.
You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. You?”
His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno,” he said, squeezing your fingers again. “You’re kind of distracting.”
Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your neck. “Oh, I’m distracting? That’s rich, coming from you.”
He huffed a laugh, the sound warm, teasing. “No, I mean it.” He stopped walking, tugging you gently by the hand so you turned to face him. “You ever notice how quiet things get when it’s just us?”
You blinked, your throat tightening. “Satoru—”
His free hand lifted, his fingertips barely skimming your jaw. He wasn’t quite touching, just there, like he was still giving you room to pull away. Like he wasn’t sure if he should close the space between you.
And God, you wanted him to.
Your pulse pounded in your ears. It would be so easy. Just one step closer. Just one little push, and—
Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand falling away, his fingers untangling from yours. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind,” he muttered, laughing under his breath like he was scolding himself. “Forget I said anything.”
Your fingers twitched at your sides, the absence of his touch making your skin feel cold.
“No,” you said, firmer than you expected. “I don’t want to.”
His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled. “You don’t?”
You took a breath, steeling yourself. “No.”
Satoru stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a low chuckle, he shook his head. “You really are impossible.”
And then, before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—you stepped forward, pressing your palm against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. His breath hitched, his body going still under your touch.
The silence stretched again, thick and unyielding.
“Say it,” you whispered.
His hands hovered at your sides, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Say what?”
You looked up at him, unflinching. “Whatever it is you’re holding back.”
Satoru exhaled, a sharp, unsteady thing. His hands finally settled on your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer, more certain. His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding himself in the feel of you.
And then, his voice—low, raw, real.
“I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore.”
Your breath caught.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The words hung between you, heavy and dangerous and everything.
Then, Satoru leaned in, his nose just barely brushing yours, his lips hovering so close. His breath was warm, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper.
“I want more.”
And then, finally—finally—you closed the space between you.
The kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was hungry, desperate, like the both of you had been waiting too long to do this, like neither of you wanted to waste another second. His lips crashed against yours, and you gasped against his mouth as he backed you up against the door of his dorm, hands gripping your waist tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, feeling the heat of him seep into you. His body pressed against yours, and the air between you turned thick with something intoxicating, something impossible to stop now that it had started. The small, breathless noises you made against his mouth only seemed to push him further, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare skin, warm and firm and so much.
The door behind you dug into your back, and for a fleeting moment, a thought broke through the haze—what if someone sees us?
As if he could read your mind, Satoru groaned against your lips, impatient, and without breaking the kiss, he reached behind you, fumbling for the handle. The second the door swung open, he practically pulled you inside with him, kicking it shut before his lips were on yours again, urgent, demanding.
You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was guiding you backwards, hands never leaving your body, mouth never straying too far from yours. You stumbled together, his grip firm, his kisses growing deeper, hotter, more insistent as you moved through the dark room.
By the time you reached the bedroom, your pulse was a wild, unsteady thing, your skin burning under his touch.
His mouth was warm and soft against yours, kissing your lips like he was afraid you were gonna disappear. Using his strength to his advantage, he manhandled you into his lap on the bed, while he sat up against the headboard. His tongue prodded into your mouth experimentally, and when you obliged him entry, he swirled it around with yours before licking into the cavern of your mouth, tasting you as if you were one of those sickeningly sweet delicacies he enjoyed.
His hands roamed from your waist to your hips, to your thighs before stopping hesitantly over your ass, to which you dragged them down until he was squeezing and kneading the supple flesh with his hands, mouth slotted against yours.
You pulled back slightly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. But Satoru didn’t let you go far. His hands were firm on your ass, keeping you anchored to him as his lips trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.
His mouth moved lower, pressing hot, lingering kisses along the column of your neck. Each touch of his lips against your skin felt like fire, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your throat. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. One hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.
“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he captured your lips again in a desperate, hungry kiss that left you dizzy. His tongue slid against yours, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around you seemed to fade away.
His hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. One moment they were in your hair, the next sliding down your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, and you tugged at it impatiently, wanting—needing—to feel his skin against yours.
He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time. His hands found the hem of your top, and you lifted your arms without hesitation, letting him pull it off and discard it somewhere on the floor. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.
Satoru’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast under your bra. You arched into him, chasing the friction, desperate for more.
His mouth found yours again, urgent and unrelenting, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that left you breathless. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, like he didn’t care about anything else but this—you.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven. Every kiss, every touch, every press of his hands left you dizzy, lost in the haze of heat and want.
And when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from kissing, you swore you’d never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at you now.
Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.
Both of your chests were heaving, your own shirt flung on the bed somewhere and Satoru’s completely off and forgotten somewhere on the floor. His hands were still settled on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your heated skin. His head lolled back against the couch, a lazy, satisfied grin stretching across his lips.
“Damn,” he exhaled, voice slightly hoarse. “I think I saw the pearly gates for a second there.”
You scoffed, giving his shoulder a weak shove, while reaching for your shirt. “Dramatic.”
He only laughed, the sound bright and breathless. “I mean it, nerd. Who knew you had it in you?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers curling against his shoulders. “Satoru.”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
His grin widened, but he obeyed—for all of two seconds. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he waggled his brows. “You know, we should really make this a regular thing. Like, for health purposes. I feel like I just did an entire cardio session.”
You smacked his arm. “Oh my god.”
He gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his bare chest. “See? That was uncalled for. Here I am, trying to improve my well-being, and you’re—”
“Satoru.” You fixed him with a look, but the corners of your lips twitched. He was impossible.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your fingertips. “Okay, okay, I’ll be good.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if to ground himself—or maybe to keep you exactly where you were. “But… just so we’re clear, this isn’t, like, a one-time thing, right?”
You blinked, his sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. His usual playfulness was still there, but there was something else beneath it—something genuine, something careful.
You swallowed. “What do you mean?”
His gaze flickered over your face, searching. “I mean…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you again. “I was serious, you know. About liking you. More than a friend.”
Your breath hitched. “You were?”
Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. You think I just let anyone straddle me and—”
You smacked his chest. “Can you not ruin the moment?”
He caught your wrist before you could pull away, lacing his fingers through yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “I was serious,” he repeated. “I am serious.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I like you, and I want to do this properly.”
Your heart thudded against your ribs. “Properly?”
He nodded, suddenly looking almost shy. “Like… an actual date. Multiple dates. Boyfriend privileges. All that cute shit.” His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “So, what do you say?”
Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re actually asking me out?”
Satoru huffed a laugh. “Well, yeah. What, you thought I’d just kiss you senseless and leave you hanging?”
You bit your lip, pretending to think. “I dunno. You are kind of a menace.”
His brows shot up. “A menace?”
You giggled, and he groaned, tightening his grip on your waist. “Okay, that’s it, you’re legally required to say yes now.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile stretching across your lips. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll go out with you.”
His face lit up, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, arms wrapping fully around your waist. He shifted, rolling you onto the bed so he was hovering over you, his weight pressed deliciously against yours.
“Guess that makes you my girlfriend now,” he murmured against your lips. “Which means—” His fingers trailed down your side, teasing. “—I get unlimited make-out privileges.”
You huffed a laugh. “You’re so weird.”
“Would you like it if I said sex privileges too?”
“I’m gonna seriously hurt you—“
Satoru only smirked before cutting you off with another kiss.
—
A few months into dating Satoru, you realised three things.
One, he had absolutely no concept of personal space. If he was near you, he was touching you—whether it was throwing an arm over your shoulder, draping himself across your lap, or trapping you against a wall just to say hi like a complete menace.
Two, he was shamelessly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously obsessed with you. If he wasn’t texting you, he was calling. If he wasn’t calling, he was physically finding you. And if he couldn’t find you, he’d send a stupidly dramatic voice memo about how he was “perishing” without you.
And three, he was always teasing. Always testing his limits, pushing your buttons, flashing that damn smug grin whenever you got flustered.
Like right now.
“I think you should stay over.”
You blinked up at him from where you were curled up on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that was way too big for you. “I am staying over.”
Satoru huffed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “No, I mean, like, actually stay over. Move in.”
You snorted. “Satoru.”
“What? I’m serious.” He nudged your knee with his own. “Just think about it. That trust fund has enough money— actually maybe more— for an apartment near college. We basically live together anyway.”
“Not even close.”
He scoffed. “Oh, please. You leave clothes here, you steal my hoodies—”
“They’re practically dresses on me.”
“—and you’re here more than you’re at your own place.”
“That’s a lie.”
Satoru gasped dramatically. “Oh, so I’m imagining you in my bed every night?”
Your face warmed, but you shot him a glare. “You’re exaggerating.”
He only grinned, scooting closer until your noses nearly brushed. “You love sleeping here,” he drawled. “You love my bed, you love my cuddles, you love this d—”
You smacked a hand over his mouth, but it barely muffled his muffled laughter.
“I swear to God, Satoru—”
Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him in one smooth motion. His weight was just enough to make your breath hitch, his silver lashes casting shadows over sharp blue eyes.
“You love me,” he finished, his voice dipping lower, teasing, smug.
Your stomach flipped.
“…Debatable,” you muttered.
Satoru barked out a laugh. “Debatable?” He leaned down, nuzzling into your neck as his hands slid under his hoodie, warm palms settling against your waist. “You’re literally in my bed wearing my clothes right now.”
Your breath stuttered as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your ear.
“Admit it,” he murmured. “You’re obsessed with me.”
You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping his bare shoulders. “Satoru—”
“I mean, I don’t blame you.” He grinned against your skin, pressing another kiss, this one lower. “I am insanely hot.”
You groaned. “You ruin everything.”
Satoru laughed, bright and breathless, before rolling over, pulling you fully on top of him with ease. His hands never left your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin in slow, lazy patterns.
Then he suddenly reached behind him, grabbed something off the nightstand, and slid his glasses onto his face.
You blinked. “I thought you preferred contacts now?”
Satoru hummed, adjusting them slightly as he gazed up at you. “Yeah, but I dunno…” His lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “You always liked me better in these, didn’t you?”
Your breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t wrong—there was something about the way his glasses framed his face, how they softened him just a little, made him look more like the Satoru you’d known before he became everyone else’s.
“…You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered.
His grin widened. “And yet, you’re still staring.”
You scoffed, reaching up to pluck them off his face, but he caught your wrist, tugging you down until your noses brushed.
“Admit it,” he murmured. “You like me better like this.”
Your heart pounded against your ribs.
“I like you anyway,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.
Something flickered in his eyes—something soft, something warm—before his grin turned teasing again. “Good,” he said, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. “Because I was gonna keep you here all night either way.”
You barely managed to mutter, “You’re so weird,” before he cut you off with another kiss.
i don't like this work at ALL lol but tbh i wrote this because i want to be wanted UGH hdhjsdh
The memory comes clear as the crystalline waters at the harbor. That day when rain poured mercilessly upon the land— the boy in a mask whose body trembled under an invisible burden. You remember the dark splotches on his body being washed away by downpour.
Blood.
Polearm supporting his body as it heaved, his face slowly turned to face you as an ominous dark mist accumulated around him. And when you blinked, it was as if he was never there; replaced by rain.
Whether it was the haze of sleepless nights getting to you or reality, you still had yet to know. Curiosity was fresh in your mind. His presence… though brief, held immense power and a tainted aura; enough to instill fear in the hearts of any who witnessed them. But you stood there, unwavering and eyes alight with awe and curiosity despite the rain that hailed mercilessly around you.
Weeks continued, and the image of the boy remained somewhere in your subconscious. Days came and went as your mind remained hazed, clouded with the fleeting memory.
The dark clouds overhead brought in strong winds; a sign of a storm rolling in. The laundry hanging outside would surely be swept away at this rate. Quick on your feet, you hurriedly pulled them off the clotheslines. Yet despite your efforts, a couple handkerchiefs you had embroidered were blown away by a harsh gust of wind.
“Ah…!” Despite your attempt, the wind plucked them out of reach. All you could do was helplessly watch as they were carried by devious winds further down the mountain.
Those were for… Ah, I guess I’ll have to redo those, you pondered anxiously. If they were all to be delivered in 3 days, you would have to stay up fairly late just to finish replacing them.
The candle light cracked and flickered as night crept over Liyue. No use stalling. With a sullen crack of your neck, you shut the windows and got to work. The relentless rain was your sole company as you worked through embroidering the replacements well into the night. Despite the nimbleness of experienced hands, numbness settled in after hours of working tirelessly to replace the delicately embroidered handkerchiefs. And with patterns and threads so intricate, they weren’t something you could rush.
The moon came and went that night, having accompanied you behind the storming clouds as it rained and ceased. Yet, late the next day when you returned from running errands, there upon your open windowsill were two neatly folded handkerchiefs safely held in place by a beautiful stone. You examined them— with no doubt, the ones that were swept away.
And as a breeze picked up once more, you didn’t dare look back but hoped the wind would carry your words to the deserving.
“Thank you.”
:
.
.
That was the first time in over a millennia that Xiao was thanked by a mortal for one of his many silent deeds.
———
Soft colors of fading blue and powdery orange iced the sky with the setting sun. You reminisced past memories fondly as you picked a few herbs from your personal garden. The day was slowly dwindling to a lethargic end, but the land ceased to fall into rest to savor most of what the day had to offer.
“Do you remember that, Adeptus Xiao?” you asked with a fond smile. It was met with silence for a moment before a voice spoke up from the roof of your house.
“So, you knew I was here. Mortals truly are something I cannot understand,” he clicked his tongue, shifting to get comfortable where he rested comfortably on your roof. “Or perhaps, it’s that our ties are too strong. Curious…” He pondered to himself, brows slightly furrowed as he contemplated.
With a stretch of your back you stood up, basket in hand. “I know my grandmother’s home is rather quiet here in Qingce Village, so I’ve noticed the roof has become a favorite spot of yours,” you observed with a small shrug he couldn’t see. “Call it a hunch.”
Though he wouldn’t admit it, Xiao knew your guess was right. With your home tucked furthest away at the top of the village, there were seldom any onlookers in the tranquil area. A perfect, stress-free corner for him to visit.
With a huff and trained grace, he hopped off the roof on playful winds and followed you indoors. There was still a cautious air about him but never the same as when you first met him all those months ago.
It seemed like you understood him more than he understood you sometimes, and it puzzled him to no end. Mortals were usually more predictable; working in routine and habits as he had seen of the many centuries that passed. Or… at least he thought. It was no secret that he found mortals to be indecipherable.
In the small kitchen, he was presented with an enticing dish that you laid out; his favorite, no doubt. “Here. I’m heading out to the harbor to run some last minute errands, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like,” you reassured him with a smile. “Thank you for keeping me company today.”
At your genuine, radiant smile, Xiao couldn’t help but avert his gaze shyly. Truthfully, it always caught him off guard to be thanked for such trivial things that were somehow meaningful to you.
Before you reached the front door, Xiao called out after you. “If you are out late, summon me— call my name. I will guide you safely home.” With firm reassurance, he held your gaze under piercing amber. “Promise me this. Do not be reckless.”
There was no fighting the grin that lit up your face. “You worry for me, Adeptus?” you teasingly prodded, and placed a quick peck on his cheek. “How unexpectedly cute of you.”
At the gesture, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his composure returned. Pensively, he folded his arms across his chest, and you swore he could practically be pouting.
“The safety of Liyue is my duty as an adeptus. As a tool to be used, and nothing more.”
There was a brief sorrow reflected in your eyes, and before Xiao had a chance to address it, you were hurriedly giving your final goodbyes with your usual warm energy.
“I promise I’ll be safe.”
Left to himself, he accepted your gifted offering of almond tofu. I love the way your eyes practically sparkle when you take that first bite, you once teased.
The memory picked up the thrumming in his chest— uncertainty accompanied by rose-dusted cheeks.
