"I want to save everyone with a smile"

19 whatever pronouns you want go crazy with it pansexual afab

[lenaariewrld]

1 2 3 . . . ON THE AIR !!

genshin impact smau ft. childe x fem!reader

| SYNOPSIS;; Teyvat University’s popular radio personality, Y/n L/n, has only one gripe with her life. Her classmate, neighbour, and all-around nuisance in her life, Tartaglia. Their rivalry extends just past academics and, to her horror, into her work. He becomes the music director and co-host for her radio show, working alongside her most nights and forcing himself even deeper into her life. But is he really trying to just be friends, or is there an ulterior motive to his actions?

GENRE ;; modern!au, college! au, crack, angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to fwb to lovers, ‘it was all a bet’ trope.

WARNINGS;; lots of swearing, sexual innuendos, incorrect information about being a radio host / radio work in general, childe goes by tartaglia and ajax, alcohol use, drug use, smoking, violence jokes (potentially a few kys jokes but nothing too graphic), bad humour, potential smut (will be marked minors DNI), childe and y/n call each other names A LOT in this, timestamps and dates dont matter, pictures used for y/n or any characters Do Not represent you and are meant to show outfits or vibes of a picture ONLY, unedited writing, written chapters will be marked with a (w), more tba as necessary.

| STATUS;; updates frequently, but inconsistent. | TAGLIST;; open ! pls reply to this post or send in an ask to be added !

CAST !!

y/n and friends | childe and co | misc / extra profiles

. . . extra;; tba

playlist!!

TABLE of CONTENTS !!

PROLOGUE.

C.01— the bet.

C.02— this is agony

C.03— ur hopeless

C.04— worst thing

C.05— the concert thing (w)

C.06— gee thanks princess

C.07— insufferable

C.08— not being a dickhead

C.09— we're going to a party

C.10— after this (w)

C.11— goodies

C.12— late nights

C.13— make his pockets hurt

C.14— formal dinners (w)

C.15— serial sniffer

C.16— are you mad at me (w)*

C.17— powers out

C.18— distraction

C.19— host your own concert

C.20— vip invites

C.21— digging a grave (w)

C.22— just a friend???

C.23— the bet, remember

C.24— c u tonight (w)

C.25— awkward..

C.26— the right choice

C.27— lovesick puppy (w)

C.28— reevaluate

C.29— postponed

C.30— settled in

C.31— people who actually love her

C.32— tradition

C.33— make good choices (w)

C.34— that's stupid

C.35— hopefully (w)

C.36— are u back?

C.37— get a check

C.38— new song

C.39— hostages

C.40— because we do

C.41— congratulations

C.42— what about you?

C.43— beach day

C.44— only if you mean it

C.45— the outcome???

C.46— picturesque summer much?

C.47— roster

C.48— liar exposed

C.49—

C.50—

EPILOGUE—

...

[renetess-a]

I'm cryingggg why is this shot literally that one big booba meme 💀

[maggiforlifesstuff]

Ykw hell yeah

[darkmodeilluga]

(Small vent) I agree with your Lohen takes. It irks me when writers focus on the reader's pleasure only in smut. Not to mention overly submissive readers. It's like the character's enjoyment never matters, and I'm someone who derives pleasure from a partner's pleasure 😞 I may as well just jerk off all alone atp

I need a selfish man, and not many people write Lohen selfish enough

Thank you very much. Pretty sure I know what you’re saying, and I agree! I prefer not to read x reader smut, but I think this take can also apply outside of it. Love should apply to both characters, it’s much more intimate and conveys a real emotional connection rather than one sided affection because both side are indeed important. Those are completely unenjoyable to me and not engaging because I feel a relationship should feel equal lol. I need to see Lohen stuttering and getting flustered while being so in love that it’s overwhelming. This applies to most relationships I like and one I hope to be in one day, both character/character and character/reader. Some people like those kinds of power dynamics, but not me. And I agree with the last part too, I think people in a relationship should be allowed to be selfish sometimes. Despite what some people might say, I think it’s healthy. Sorry, now I’m the one ranting lol. I don’t even if this is particularly what you were meaning, but just know that I do agree either way <3

[versadies]

hungry hearts (various x gn!reader)

SALUTATIONS. hungry hearts

ADDRESSED. varka, jean, wanderer, baizhu, and zhongli (x gn!reader)

STAMPS. hungry hearts diner au wherein you manage your grandfather's restaurant in your hometown and meet different customers with different stories to tell (all parts are connected but you can read them separately!)

