amidst the serenade of snow, the town of @liyue isn't the same without you!
love you forever, don't let go of me
i left my own homeland to chase reverie
forecast ☁️️ 2°c snow
mai vy ( or just vy ) minor. she/her. kenmanagikise lover girl. seasian. isfj.
the resident representative is currently working her very best! updates are sporadic. as we are but a small town, interactions will come from @forseishiro!
🚋 liyue, my heart belongs to you.
take a journey through the cozy town using the transit system, the mv line!
curious about the most recent developments in the town?
the resident representative, mai vy, just won't stop listening to trouble by frank ocean! ugh!
the current construction project is the party & the after party (kinich smau).
✧ ﾟ ⠀ ₊ ⠀
hungry? 🐈⬛ visit a local bakery owned by @chocorocku just down this street!
gleymdu mér aldrei þó ég héðan flýg
gleymdu mér aldrei, elskan mín
in which you find a flower arrangement left on the table of your usual spot every other week, attached are poems — full of love and pining — dedicated to you
✧ ﾟ ⠀ ₊ ⠀
skies of melancholy winter
dissipate into blooming flowers of spring
as such my feelings too
bloom into the embrace of the
changing seasons.
✧ ﾟ ⠀ ₊ ⠀
spring is adorned by yearning;
in the flowers with new-found pining;
even the heart reveals its longing;
slows down the seconds to greet me.
- k
✧ ﾟ ⠀ ₊ ⠀
solidary cloud,
shadow in the setting sun,
stirs the drifter's heart.
- k
✧ ﾟ ⠀ ₊ ⠀
"become the love you yearn for" they say
and, somewhere midst the cherry blossoms
i had become the embodiment of love,
for you.
- k
✧ ﾟ ⠀ ₊ ⠀
sun and moon rejoice
birds of dawn sing songs anew
far from home, with you
- kazuha
being a professional volleyball player, you get hurt often. so, it's not a bad thing to rely on your best friend, iwaizumi hajime, right?
note angst w no comfort ... uuuu. w.c. 978. based on laufey's sabotage. timeskip iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer. tw injury twisted ankle
hajime has always been someone you relied on. his name is first on your emergency contacts list. he's been your best friend since your third year of high school at aoba johsai. he's always been the one silently crouching down to tie your perpetually undone shoelaces, tip-tapping on the concrete ground. always been the one to tuck askew whispers of your hair behind your ear as you enjoy a particularly messy ice cream cone.
hajime has always been there.
so it's not a surprise that the same principle applies to how he has always been a figure you spot in the bustling audience at your games. someone you always scanned the bleachers for. and when you do catch sight of the familiar spikes of his hair, you always made sure to make eye contact and give him a bright smile. he's the reason you win.
he's the one treating your injuries. all the time. even though you're both 27 now. even though you play for hinotori nippon, the japan women's national volleyball team. even though he's an athletic trainer for another team.
he has always cared for you.
the sound of your teammate's palm hitting the ball in a serve, signalling the start of another rally, snaps you out of your trance. third set, 12-16 in favour of the opposing team.
the ball glides smoothly over you, hands behind your head, and their libero recieves it in a swift motion. your adrenaline is pumping. your forearms are stinging and red. the only thing you can hear is your own heavy breathing. the spiker jumps up in the air and hits the ball across the net. it flies over your team's heads.
before you even realize it, you've already started running for the ball in the air. the discrepancy can't get any bigger. you sprint — outside the white lines, across the orange outbounds — and with a jump over the dividers, you hit the ball back into play.
your world becomes disoriented as you tumble onto the ground. you accidentally step on the foot of a member of the audience. your foot twists to the left.
oh, i'm fucking doomed.
"fuck!" you can't think of anything except the excruciating pain in your ankle as you fall to the ground.
in a matter of seconds, the team's athletic trainer runs to you, "yn? yn, are you okay? is it your ankle?"
you find it annoying that the only thing that you can really muster out are grunts. "ugh… yeah…" she nods and applies an aerosol spray onto your ankle. you tense at its freezing temperature, but it subsides the pain immediately.