With each delicate bite, his mind upheld more questions. The feelings that burst subtly in his chest— what were they? He searched his heart for answers to describe it. Peace of mind? Loneliness?
As many times as his mind decided to go through the same painful cycle of thoughts, ultimately he was left with more questions than when he started. There were no answers within him.
Such as the moon replaces the sun and the days dwindle into night, he too would let it be for now.
And as the sun slowly retreated more and more behind mountains and thin clouds, Xiao couldn’t help but wonder why he continued to keep near you. A tie foraged with a mortal that strangely did not instill the overwhelming need to leave.
Even the room he was in caused no discomfort or suffocation. The cycle started once again as he wondered, why? He often resided at Wangshu Inn, but never in a room. The rooftop high above any wandering souls was his claimed accommodation. The balcony just below that was seldom used by guests was the only other space he occupied there— eyes able to survey the land from a higher vantage point.
However, here in this small shelter you called home there was none of that, yet he stayed. Curiously, his eyes wandered the room to take in the oddities and trinkets that were used as decorum. The bookshelf across the room posed with great importance, and as he approached it he took in the vast collection of books and small items that decorated some empty sections.
Gloved fingers grazed over the elegant, gold-foil titles of some of the books. Some he has partially read before, or listened to you read aloud while he rested on your lap under the large tree outside.
He found himself plucking one out tentatively, flipping through some pages of a thick storybook with worn corners. Another book from the shelf— a thin book of floral poems and sonnets. His mind idly worked to put together what these books could possibly say about you.
After neatly putting another book away, a small glint caught his eyes. Toward the end of one of the shelf rows was a pile of three books with a precious stone sitting atop them.
Ah, the cor lapis stone he had used when he silently returned the two missing handkerchiefs to you many moons ago. An unknown feeling settled in his chest, warm & persistent. It flourished— euphoric, almost, and not too unpleasant. He wondered if it was somehow related to similar chest pains he’d dealt with. Could he really call it ‘pain’ if it wasn’t truly hurting him? The feeling was foreign and he was utterly clueless.
He moved the stone to check the book underneath, flipping through the pages curiously. Amber eyes indifferently skimmed through a page his finger landed on, curious to what contents the vague title held.
A romantic novel from the looks of it.
The words were needlessly descriptive, the dialogue a little confusing to understand. Such flowery language was a bit bold and the more he read, the more the imagery they tried to paint became vivid in his mind and—
Xiao quickly shut the book, his face warm as he neatly returned the book to its rightful place. Well, it was an interesting book to have in your possession, to say the least. He didn’t have much experience with what it described, but the erotic imagery the dialogue described still left his face a little flushed and brows furrowed as he huffed in indignance at his flustered state.
Mortals do such things? Well, he knew they did, but he was never one to look into it more since he had no reason to.
He had no experience in such intimate matters, nor did he pay much interest in them with his hands usually full on a daily basis. Yet, somehow the thought of you now caused a swirl of emotions inexperienced by him before. Or rather, if he did, he no longer remembered. New questions piled up in his mind.
He shook his head, practically wincing at the odd sensations that kicked him low in the gut as the heat rising high on his cheeks subsided.
“How bothersome,” Xiao muttered to himself with a sigh.
On that same train of thought, he glanced out the window. The sun was merely a whisper that remained as it tucked itself farther behind mountains and dipped below the horizon.
Gloved hands momentarily clenched by his sides, flexing to ease the small seed of doubt. Mortals were unpredictable and reckless, that much he was aware of. With a sigh he watched as the sky over Liyue settled into the tranquility of night.
Though night had fallen, there was still no sign of you returning.
And so, Xiao set off on his usual routine. Out he ventured to vanquish the scattered hotspots of evil activity that surfaced. Be it from subdued gods or his own karma, Xiao relentlessly made quick work of any and all evil.
It was his eternal duty, as bound by contract from the Geo Archon himself—this he knew. If anyone should have witnessed his swiftness as he worked solemnly, they would’ve noticed how he worked just a little harder to clear out any evil nearing your usual route home.
The moon rose high in the sky, a dusty blue as it cast soft light over Xiao’s masked form. His polearm jabbed into the ground and dissipated along with the yaksha mask he donned for battle. The roads that led back to Qingce Village were all cleared, yet still no sign of you.
Approaching the marsh under blue moonlight, his gloved hands created ripples in the calm surface. The reflection of his concerned eyes stared right back at him through the tumultuous ripples that distorted his reflection over playful waters.
Under the watchful eye of the moon, Xiao diligently washed away the impurities that remained on him from battle. Clear waters surrounding him became murky before clearing once again as the blood and grime was carried further down with the current. Xiao closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask under the moonlight, taking in the rare moment of tranquility.
And then it rang out, soft and clear like a wind chime dancing with the gentle breeze.
Adeptus Xiao.
Shrouded by darkness, he answered your summons. As the thin veil of dark entity surrounding him dispersed, he found himself next to a bridge. The waterfall behind him brought a refreshing breeze, and just beyond him he could see Bubu Pharmacy below as well as the harbor.
“You called,” Xiao inquired. “It’s fairly late.”
He wasn’t here to admonish you, though it sounded very much like it. With a playful grin, you smiled up at him from where you sat on the grass next to the bridge.
The way you carried yourself without a care in the world— it was almost endearing how you looked up at him with such fondness.
“Can I ask why you’re here of all places?”
Your nimble fingers continued their work on the flowers you had in your lap, and you almost looked away bashfully. “I wanted to gaze at the stars for a bit,” you admitted sheepishly. “I finished my errands earlier, but then I ran into Mister Zhongli from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and, well… The conversation went on for a while and we ended up here.”
Silently, Xiao took a seat next to you, eyeing the handful of glaze lilies that softly glowed on your lap.
“What did you talk about?” he inquired to fill the silence. He delicately twirled one of the glaze lilies between his gloved fingers.
“Oh… this and that,” you shrugged.
Xiao hummed in response, not wanting to pry into the conversation, until he felt the softness of petals brushing his forehead.
“Mister Zhongli… he showed me how to make this.” There was hesitation in your downcast eyes, and you peered up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you like it?”
“A crown of… glaze lilies,” Xiao noted slowly. Their soft fragrance was delicate and sweet, like the gentle presence of the moon. It reminded him of you. “I’m unfamiliar with mortal customs of exchanges. Is it an adeptal offering?”
You blinked, taken by surprise at the question before sputtering out in a fit of giggles.
“Oh– No, no! This is what we call a gift.”
Xiao furrowed his brows, taking in this vague description. “Hm… I see. What meaning does this gift have?”
You perched your chin on your finger, contemplating. The only ‘gifts’ adepti were familiar with were the offerings that few who went before them brought. Usually, an offering entailed the bargaining of a mortal’s wants and desires to come true. Selfish, wishes he was all too familiar with hearing often.
“Gifts are given to people you consider special,” you started. “To those people who are important to you, usually you put extra effort into the gift. Handmade gifts as well… embody special significance since they hold all the feelings poured into them to be given to your special person.”
The chirps of crickets and running water soothed over the momentary silence as he took in your explanation. Mortal customs were more emotionally driven than he once thought.
“I see. Then,” Xiao delicately tucked the glaze lily he held into your hair. “This is my small offering.”
The rose that dusted your cheeks as your grin lit up your features, it bloomed his chest with that foreign warmth. The weight of reciprocating the gesture without a second thought— he had just openly admitted to considering you a special person. It felt… right.
In the lateness of the cool night, you both sat side by side looking out at the display of glittering stars. He felt as your pulse would briefly quicken under his gloved hand whenever you stole a quick glance at him, and he would offer a gentle squeeze of reassurance in response. Curious, this human next to him— and yet he found himself enraptured by your simple presence.
Across the endless sky, you halted what you were idly chatting about as a speckle of light shot across the sky.
“A falling star… There’s rumors that making a wish on them will help it come true.” Xiao hummed in response, eyes closed in peaceful tranquility. “Hm…”
You pulled your knees closer to you as you contemplated your wish. Xiao watched you with one eye open, observing the way your features subtly scrunched up as you profoundly debated within you what your wish would be.
“So.”
“So?”
“What did you wish for?” Xiao asked quietly.
Mortal desires were usually the same. Wealth, power, lavish items— these wishes Xiao had heard of many times before. Yet—
“I wished…,” you scratched your cheek sheepishly. “I wished for a restful sleep.”
Your cheeks were quick to flush a deep crimson as you heard what sounded like a chuckle next to you. It dawned on you that you had never heard Xiao laugh until now. It was melodic, innocent.
“D-Don’t laugh!” you halfheartedly admonished with a playful huff. “Well, then— What’s your wish, Xiao?”
He pondered for a moment, closed his eyes and spoke soft as the flitting breeze.
“I wish to get to know you better.”
Perhaps he didn’t have all the right words at that moment, but he was bound to discover them sooner or later. Somehow, he was sure you would be the light that guided him the right way to go about these foreign feelings— feelings he was sure weren’t malignant, so he allowed them to persist.
These unsorted feelings for you... they weren’t getting in the way of anything. They were harmless, until proven otherwise.
Summary: If we compare people to magnets, opposites attract and sames repel, so why are two stoic faces paired as soulmates?
Word Count: 15.4k (why are you surprised at this point, get some snacks)
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem! Reader, Smut(r18+), NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Soulmate AU, Mutual Pinning, Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow fic, Perfectionist! Reader, angst, arranged pairing, TW: Toxic family, unhappy childhood trauma, child of strained marriage trauma, TW: Themes of self-loathing, themes of infidelity(misunderstanding), toxic work environment, slight workplace harassment, pushy boss, slightly yandere! Alhaitham?, Soft! Alhaitham, second chance romance?, slightly bratty! reader, Dom! Alhaitham, Degradation, Heavy adult themes, attempts at comedy
Author Note: This is experimental, I want to explore if two same sides of a magnet can still attract. I want to explore the fumbles and mistakes of love.
Side Note: Here is a continuation
Do you believe in soulmates?
It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you do. Because who doesn’t want to believe in it? The concept of an ‘other half’, a missing piece that completes you. Someone who loves you and only you unconditionally.
Who doesn’t want to experience that?
To be loved, to be accepted, and to feel whole are all natural human desires. So it’s no surprise society, regardless of the century, culture, or demographic all obsessed over finding that other half.
To find a hand that fits perfectly within the gaps of one’s own.
The greatest minds in all of Tevyat came together, analyzing each pattern, quantifying each data point, and testing each hypothesis until their magnum opus was created: The Akasha System.
Taking the work out of fate’s hands and into a large database.
What criteria did this wonderful system use to piece together two halves of a whole? Who knows, it’s a black box. However, the machine was quite smart, quite quick, and quite accurate.
So much so, there was no reason not to use it.
Humans, no matter how much some might deny it, despise being lonely. They fear it so much they’d rather hold a hand which strangles theirs with an equally crushing grip.
That’s why people rush toward their soulmates the moment the Akasha finds them, they fear being alone.
But do you believe in soulmates?
“No.” Alhaitham puts down his drink.
“But you still used the Akasha??” Kaveh juts a finger in the direction of an ashen-haired man.
“And?” Disinterested eyes glance at the time displayed on a clock in the rowdy bar.
“And?! What do you mean and? You just said you don’t believe in soulmates!” The slam of Kaveh’s palms on the table made a bit of beer lap over the edge of his cup.
“I don’t believe in soulmates, but I’m not ignorant to the benefits of marriage.”
“Huh?”
“It’s convenient.” The blunt statement rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he motions for the tab.
“Ugh, you know what, forget it.” Kaveh chases his heavy sigh with a hearty swig of his cup.
“Well then, I’ll call it a night.” He’s stayed out long enough.
Placing a handful of mora on the table to cover his tab, Alhaitham bids goodnight to his two workplace acquaintances and former college roommate.
He swiftly strides towards the creaky tavern door, swinging it open as he steps into the warm Summer evening. Tomorrow is another workday, better to get an adequate amount of rest.
“Still the same even after a full year with her, huh,” Kaveh sighs dryly.
“Did you really think he’d change after marriage, Kaveh?” Cyno finally chipped in from the sidelines.
“I should’ve known, someone as egotistical as Alhaitham practically married himself.”
“Now, now, his wife is nowhere as egotistical as him,” Tighnari says over the rim of his glass.
Cyno and Kaveh paused for a moment, sharing a glance as they considered Tighnari’s observation. With a shrug, they concluded: you weren’t nearly as egotistical as Alhaitham.
Still, the great mystery remains.
“How is he the first to marry?” The blond bachelor slumps further on the tavern stool.
“Life is full of wonders.” The ebony-haired bachelor gave a few comforting pats.
———————————————————————————
Unlocking the solid oak front door, Alhaitham steps into the serenity of a quiet house. Good, his ears were slightly buzzing from the boisterous conversation in a crowded bar.
Taking a few more steps into the entranceway, the man shuts the door behind his body.
The dull gossip over a few rounds of drinks made their influence known to him, he just wants to go to bed. Thus he takes a few more steps toward his bedroom.
“Place your shoes into the closet, I just mopped the floors.” A level voice called out from the living room.
Alhaitham’s movement halts, quickly glancing down at the Oxford shoes still on his feet, taking note of the spotless floorboards.
Wordlessly, Alhaitham unties the laces allowing him to kick them off with ease, placing them onto the shoe rack just behind a closet door.
It’s a habit that slips his mind every now and then despite a year of marriage; Surprisingly unsurprising when you take into consideration his busy mind.
However, times were different now, he’s no longer a kid, free to be lost in thought. He’s now a homeowner of a spacious house, a space he shares with you, and you liked things clean.
Not a speck of dust lingered on surfaces, no plates left in the sink, and books pristinely placed on organized shelves. Qualifications that he deemed exceptional for a life partner.
Now with slipper-clad steps, Alhaitham makes his way through the house, peering into the living room to spot your curled figure reading on a sofa. The warm glow of a floor lamp illuminated the soft curves of your cheek.
“Is something the matter?” You didn’t look up from the page as you addressed him.
“No, just heading to bed.”
“Okay, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The start and finish of tonight’s conversation, after all, you valued a quiet house as much as he did. His colleague’s words weren’t without merit, even Alhaitham isn’t stubborn enough to deny the obvious.
Hobbies identical to each other, books upon books lined up along numerous shelves, preferring to stay within the walls of this house unless dragged out by friends.
Your indecipherable gaze and stiff lips rival his own stone face. Perhaps that’s why the Akasha paired the two of you together. Two beings with stoic faces only another stoic would bear for a life partner, like two sides of the same coin.
Alhaitham stops unbuttoning his shirt behind his shut bedroom door, reanalyzing the previous statement. Actually, that isn’t a very good analogy.
It'd be more accurate to compare you and him to a double-sided mirror that reflected only one view.
“I don’t believe in soulmates.”
The man sitting across from the cafe table, introduced as Alhaitham, bluntly states, interrupting your sip of coffee, warm beverage just barely touching your lips.
Placing your cup back down on the coffee shop table, your gaze observed the stranger who just met you moments ago - a meeting in a small cafe arranged by Sumeru’s Ministry of Human Relations, the government body tasked with delivering the Akasha’s verdict.
After a few breaths, you decided to humor his abrupt statement with a response. Staring straight into his teal-orange eyes, you say, “What a coincidence, neither do I.”
————————
So then why did two nonbelievers follow the verdict handed to them? It’s simple really.
Two salaries combined can buy a sizable house. Two pairs of hands get chores done faster. Two signatures on a certificate save tax money. Life is simpler with a partner to bear some of the burden.
Young professionals and fresh graduates aren’t known for their financial independence; a boy eager to move out of a cheap flat and away from an infuriating roommate, a girl trying to escape a noisy environment.