CONTENT. fluff, angst with comfort, major character death, mentions of overworking, possibly ooc with grammar errors!

LINKS. masterlist \ taglist

In a tiny side street in a nameless neighborhood sits an old diner that welcomes all travelers and customers needing a hot meal. Slide the door open and you shall be greeted by a kindly young person rather than a grumpy and busy old man. Said grumpy old man is actually the young person’s grandfather, who the young person had come to his aid in managing the restaurant after taking a break from the busy life of the city.

So take a seat, order a hot meal, and let the tension flow out of you. The peace will do you good. 

You sighed, looking through your grandfather's old notebooks that contained the recipes of his beloved restaurant, carefully taking note of certain ingredients and techniques used.

Honestly, when your grandfather called you for the first time in months asking for help due to his illness, you thought he meant help in taking care of him—not his restaurant!

Still, it was rare for your grandfather to even ask for anything, and truth be told, you had missed your hometown dearly. So, seeing no reason to refuse, you packed your things and returned to the quiet little neighborhood you once called home.

After all, taking over an old diner for a while couldn't be that difficult.

Right?

On the first day, one of the customers who came to your restaurant calls himself Varka.

You’ve come to learn from one of your elderly customers that Varka is currently the community leader of the neighborhood, often found roaming around the streets and helping everyone who needs it as he often does his best to ensure the neighborhood is safe and happy.

When he first came in, he was expecting to be greeted by your grumpy grandfather, only to be shocked when he saw you instead. You didn’t even realize the broad and muscular blonde man is the infamous Varka himself until he introduced himself. From how much the grannies and children praised him, you thought Varka was an old man.

After you introduced yourself in return, Varka was delighted, as he often heard of you from your grandfather

“Why don’t I give you a tour? To help you catch up with what you’ve missed since you last came?”

It didn’t take long before he became your frequent customer. His order is always a hearty meal accompanied by alcohol, often asking for seconds.

Each time he visits, he is joyous as ever, greeting the customers before sitting down on the stool in front of the counter where he can watch you prepare meals. He talks about his daily errands, how much work there is to do, how he had stopped another conflict between two particular neighbors, and how kids are getting bigger and bigger each day.

Varka is beloved by everyone in the neighborhood.

The grandmothers often stuff homemade snacks into his hands, while children excitedly run over to him whenever he passes by.

Whenever there is trouble, everyone’s first thought is always the same.

“Call Varka.”

Stray cats stuck on trees? Call Varka.

A couple having an argument? Call Varka.

Festival preparations? Call Varka.

Carrying heavy groceries? Call Varka.

Varka always responds with a cheerful smile.

“Leave it to me!”

Sometimes, while eating, his phone rings over and over again.

Despite sighing dramatically, he never once refuses.

“Ah, duty calls!”

You quickly come to realize that the community leader practically works twenty-four hours a day.  

Despite how busy he is, he never misses a visit to the restaurant.

Sometimes he arrives with dirt on his clothes after helping someone push their car all the way to the nearest gas station. 

Sometimes with scratches after rescuing a cat.

Once, he came drenched in rain after helping an elderly resident whose roof had begun leaking.

And every single time, he greets you with the same smile.

“Evening! Smells wonderful in here!”

It becomes a habit for you to prepare his favorite dishes whenever he drops by.

To your surprise, Varka remembers your favorite snacks too.

Whenever he discovers a new addition to the local bakery or receives gifts from the neighborhood grandmothers, he often shares them with you.

“Can't let all these sweets go to waste, right?”

The regular customers often tease the two of you.

“Look at that, Varka's already making himself at home.”

“You youngsters are cute.”

“Maybe we'll hear wedding bells before long!”

Varka merely laughs loudly while you become embarrassed. 

“Whoa there, let’s not get hasty!” He replied. 

However, as months pass, you begin noticing something strange.