"could you call iwaizumi?"
you're sitting in the infirmary room. hajime is kneeling in front of you, silent.
the flourescent lights — the very ones that you're so familiar with from the multitude amount of times you've been injured — seem brighter today. you hate the smell of antiseptic more than anything. the variety of medication in the cabinets scare you. yet, you keep finding yourself in this room. again and again. you reckon you get yourself injured more often than the league combined.
there's something different about him this time. even as his attention is focused entirely on your injury, you feel like there's a light of frustration in hajime's eyes. "hey, hajime," you poke his cheek and ruffle his hair with a slight giggle, "you good? i know you don't like it when i get hurt, but you're extra quiet today."
he doesn’t reply.
...
he looks up at you. you could swear that the person infront of you isn't him.
that isn't hajime.
he snaps. “do you think this is funny? you getting hurt all the time? is this a joke to you, yn? do you not value your career?”
it's just a matter of time 'til you see the dagger
he goes further, stabbing deeper into the wound he fleshed. he's reckless with your fragile heart. “actually, nevermind that. fuck, yn, do you not value my career? don’t you understand that i am my own fucking person? that i have my own fucking team to look after? i can’t be here for you all the time. treating all your damn injuries all the fucking time. what should i do if my own players get injured? should i prioritize you over them, yn? let them suffer by themselves? take care of their own wounds? fucking hell. your team has its own fucking medic, yn! why are you so fucking reliant on me?"
it's a special of mine to cause disaster
you can’t seem to make up any words for a response. you look through blurry eyes at your best friend.
through the mosaic, you make up the image of your hajime, taking your swollen ankle with a gentle hand and a worried gaze, wrapping it with gauze.
hajime now, however, gets angrier at your lack of response. he tightens the gauze around your leg.
“ouch, that fucking hurts! what the hell, hajime? you know what, fine. just call the other fucking medic! i’ve always called you first. always wanted you here. because i thought you fucking cared, asshole! why the hell would i be faking my injuries? just to,” your voice gets caught up in your throat. you hate that it suddenly got harder to form coherent words, “call you up like a pathetic little bitch who always needs help? i’m not that fucking weak!”
so prepare for the impact, and brace your heart
his eyes are cold. they're indifferent to the argument you're having. the same argument that's ripping your heart to shreds.
he abruptly lets go of your foot and lets it hang in the air, swinging slightly by the bed legs. iwaizumi stands up and leaves the room. the door slams behind him. you can hear his list of profanity after profanity under his breath fade away. his steps are heavy and fleet as he rushes down the hallway.
hey! i was wondering if you did requests! could you do the letters from the future au like in orange with another character? (ex. oikawa, kenma, atsumu..) no need to do this if you don’t want to!
thank u for ur request !!! i Can’t lie i was going to tell u that im prob unable to write another one like a letter to my 16 yo self because i used so many braincells to even write that piece
BUT i just thought of an idea for oikawa so yes i can do ur req !!!!
being a professional volleyball player, you get hurt often. so, it's not a bad thing to rely on your best friend, iwaizumi hajime, right?
note angst w no comfort ... uuuu. w.c. 978. based on laufey's sabotage. timeskip iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer. tw injury twisted ankle
hajime has always been someone you relied on. his name is first on your emergency contacts list. he's been your best friend since your third year of high school at aoba johsai. he's always been the one silently crouching down to tie your perpetually undone shoelaces, tip-tapping on the concrete ground. always been the one to tuck askew whispers of your hair behind your ear as you enjoy a particularly messy ice cream cone.
hajime has always been there.
so it's not a surprise that the same principle applies to how he has always been a figure you spot in the bustling audience at your games. someone you always scanned the bleachers for. and when you do catch sight of the familiar spikes of his hair, you always made sure to make eye contact and give him a bright smile. he's the reason you win.
he's the one treating your injuries. all the time. even though you're both 27 now. even though you play for hinotori nippon, the japan women's national volleyball team. even though he's an athletic trainer for another team.
he has always cared for you.
the sound of your teammate's palm hitting the ball in a serve, signalling the start of another rally, snaps you out of your trance. third set, 12-16 in favour of the opposing team.