The circumstances had aligned.
And that’s how it’s been for two years now, a nice quiet house. Although, you’d be lying if you weren’t thankful that the Akasha paired you with someone as handsome as Alhaitham. Silver hair, broad frame, and beryl eyes with a hint of ochre - maybe he’s an apology gift from some fickle god.
He’s a well-rounded and capable man; perceptive enough to know not to cross boundaries drawn in the air, apt enough to not disrupt the serenity, and able to take care of himself.
Although, he could learn to launder better.
Your lips tug down as your eyes scan over the deep wrinkles crimping the fabric of a freshly washed button-down. It looks too rumpled to look professional, even on him. A sigh falls from your lips.
The presence of slow steps make your head turn in their direction, connecting with Alhaitham’s neutral eyes, quirked gray eyebrow questioning your purpose.
Two bodies, two rooms, and two beds.
The only time you or he crossed into the private haven of one another was when the floors needed to be mopped or shelves dusted. Owning a house means owning up to tedious chores and dividing up responsibilities spares one’s sanity from the tediousness.
It’s best to point out the critiques now to spare your own clothes from the same fate. Picking it off the back of his chair, you show him the shameful state of the garment.
“Leaving your clothes in the dryer for too long will create stubborn wrinkles.” You advise.
Teal eyes glance at the shirt in your hands before they flick towards the closet rack, your own gaze follows, noting the numerous other shirts in a similar state. Another heavy sigh escapes you, it's obvious Alhaitham attempted to do laundry yesterday.
Wordlessly, you begin gathering each wrinkled garment.
“I’ll rewash them and hang them outside, it’s the best way to smooth them out. Heat isn’t recommended for your fabrics.” You swiftly walk past him with your arms full.
“Thank you, I’ll clean the floors then.” He takes hold of the mop against the wall.
This seamless switching of responsibilities is done with less than two sentences, the efficiency of which is only possible between two people such as yourselves.
Button-downs are much more fickle than a casual t-shirt, using the wrong detergent or leaving it unattended for too long will cause unsightly wrinkles.
Alhaitham’s laundering skills have improved in the last two years… perhaps the singing of the dryer still slips past his preoccupied mind.
The two of you are working professionals. Crucial insight you’ve learned from your parents: A nicely ironed shirt, neatly brushed hair, and elegantly tied ties are all it takes to make others believe in the white lie of a put-together life.
Alhaitham was raised by his grandmother, a detail you recall from a passing conversation some time ago. It shows.
The amateur attempts at chores, the books strewn about a desk absent-mindedly, and the afternoon naps spent on a couch underneath a sunlit window are secrets only seen behind closed doors - all telltale signs of being well-loved.
‘How nice it must be.’ You thought, clipping his freshly washed button-downs to the clothesline, allowing the Sunday morning rays to shine down upon them.
A stone-faced man was once a beloved grandson. Maybe his juvenile attempts at chores were too endearing for an elderly lady to correct.
Hidden from everyone but the audience of swaying fabric and a curious star, a bittersweet smile tugs at stiff lips.
The clinking of forks against porcelain plates accompanies the evening news. Your eyes starring indifferently towards the TV just around the corner from the dinner table; looks like tonight's topic was the annual metrics of the Akasha.
With each passing year, these metrics only climb higher and higher, a machine learning to calculate better and better.
“What’s your theory behind the Akasha?” you blurt out the question without looking away from the screen.
A pair of utensils halted their movements as Alhaitham glances at the evening news. He takes a moment to wipe the corners of his mouth before humoring you.
Technically, the two of you have yet to fill your daily conversation quota. Might as well do it over dinner.
“It’s all mathematics, the Akasha system. Pairing individuals based on collected data. Demographic, interests, and dispositions, are all factors in a pairing,” he explains in his baritone voice.
“Mmm, then again it's all just a black box, we can’t be certain unless they choose to reveal it.” You ponder aloud.
“Correct. Those factors are all key when it comes to compatibility. The Akasha simply uses probability. However, there’s the element of human variability.”
“Meaning it can’t always be right.” You know this, live it even. “Is that why you don’t believe in the concept of soulmates?” Pivoting to an adjacent question, you return your attention back to the man across the table.
“Yes, it’s an unrealistic belief.” Alhaitham sips on his wine.
“Such a brilliant conclusion, what an astute mind you have.” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe over a glass of water.
Narrowed teal eyes honed in as his glass returned to its place on the lacquered surface, unamused by your quip.
“How about you? What theory brought you to hold the same brilliant conclusion?”
“Do you know phenylethylamine? PEA?” Glancing up from your glass.
From his idle gaze and unmoving lips, you take his silence as a “no”.
“It’s a stimulant that causes your heart to beat abnormally, released when you’re around a special someone. It causes what people describe as the ‘rush’ or ‘fever’ of love.”
He says nothing, waiting for you to continue.
“But then your brain gets used to it, and the abnormality in your chest corrects itself.” You take a sip before continuing, “Nothing last forever, so why do people think love is an exception? That only one person ever will cause their hearts to flutter till the end of time?”
A dry giggle follows the clink of your water cup against the wood.
“How insightful.” Alhaitham takes another sip of wine to chase his sarcasm.
Maybe it was the amusing quip or how tonight’s butter chicken turned out to be exceptionally delicious, but a subtle smile curls at the edges of your lips. With today’s conversational quota fulfilled you focus your full attention back to the awaiting dinner.
You remain ignorant to the gaze of teal eyes, oblivious to how it fixates on the faint smile complimenting the soft curves of your cheeks and plush lips.
“...”
The front door shuts and locks behind you, your shoes are halfway into the closet before a familiar scent beckons you towards the living room.
Quickly getting into your slippers, you trek through the entranceway and round the corner. The vivid hues of pale blues and gentle violets with pops of bright yellow catch your eyes, confirming your speculations: it’s a bouquet.
The bundle of flowers were placed into a long-forgotten vase. Turning away from the blooms, you face the man currently thumbing through a book on the couch -the only other person with access to this quiet haven.
Turning back to observe the blooms, you note each species of flower. The Sumerian Rose, Kalpalata Lotus, and…Padisarah.
You observe how the pollen of the Padisarahs dusts the radius of the surface around the vase. It’s a fickle flower after all.
A fickle and potent-smelling flower.
A scowl twists your face despite your best efforts, the sickly-sweet fragrance of the capricious blooms assaults your senses.
“Please open a window.” your hand comes up to shield your nose.
“Is something the matter?”
“The smell is giving me a headache.”
A headache forms from within the deepest depths of your mind, the same visceral reaction to the heavy perfumes that plagued your childhood walls. Your mother believed the saccharine scent could cover up her infidelity if she sprayed enough.
Compared to that artificial perfume, fresh Padisarahs were much tamer, but still enough to make a bitter taste appear at the back of your tongue.
“I see.” Alhaitham sets his book down, getting up to allow the Autumn breeze in.
Swiftly, you trudge away from the vase and its potent blooms and down the hall, eager to find an untainted corner of the house. It’d be best to sleep the headache off.
In the morning when you round the corner back into the living room, you notice the vacant vase and table wiped clean of any speck of yellow pollen. Passing through into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts in the air.
As you pour yourself a cup, you take note of how the trash has already been taken out, a fresh trash bag lining the bin.
Good, flowers were a hassle to keep around the house.
———————————————————————————
“Chocolates?” You study the box of sweets left out on the kitchen table.
“I picked them up while getting ingredients for dinner,” Alhaitham answers, busy chopping carrots.
“You can have some.”
You return your gaze back to the intricately designed package in seasonal Winter colors. It’s not often that you indulge in such elegant treats, you couldn’t refuse such an offer.
Delicately picking up a piece, the glossy dark chocolate shine looks inviting, you can see the quality in these sweets. Placing the small chunk onto your tongue, savoring the rich flavor. Not too sweet and not too bitter.
Using your tongue to maneuver it towards your teeth you bite into its center, only for your tastebuds to be assaulted by a foul flavor. The distinct and sharp tang of alcohol and the revolting aftertaste of bourbon spoils the sweetness.
Refusing to allow the detestable flavor to remain on your tongue, you briskly swipe up a few napkins, spitting the foul sweet out. You frown at the stubborn tang of bourbon which threatens to ruin your appetite for dinner.
“You can have the rest.” You throw out the crumpled napkin.
“Are they of poor quality?” The tapping of the knife paused.
“They’re just not to my taste.”
“In that case, I hope tonight's dinner is.” Alhaitham resumes his task.
Taking a glass out from the cupboard, you fill the cup with fresh water before gulping it down, washing the foul tang of alcohol from your tongue, and even fouler memories of the stench of sour wine and crushed cans.
Wiping the escaped droplets off with the back of your hand, you go for a second glass. Hopefully, you can cleanse your palate.
———————————————————————————
“Do you have plans tonight?” Alhaitham’s words make you stop in the middle of the hallway.
You have a book ready in hand for a night of reading on the sofa under the soft glow of the floor lamp. You know his eyes can see that, gaze questioning his intentions.
“I was given two tickets to a movie, would you like to accompany me?” He holds out the slips of paper.
As your eyes pass over the printed font, you recognized the title, a name picked up within the chatter of coworkers at the office. It’s An adaptation of a famous light novel from Inazuma, and the reviews seem positive.
“Sure.”
You could get out of the house a little more.
…
It seems like everyone wants to see a movie tonight, the theater lobby is filled with bustling crowds, families with excited kids, and couples holding hands.
And then there’s you and Alhaitham. Standing side by side, his hands carrying two carbonated drinks, your hands holding an overpriced bag of popcorn, walking toward the room printed on the tickets.
“C5…C6, looks like we got good spots.” You settled into the plush seats, careful not to spill the bag.
Alhaitham hums in response, placing your drink in the cupholder. More and more people filed into the screening room, waves of ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s rolling through the space until all the seats were finally filled. The lights begin to dim as the opening logo booms through the sound system.
The cinematography was beautiful, the musical scores accompanying the plot pleasing to the ears, and the popcorn perfectly seasoned.
It’s been a while since you’ve last gone to a movie theater, maybe you should go more often. As you brought a few more pieces of popcorn to your lips, your eyes travel toward Alhaitham.
His arms crossed as the light of the silver screen reflects onto his skin, noticing your stare, his teal gaze connects with yours.
Moving the striped bag closer to his frame, you offer him some popcorn, he paid for the refreshments. It'd be a shame if he didn’t get to enjoy them too.
His large hand reachs over and takes a handful, your curiosity wanting to see his reaction to the snack. However, a piercing shrill snaps your attention away.
Just a few rows away, a woman stood up from her seat, throwing a bag of popcorn at the man sitting beside her. Screaming words you couldn’t quite make out as they merges with the onscreen dialogue and equally furious shouts of the now popcorn-covered man.
Their thunderous voices were only amplified by the acoustics of the theater.
They’re both standing now, still hurling insults and grievances one after another. There’s a ringing in your ears, their faceless silhouettes in the dim theater replaying a scene you’ve seen many times before. It’s as if they’ve finally developed a conscious, now aware of the stares and glares thrown their way.
Oh, look they’re leaving now, still fighting the whole way out of the screening room.
With the disturbance now cleared, a low wave of murmuring swept through the audience before dying out. The dialogue and soundtrack were audible again, the atmosphere reverting to how it was.
You didn’t feel like snacking on the popcorn anymore. Gaze focus on the fluffy puffs for the rest of the movie.
“Did you enjoy the film?” An indifferent voice resounds from your right side.
Walking out as the credit rolled in the background, following the flow of traffic toward the exit. You were walking by Alhaitham’s side, but your mind was elsewhere, a subtle frown etched on your lips.
“It was fine, just crowded and loud.” Your voice was just as flat.
“Oh.”
Tossing the unfinished bag of popcorn way into the nearest trash can, the two of you continue on the silent journey home.
Perhaps, it’s best if you just stayed curled up with a book.
“Eh? It’s been three years and you’ve never gotten your wife flowers? I knew you were cold-hearted, but not to this extent. Here, a quick bouquet of some fresh flowers I picked.”
“You should gift her some sweets, maybe then you two can talk a choco-lot… Did you get the joke?”
“Are you serious?! Almost four years and you never took her on a date?? You’re hopeless! Take these tickets and take her to the movies. By the way, you’ll have to pay for them.”
Alhaitham wasn’t sure what made his colleagues so invested in his marriage, maybe a projection of their own lack of one. To his colleagues, you were just as much of an enigma as the ashen-haired man.
Any passing comment, no matter how vague or curt, would bring forth an onslaught of unsolicited advice. And it was for that very reason within the walls of your home these details shall stay.
Alhaitham isn’t sure which was more irksome, the uninformed guidance of bachelors, or the fact he was the one who actually tested each suggestion. Regardless, at least these trials were fruitful in the sense he can gauge your dislikes now.
You despise flowers for their fickle messes and scent. You’re revolted by overpriced chocolates. You detested rowdy theaters and subpar films.
Four now going on to five years, and these were his results. Frankly, he didn’t have to subject you to such experiments for these results, because they aligned with his own preferences.
A waste of time, disturbing your peace for the sake of his own curiosity.
A heavy sigh falls from his lips as he sets the bucket of water down, one hand holding a mop as the other turns the knob of your bedroom.
It’s a Sunday, meaning the floors needed to be mopped. Your door's hinges sing as they swing open only to be abruptly silenced as Alhaitham stood motionless under the door frame.
Oh. He should’ve knocked.
You were in the midst of getting dressed in front of your floor-length mirror, glimpses of smooth skin peeking out from under baggy fabric. Before he could stop, teal eyes followed the dark fabric reaching just down to the middle of your thighs and draping low on one shoulder. Your fingers were in the middle of buttoning the clearly oversized shirt as you turned back to focus on him.
Blank gaze traveling up your soft lips set in a neutral position and meeting your deadpan stare, Alhaitham’s conscience restarts.
Today was Sunday, which meant it was laundry day yesterday, and it was the ashen-haired man’s turn to wash and dry the clothes. Somehow, his button-down got mixed in with your blouses, leading to your unamused reaction.
“I’ll be more mindful next time, did my shirt dull any of your whites?” Forcing his eyes to avert, a late attempt at respecting your privacy.
“It’s fine, fortunately, the dye didn’t bleed out during the wash.” You turned away as your hand pulls the draping fabric up your shoulder.
“Just place the shirt over the chair in my room, I’ll take care of it later.”
“Okay.”
Once more your door sings as he shuts it on the way back into the hall, deciding to clean the floors of his room first and allowing you to change into your rightful clothes. It was early noon and a weekend, meaning there was no reason for Alhaitham to brush out his sleep-tousled hair. Hopefully, messy gray locks were enough to conceal burning ears.
———————————————————————————
“The Evolution of Everything.” His eyes scan over the title held out in front of him.
A newly published scientific journal filled with freshly collected data, the book's spine still in mint condition. Alhaitham takes note of the identical copy held in your hand.
“You seemed interested in this genre, so I picked up a copy for you.” You motion for him to take it.
There wasn’t a rule etched in stone that forbade the sharing of books within these quiet walls. The books on your shelves have been more interesting than his as of late. A pattern of folded corners inflecting more and more pages of the books lining your bookshelves, evidence of a certain man’s meddling.
The warning glare every time you smoothed out a creased page directed his way didn’t seem to be enough to stop the unconscious habit of his hands.
It looks like you’re trying out a new solution, getting him his own copy to prevent the infection from engulfing each and every corner of your bookshelves.
“Thank you, I’ll read it soon.” He accepts the peace offering.
With that, you made your way back to the sofa. Flipping open your own copy, fingers gently making sure to not crumple the delicate pages or crease the pristine spine. Alhaitham compares it to the book currently held in his own hands.