Although Varka knows everyone…

Nobody seems to know much about him.

People ask about his health in passing, but conversations quickly return to their own problems.

Everyone depends on him, praises him, and loves him.

Yet even so, nobody ever asks what he wants, how his day went, or whether he was tired.

One night, when business was slow, you find Varka sitting alone at the counter.

The usual smile on his face is absent.

Instead, he quietly stares into his untouched drink.

“Long day?” you ask.

He chuckles.

“Long life, more like.”

For once, he doesn't talk about the neighborhood.

He doesn't talk about work.

He doesn't talk about anyone else.

He simply watches you cook.

After a long silence, he softly says:

“Funny, isn't it?”

“I've lived here for decades, watched kids grow up, helped people get married, seen neighbors become grandparents. But when I come home…”

He stays silent for a moment. “It's always quiet.”

He laughs afterward, as though trying to brush away his own words.

“Haha! Listen to me sounding all gloomy. Guess even I get sentimental.”

You can't help but feel that, despite all the laughter surrounding him…

Varka has been lonely for a very, very long time.

You talk about it with your grandfather after helping him get to bed, only for your grandfather to let out a huff.

“Ah, that rascal? He has always been alone. Even back when I first met him, he was already running around helping everyone. I used to tell him to slow down and enjoy his youth. Did he listen?” 

Your grandfather snorts, before continuing, “of course not.”

“Always saying things like, ‘Someone's got to do it!’” He clicks his tongue at the thought. “Brat nearly worked himself into the grave more times than I can count.”

Curious, you ask if Varka has any family.

Your grandfather becomes unusually quiet.

“Not anymore. Lost his parents at a young age. And he never married or found anyone special either. All because he was too busy. Busy helping this neighborhood and everyone else. Before he knew it, the years had passed.”

Your grandfather sighs.

“The fool practically raised half the kids around here. He fixed roofs, settled arguments, carried groceries, stayed up all night during storms checking on people, never asked for anything in return, and somehow…”

He crosses his arms.

“That idiot became everyone's family. Except nobody ever realized he didn't have one of his own.”

You quietly recall how Varka always talks about everyone else's lives.

But never his own.

“Doesn't he have close friends?” You ask.

“Hm.” Your grandfather nodded. “Plenty. But friendship's a funny thing.”

“People come and go. Some move away. Some get busy with life. Others…”

Your grandfather glances out the window.

“Well… Life happens.”

He hesitated for a moment. “But every evening, rain or shine… That rascal always came here. Sat right by the stool in front of the counter, ordered enough food for three people,  talked about work, and made me listen to his stories before leaving.” 

Your grandfather chuckles softly.

“Truth be told, I think this old restaurant was his refuge. A place where nobody needed him to be some hero and leader he’s expected to be.” 

He then looks at you knowingly.

“And you know… Ever since you came back… He's smiling differently. That rascal used to come and eat before leaving. Now? I can see him lingering, talking more, laughing louder. And sometimes I catch him staring into the kitchen with the strangest look I've ever seen.”

He laughs. “Hah… Hopeless fool.”

Your grandfather settles himself under the blankets.

When you turned off the lights, he spoke up once again, this time in a serious tone. 

“Take good care of him.” 

You paused, staying still to listen. 

The old man looks up at the ceiling, a thoughtful look plastered on his face. “People like Varka… They'll spend their whole lives taking care of others. But they don't know how to ask for someone to take care of them.”

After a moment, your grandfather mutters one final thing.

“He's a good man. Far too good.”

“...And good people deserve a place to feel at peace.”

After that night, you begin paying more attention to Varka.

Just as he notices when your ingredients are running low or when you've had a long day, you begin noticing the little things about him.

The way he stretches his shoulders whenever he thinks no one is looking, the way he sometimes falls asleep sitting upright at the counter after finishing his meal, and the way he often stares outside the window with a distant look before quickly smiling once more whenever someone greets him.

Before long, setting aside a portion for Varka becomes second nature.

“You're late today,” you would tell him.

And he would laugh. “Sorry, sorry! Ms. Margaret’s cat ended up on the roof again.”

Or perhaps: “The neighborhood kids challenged me to a soccer match. Can you believe they actually beat me?”