the ball glides smoothly over you, hands behind your head, and their libero recieves it in a swift motion. your adrenaline is pumping. your forearms are stinging and red. the only thing you can hear is your own heavy breathing. the spiker jumps up in the air and hits the ball across the net. it flies over your team's heads.
before you even realize it, you've already started running for the ball in the air. the discrepancy can't get any bigger. you sprint — outside the white lines, across the orange outbounds — and with a jump over the dividers, you hit the ball back into play.
your world becomes disoriented as you tumble onto the ground. you accidentally step on the foot of a member of the audience. your foot twists to the left.
oh, i'm fucking doomed.
"fuck!" you can't think of anything except the excruciating pain in your ankle as you fall to the ground.
in a matter of seconds, the team's athletic trainer runs to you, "yn? yn, are you okay? is it your ankle?"
you find it annoying that the only thing that you can really muster out are grunts. "ugh… yeah…" she nods and applies an aerosol spray onto your ankle. you tense at its freezing temperature, but it subsides the pain immediately.
"could you call iwaizumi?"
you're sitting in the infirmary room. hajime is kneeling in front of you, silent.
the flourescent lights — the very ones that you're so familiar with from the multitude amount of times you've been injured — seem brighter today. you hate the smell of antiseptic more than anything. the variety of medication in the cabinets scare you. yet, you keep finding yourself in this room. again and again. you reckon you get yourself injured more often than the league combined.
there's something different about him this time. even as his attention is focused entirely on your injury, you feel like there's a light of frustration in hajime's eyes. "hey, hajime," you poke his cheek and ruffle his hair with a slight giggle, "you good? i know you don't like it when i get hurt, but you're extra quiet today."
he doesn’t reply.
...
he looks up at you. you could swear that the person infront of you isn't him.
that isn't hajime.
he snaps. “do you think this is funny? you getting hurt all the time? is this a joke to you, yn? do you not value your career?”
it's just a matter of time 'til you see the dagger
he goes further, stabbing deeper into the wound he fleshed. he's reckless with your fragile heart. “actually, nevermind that. fuck, yn, do you not value my career? don’t you understand that i am my own fucking person? that i have my own fucking team to look after? i can’t be here for you all the time. treating all your damn injuries all the fucking time. what should i do if my own players get injured? should i prioritize you over them, yn? let them suffer by themselves? take care of their own wounds? fucking hell. your team has its own fucking medic, yn! why are you so fucking reliant on me?"
it's a special of mine to cause disaster
you can’t seem to make up any words for a response. you look through blurry eyes at your best friend.
through the mosaic, you make up the image of your hajime, taking your swollen ankle with a gentle hand and a worried gaze, wrapping it with gauze.
hajime now, however, gets angrier at your lack of response. he tightens the gauze around your leg.
“ouch, that fucking hurts! what the hell, hajime? you know what, fine. just call the other fucking medic! i’ve always called you first. always wanted you here. because i thought you fucking cared, asshole! why the hell would i be faking my injuries? just to,” your voice gets caught up in your throat. you hate that it suddenly got harder to form coherent words, “call you up like a pathetic little bitch who always needs help? i’m not that fucking weak!”
so prepare for the impact, and brace your heart
his eyes are cold. they're indifferent to the argument you're having. the same argument that's ripping your heart to shreds.
he abruptly lets go of your foot and lets it hang in the air, swinging slightly by the bed legs. iwaizumi stands up and leaves the room. the door slams behind him. you can hear his list of profanity after profanity under his breath fade away. his steps are heavy and fleet as he rushes down the hallway.