An older book, while not falling apart or tattered, it’s obvious the man has thumbed through its pages. A well-loved book as his grandmother would’ve described it.
Alhaitham needs to stop this practice he never corrected in childhood.
———————————————————————————
“Alhaitham.” You greet him at the entranceway.
Said man is currently placing his outside shoes away into the closet, returning from an uneventful day at his office. You usually got home before him, but this was the first time you’ve waited for him at the front door. He notes that you seem to be holding something behind your back.
“Here.” Bring your arms out from your back, the distinct crinkling of plastic was heard.
Teal eyes study the gift basket filled with bath products, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion all nicely packaged with a satin ribbon.
“It’s to thank you for helping me with errands lately,” you explain.
Recently, you’ve been asking him to accompany you to the cluttered streets lined with stalls and haggling merchants. With his towering frame and larger hands, he could carry heavier bags and part a path through the pushy crowds easier. You were using your resources to maximize efficiency.
“There’s no need to trouble yourself with this, I’m just doing my part. But thank you.” He takes the basket from your hands, eyes remaining collected.
Just as the basket leaves your hands, the distinct chime of your phone goes off as ‘Bahram’ flashes across the screen. The name of your boss.
“Excuse me, I have to take this call. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” Turning away, you walk toward the kitchen.
The he hums in response, slipping into his inside shoes. With brisk steps, he covers the distance from the front door to his room, closing then leaning against the solid oak.
Sharply inhaling as one hand balancing the basket of toiletries and the other holding his head.
You’ve always prefer to maintain the serenity of the house. Resolving strife with proactive actions or brief comments. Not once in these past five years did you ever nag him, you’re too pragmatic for that. At times it’s a curse more than a blessing, evidenced by the gift basket staring back at him mockingly.
Although Alhaitham was messy at times, he knows the importance of hygiene. Teeth brushed twice a day, a shower taken every day before dinner, and deodorant applied daily.
However, the temperatures this Summer were at record highs, even for Sumeru. The packed market streets pushing the two of you closer than usual, perhaps he’s no match for the heat this time.
Washing his hair twice and his body thrice, Alhaitham finishes his prolonged shower by gurgling some mouthwash for good measure. Walking into the kitchen in a fresh set of clothes and his hair still damp. The table set with potato boat and some steak. Impassive eyes met inscrutable eyes as you motion for him to take a seat.
Your nose remained relaxed, meaning you were probably satisfied with his efforts.
Alhaitham makes a silent reminder to research some cologne after he finishes washing the dishes. One that isn’t overbearing nor too weak to linger.
How embarrassing it is, five years in and the stoic prodigy known as Alhaitham is still testing the bounds of his wife’s patience. Selfish experiments and habits he can’t seem to correct conflicting with your wishes for a clean, serene, and quiet home.
The entire reason why you bothered signing your name next to a stone-faced man who said ‘I don’t believe in soulmates’ before asking ‘How are you?’.
Flowers, chocolates, and movie tickets.
You weren’t oblivious to the sentiment behind these arbitrary actions. In a way, it was expected. A husband wants to get closer to his wife, it’s simple chemistry.
The human mind craves connection, oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin released at the sight of gifted blooms, crafted sweets, and from simply sitting within each other's presence.
A chemical cocktail the mind gets drunk on.
Alhaitham isn’t immune to it and neither are you. Even if you were able to stiffen your lips, steady your gaze, and hide those flushed cheeks. Nothing you did could quell the abnormality in your chest, was Alhaitham having the same issue?
There comes the first hurdle, the unknown which hung in the air formed over years of peaceful silence. The thought of two stoic faces peering into each other’s eyes as two monotonous voices stated the obvious would make any romantic keel over and die.
It’d be too embarrassing, especially when it’s already been awkward.
Headache caused by sickly sweet blossoms, spitting out pricey sweets, and dulled reaction to a critically acclaimed film. None of this was Alhaitham’s fault, how can you blame someone for something they don’t know?
He never asked, you never told.
No one knew what happened within that noisy house with empty bottle-covered floors of two ‘soulmates’ who refused to release their crushing grips. All except the three unfortunate souls trapped within its Padisarah-scented walls.
Still, his keen eyes didn’t miss those details, reassessing his actions before ultimately channeling more of his energy into chores around the house instead of frivolous gifts. What a proactive husband.
A sting of guilt felt as you recall his sincere attempts at trying to cross an icy bridge. What should you say? ‘Thank you, you tried.’ Sounded far too condescending, it could even lead to a huffy fight. Something you’ve been good at avoiding these past five years.
Marriage is filled with compromises, meeting each other halfway along the road of life, side by side. So you tried this time.
Curiosity guiding you as it did a naive hero towards the brilliance of a red star.
———————————————————————————
Your first attempt was inspired by an article that popped up on your phone’s feed, something about wearing your partner’s shirt to make them flush, nonsense known as the ‘boyfriend shirt’.
You still gave it a try. Swiping up one of your husband’s black button-downs one Saturday night, only building up the confidence to put it on the next morning.
Your original plan was to just casually wear it around the house as you got the Sunday morning chores done, but that got thrown out when Alhaitham suddenly opened your door when one-third of the buttons were still undone.
A moment of tense silence followed, impressively you managed to maintain a cool facade. Grasping the opportunity to leave this stale silence with an expertly crafted response.
———————————————————————————
In the end, he just wanted his shirt back. So for your next attempt, you toned it down, no longer taking advice from nonsensical articles.
Recently, Alhaitham has taken more of an interest in your bookshelf. More of the once pristine edges of your books folder here and there. If it was anyone else, you’d make them buy you a new copy immediately, but for now, you simply smoothed out the paper.
If he wants to read the theories and studies that muse you, why don’t you read them together?
However, two bodies pressed together on a sofa trying to read the small print along pages at the same time is simply uncomfortable. Plus, Alhaitham reads much faster than you.
To ensure a pleasant reading experience for both of you, two copies were the best solution.
He read it after you.
———————————————————————————
Your next attempts used thinly veiled excuses to get Alhaitham to accompany you to the bustling markets of Sumeru City. In a way, trying to make up for that lackluster movie experience.
Only for it to soon turn into using Alhaitham to carry arm fulls of bags as he shielded you from the push and pull of the busy crowd.
Perhaps you should stick to gift-giving, to spare your husband from working like a Sumpter Beast in this weather.
But besides books, what should you give him? He’s just like you, if he sees something he wants, he’d just buy it with his own money.
On the way home from work, you caught sight of a shop, one which displayed handmade soaps and fancy lotions. Huh, Alhaitham often takes your lotions, maybe you should get him his own. A bell ringing overhead announces your entrance into the cozy store.
“Welcome!” A bright voice chirped as a shop assistant with vibrant red hair and an equally vibrant smile bounded toward you.
“I’m Nilou, how may I help you today?”
“I’m just looking for some lotion.” You politely responded, trying to ignore the faint fragrance of Pardisarahs.
“We’ve got plenty of hand-made ones, for you or for someone else?”
“For my husband.”
“Oh? What does he like?”
You paused for a moment, lips pressed together in contemplation before deciding.
“Something fresh and not overbearing, nothing made from Pardisarahs.” If he liked using your lotions, then he must have the same scent preferences.
“We just got this new lotion that fits the criteria! Oh! But it pairs very well with this body wash… actually this shampoo and conditioner set is also a good fit. Oh! What if we bundle them?”
What was supposed to be a simple lotion turned into you leaving the small shop with an entire gift basket. A sigh leaves your lips, looks like you’re not as immune to sales tactics as you originally thought.
That night you handed the ribbon-wrapped basket to Alhaitham. Even if he isn’t interested in expensive handcrafted soaps, he’ll still use them out of necessity, they were a gift after all.
However, it doesn’t seem you had to worry about that. He used up the fancy soaps and lotions.
The opulent scent lingering on his skin and towel-dried hair, looks like your gift made you discover a new side of your husband.
He enjoys really long showers, evidenced by your rising water bills.
Still, the vast expanse of uncertainty didn’t shrink, not even one bit. Just like the distance between an outstretched hand toward the sun.
Books, lotions, and walks through a market, looks like it was all for naught.
The mutual agreement to not lock eyes, these cold halls, these awkward dinners filled with nothing but the clattering of silverware and plates. Where have you seen these patterns before?
Oh, you’ve seen these in your childhood home.
Ah, was this a curse passed on to you? What an awful wedding gift from uninvited parents to a courthouse office.
Clutching the straps of your bag tighter, your legs quicken their pace, wanting to get out of the crowded streets filled with the mumbles and pushes of people freshly off the clock.
With each stranger knocking into your shoulder another drop is added to a bottle. White knuckles gripping on your straps as a pressure rises within the bottle’s glass body, threatening to shatter it.
You can’t let this continue, the mounting pressure will sooner or later detonate into a hideous mess. Best to avoid that scenarios. Eyes catching sight of a small reprieve from the crowd, you direct yourself there.
The small store front provides you with some shelter for your lungs to breathe. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. The pressure subsides just a bit. There’s still room in there, you can suppress a little more, you can endure a little longer.
Eyelids fluttering open, you recognized the name of the shop. It’s the fancy soap shop, one with the vivacious sales assistant.
Peering through the glass you searched for that brilliant shade of crimson. And you found it, right next to glimmering silver hair. It’s like your body forgot how to breathe.
From the rumbling of the late evening rush, all you could do was read their lips from behind a thick glass door.
Petite pink lips giggling behind clasped hands as Nilou looks up at Alhaitham, tilting her head to the side as if she asked him a question. His lips remained stiff, but teal gaze reflected crimson as they softened. Something you never witnessed within the quiet walls of your home.
Looks like you found the cause of the rising water bills, perhaps Alhaitham likes the smell of Padisarahs.
Your bottle couldn’t contain the ocean anymore.
It wasn’t an Earth-shattering catastrophic event, no tidal waves crashing down, no flood flood devastating everything in its path. Only a defeated ‘pop’ and its pathetic echo as your bottle finally overflowed.
Bitter sea-foam fizzled out as it made an unseen mess.
Listlessly, you rejoined the rolling crowd, letting the eb and flow of its movement carry you all the way to the front door of a false haven. Systematically inserting the key, placing your shoes into the closet, and shutting your room door behind your back. Staring at the clean floor with its intricate wood grain.
However, your mind weren’t processing any of it, busy with its calculations.
When did his fever start? That one Autumn night with a chaste bouquet. What day is it now? The cusp of Summer. How long has it been? In a few months, it’ll be three years.
A lecture from an inescapable past resurfaces.
————————
“Hey, kiddo.”
Slurred words made you stop in your tracks, small hands tightening their grip on your backpack straps.
You weren’t quiet enough, the careful steps of your feet were rendered useless when it came to the creaky wooden floors of this house. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t want to breathe in the stench which permeated this air.
The aroma of cheap perfume, sour wine, and cheap beer. The source of this foul smell? The freshly awakened man laying on the couch just a few inches away: a man known as your father.
Still trying to reserve your stored supply of oxygen, all you offered the drunkard was a firm hum. Not that he’d care, judging from the crushed cans and empty bottles littering the path, he’s probably too far gone.
“Did you know love is a chemical? Something called ‘phenylethylamine’?” A hiccup interrupts his sentence, but he continues, much to your dismay.
“Haha, it makes your heart beat faster and your cheeks flush because it’s considered an amphetamine, one of the most powerful drugs.” His stumbling hand blindly reached for another can, knocking over empty shells until it found one with just a bit of liquor.
“Too bad the high can only last three years.”
Your disinterested gaze trailed off down the empty hall, legs itching to break away from the lecture you’ve heard numerous times before. Lungs begging to inhale the untainted air of your room, the only sanctuary this hollow home held.
Just a few minutes was all you needed, then you’ll start mopping these foul floors.
A clink of aluminum hitting the wooden boards draws your attention back to your father who had finished moisturizing his throat with another swig of beer.
“Stay away from that drug, kiddo” A sloppy grin stretched across his face as he stared up at a blank ceiling.
The sight made your arms bristle, seeing a smile on your father’s face was uncanny. Something you’ve never seen at the dinner table, just silent scowls and disgruntled glares constantly exchanged over a subpar meal.
Wanting him to finish this one-sided conversation, you gave another firm hum, every now and then glazing back toward the hall.
“Or you’ll end up like this old man.” He wraps the conversation up with a bitter laugh, one which resonated off the blank walls.
————————
Maybe you should’ve heeded your father’s words. A brilliant scholar to the public but a pathetic drunk when within the confines of a cluttered, noisy house is still a brilliant scholar.
This was your punishment for straying away from your beliefs. You reached your hand out towards the fire despite knowing it’d hurt, and you fell in love. Now look at where you are.
How utterly laughable, you, the ever-bright Ms. Perfect, who’s broken love down to its base form of chemical compounds, fell victim to the addiction that was love.
So blindsided by it.
The fog of love is slowly running its course through him. Once the trees abandon their vibrant greens for shriveled browns in the Autumn, his fever will be over. There’s no such thing as an endless Summer.
How did you not see this coming? Covering your eyes with ignorant hands, blatantly ignoring the signs right in front of your nose.
No more flowers, no more chocolates, and no more movies.
Turning back around, you took note of a figure in a floor length mirror. Indifferent gaze identical to how your husband looks at you.
Two sides of the same mirror, what’s what you and him are. What’s the use of that? Shiny surfaces point off in opposite directions, yet only ever reflecting one view. What’s the point of having two sides then?
You don’t intrigue him, you can’t show him his blind spots, and you can’t reflect to him a view he’s never seen. Same perceptions, same hobbies, same expressionless faces, how stale it must be.
It’s much more interesting to have a wife who’ll smile at receiving flowers, a wife whose eyes light up at chocolate, and a wife who’d blabber on about a movie as Alhaitham listens intently. The beating of his heart is starting with someone new.
Emerging out of your thoughts, you stare directly at the person in your mirror.
Dull eyes stared right back, light dimmed from years of staring at a bright star grasping at its warm rays in substitution of a cold house, only for your fingers to slip pass right through.
Idiotic girl, you can’t touch the sun, not even Icarus did.
An unlovable child grew into an unlovable adult. Add that to your footnote, so you’ll never forget this lesson again. The fool in the mirror finally looks away.
It didn’t matter if Icarus smiled or laughed as he tumbled from the sky. Silly girl, did you forget what happens in the end of that tale? He drowned alone.
Drowning isn’t like what the movies show. The thrashing of limbs against cold waves, the garbled screams under the water, all accompanied by the ominous soundtrack crafted by a sound master. It’s all dramatized for the silver screen.
Muscles pushing through the cold exhaustion, mouth agape but prioritizing large and fast gulps of oxygen over cries for help, followed by the melodic lull of water lapping over eardrums until the head disappears under its surface. Never to breach it again.
It’s possible for a person to drown in a pool full of people. Just like how it was possible for you to feel alone despite having your husband just across the lacquered expanse of the dinner table. Forks and knives clacking porcelain plates.
It’s a silent death.
For once you’re grateful to attend a nugatory dinner hosted by your company. Venue filled with superficial smiles and handshakes all over food served on sliver platters. Even if the heels are killing you, you’d rather not wallow in a quiet house.
A heavy sigh leaves your lips, catching someone’s attention.
“What a heavy sigh, here have some wine to ease the burden.” A glass filled with fragrant wine was held out in front of you.
Your eyes travel up the hand which offers the vile beverage to you, sights landing on the face of your boss, Bahram. Pushy as always, always testing the limits of your loyalty to a nice pension and dental insurance.
As always you politely push the glass away, uttering a firm “no thank you.”
“Oh c’mom Ms. Perfect, you look like you could use a drink.” He pushes the glass closer.