Or: “Old Mr. Wagner insisted I help him fix his garden. Three hours later, I was still pulling weeds.”

Slowly, his stories stop revolving around problems.

He starts telling you about the little things.

A funny joke one of the children told him.

The flowers are blooming in the park.

His favorite songs are playing on the radio.

Memories of his travels.

The festivals he attended in his youth.

Even embarrassing stories that make you laugh until your stomach hurts.

“Don't you dare tell anyone I lost an arm wrestling match to Klee.” He said, though it’s clear he was just being easy on the cheery kid. 

Without either of you noticing, the restaurant becomes part of his daily routine.

If he misses a day, the grandmothers ask where he is.

If he arrives late, you unconsciously glance at the door every few minutes.

And every evening, Varka takes his usual seat in front of the counter.

“Evening.”

“Welcome back.”

The regular customers eventually stop saying that Varka is visiting your restaurant.

Instead, they say teasingly: “Ah, Varka's home.”

One rainy evening, as you started cleaning up, you found him sleeping on the counter.

His meal had gone cold.

Concerned, you gently wake him.

“Varka?”

He slowly opens his eyes.

“…Ah, sorry. Guess I was more tired than I thought.” 

Instead of getting up immediately like usual, he remains seated, quiet and looking strangely vulnerable.

Then, with a sheepish smile, he admits: “I think this might be my favorite place.”

You stare at him in surprise, and he continues, “whenever I walk through those doors… I feel like I can finally stop. I don't have to be the community leader who solves everyone's problems. I can just… eat, relax, and enjoy myself.”

He chuckles.

“Maybe I've gotten spoiled.”

He looks at you, his usual grin returning. “You spoil me too much.”

But despite his teasing tone, you can tell he means every word.

Eventually, even the neighborhood begins to notice.

Varka smiles more, and he actually takes days off, stops skipping meals, spends less time worrying about everyone else, and more time enjoying himself.

The grandmothers are delighted.

“He's finally putting on some weight!”

“He looks younger!”

“Look at those rosy cheeks!”

Some even whisper to you with knowing smiles. “He’s happier when he visits you,” as if he went to your grandfather’s restaurant for more than just the food. 

“He deserves happiness too.”

One day, while looking through your grandfather’s calendar, you discover something surprising.

Varka's birthday is approaching.

You excitedly ask him what his plans are when he comes to visit. 

He blinks, swallowing his food.

“Plans?”

“Ah…Nothing, I suppose. I'll probably just work.”

You nearly drop the ladle in your hands.

“Work?!”

Varka laughs.

“Birthdays aren't really a big deal. Besides, everyone's busy with their own lives. No need to make a fuss over a man like me.” He says it so casually.

As though he genuinely expects nothing, as though he's grown used to spending that day alone.

Your heart aches at the thought.

So, together with your sickly grandfather and the regular customers, you secretly begin preparing.

The grandmothers bake desserts, the children draw cards, a few neighbors volunteer to handle the decorations, and even the neighborhood butcher donates his best meat.

Everyone was working together.

Because for years… Varka has celebrated everyone else's joys.

And now… It is finally their turn to celebrate his joy.

On the day itself, Varka was dumbfounded by the fact that not a single person in the neighborhood asked him any errands to help them with. The grandmothers’ pipes were doing well, the children were busy with homework (on a weekend????), and even the neighbors who usually argue are suddenly getting along well. 

It was only until late at night you called for him for an emergency when he quickly ran.

When he slides open the door to your restaurant, he freezes.

“SURPRISE!”

The entire restaurant erupts with cheers.

Balloons, streamers, mountains of food were all over the restaurant as elderly residents, children and families had all gathered together. 

All were the people he has helped throughout the years.

Some had traveled from other districts and even countries just to see him and celebrate his birthday. 

Everyone is smiling.

Everyone is laughing.

Everyone is here.

Varka stands motionless.

Completely stunned.

“W-What… What's all this?”

Little Klee runs over and hugs his leg.

“Happy birthday, Mister Varka!”

Ms. Margaret wipes tears from her eyes.

“It's about time we spoiled you for once.”

Old Mr. Wagner laughs. “No running any errands today!”