info -> each fic is based on a song from [tbd album] and paired with a character that got the most votes for that song. plan/details vote characters here (tbm)
oh heck YEH!! I’m devouring this theme for sure. ITS SO BLUE AND PRETTY IMJUMPING!! this is like a midnight snack for me right now, it reminds me so much of blueberries yogurt. I think you may have convinced me to give laufey a listen too (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ (surprisingly enough, I haven’t listened to one of her songs willingly before…gulps)
WAIT OMG URE SO RIGHT ABT THE BLUEBERRY YOGURT ?? I DDINT EVEN NOTICE THAT WHEN I WAS MAKING IT But ure sooo right omgmgmg
And YES PLS LISTEN TO LAUFEY !! ilove her sm ive been her fan since Everything i know about love 😭🫶🫶 even after i started to listen to basically exclusively rap i still always revisit her music
its sooo nice IT LOWK REMINDS ME OF U ZUZU 🥹 DEFFF GIVE HER A LISTEN
hello omg!! I love your stories so much but I just would like to know how to make those gradient headings heh… I know it’s like a HTML code or smth but I don’t know how to get the gradient and what I’ve looked up online hasn’t helped me😓😓 BUT HAVE A GOOD DAY/NIGHT
thank u so much hihi !!! and yes ofc ill show u how i do it!
u don't really need much knowledge on html to be able to make the gradient text so dw !! this tutorial is the one i've used since day 1 and have sworn by since :) it details from the website to how to import it into html so i think its a really good resource
if u want js a simple answer, this website is the one mentioned in the tutorial. basically u just:
input the text that u wish to be made gradient in the upper rectangular box (there should be two stacked on top of each other)
input the colours that you want to use in two of the boxes in the bottom right (should be red & green)
click "run"
and the html code should appear in the bottom rectangular box! afterwards its rlly simple, just cmd/ctrl + a (in order to copy all of the code quicker), copy, and paste it into the hmtl text editor thing on ur post
wherein you receive a letter from your future self detailing about your new classmate, akaashi keiji, and how she wants to mend her regrets.
to 16-year-old yn,
i’m going to be straightforward. don’t make the mistakes i did. especially if you wish to not end up with a broken heart and endless regrets. they will plague your heart, even 10 years later.
there is something that i need you to do for me.
it’s early morning when you receive the letter, tucked neatly into one of your notebooks in a light pink envelope. the soft sunlight dapples through the trees and adorns the arranged desks with a warm glow. today marks the cherry blossoms’ full bloom — a nostalgic, bittersweet fleeting season that reminds you only of the ephemeral nature of life. the delicate pink hues reflect on every surface. a chilling breeze from the singular opened window fills the classroom as the temperature of spring has not yet been warmed by midday heat. only whispers and the shushing of giggles can be heard in the desolate room. “huh …” you remain in utter confusion as you slowly read through the paper, making sure to factor in every piece of information. word. by. word.
it’s surely a joke. a letter from your future self? not to mention, 10 years in the future? pff. yeah, sure.
“yynnnn!” it’s bokuto. as if intentionally announcing his arrival, he slams every possible table there is on his way over to your desk, and you swiftly hide the letter, crumbling it a bit in the process of stuffing it inside your desk. “what was that paper? ooh. i get it.” he gives you a sly, knowing smirk. “it was a love letter, wasn’t it? who are you confessing to, yn? orrr rather, who confessed to you? tell me!”
“shut up. you’ll catch me dead before i tell you anything.”
“you know you can’t hide it from me!”
he plops down in the desk in front of yours right as your homeroom teacher opens the door with a loud rattle. a sound you’ve become more than familiar with as you’ve heard for the past two years now. bokuto sighs with relief, knowing that he only barely made it in time for class.
you roll your eyes at him, unbeknownst if he even saw it, before your focus is redirected back to the letter. hm. if it was a prank, then who would be cruel enough to write this? surely it wasn’t the white-haired boy next to you. he’s too stupid to do something of this sophistication.
as you drown out the voice of your homeroom teacher, you take out the letter. after hiding it behind the pages your textbook, you continue reading the handwriting on the paper.
30 march .
the cherry blossoms bloom today. your class gets a transfer student. his name is akaashi keiji. he gets assigned the empty seat next to yours.
make sure to treat him well.
the homeroom teacher raises his voice slightly to announce that a new student would be joining the class. then, a boy with short, messy hair enters the room. his dark eyes are fixated on the floor as he fiddles with his slender fingers. it's hard to read him. chalk scratches against the board as the homeroom teacher writes each stroke of the transfer student's name.
赤葦 京治. akaashi keiji.
there's no way.