Stares from all around the formal dinner table hone in, the weight heavy on your shoulders. Stakeholders and coworkers turn away from their shallow conversations to watch the brewing spectacle just across the table.
That’s right, you have to be professional, where was your crafted mask? Make use of all those years observing the masters of deception you knew as your parents.
So you accept the vile glass.
Before the aroma could register on your palate, you emptied the whole glass. Not a single drip escaped past your lips. It took all your strength to no scowl at the sweetly bitter and alcoholic flavor.
“Oh? Ms. Perfect is drinking tonight?” Some nameless coworker mused.
Ah, the name lightly tossed around at the office with oblivious chuckles and ignorant smiles. You despise being called that, but not as much as you despise being told ‘you’re just like your father’ and ‘you’re acting like your mother’.
Better to be Ms. Perfect, so disgruntled ‘soulmates’ can’t compare you to their flawed counterpart.
“Do you like this wine? Have some more.” Eagerly, your boss fills the glass once more.
Staring at the beckoning liquid swirling in the glimmering cup, as the weight of those stares force your hands to accept it once more.
Maybe you should’ve just stayed home.
“I should really be trying to sell you our products but… I think you’ll find a better gift at another store. Here, I’ll write the address down for you! They have the best jewels, I’m sure you’ll find something for your wife there!” Hastily the shop assistant scribbles on a notepad before pushing the slip into his palm.
“Just don’t tell my manager.” Clasping her hands in front of her mouth, signaling to him to keep a secret.
Alhaitham simply nods, examining the address in his hands. He hasn’t tried jewelry yet, but a ring would look nice on your hand. Maybe you’d think so too.
“You really love her, don’t you mister?” Nilou notes how attentively his hands smooth over the address.
Pausing for a moment, Alhaitham envisions the softness of your cheeks shifting as that tender smile spreads across your lips. Yours eyes reflecting the light off the polished and cut gem as he slips it onto your bare finger.
“I do.” Unable to stop the softening of his gaze.
———————————————————————————
A ring still left in its miserable black box, stowed away in the depths of a drawer. A sigh slips out of him just like how he let another opportunity to place the jewel on your finger pass. You’re attending a company dinner tonight, a rare occasion requiring you to dress up.
The dress draped over your figure and curves just right and highlighted the contours of your body. He wanted to tell you this earlier as you were leaving, too bad he was occupied with swallowing ‘stay home’.
There’s an annoying itch in the deepest depths of his mind. Covetous hands crawled up his spine, they tried to convince his own fingers to grasp around your wrist and pull you back into the house.
Alhaitham shakes that itch away, refocusing his attention onto your bookshelf in front of him.
You have a life and responsibilities outside these walls, he can’t overstep the boundary to block you from your individuality. Running a finger along the tops of the neatly lined books, searching for something to redirect his impulses.
Momentum halting when his finger sunk into pages when he expected the firm edge of a spine. The force crumpling the paper, immediately he pulls it into his hands, smoothing out the folded edges. Title catching his attention.
The Lifespan of Love, the only book where the spine wasn’t facing out. Flipping it to the back, Alhaitham scans the blurb, noting the portrait of the scholar who authored it.
A familiar face, a professor who’s lectures he barely attended. A distinguished researcher and mentor in the eyes of his old university.
The sight of his face made Alhaitham recall a scene he once witnessed.
————————
The halls of the Psychology department were desolate, as they always were. A much-appreciated reprieve from crowded foyers as a quiet student walks to his next exam in the department next door.
Just as his hand reached up to activate his headphones, two voices caught his attention, the high shrills of a woman and the raspy shouts of a man leaking out from an office door left ajar.
It has nothing to do with him, Alhaitham know this, but he still had 30 minutes to kill before the exam.
Teal eyes peer through the gap between the oak doorframe.
A man the student recongizes, but the scowl and flush of rage twisted his face into an unrecongizable mess. The professor juts his finger towards the woman as foul names left his mouth, the same mouth which lectured the brightest minds of Sumeru.
The woman screams back equally loathsome words, tears leaving mascara trails down her red cheeks. Suddenly, she grabs a lamp off his desk and hurls it to the floor.
For a brief moment, the scholar pauses as his eyes scanned over the broken debris scattered along the floor. Then his fist slammed into the solid oak of his desk, thud so forceful the office ratted with the poor furniture.
His shouts resume, volume escalating by the minute.
Alhaitham backs away from the door, turning on his noise-canceling headphones. He’s satisfied his curiosity enough, walking off to his exam.
————————
A peculiar sight behind the superficial mask of a respected professor with his jolly grin and light hearted jokes with students. Inspecting the name printed just underneath the portrait, a furrow forms between his brow as he scrutinizes the spelling closer.
The professor’s last name was spelled the same way as yours.
Oh. So this is the source you were citing back then. Numbers and figures published by a notable name backing your rebuttal to the societal notion of a soulmate. Inquisiveness rearing its impatient nose, inciting his hands to choose this book as his subject tonight.
You never told him, so he never asked. This was a chance to peer into a view sealed behind your closed lips.
To study, dissect, and analyze the resources which congergated together to form the you of today. Alhaitham isn’t going to deny such an opportunity.
Teal eyes glance at the ticking hands of a clock, he’s got a good few hours of reading before you return.
The distinct rumble of an engine leaking in through the living room window interrupts his peace, the slam of car doors causing Alhaitham to promptly fold over the corner of the page he has yet to finish.
The dinner must have ended.
Getting up from a cushy couch, Alhaitham makes his way toward the entranceway.
His keen ears picking up the unmistakable hearty chuckle of a man, Alhaitham stills for a brief second before continuing to the door.
Before the chime of the doorbell had the chance to sound throughout the home, Alhaitham already pried open the front door.
Teal gaze darkening as they examine the display on the front steps.
Your arm around the shoulder of another man while his arm was snaked around your waist, pressing your body against his as he supports you up the steps.
The sound of the hinges directs the man’s attention to the homeowner currently staring at him, oblivious to the way Alhaitham’s grip threatens to crush a metal handle behind solid oak.
“Oh! You must be Ms. Perfect’s husband. I’m Bahram.” The man greeted.
Alhaitham already knows him. He’s seen that name flash up enough times across your phone. He’s seen you pick up no matter the hour and step out into an empty room.
A new habit of yours which started some months earlier.
“Haha! She drank a bit too much tonight.” The jovial man continues, his hand still resting on your hip.
Drank? You drank? You don’t so much as glance at Alhaitham’s wine cabinet at home, yet you drank with this man? The begins of scowl start to set into Alhaitham’s face.
“I’ll bring her inside for ya.” Bahram takes a step forward only to be blocked by a towering frame topped with ashen hair.
“I’ll take it from here.” Alhaitham barely bit back a pointed tone, forcibly smoothing it over to make his voice pass as neutral.
Prying that hand off your hip and your arm from Bahram’s neck, Alhaitham’s strong hold supports your slumping figure against his own body.
Pulling you across the threshold of the front door, finally putting some distance between you and that damn boss of yours.
“Have a goodnight.” Venomous lie rolling off Alhaitham’s tongue as he firmly shuts the oak door, not bothering with any more pleasantries.
It didn’t take much effort to carry you into the living room. Setting you down on the sofa then kneeling down with dexterous fingers, Alhaitham freed your feet from the chokehold of those heels.
You make a mental note to throw them out tomorrow morning.
“Thank you,” you breathed out, relieved to finally be home.
Your husband doesn’t respond as he walk away to place your shoes into the closet. The lingering taste of wine churns your stomach, you needed some water to wash it out.
Carefully, you amble into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with fresh water. Praying it can finally rid you of that foul flavor.
After three glasses of wine, your stakeholders and coworkers finally turned their attention elsewhere. You’ve entertained them enough.
Granting you the freedom to push away anymore glasses your boss offered, only getting him to stop after you agreed to his offer of driving you home.
What a troublesome night, your mood sourer than it has been for the past few months.
As you fill up your glass again your ears catch the pattering of Alhaitham’s steps as he trails into the kitchen, stopping only a few paces away watching you glup down your second glass.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” His husky voice resounds from behind you as his finger taps against the marble countertop.
“No.” You fill rinse out the cup, the stubborn grip of wine not releasing your tastebuds just yet.
“Oh? It sure looks like you did.”
Your body stiffens as your turn the faucet off, glancing over your shoulder with eyes narrowing.
“What do you mean by that?” Your tone a bit more sharp than you’d like it to be.
“I’m certain you know exactly what I mean.” Alhaitham stops his tapping as he lays his palm flat on the table, teal eyes boring straight into you.
“Well, well looks like your assumption is wrong.”
“I doubt it, stop mincing your words and just say you enjoyed a few drinks with your boss.”
Your body turns around fully, glaring stare connecting with his teal one. Ticking of a clock sounding throughout the quiet kitchen.
So that’s why he’s behaving like this, partners with wandering eyes tend to project their hypocritical insecurities onto the other after all.
“Then why don’t you say you’ve been enjoying your visits to Nilou?” Something more venomous than sour wine drips off your words.
“How is she related to this conversation?” His eyes narrowing at you, unlike the same teal irises that reflected the scarlet of her hair.
“You know exactly what I mean.” You spat his own words back at him, maneuvering around him as you make your way back to your room.
At this point you weren’t sure what was the cause of the headache threatening to form.
The wine? This deafening silence? Or the thought of Padisarahs?
You don’t care, you want to go to bed. The thuds of his steps weren’t far behind yours as you trek through the halls.
“Our conversation hasn’t concluded.” His deep voice ringing in your ears.
“Yes it has.” Your room was just in sight.
“No it hasn’t.” His hand encloses around your wrist.
There you were, halfway through the doorframe of your room with the pull of his hand preventing you from getting the rest you want.
There’s no longer any space left in a shattered bottle, just a rippling ocean getting rougher and rougher with each deep breath.
“Can’t you be honest?” His ironic, paradoxical words causes the tide to crush against each other.
“Can’t you be honest? Do you think I wouldn’t notice your showers right as you come back from ‘work’? You’ve been driving the water bill up with your cover-up efforts.” Glaring right into those damn beryl eyes, frown breaking your stiff lips.
“Cover-up? What a bold accusation coming from the same person who awaits a call everynight.” He mirrors your scowl.
“Maybe its because work offers better company than this stifling house.”
Alhaitham grip tightens on your wrist as his lips press into a firm line, indecipherable stare weighing down upon your frame. His broad shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath.
“Strip,” he commands.
“Have you gone mad?” You snap back, unable to budge in his hold.
“Yes, furious even.”
It didn’t take much effort for him to make his way into your room, pulling you in as well. You could barely keep up with it all, glaring at him but it didn’t affect him one bit.
The movement causes your dress to shift. Glancing down you realize a strap of your dress slipped off, leaving one side of your breast dangerously exposed.
With swift strides, he arrives at the edge of your bed. It’s rare for you to dawn such attire, applying a lovely shade of crimson to those plush lips, and tying your hair up so nicely. Did you get all dressed up for Bahram? Why couldn’t it be for his viewing only?
Tsk, noisy nonsense is cluttering his mind, those the claws of a green-eyes monster digging into his last shred of restraint. Seizing his rationality in its ugly, greedy hands tighter and tighter the longer your soft thighs pressed against his tense body.
Crashing into those crimson lips of yours, one hand positioning your face to allow his tongue to catch yours by surprise. Letting the two muscles dance together as his other hand explored the expanse of your body, pulling up the silky fabric to grant his palm the pleasure of gracing your soft thighs.
‘Oh, so this is what he wants,’ you thought as your lips moved against his.
‘Fine, might as well experience what he’s been doing behind your back.’ The fingers of your free hand tangling themselves into his hair, tugging at ashen locks with disregard.
Unfortunately, the pesky need for oxygen made Alhaitham release your lips. Chest panting as his darkened gaze observed the state of your lips. Crimson smeared over the corner of your glossy lips. You put so much effort into painting them, making sure they were nicely defined.
However, it felt so cathartic to know that he’s the one who messed them up, no one at the party saw them like this. Only him.
“I’ll ask you one last time, strip now.” Not letting go of your face.
“Go to hell,” you spat out.
And the last chain broke, dignity and self-control reduced to nothing more than ash as his hunger commanded him. Go to hell you say?
“Then I’ll take you with me,” he sneers through clenched teeth, pushing you into the mattress face down. One hand restraining those disobedient hands of yours behind your back.
Before protest could leave your lips a rip resounds through the hot air. Alhaitham knows he should be delicate with it. That he should carefully pull the zipper down your back, letting the fabric naturally drape off your frame.
However, a man who starved for six years now knows nothing about patience.
You feel the silky fabric slip off, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Teal eyes honing in on the darkened patch on the thin fabric, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.
“Wet just from this? Or were you wet during dinner too?” He pulls the fickle fabric off.
You wiggle in his hold, face flushed with frustrated embarrassment at your current predicament. However, in terms of strength you’ll always lose to Alhaitham. A violent flinch jolts your body as he runs a finger runs along your glistening slit.
“What a lewd thing, has he seen this slutty hole of yours?” Alhaitham watches the way your cunt quivers with each stroke of his digit.
“Do really you think I’d sleep with my boss?” Your voice slightly muffled by the sheets as you turn your face to the side.
“I need to confirm it.”
With two fingers, he spreads your soft pussy lips apart, keen eyes observing the trail of slick starting to drip down from between them. He sees the muscles of your entrance clenching around nothing, he glides a digit in, feeling your slick walls clamp around it. Clear essence drooling out. He hums in satisfaction before sliding his finger out, you bite into the sheet to silence any sounds.
“Enjoying this?” He muses, fingers spreading your cunt again.
You don’t respond, but the glare you’re sending his way makes his lip curl into a smirk. For once he could read the emotions behind your stoic eyes, he wants to see more.
Trailing his fingers up your slit until they bump into a hard nub making your body twitch. Softly pinching your clit between two fingers, he slowly rolls the senesitve bundle of nerves as you bite harder to stop your moans.
Cunt slick but unstretched, clit throbbing but not swollen, only your essence coating his fingers. Looks Bahram hasn’t gotten the chance to taste you yet.
Calming the thrashing of a green-eyed beast just slightly. However, this wasn’t enough. Alhaitham feels the parchedness of his throat as his eyes scan over your glistening slit.
Alhaitham once believed that the touches exchanged when his fingers brush against yours while passing plates, when you pull a blanket up his napping frame, or when your bodies briefly pressed against each other as he helps you hang the laundry out was enough to satisfy him. That he could sustain off just borrowing your lotions.
Such a false assumption, a foolish one even. As the heat radiating off your body melts away another restraint he imposed on himself. Alhaitham realizes just how much he’s been starving himself.
Thumb rubbing firm circles into your clit, the pleasure making your legs close together, trying to shut him out but the grip of his hand stops your attempt.
“Tsk, stay still.” His strength pinning your legs apart, showing you just how ‘feeble’ he was.
In retaliation, he pushes your legs further apart. Exposing more of yourself to him, it was embarrassing enough to almost make your lust-hazed mind care.
Thick fingers gathered up drops of slick leaking out from your dripping cunt as your lewd hole unable to contain its greed. Allowing him more access, feeding into his greed further.
Two fingers tracing the rim of your entrance before it slowly pushes through. Instantly, your gummy walls clamped down on his fingers, making him hiss through clenched teeth.
“If you’re grasping my fingers this much, how will you take something larger?” His breath ghosting over your cunt.
Your toes curled in the air as a kiss was pressed against your throbbing clit, almost enough to let a gasp escape you. Biting back a drawn out moan as his tongue traced your leaking slit, starting with your sensitive numb then traveling up to lap at the essence escaping your stretched hole with the smooth muscle then back to flick at your clit.
You never realized just how pent up your body was until whines and moans just fell from your lips like water. Turning your head away, pressing your face into the mattress in hopes it’d catch those sinful sounds.
“Tsk.” Alhaitham escalated the pace of his fingers.
A sharp slap against your puffy clit, shooting white-hot pleasure up your core. With a gasp you pulled away from the sheets, unable to stop the moan which tumbled out. Hastily, you tried to muffle your voice again, only for a warning squeeze on your still pinned wrist stopping you.
You’ve enjoyed your silence, he’s been deprived of those sultry moans, so for tonight let him enjoy them to the fullest extent.
Your back arched, hips bucking in the air. Your little pussy finally rewarded his hard work with a rush of slick soaked the sheets and his face further. Swiftly removing his fingers again with a disgraceful squelch, only for his tongue to dip into the cavern they left. He slurped and lapped up every drop of your nectar, quenching a thirst he never knew he had.
Overstimulated clit trying to flinch away from each nerve-frying lick while your weeping walls beckoned his tongue to go deeper. The tightness in his pants was painful now, engorged tip rubbing against the fabric and soaking it in precum.
With his unyielding hold, his half-lidded eyes, and his unrelenting tongue lapping up all of your essence while bullying your poor nub, you were powerless. Unable to hide from his hungry gaze, nails digging into his unflinching hand, and chest heaving with the mounting pleasure in your core.
Scowl long replaced by a loose expression, the pleasure ripping through every fiber of your being. Shooting up from your curled toes to the eyes seeing only the back of your head, the edge growing closer and closer-
Alhaitham pulls away, your slick dripping down his chin glistening in the moonlight illuminating the room. Cruelly pulling back from the edge before you could taste true euphoria. No, he doesn’t think you deserve it yet. Flipping your body effortless on your back, wrists now pinned above your head.
His teal eyes drank the sight of your breast bouncing with each pant, puffy cunt clenching desperately, and the glimmering tearful eyes rivaling the stars themselves. A sight so sinful the devil is writhing in envy.
“What the fuck?!” You thrashed in his hold again, mourning the lost of the orgasm your body was denied.
“With this attitude, you should be grateful for what you got. I’m tired of waiting.” Alhaitham sneers next to your ear, chest pressed against yours before his warmth pulls away.
Tugging his pants and boxers down his thighs with a hand still coated in your nectar, trailing kisses and red splotches in the valley of your breast as his precum and your slick mixed with each stroke of his shaft. The wet sounds even reached your ears.
Making the mistake of looking down, your eyes widened as they comprehended his length and girth. Your restless pussy twitching but your legs closing as to preserve the last of your ego. Something thick pressed against your dripping pussy making your hole quiver and legs freeze as his tip threatens breach your entrance.
“Trying to be coy now? When you were moaning like a whore mere minutes ago.” Smug teal eyes peering down at you.
Another frown breaks onto your face at his pointed words. Your tongue is just as sharp, best to remind him of that fact.
“What a practiced line, you say the same things to her as well?” A mocking smile curling your lip as a scowl tugs down at his.
Too self-satisfied with your small victory to notice his large hand gripping onto your hips, aligning himself with you. With a sinful squelch, Alhaitham snaps his cock fully in. Your lips thrown open with a gasp as your back arches off the mattress.
“I. Never. Had. An. Affair. So, instead of spewing out anymore nonsense, why don’t you just moan instead?” Puncuating each word with thrust of his hips, feeling the vibration of each syllable in his chest pinned against yours.
Jagged words ready at the tip of your tongue, yet you couldn’t form a single sentence. With a broken moan your back slowly descended back onto the sheets.
Tearing a hiss from his clenched teeth and a breathless moan from you, gummy walls contracting down tighter and tighter with each girthy inch pushed as his balls slap against the slick down your ass. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Alhaitham stays there, tip pressed against the deepest part of you, a furrow between his brows.
Alhaitham knows he should be gentle. He knows he should allow your walls to grow accustomed to his girth by slowly rolling his hips against yours.
However, you just won’t stay still. Mewling and whining against his frame, nails clawing at his hand as your legs fluttered in the air. Each movement makes your pussy slurp around his stiff cock, lapping at the girth as if trying to pull him deeper than he already was.
Tempting his hunger like a lunatic testing a starved beast, it’ll only be so long before the hunger bends the iron bars containing it and devours you.
“AH!” A sharp slap of his hips rips a moan from your lips.
Alhaitham pulls you off his cock until the tip threatens to slip out, then thrusts it all back in one fluid motion. Instinctively your teeth clamps down on your disobedient lips, desperately trying to bite back those lewd noises. The slurping of your greed welcoming him over and over was embarrassing enough.
What a selfish move, trying to deprive him once more of your pretty moans. Provoking that ugly appetite within the pits of his stomach again. If you won’t behave, Alhaitham decides to fuck the stubborness out of you.
Each thrust of his hips into yours rocking the sturdy bed, bullying your poor sensitive pussy still recovering from a ruined orgasm. Hands and hips held within bruising grips. The pitched gasps every time he railed into a certain spot didn’t escape his keen ears, his hips now angled to bully that spot with each thrust.
How helpless you were to the devastating rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin. Unable to ground yourself on anything, your last wisps of sanity swept away by the waves of pleasure.
A groan reverberates deep in Alhaitham’s chest, the sudden convulsions of your slick walls trying to milk him. It was almost impossible to move with the way your pussy just kept clamping down.
Unfortunately, his hips couldn’t seem to care, operating solely on selfish desire.
Fortunately, a fresh wave of arousal aided in his rhythm, relentless slams bouncing your body and bed.
Strength long leaving your arms Alhaitham releases his hold on them in favor of supporting your limp hips, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as lust-hazed eyes honed in on the frothy white ring forming on his shaft.
All your lips could do was babble out nothings as the headboard continued to beat the poor wall. Cunt thanking his cock with a contraction every time his tip knocks against your weakness.
The sweet moans caressing his ears, the filthy slaps echoing through the room, and your walls pulling him deeper and deeper, Alhaitham was at his limit.
There was nothing separating you two, he had enough sense left to know that. Reeling in the reins of his greed, he pulls back, fingers digging deeper into your plush skin. Well, he tried to pull back, but your locked ankles behind his back foiled this plan.
He felt so hefty in you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his girth and length tore apart your sensibility. Something deep inside your cunt pleaded to be fed, to be filled, pushing your limp legs to lock ankles.
He feels a bit too far for your liking, blindly your hands groped at his body. Finally, reaching his face, cupping it roughly, you crash his lips down onto yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue still, but you couldn’t care less.
As your tongues tangled together, Alhaitham reached his limit. Pressing his thick tip as deep as it’d go, thick ropes of cum start to coat your walls with each twitch of his cock. His shaky moans swallowed up by your kiss.
The slurping of your pussy milking his still throbbing cock only prolonged his hunger.
Dropping his head into the space between your neck and shoulder, he relishes in what he’s been depriving himself of. Feeling the faint shiver of your neck against his face.
Something was fogging up his mind, Autumn breeze doing nothing to quell the heat burning him.
–
“Ah! Mmmh! A-ah Ah!”
The first rays of dawn breaking through the navy sky, the light so flushed by the scene it witnessed, it’s pink hue illuminated skin into the room heavy with lust and the slap of wet skin.
“N-no more… too m-Ah!-much-ch.” Intoxicated brain sputtering out broken sentences.
It really was too much, you’ve cum too much to bother remembering, from the creamy drops dripping onto the soaked sheets, he’s also cummed too much.
Pussy overflowing and spasming with each thrust pushing more milky seed out.
Cock rubbing its red tip rawer with each quiver of your gooey walls.
Six years of starvation will make any man forget gluttony is a sin.
“Too much? No More?” A husky pant between each word as Alhaitham continues with his punishing rhythm.
“If that’s the case… then why is your pussy refusing to let me go?” His chest pressed against your back, caging you further as his breath tickles your ear.
Unable to form a sentence anymore, your head pathetically shook side to side, stubbornly denying the obvious. Looks like he hasn’t fucked out of you yet, better change that. Large fingers digging further down on bruised hips, as the pistoning of his thrusts escalated.
Bed frame pushed to its limits.
Each smack of his hips against your limp body further drowning your pride out in a flood of dopamine. It’s mounting again, that familiar pressure building up in your core, making your toes curl in painful arches.
There’s a sudden flick at your swollen clit, walls flinching as his fingers encircles around the abused nub.
“Who’s making you feel this way?” His husky voice too close to your ear.
Groundless pride preventing you from unsealing you lips, refusing to feed into his ego anymore than your wanton moans already did.
“Who are you showing this shameful face to?” There’s an edge to his voice again, why must you be so stubborn?
Once more you refused to answer. Making Alhaitham’s jaw clench and his fingers roll your clit harsher, making your bruised hips thrash.
“Who’s shape is engrained into this lewd body?” Voice dangerously low as he pushes his thick tip deeper against your beaten and painted walls, fingers never stopping their torment on your little nub.
The edge was getting closer, you knew you’ll fall off it soon, you’ll dive head first into the euphoric sea of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin and drown.
“Ah-ah Al-mmh!” You try to collect your breath.
Alhaitham quickens his fingers on your clit, feeling your greedy cunt clamp down on him again, walls suckling his twitching tip as his balls tighten. He’s close, but he needs you to say what he’s been waiting to hear all night.
“Alh-ah a-a…” Your hips shaking violently in his hold now.
Lust-glazed eyes staring straight into equally hazed teal eyes. Shaky hands slowly weaving themselves into his damp ash locks, gently pulling his ear closer to your lips, your hoarse voice just barely audible.
“A bastard.”
Self-satisfied smirk plastered over your loose face as your tear blurred vision catches the stunned expression on his handsome face.
The heat of his touch, the chemical stirring in your brain, and the pleasure frying your nerves made a delirious smile grace smudged lips. Your sight so hazed by lust you couldn’t see where your smile was even directed to.
Alhaitham wanted to etch the sight of your debauch face, smeared makeup and glazed eyes rolled back, into his memories forever.
Too caught off guard by your response to remind his hand to stop its movement before it was already too late. Eyes seeing the back of your head, back arching under his frame, you fell back into the all consuming waves of pleasure.
A hard earned victory in this veiled battle of two egos. Exhaustion seeping into every fiber of your being. The pale pink of twilight dimming in your vision as the dark hands of sleep covers your eyes.
Somewhere in the middle of drifting off into a blank nothingness, you feel a hand tenderly guiding your head to rest on a soft pillow.
Your eyelids twitch and brows furrow as the brightness of the room crept its way behind your shut eyes. Unable to retreat back into the dark embrace of sleep, you begrudgingly open your heavy lids.
Greeted by blurred shapes and fuzzy colors, you slowly blink your unfocused eyes. Gradually, the shapes and colors merge into distinguishable objects: a mug left on your bedside table with vapors rising from its rim.
“It’s morning-after tea.” A husky voice followed by the distinct flip of paper tenses every muscle in your body.
Alhaitham’s still here. You wish he wasn’t, you wish he’d realize last night was a mistake created from the clashing of egos, you wish the other side of your bed was empty.
So why did the tightness in your chest melt away with the mere sound of his voice?
You drag your sore body up from the sheets, shaky hands supporting the weight of numb legs and throbbing hips. Your sealed lips refusing to give him the satisfaction of any audible ques of your current state.
Sitting at the edge of your bed, back bare of anything but your hair draping over the marked skin facing him, you took the warm cup into your hands.
A harmony of methodical sips and soft turns of pages fill the room, an open window washing away the haze of lust with an Autumn breeze. Just as the last bit of tea slides down your throat a gentle slap of a book snapping close brings an end to the heavy silence.
“It’s unreliable,” Alhaitham announces.
Peering over your shoulder with a quirked brow, freezing as you recognize the book clutched in his hands. Not waiting for a response, he continues.
“Anyone with eyes can see how his biases exude through each sentence. He only studied 15 couples, not an appropriate sample size for a world filled with millions of pairs. His experiments have yet to be replicated, it seems his status is what got this nonsense published.” He sets the book down.
“What are you trying to say?” Your eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Your theory of phenylethylamine having a shelf life is based on nonsense.” His eyes connect with yours with that familiar indifference.
A frown twists your face, so he still wants to argue huh. Of course, what else did you expect? You and him have long gone down the bitter circular path you’ve seen travled before.
Irritation rising in your chest, like Alhaitham had jabbed his finger into a wound you’ve yet to heal.
“Oh, then your theory must be the intrinsic truth, huh?” Words leaving an acidic aftertaste on your tongue.
“I never-”
“Look at you, so correct with no data to support your vague mathematical thesis.” You cut him off, anger replacing the soreness of your legs.
Cup knocking against a bedside table as your hand casts it to the side, getting off the bed you march into your closet, pulling a random shirt on without regard of your movements wrinkling the fabric.
You just needed to leave this room, just being by his side is making your blood pressure rise. Your bed creaks as Alhaitham gets up as well, but your back was already through the door.
Two sets of steps trekking through the halls, paces mismatched as one tries to take quicker steps to counter the broader strides of the other. Alhaitham keeps pace with your escalating march.
“It’s a critique of his research, not you,” he voices.
You didn’t want to hear it, sharply pivoting into your home office, but you weren’t fast enough to stop Alhaitham from following you in.
Now a husband wants to spend time with his wife, where was this before?
“It’s an experiment conducted at the Akademiya, how is that not reliable enough? You think you can do better?” Your body whipping around with a glare directed at him, your hideous ego showing its face again.
“Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you even believe in such a shallow analysis?” He mirrors your glare.
“I’d rather believe in something with actual quantifiable numbers.”
“Fine, you want quantifiable numbers? Care to calculate along with me? Or is your mind still recovering from last night?” Alhaitham folds his arms in front of his chest.
“Go for it,” you say through gritted teeth, accepting his challenge, wanting to shush that snooty tone of his.
“The Akasha bases its pairs off demographic, interest, and dispositions, all variables we can calculate,” he states.
You straighten up your back, staring him in those teal eyes with your head held up high.
“Sumeru city is home to roughly 1 million people. Only 1/3 are around my age.” Alhaitham begins his trail.
“That brings that number down to about 333,333.” No delay in your response.
“Only 1 in 10 people have a personality I can tolerate, then suppose only 1 in 20 of those people can withstand mine.”
“ Rounding up that leaves about 1,667 candidates.” You tsk at his estimations, that number should be far greater than 20.
“Next comes shared interest, only 1 in 4 people have touched a physical book in the past year.”
“417 left.”
Perhaps the gods didn’t think cheating you out of a childhood was enough, out of 417 people you had the misfortune of staring at his stony face.
“Having to arrange 417 separate meetings at a small cafe would be much too burdensome for the Department of Human Relations. The scope needs to be narrowed further.” Alhaitham takes a step forward.
“Only 1 in 16 will have the patience to teach a grown man how to avoid wrinkles in his button downs.” Baritone voice losing its pointed edge.
“26 left.” You take a step back to preserve the space, hating how your skin craves the heat of his.
“Only 1 in 8 of those people will allow me to borrow their books even when they know the edges of the paper will be creased when its returned.” He takes another step.
As you take another step backwards, the edge of your office desk prevents you from retreating further. The sensation of the cold wood distracting you momentarily from your calculations.
“Then only 1 in 6 people will drape a blanket over a body that hogs an entire couch for a nap, placing a pillow under my head to ensure I don’t wake up with a sore neck.” Alhaitham doesn’t stop.
Reaching an arm out, he firmly sets his palm on the expanse of your desk, caging you between the wood and the risk of your skin feeling the heat radiating off his body.
“How many people are left now?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear.
“ 0.543,” You blurted out.
A deep furrow appears between your brows, something must’ve gone wrong in your calculation, it’s impossible to have half a person. In the context of the Akasha, one person, a whole person, is matched to another.