"akaashi, here, was granted a scholarship to fukurodani academy. he seems like a good kid, so i better not see any silly business going on with him!" the homeroom teacher jokingly warns with an expectant smile, "akaashi, you can sit next to yn over by the window."
it's all just a coincidence. you bet the person who wrote this letter's giggling to themselves right now.
"hey," a small voice comes from beside you as the boy quietly places down his bag, "i guess we'll be seat-mates now, huh? my name is akaashi." he sits down. a gust of wind from the open window carries with it a few cherry blossom petals — they float around the classroom in a quaint whirl before landing on akaashi's desk.
... right?
a moment of silence passes by before you mutter, " ... i know that. i'm yn ln."
7 may .
akaashi and i become close after becoming seat-mates.
bokuto accidentally spilt his drink on my shirt. seeing this, akaashi offered to lend me his sports jacket. it was too big on me, but the small gesture was something i was beyond grateful for.
❀ i fell in love with akaashi that day.
"bokuto, you're so stupid!" you shriek. you're not necessarily mad at him; just shocked. you can feel the cold milk slowly seep through your shirt and onto your skin. it makes you shiver.
"yn, i'm so sorry. i didn't mean for this to happen!"
"this wouldn't have happened if you just didn't drink like a billion cartons of milk everyday!"
"just hear me out, yn! i need it for my growth! you know i’m on the volleyball team!" bokuto practically begs for your forgiveness.
the classroom door opens with a click. a certain raven-haired boy enters the room and hears the commotion between his two friends, "what happened?"
"akaaaashi! you just joined the team, didn’t you?” bokuto exasperates, “help me explain to yn how i didn't mean to spill my drink on her!" his eyes big and pleading as if, in the chance that akaashi wouldn't help him, he'd be as good as a dead man.
"you're only worried about that? hey, is there anything in that big head of yours? dimwit," akaashi gives him a look, "give me a second."
bokuto's response consists of a loud, dramatized gasp and an exclamation of something on the lines of 'you traitor!' before continuing your banter. akaashi moves to his desk and takes out his volleyball club’s jacket from his backpack.
“here,” he offers his jacket to you, “it might be too big for you, yn, but it’s better than nothing.”
“you… want me to wear your jacket?” you feel as if all the anger you had dissipated in an instant. your vision is narrowed on the white material in your hands, folded neatly to display the golden fukurōdani on the back of the jacket.
akaashi looks a bit embarrassed now as his fingers find themselves once again in a tangled choreography, “only if you want to. i just … thought you might be cold or something.”
the volleyball player you were previously arguing with suddenly looks like he just had an epiphany. “you’re such a genius, akaashi! here, yn, have my jacket too.”
“it fucking stinks, bokuto! you can keep it!”
as you slip the jacket over your gray uniform, it complete envelopes your smaller frame. anyone just taking a glance at you would notice that the jacket wasn't yours. somehow, you like it more like this. or, rather, you like that it's akaashi's.
it smells like him. you feel like this jacket keeps you warm better than your own. the oversized sleeves give you a sense of comfort.
your cheeks begin to heat up when you realize that, with you wearing akaashi's jacket, people would begin to question things. question the relationship between you two. your classmates would start to gossip about whether or not you and the transfer student were dating.
somehow, all of that didn't really seem that bad to you.
you've fallen in love with akaashi keiji.
14 june .
akaashi and i are alone in the classroom when he asks me something. a request. he wanted me to help him with his studies. i find out later when i find a test sheet on the ground — coincidentally akaashi’s — that his request was only an excuse to spend time with me. he had a 98% in that class.
upon discovering this, i felt like he had lied to me, so i stopped meeting him after school.
❀ i want you to continue to study with him, even if he doesn’t need it.
"yn? what's wrong?" a familiar voice sounds from behind you. akaashi's voice.
you quickly straighten up from your crouching position on the ground and cover akaashi's test paper displaying a red 94 with a random classmate's instead. "sorry, i just accidentally dropped these on the way to the teacher's office."
you almost feel like you heard akaashi's breath hitch. it was uncharacteristic of him to do so. "oh... did you see anything? anything unusual?"