Once more your mind ran the numbers over again, then again, and then thrice trying to recompute the figures.
Each time the same number came back: half a person.
“Are you mocking me with those groundless fractions? Where did you even get those statistics from?” Your pointed gaze still directed at him, did he intentionally lead you down this illogical trail?
“Logic is neither an art nor a science but a dodge.” He peers down at you, teal gaze back to its neutral state.
“Ha! Says the man who places logic and rationality on a pedestal, what caused such a change, Alhaitham?” You laugh dryly, not bothering to decipher the most brainless qoute you ever heard him use.
No change in his expression as his shoulders rise with a deep inhale, exhaling slowly as he leans his face in, his finger digging his palm against lacquered wood.
“Instead of wasting time citing subpar research, you should’ve just been honest. Then maybe I’ll give you what you want and sign those damn papers you hid away in this desk.” Voice low but steady as his gaze never leaves your frame.
It was a strange phenomenon, the chirping of the crickets had halted as two bodies remained unmoving, not even a single grain of dust dare move. If it weren’t for the faint ticking of a hallway clock, it would’ve seemed like time had stopped.
How long has he known about the divorce papers neatly stacked away a desk drawer?
Alhaitham slowly backs his body away from yours, hand returning to his side, freeing you from the cage it created. Teal eyes carefully observes your downcast stare and stiff shoulders as guilt suffocated him.
All the emotions he bottled up, all the fervor he held back, all the desires he swallowed down. It all came tumbling out, spilling out into a murky, repulsive mess.
“Wife.” If he had spoken any louder than a breathy whisper, that word would’ve crumbled on his tongue.
“I love you.” Alhaitham finally allows the words which have been clinging on his tongue for years now to fall out of his mouth.
Every inch of you froze at those three words, the weight of his stare heavy on your shoulders.
“Do you really feel nothing from those words?” Baritone voice beckoning an answer from you.
You don’t dare lift your head, gaze downcasted and frozen. Because you know you’ll have to stare at your reflection in his eyes.
Phenylethylamine, oxytocin, dopamine.
All these hormones and chemicals should’ve ran their course through your body. The haze should’ve faded and the abnormality of your chest should’ve corrected itself. It’s been three years at this point.
So, why is your chest aching?
The wood grain of the floor began to blur together as bitter tears compensated for the painful stinging of your irises. There it is, your brain finally short-circuits as the logic which once held up your sanity has crumbled away.
Finally, you met his gaze, staring right at your reflection in teal irises.
“It’s suffocating to be with you… it’s so lonely in this quiet house… it burns me like fire to touch you… yet… and y-yet see-”
“Seeing you leave will kill me, ” Alhaitham spoke the words just about to fall from the tip of your tongue.
The last piece of evidence that shattered the hypothesis he cultivated for all his life. If soulmates don’t exist, if the concept of an ‘other half’ doesn’t exist, then why is he feeling the same agony as you?
Looks like both theories were wrong in the end. Mathematics and chemistry unable to solve the enigma known as love.
“I… I want to love… but I’m drowning… Alhaitham.” You were finally honest, you’ve been drowning all your life, thrashing hands searching for something to hold onto.
Would you be oh so kind enough to grab that pen just behind you and stab its steel nib into his chest? Alhaitham’s certain that it would hurt less than the words that left your trembling lips.
A gentle hand cradled the back of your head as he pulls you closer. Letting those bitter tears strain his shirt and burn his skin.
No one, but the audience of a curious star and capricious gods peering down behind their blanket of clouds into this quiet house.
Alhaitham once thought of himself as a good husband. Doing his fair share of chores and paying his half of the bills.
However, seeing your broken figure barely clinging onto his stiff frame, it’s clear that his overconfident assessment was a grave error.
A good husband would’ve been more attentive. A good husband would’ve noticed the tide slowly sweeping you away into the rough sea. A good, loving husband would’ve never let you sink alone in salty tears.
“Then I’ll drown with you.” His other hand grasping onto one of yours, slowly easing it away from his wrinkled shirt with soft caresses.
Only monsters live in the deep cold sea, the only creatures able to survive the saltine waters and the pitch black nothingness. But as long as your fingers wove themselves into the gaps between his, he’ll be warm even as he sits on the sandy bottom of the murky ocean.
Maybe that’s where the two of you belonged, two unromantic and prideful fools sitting at the bottom of the ocean.
Hand in hand so that the stupidity contained between the two of you won’t pollute anyone else.
Gradually, those aching hiccups of yours faded into nothing more than muffled whimpers. Allowing silence to creep its way back into the gaps. The cause of this mess in the first place.
He has to remedy this, but what should he say? All those encyclopedias and journals he had thumbed through were all for naught. For Alhaitham’s mind couldn’t recall one fact from those pages.
One hand patting a slow rhythm into your back, trying to buy the man some time.
When logic and reasoning fail to explain the unexplained, folklore takes its place.
“According to legends, people used to have two pairs of hands, two pairs of feet, and two faces pointed in opposite directions.” He began.
“Back then, humans were powerful, powerful enough to threaten the gods who created them. So the gods split them in two. Cursing humans to a cruel search, desperate to be whole again.” His other hand still toying with your fingers.
You peer up at him, head still resting against his chest, feeling the soft beating of his heart. Blinking away the tears, listening to his telling of a myth.
“That’s the origin of a soulmate.” He finishes.
A soft giggle leaves your lips, a mixture of confusion and disbelief from Alhaitham quoting a fairytale.
“And you believe in that?” Amused gaze connecting with brilliant beryl eyes.
“Yes…because I found you.” Alhaitham tenderly brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers as a glint catches the sunlight.
With a foreign sensation hugging a finger, your brows furrow. Holding your hand out toward the light again. Blinking eyes finally identify the gem which coyly appeared on your ring finger.
So that’s what he was doing, your tear stained cheeks shifting up as a smile stretches your once stiff lips.
Burying your head in the chest of the most unromantically romantic idiot you’ve ever known, a radiant laugh bubbling in your chest as it resonates off quiet walls.
But as he is, so are you: An unromantically romantic soulmate in love.
It’s been years and I’m still not over it. The charm in this work is literally to die for. I’ve never seen such a compelling characterisation of alhaitham. Miss you dearly viva 💕
Summary: Going back to the place that started it all as a pair different than before.
Word Count: 5.2k
Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut, NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Fluff, humor, slight angst, slight dubcon, exhibitionism? kinda? porn with plot, slight yandere alhaitham, mentions of marriage, marriage pressures, pushy family.
Authors Note: This is a small continuation of this basically you take alhaitham back to your parents’ house. I wrote this in a rush to finish it in time for his birthday. Enjoy
──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! gojo loves using the “i’m married” card whenever he gets approached, because in his mind you guys are married.
the thing about being satoru gojo is that people look at him.
he’s used to it by now— the double takes, the whispered gossip, the way strangers feel entitled to his attention just because he happens to be tall and white-haired and annoyingly beautiful(so he’s been told). it’s exhausting, honestly, but he’s learned to deal with it over the years.
the second her manicured fingers land on satoru’s forearm, he knows exactly what’s coming.
he’s seen this script a hundred times. the coy smile, the slight tilt of the head, the way her lashes flutter like she’s got something in her eye. he’s been fielding these approaches for years, long before you came along, and he’s got it down to a fine art now.
“sorry,” he says, before she can even get a word out. “i’m married.”
the lie rolls off his tongue as easily as breathing. it’s not even really a lie, not in his head. you’re his girlfriend, yes, but you’re also the one. the endgame. the person he’s going to annoy for the rest of his natural life and probably well beyond that if he figures out how. in his mind, you’ve already got the ring, the shared last name, the matching toothbrushes in the bathroom. the paperwork is just a formality.
the woman’s face falls slightly, but she’s persistent. he’ll give her that. “oh, i don’t see a ring—”
“left it at home,” he says smoothly, already starting to edge away. “wife’d kill me if i lost it.”
he does have a ring. it’s just that it’s still sitting in the expensive jewellery shop that you always stare at when you guys pass by. he’s been meaning to go in and custom-make one that’s been appearing in his mind lately, one that would be unique and fitting only for you, but there’s no rush and the right moment just hasn’t shown up yet, because every time he looks at you, his brain short-circuits and he forgets how words work.
but that’s a problem for future satoru.
right now, present satoru is trying to escape this conversation without being rude, because you’re waiting for him in the car, most likely dozing off against the window with that cute pout on your lips.
he’s reaching for the strawberry milk with the cute cow on it, when he hears the click of heels behind him.
“excuse me?”
satoru doesn’t even turn around. his hand closes around the bottle anyway. “married,” he says, tossing it into his basket.
“oh! i—i wasn’t—”
“very married. disgustingly married. my wife is the most beautiful woman in the world and i think about her constantly.” he finally glances over his shoulder, offering a bland smile. “sorry.”
the woman blinks at him, then laughs nervously and retreats toward the chips aisle.
satoru turns back to the fridge, satisfied. it’s not even a lie anymore, not really. you’ve been his girlfriend for two years, and somewhere along the way— maybe when he watched you fall asleep on his couch with your glasses askew, or when you sent him a photo of a cat you saw on the street with the caption him, or when you laughed so hard at your own joke that you choked on water— he stopped thinking of you as just a girlfriend.
you’re his wife. you just don’t know it yet. there’s paperwork to do, and a ring to buy, and a question to ask, but in his head? you signed the papers months ago.
he grabs another bottle of milk because you like the chocolate one too, and heads to the checkout, basket swinging from his wrist. the cashier gives him an interested look but he only looks at you through the transparent doors that open and close, smiling when he sees you rubbing your eyes through the window and looking around sleepily.
.
.
.
the first thing satoru notices is that the afternoon sun is hitting just right against your hair, making it look like something out of a painting. the second thing he notices is the woman approaching.
he clocks her immediately— the way her eyes flick to him, the subtle once-over, the way she angles her body toward his. he’s seen this movie a hundred times. hell, he’s starred in it a hundred times.
“excuse me,” she says, all polite smile and batted lashes. “i’m so sorry to bother you, but i just had to say—you have the most stunning eyes i’ve ever seen.”
satoru feels you stiffen slightly beside him. your hand, which had been loosely linked with his, tightens just a fraction. he wants to squeeze back, to reassure you, but he’s also kind of… curious. because usually, when this happens, he’s alone. he gets to play his little game where he flashes an imaginary wedding ring and says sorry, i’m married with a soft, stupidly fond smile that he practices exclusively for the version of you that lives in his head.
but you’re right there and he’s never had to play that card with you within earshot before.
“oh,” he says, tilting his head. his glasses slip down his nose just enough for him to peer over them. “thanks.”
the woman takes the lack of immediate rejection as encouragement. “i don’t usually do this, but i was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab a coffee sometime? there’s a great place just around the corner—”
“no can do,” satoru interrupts, his voice softening at the edges. he feels your hand twitch again. “i’m married.”
the word hangs in the air. married. he’s said it a thousand times to strangers, to cashiers, to that one persistent guy at the bookstore who wouldn’t take a hint. but never like this, never with you standing right there by his side.
you go very still.
the woman blinks, glances at your interlocked hands, then back at his face. “oh. i’m sorry, i didn’t see a ring—”
“don’t need one,” he says simply, he’s not even looking at her anymore. he’s looking at you, at the way your lips have parted slightly, at the confusion and tenderness flickering across your face. “some things you just know.”
there’s a beat of silence. the woman mutters an apology and retreats. satoru doesn’t watch her go. he’s too busy watching you stare up at him like he’s grown a second head.
“married?” you repeat, your voice going breathy like it does when you’re trying not to laugh but also trying not to cry.
“well, yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he brings your joined hands up and presses a kiss to your knuckles, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. “i mean, not legally. yet. but in my head? you’ve had the ring for like eight months now. it’s very sparkly. you look great in it.”
you blink at him once, twice, and then you make a sound that’s half-giggle, half-gasp, shoving at his chest with your free hand. “satoru! you can’t just tell strangers we’re married!”
“why not?” he grins, bright and boyish and entirely unrepentant. “it’s gonna happen eventually. i’m just saving time.”
“you’re insane.”
“insanely in love, maybe.”
you groan, burying your face in his shoulder, and he feels you smile against his shirt. your ears are pink. he wants to bite them.
“you’ve been doing this the whole time?” you mumble into his collarbone. “every time someone flirts with you?”
“every. single. time.” he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you closer, resting his chin on top of your head. “you’re my wife in every way that matters. the government just doesn’t know it yet.”
you pull back just enough to look at him, and there’s something in your eyes that makes his chest ache— all shimmery and wondering, like you’re seeing him for the first time. you smile, small and private, and tug his sleeve. “c’mon, husband. my show starts in ten.”
he word husband hits him right in the stupid chest like a truck made of flowers.
he follows you out, already planning the ring. already knowing exactly what it’ll look like. already halfway down on one knee in his head.
you don’t know any of that, not yet. but you said it and now he’s never letting you go.
synopsis: it’s no secret that kamisato ayato is a difficult man — both to handle and to please. somehow, he only gets more difficult when sick, but you find that you don’t quite mind
a/n: sequel can be found here!
If someone were to ask you what it’s like serving under the esteemed Yashiro Commissioner himself, your answer would probably be that he is a difficult man.
You’re sure that the Kanjou Commissioner and Tenryou Commissioner would agree with you — both seem as though they have a rather pointy bone to pick with your lord, and knowing him, there is probably a wide variety of reasons with how often he muses about stepping on their toes. The Guuji of the Grand Narukami Shrine seems to think the same, referring to your master as ‘that Yashiro brat’ or ‘the Kamisato rascal’, whenever you’re sent to deliver missives or letters on his behalf. Although she’s never explicitly mentioned that she’s speaking about your master, it is quite obvious that the one she’s speaking about isn’t your lady Ayaka. Still, the most prominent of all his victims, however, would be poor Thoma — the savoury mizu manju your master had tried making really hadn’t sat well with his stomach, much to no one’s surprise.
For you, however, he’s difficult for a completely different reason.
“I know I’m considered to be quite the conventionally attractive looker,” the source of your current headache says, voice breathless yet still dripping slick with honeyed amusement that makes your irritation flare, “but this is just a little inappropriate, don’t you think, my dear?”
You make a lunge for him over his desk, but he manages to evade you far too skillfully for your liking. If someone were to walk in on the two of you right now, they would surely be stunned by the sight they’re greeted with: the ever composed Yashiro Commissioner with his clothes rumpled, face flushed and collar slipping down dangerously one shoulder, while his personal aide glares at him with an expression brimming over with ire.
“It wouldn’t have to be—” you say flatly, attempting a surprise grab for his sleeve that he dodges, silk fabric slipping between your fingers, “—if you would just sit still and let me take your temperature, milord. This is hardly how any self respecting adult should be acting, let alone the head of the Kamisato Clan.”
I re-posted this in case anyone is confused. Tumblr is not enjoying Xiao and I feel attacked. Pls work ;-; I have family
Hihi^^ and npnp I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I love Xiao so much, pls send me all your xiao asks I will speed do them. He deserves the world so buddy, come home don’t dodge me like Venti
Semi Part 1: Friendship
Semi Part 3: Cuddles
Semi Part 4: Protective
Semi Part 5: Affection
Semi Part 6: Jealously
Semi Part 7: First Kiss
Semi Part 8: Opposites Attract
Semi Part 9: String of Fate [Soulmate] HCs
Semi Part 10: [ Fainting ]
—
Xiao: Falling Hard In Love HCs
He knows what love is but never thought he would experience this strong of an emotion. He’s respected people such as his fellow adepti and Rex Lapis and he has a somewhat close relationship with Ming. He’s felt protective over Liyue and children but never for a single person.