"what are you talking about, silly? nothing was unusual. if anything, it was too usual. especially bokuto's failing mark."
"nevermind, then," he huffs out a breathy laugh, "let me carry it. the teacher's a pain in the ass for making you do it."
he takes the stack of papers from you before you could protest. "mm, it's not much trouble, really,” with your hands fisted by your side and your gaze unable to meet his, you ask, “am i still seeing you after school to study?"
"yeah. could you? i'm really struggling in this class. i don’t think i’m ready for the exam.”
oh.
“ … yn? umm, it’s alright if you’re busy.”
“yeah, i’m free. let’s study together,” you give akaashi a wink and a small smile, “don’t worry, i’m extra good at this subject!”
after classes are adjourned, you and akaashi study at the library. an aureate glow from the afternoon light shines on the boy sitting across from you. a golden rim forms around his tousled hair. his gray blazer slightly rumpled as a result the tiring school day. with a sigh and his pointer finger, he loosens his blue tie. it lays askew across his chest.
its a sight that only you are able to see. this side of akaashi is reserved just for your study sessions. just for you.
akaashi meets your gaze. “what are you looking at?” he asks with a slight laugh, “creep.”
you immediately retract your gaze from raven-haired boy, who’s now laughing, and glueing your vision to the notebook in front of you. “you’re the creep! ugh!” you grab your pen with somewhat unnecessary forcefulness, and start scribbling down an answer to one of the many problems on the paper. stupid, yn.
“it’s okay, you know,” he smiles, “i like looking at you too.”
under the light, his dark eyes look softer.
they look soft looking at you.
“i guess that does make me a creep.”
21 june .
i asked akaashi what he would do if the world was ending tomorrow. he said that he would tell me that he liked me. i didn’t believe him at the time and thought he was joking. i think after seeing my reaction, he played it off as a joke. come to think of it, i’m now more inclined to think that he only made it seem like a joke to protect himself. to protect his feelings.
❀ when he replies to your question, reply with your sincere feelings. be honest with yourself. seriously.
"hey, akaashi," you start. the two of you are sitting at his desk in his bedroom, studying for a test the upcoming morning. his room is tidy and quiet. the fluorescent light from his desk shines brightly onto the desk, illuminating the surface just enough for writing notes or answering practice questions. you won't mention it to him, but in the corner of your peripheral vision, you can see a few neon t-shirts peeking out of his closet. you have to stifle your laugh every time you think about their horrendous design.
"hm?" the sound of his mechanical pencil scratching against paper, leaving their graphite indent on each line, fills the room.
"hypothetically, if the world was ending tomorrow, what would you do?" your heart begins to beat faster and your ears suddenly feel warm. you already know what his answer is going to be.
akaashi chuckles, "wow, yn. you really don't want to take the exam, do you?"
you face him now, your face fully red. "no! that's not what i meant. i was just asking. out of curiosity." you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat from your close proximity.
akaashi stops writing and turns to you. from this angle, the lamplight is able to shine on akaashi's eyes. you've always thought his eyes were more green than anything. looking at him now, with his own gaze fixated on yours, you are finally able to notice the blue tones of his eyes. the sharpness of his stare. the upturn of his eye-shape. beneath the blue sapphire, there's something present that you can't exactly put a finger on. like the troubles he keeps bottled up, unable to tell a soul. his long, pining feelings that lingered within his heart without a place to go all this time. a storm of emotions hiding behind a composed facade.
"i'd tell you i liked you."
despite expecting his response, you're still taken aback. "huh?"
a bitter snicker. "just kidding. i'm not telling you what i'd do. why would i tell you? it's not like it's going to happen anyways." his eyes are glazed over in the light. the tips of his ears turn a bit red.
"no, wait. akaashi," you muster up all of your courage to speak truthfully; to tell him your feelings. for akaashi to finally hear what your heart has been trying to say this entire time. for him to hear even your future self and her sorrowful song.
"i like you."
19 july .
after his scholarship was retracted from him, i never saw akaashi again. come to think of it, he always reminded me of the cerulean sky. sometimes, calm and clear, omniscient — as if he could see right through me after just mere seconds of observation. other times, troubled and overcast. i could see his anxiousness, the way he fiddles with his fingers. we were the same in the way we both longed for company. and i didn't give him that. that's my biggest regret.