His first thoughts are you must either be an unannounced adepti that somehow came to be or you were an evil demon that somehow laid a curse on him. Both very implausible since he can tell you were human and you would never have an opening to curse him before his spear would get to you first.
He watches you, wondering why you’ve captured so much of his attention. You can feel someone’s eyes on you but every time you turn around you don’t see anyone.
You go to Xiao worried that a demon might be stalking you since he is the Guardian Yaksha and he might be able to help you. When he sees how frightened you are because of his actions, he immediately stops borderline stalking you. He tells you he will take care of it and you won’t need to worry about anything.
He tries to keep his distance and aloof manner to make you both drift apart more since a relationship would not be the best considering he is an adepti, but he does dote on you in his own way without realizing it. It just comes naturally to him.
If you bring a gift or a plate of almond tofu, he can’t deny an offering. That would just be rude. This is ignoring the fact that he’s never concerned himself with prayers or offerings in the past, let alone appear in front of that person except for you.
If you’re a traveler he would silently watch over your path. He won’t be watching you from any shadows since that didn’t go so well the first time so he’ll clear the path so you won’t run into monsters. Half way through he get’s a bit pissed at his behaviour, that he’s doing so much for one person when adepti usually seclude themselves yet here he is in the open, killing fodder when he’s faces demons that could swallow Liyue. But then he thinks about you getting hurt and he’s right back to work.
He finds himself missing your presence when you’re not at the inn for an extended period of time. Looking out over Liyue from the roof of the inn hoping to see you appear just over the hill. Whenever Ming points out that he’s missing you because he likes you he frowns at himself. Has he really fallen that hard? He tries to clears his mind by fighting something but his walk back always makes him reflect.
When you return and remark about how easy your trip was. That there were no monsters anyways near their camps and how peaceful it was, he simply shrugs and nods in agreement.
“Xiao? I’m back from my travels!” you call out in the open space where you would usually find him. You had just gotten back from what was suppose to be a 2 week long trip which only lasted for half the time.
“You’re back early”
You nearly shrieked in shock. No matter how many times you’ve talked with Xiao, his sudden appearance always startles you. You slowly calmed your heart as you turned to see the adepti sitting on the roof of the inn, staring up at the night sky.
“You know, it was kind of funny actually. I passed by many hilichurls camps but I never saw any,” you stated reminiscing your trip as you side eyed the adepti, “would you have anything to do with that?”
“You were taking a dangerous route. You should stay on the main road from now on. It would be foolish for you to die out of sheer curiosity and to something like a hilichurl” he scolds, crossing his arms as he peers down annoyed at you while you sheepishly smile back.
“Aw its not too bad. At least I can count on you Xiao. Going out and protecting Liyue as the Guardian yaksha” you chucked. He can feel the tips of his ears start to blush. But before you can see his face turn pink he suddenly stands up and puts his mask on as he materializes his spear.
“Yes and I must go again. There are more hilichurls coming too close to the inn. I’ll have to deal with it before they cause more trouble” he quickly nods to you as he jumps down from the roof he was perched on
“Oh…alright, have a safe travel” you silently wave to his back as he passes you
“Likewise”
You watched him jump off from the railing to the inn and into the trees as he disappeared into the night. The green glow of his mask fading away the further he ran. He really was incredible.
“Hah, I was so close this time” you sigh, you were trying to lead your compliment into something more but Xiao cut your conversation short. Maybe he did know of your deeper feelings and was trying to softly reject them and you? You quickly slapped your cheeks getting rid of those bad thoughts
“Well, there’s always tomorrow” you smiled, hyping yourself up to hopefully tell the aloof adepti your feelings for him.
The moon was high behind the peaks of mountains; a deep navy sky clear in display of its many twinkling stars. Though the land was asleep, the crickets softly hummed their conversation and a few fireflies speckled the dark.
Perhaps it’s your high spirits at the change of routine and tender moment under falling stars, but the scenery around you has never looked more magical.
“If you continue to stare up at the sky while you walk, you’ll lose your footing and fall.”
You turned around at Xiao’s comment, face still alight with a grin you were sure made you look like a giddy child. The faint smile on his lips gave away his amusement.
“And if I do, will you be there to catch me?”
“Anywhere, anytime,” Xiao reassured, arms crossed over his chest.
Though it was a rhetorical question, the power his aura exuded as an adeptus solidified his words as not only a confirmation, but a promise.
Approaching the steps that lead further up the village to where your house was tucked away, you paused. Noticing this, Xiao looked up at you and was met with your outstretched hand— patient and waiting. His lips slightly parted in brief confusion, and the innocence his eyes held reminded you of a kitten curiously approaching something new.
Endearment. It pulled your heartstrings in the honeyed melody that had you in its audience.
There was brief hesitation. His gloved hand slowly settled into yours and he quietly allowed you to lead him up the stone steps of the winding hills. The warmth rose high on his cheeks, unnoticed by you as you led the way in your sleep-driven haze.
The exhaustion of the day seeped into your bones as you hobbled tiredly over to the familiar front door. Xiao watched attentively as you sluggishly fumbled around for a vase to hold your glaze lilies while getting ready for bed. Mortals were undeniably limited in their energy— always dependent on slumber and moments of rest to replenish and recharge their energy. However bothersome it seemed to Xiao before, seemed to have a change of heart upon seeing your switch in demeanor. It was… cute, and such thoughts filled him with the overwhelming need to just— hold you safely in his arms.
Gods… he was so touch starved and didn’t even know it. Such strange urges only served to further vex & confuse him.
Kneeling by your bedside, he pushed some hair out of your face. You were comfortably under a sea of blankets, the warmth of them quickly promising to have your wish come true. Through heavy lids, you gave him a goofy grin; mind aloof with lulls of sleep.
“Thank you for watching the stars with me.”
There you go again. Thanking him for such trivial and insignificant things. It flustered him. No— it made the fearsome Conqueror of Demons bashful.
“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Xiao uttered softly, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair. You only hummed and relaxed into his touch in response, too tired to chide him.
“Did you mean it?” you groggily muttered from under your covers. “Wanting to get to know me more.”
Xiao nodded. “Rest now. We can talk later.”
The yaksha froze in his advances to leave, feeling the faintest tug on his sleeve.
“Stay… please, Xiao,” you begged weakly. “Just until I fall asleep.”
There was an uncharacteristic mix of fear and defeat in those words alone. It made his chest twinge with hurt. The wish you made earlier… Was sleep truly that difficult for you? He wondered what would impede your nights with restlessness. With a defeated sigh, the yaksha settled back next to you.
“Thank y–“ Xiao cut you off with a breathy chuckle, placing his hand over your eyes.
“Just sleep. I’ll stay.”
Not even two minutes had passed, yet you were already fast asleep. So, you were only keeping awake out of stubbornness… Somehow it no longer surprised him. Xiao watched as your breathing became steadier, face relaxed into your tranquil state of sleep.
Though the promise was only to stay until you were fast asleep, Xiao found himself unable to leave— unwilling to leave. To wish for enough sleep… it only left him wondering what the issue there was.
Perhaps a year ago he would have scoffed at the idea of trying to solve a human’s sleeping problem. My, how you've gotten him wrapped around your finger. Still, he sat in the dark room washed over by pale moonlight and stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. Were you a light sleeper? Or perhaps it was insomnia, though it would contradict how fast you fell asleep. The only other possibility he could consider was an external force that came to make a ruckus at night.
Part of him was fighting to just leave. It was none of his business to be a sleep therapist.
I wish to get to know you better.
The wish he made— though he didn’t believe in mortals’ naive, wishful thinking, he truly did want to know you better. That single want was the thread that bound him to his current disposition.
Before he knew it, he had already stayed an hour. Muffled whimpering pulled him out of his thoughts as he glanced back over to you. There was a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead as you shifted around. Your brows were furrowed in discomfort and face in a frown that shifted from fear to stress.
Ah. Nightmares.
Somehow the thought had escaped him, and now he was reminded of the unpredictability of mortal dreams.
Dream eater. That’s what he once was. The memories of his past, the dreams he painfully consumed, were enough to raise bile in his throat in a suffocating feeling. He wasn’t sure how to help you. Comforting others was never his strong suit and the thought of eating your dream… It made his hand tremble. In anticipation or fear, he couldn’t say.
The hesitation was clear, seeping into his movements as his hand slowly drew closer over your head.
“It’s… okay,” he quietly reassured, awkwardly patting your head in what he attempted to be a comforting motion. “I’m right here.”
Slowly, your face eased into a more relaxed state. Your breathing returned to a steady rhythm as you settled back into a restful sleep. Perhaps the nightmare had already subsided for the time being.
Xiao hadn’t realized until now how his shoulders stiffened with lingering worry, nor how he had held his breath to see your expression change. He scoffed inwardly at himself, rising from the bed and descending back into the night to continue his eternal back-and-forth with the karmic debt that hung over his shoulders.
“I’ve long gone past the point of no return.”
——
“Emissary Ganyu, what a pleasant surprise running into you today.” You warmly greeted the busy-bee secretary of Yuehai Pavilion. Her entrance to Bubu Pharmacy was graceful, and she warmly reciprocated the greeting.
Slight embarrassment dusted her cheeks as she privately added, “P-Please, the formality is a little… You don’t have to use the titles. I’m content with just being Ganyu when we meet.” She waved a hand dismissively at herself. “But I digress, what brings you here today?”
With a tired sigh and halfhearted smile, you gestured toward the box of medicine herbalist Gui was packing for you. “Nothing severe. I just ran out of medicine for headaches and remedies for stress.”
Ganyu’s expression softened with knowing concern. “Has sleep become an issue once again?”
You nodded, handing the herbalist what you owed with a grateful ‘thank you’. “Slept rather well last night at least. I feel fine today,” you reassure with a smile.
Being alive as long as she has, Ganyu has known your family for generations and witnessed all that has traversed them for as long as she can remember. The stresses that ail you— the sources of your sleeplessness— Ganyu knew them well.
The sole remaining descendant of your family. Perhaps she saw herself in you, and that’s why she kept her promise to your grandmother of being someone you could rely on.
“That’s a relief to hear,” Ganyu sighed, expression relaxing from its worry. “I came here to drop off licensing renewals and paperwork for Baizhu. If you’re feeling up to it, we can catch up with a quick lunch.”
Ever the busy-body, you mused fondly.
“I’d like that.”
Never a dull moment with her, Ganyu was quick to get you in step with her schedule flow. Luckily, you were rested enough to keep up with her today.
You anxiously fiddled with the napkin on your lap. “Isn't this a bit… much?”
Seated within the highly-regarded Liuli Pavilion, you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. Such enticing dishes laid out before you… smelled expensive. It wasn’t the first time you’d been brought to eat here with her, and though it was a rarity you were still never one to indulge too much in lavish luxury from the city.
“Not at all,” Ganyu wholeheartedly reassured. “It's my treat for such a rare occasion.”
“You spoil me, Gan…”
As you both idly chatted over delicately prepared meals, you couldn’t help but notice the not-so-subtle glances Ganyu would take toward your lap every now and then. With a half-hearted sigh and a growing smile that betrayed your feigned exasperation, you set down your utensils.
“Okay. Alright.” Ganyu’s eyes sparkled, already knowing you caved. “Just ask what you want.”
“The charm,” she started, eyes intently observing the small charm that dangled securely from your hip. Never one to miss something new about you. The attentiveness from the adeptal blood that flowed within her, presumably. “Where did you get it? Ah! Pardon my prying— I don’t mean to be nosy...”
With delicate fingers, you picked it up, eyes glossing over it. The beat of your heart picked up ever so slightly.
“It was a gift.”
Left next to the vase of glaze lilies, the glint of the charm catching the morning light drew your attention toward it. You delicately picked up the item, tracing the butterfly engraved on the wooden diamond with your fingertip. The piece of amber that dangled from it with an ornate tassel was warm on your palm.
A single note on a small piece of parchment laid next to it.
‘An adepti amulet to stave off evil. Should you need me, call my name.’
“Xiao…” Ganyu started, clasping your hand in hers. “He must truly consider you someone special. It’s not often he gives gifts— despite how surprisingly skilled he is in intricate crafts.”
Warm and fuzzy, your chest pounded with overwhelming emotion. A handmade amulet… It was beautiful in its simplicity, and carried meaning in its subtle details you had yet to decipher. You had to remember to thank him for it later.
“He’s a very gentle person. I’d also… like to get to know him better,” you absentmindedly mused, recalling that mysterious masked boy caught in the thundering rain all those months ago. Though reserved and self-guarded, Xiao was never anything but polite albeit a bit distanced for a while.
It seems they get along well together, Ganyu noted, gaze holding a tender fondness like one would with a sibling. Maybe this was the new walk of life you needed when all other roads were erased.
——
“Can’t I just-”
“No.”
You huffed through your nose, exasperated. “You’re being unfair.” Xiao only raised a brow in response.
“An adeptus prolonging your lifespan would be considered a divine blessing to any other mortal out there,” he countered, pushing you back into bed with a gentle nudge that you didn’t fight back. “Rest.”
Making me go to bed early is some divine blessing... Such sarcasm you would keep between yourself and your thoughts alone.
“Xiao, it’s only nine o’clock! The moon just barely appeared in the sky. And with the Lantern Rite just around the corner, I want to get as much of my part finished.” But your protests fell on deaf ears as he continued to diligently pile on any blankets he could get his hands on. With a defeated sigh, you allowed your body to sink more comfortably into the mattress. “Is something wrong?”
Your voice came quiet, the question lingering with worry as Xiao sat on the edge of the bed— his back facing you. Oftentimes it was still hard to tell what he was thinking, for there was a lot about his past that was unknown to you and it seemed to weigh heavily on his mind recently. He didn’t need to tell you for you to know there were things he wasn’t voicing— not without your encouragement and patient reassurance.
“Can I ask?” Xiao started, his voice rather quiet like he was afraid of overstepping a boundary. “Your nightmares— how often do they haunt you?”
You were taken aback. “A-Ah, you saw…?”
With a silent nod, the bed creaked as he readjusted himself to finally face you. “That night you told me to stay… You looked distressed in your sleep.”
“They only happen sometimes,” you reassured half-heartedly with a dismissive wave of your hand. The subtle, sharpened squint of his eyes told you he saw right through your downplay.
“Lies will do you no good. But in regards to them, I...”
Xiao paused, looking away briefly. The way he avoided your gaze, the jaded look in his amber eyes— there was something he was fighting with himself to say.
“I can get rid of them, if you wish it.”
You blinked, eyes widening slightly in confused curiosity. “You can… do that?”
At this point, you would take any method to end some of your daily exhaustion. But the way his hands balled into fists at his lap suggested he didn’t have a good history with it. Still, he nodded, his eyes closed as he concentrated on grounding himself— convincing himself to tell you. Now that he had propositioned it, there was no turning back. He had to explain it but the memories—the screams— they stopped the words at his throat.
His mind was going a mile a minute in a constant war, the resolve to see through what he had started diminishing. Yet all at once, it stopped and his eyes shifted down to your quiet reassurance— your hand placed atop his fist. He took a steadying breath.
“I’ve eaten dreams before,” Xiao started, eyes closed as he reminisced. “There exist several methods developed over centuries to perform it. Many are painless and safe. A nightmare or a dream—either can be eaten and it would be as if you had no recollection of it afterwards.”
“So… it wipes it from my memory?”
“In a similar concept, yes.”
You nodded slowly, brows scrunched in thought as you processed the idea.
“Do you trust me with doing this, should you have nightmares?”
All it took was a moment. You were quick to melt away his doubts with the warmth that radiated from your softening gaze. And with a gentle squeeze to his hand, you replied.