❀ don't put off what you can't do to "tomorrow" or "someday." do anything that you can do. good luck.
you’re in akaashi’s bedroom again.
however, instead of studying, you’re half-laying on his bed, half-hanging haphazardly upside down — the tips of your hair just barely touching the ground. beside you is akaashi’s bedside table where a digital alarm clock, a book he recently picked up, and a polaroid of you both find their home. and with you as a guest, there were the additions of a plate of onigiri and a glass of cold water that akaashi offered to you the second you walked into his home, away from the summer heat. you grab an onigiri before taking a big bite. you squeal at how tasty it is.
you’re not there as akaashi’s study partner anymore, but as his girlfriend.
you sit up from your position with a small grunt. “keijiii, what are you even studying for?”
“you know what i’m studying for, yn,” your boyfriend doesn’t look up from his notebook as he continues to diligently work on practice problems.
“oh, yeah. the subject where you convinced me to tutor you even though you didn’t need any help. that one. the one you have a 98% average in.” the secret’s out now.
“okay, i’m sorry about that. but, i wanted to spend time with you. and i need to keep my grades up for the scholarship.”
“yeah, i know. you’re forgiven, i guess,” you giggle.
you plop back down onto his duvet. it smells like him — the same scent from the day you fell in love with him. you’re wearing one of his neon t-shirts. they’re weird, for sure, but comfy. you vividly remember the first time you ‘saw’ them in his closet and asked if you could wear one.
…
“pff, keiji. what’s with these shirts?” you say with a snicker.
“hey, don’t look at those!” he tries to grab them from you. “can’t you wear any other shirt, yn?”
“but these are so unique! who could’ve guessed that the akaashi keiji likes weird shirt designs like that.”
“shut up! they’re from when i was younger,” akaashi tries to defend himself, but his beet-red face is betraying him, “you can wear it if you want, weirdo.”
“i’m not the one who owns unusual neon t-shirts.”
…
you cover your face to hide your giddy grin at the thought of that memory. you peek through your fingers to see your boyfriend redirecting his attention to his homework.
he’s so hardworking, you think. how’d you score someone like him?
“keiji! yn! come down for dinner!” his mother yells from downstairs, “it’s your favourite!”
both akaashi and you straighten up immediately. akaashi whispers, “no way.”
the two of you compete to sprint out of the room. “i’m eating all of the nanohara! you can’t stop me!”
the roads outside embrace a harmonious melody of the kindergarten-aged children in yellow bucket hats walking home in energetic frenzy, the cicadas humming the song of summer, the sound of a breeze amidst the heat.
unbeknownst to akaashi, on the duvet of his lay a small letter atop of a light pink envelope.
you were writing a letter of your own. to your future self.
to 26-year-old yn,
i’m not sure how you were able to reach me, but i hope this letter reaches you and mends your heart too. akaashi keiji is my boyfriend. he asked me out on 19 june. i truly could not be any happier with him by my side.
thank you.
note heavily inspired by ichigo takano's orange, i love it so so much i hope this fic accurately reflected that 🥹 w.c. 2.8k i’ve never written anything so long before … divider by @ anitalenia. the jacket scene was slightly based off of horimiya. && the title is supposed to be a play on ‘letter to my 13 year old self’ by laufey! i’ve been working hard on this one but i’m not entirely proud of it and its not proofread … i hope u guys enjoy!
studying with rintarou suna is easy. he's quiet, and you're practically flying through the pages, unaware of everything that's going on around you, unaware of him. or the way he's abandoned his textbooks a long time ago, and how he's redirected his eyes to your face instead.
when you finally do look up, he's gazing at you in a sort of quiet reverence, chin propped up one one hand, lips twisted into a pout. you flush, clear your throat; he doesn't seem to notice that you're looking back at him until you say his name, once, then again, louder.
he startles. "huh? what?"
immediately, he looks like his normal self again, with his calm face and usual deadpan. but there's a similar red tinge, like yours, creeping across the tips of his ears, that you wouldn't have noticed if you didn't know him so well. just what is going on?
something in you says you shouldn't pursue it; instead, you say gently, "you got distracted, sunarin, go back to studying, yeah?"
"yeah," he agrees, but it's as if he can't bring himself to decide whether he's disappointed or relieved.
you voice your concerns to kita, aran and the miya twins the next day, when the six of you are hanging out. "i dunno, he... just hasn't been his usual self," you explain. "he keeps zoning out! it's so weird..."
"that's not true!" he protests, sitting up straight. he's even put away his phone—highly uncharacteristic, by the way—in order to argue with you, so it must be something very important to him, you note. so you decide to leave it at that.
"okay, okay," you agree. "you just had a day, we get it, really."
but as usual, it's atsumu who goes and carries it on: "no, you're wrong—he's not zoning out specifically in your direction, you know."
wait—you don't recall mentioning that particular bit of information to them when you were recounting your story. atsumu seems the grin on your face and opens his mouth, but osamu elbows him and he closes it again. only for a second, though. no one, really no one can control him when he's put his mind to anything.
"he wasn't zoning out!" he blurts. "he was just staring at the love of his life!"
a slipper hits him square in the face—playing volleyball has definitely helped with rin's aim, and he looks pissed.
"atsumu!" kita chokes, utterly scandalised.
"atsumu!" you squeak, equally taken aback.
"forget it, it's nothing," suna tells you. "miya, we're going to have a talk. stat."
"oh..."
"y'know," says kita, when the two of them are gone. "that boy really does like you."
"thanks," you reply, "but i'd appreciate it if you didn't sound like my granddad when you tell me that."
he laughs, and something like hope blooms in your chest.
you dare to approach him again later that evening, when he's vindictively scrolling on his phone, a murdeous look on his face.
"rin..."
"what?" it comes out harsh, mean, and he immediately looks sorry for it, eyes softening as he apologises to you. "i don't know why i sounded like that, i'm sorry, i'm not mad at you or anything, i promise!"
"no, i get it," you assure him. "atsumu's the ass here."
he laughs in agreement, but it sounds exasperated and tired in a way you're not used to. or maybe you just haven't noticed, wrapped up in your own thoughts about his wry humour and pretty face.
"anyway," you continue.
"anyway?" he repeats, confused.
"yeah, about earlier..."
"nope," he says. "absolutely not. i'm not going to have this conversation right now."
"kita said what atsumu said was true."
rin's eyes widen dramatically. "that bastard! i trusted him!"
on any other day, you would've paused this to laugh at his reaction. but right now, you carry on bravely. "i would've liked it more if you'd told me yourself."
"i would never—wait, what do you mean, like it more? do you like me?"
you let out a halfhearted, awkward chuckle. "maybe..."
"this isn't funny," he tells you seriously. "if you're joking, i'm literally going to kill myself."
"i'm—" you swallow nervously. "i'm not joking."
"oh. cool." he puts his phone down onto the coffee table next to him, takes a step closer to you. his eyes flit down to your lips for just a fraction of a second—he's absolutely shameless, that's what he is.
"if i were to kiss you right now, what'd your reaction be?" he asks. "hypothetical, of course."
you pretend to think. "well, hypothetically, i'd probably kiss you back."
he grins, and your heart does a triple backflip. "so can i—?"
you close the gap between the two of you and do it yourself.
and even though atsumu set everything off, he's chagrined to know that he's the last to find out about this shocking new development—that you'd thought he already knew about, because wasn't it obvious? and maybe he does murmur a curse or two under his breath as he glares down at suna draped over you on your couch, but you know and he knows, at the end of the day, he is happy for you. (and years later, when he's giving his speech at your wedding, he ends up taking all the credit for making it happen in the first place. really, that bastard.)
..why is your blog not EDIBLE?? IT'S SO PRETTYYYYY??? UGHAHAJALALLQLQLQOQVD ENWKQKAJNKFRIEIQ ahem.. IM LITERALLY SPEECHLESS IDK WHAT TO SAY BUT ITS SO PRETTYYY😭😭
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