The children hand him handmade cards.

The grandmothers fusses over whether he's eating enough.

And your grandfather, who’s sitting on a wheelchair with his doctor behind him, grins.

“Brat. Thought we'd forgotten your birthday?”

Varka's eyes slowly widen.

Before anyone can react…

The great and mighty Varka quickly turned away from the crowd, hurriedly wiping his eyes.

He was tearing up. 

He then turned back to them and laughed, though there was a hint of shakiness in it.  

“Thank you…”

“Thank you, everyone.”

And for the first time in years…

Varka celebrates his birthday not as the community leader that the whole neighborhood relies on, but simply as Varka.

Surrounded by people who love him.

Long after the party ends and everyone returns home, Varka stays behind.

Together, the two of you clean the restaurant.

The room is quiet.

Warm.

Peaceful.

Looking at the leftover decorations, he chuckles.

“You really got me good. I was planning to just celebrate on my own and drink to my heart’s content.”

You smile.

“Nobody forgot, just so you know.” You spoke with a warm smile. “Everyone really wanted to celebrate with you.”

Varka gazes around the diner. He looked at the counter, the stools, the kitchen, the little wish board hanging on the wall–

And finally…

At you.

His eyes soften. So incredibly soft.

“You know…”

“I've spent so much of my life making sure others have somewhere to be. But somewhere along the way…”

He smiles, warmth radiating out of him.

“I found my own place too.”

Before leaving that night, Varka walks over to the restaurant’s wish board, something your grandmother had put back when your grandfather first opened the restaurant–a tradition for every customer to at least write one wish.  

Picking up a pen, he thinks for a moment.

Then, with a gentle smile, he writes:

"I wish to spend the rest of my days surrounded by those I love."

On the upper corner of the paper, he draws a small smiling sun.

And from that day onward, whenever he walks through the doors of the old diner, he always says the same thing.

“I'm back.”

To which you always answer:

“Welcome back, Varka!”

If there's one thing particular about Jean that you notice, it was the fact that she always comes to the restaurant in her uniform. 

She comes exactly at 20:00 after work, looking exhausted as ever as she settles down in the corner of the restaurant by the window and opens her laptop to work some more.

Given your experience from the city, you knew what it was like to be in her shoes.

So when you came to get her order, you weren't surprised to be greeted by her dozing state.

And it has become a familiar sight since then.

Her order was always the same thing: pizza paired with coffee; something easy to eat while working.

The sounds of her typing on her keyboard can be heard every time she comes, to the point where it starts to become weird if you don't hear it at night.

Sometimes, she stays until closing time.

And even then, she would only leave after answering one last email.

"Miss Jean, we're closing soon." You spoke with a polite smile. 

"Ah. My apologies." She spoke, flustered. "I'll just finish this report and be on my way."

There were times when she accidentally fell asleep with her glasses still on, or when she forgot to touch her food until it had already gone cold.

Whenever you reminded her, she would simply smile apologetically.

"Sorry. I got carried away… Again."

Despite how busy she always was, Jean never once failed to thank you for every meal.

"Thank you. It was delicious as always."

And she always smiled the most whenever she said those words.

One night, you heard the sounds of soft sneezes and sniffles.

When you checked on Jean, it was clear that she was sick.

To your dismay, when you told her to take a break from work and rest tomorrow, she simply shook her head in response.

"Thank you for your concern, but… I can't afford to call in sick. I have an important meeting tomorrow that I cannot miss.” She said softly, trying to smile reassuringly towards you before sneezing once again.

When you came back once more with her order, she was surprised to see a warm bowl of cream stew on the side.

"It's on the house," you explained softly, "if you can't be absent tomorrow, at least try to take care of yourself."

Her eyes widened in surprise. Before she could protest and insist on paying, you quickly left her on her own to tend to other customers.

She didn't touch her laptop after that.

Instead, she quietly stared at the cream stew.

Her expression softened.

And for a brief moment…

You thought she looked like she was about to cry.

She didn't come to the restaurant the next day.

But on the day after, she returned, not as sick as before.

When you took her order, she decided to order an additional meal.

"I'd also like some cream stew on the side, if that's alright."

Over time, you've grown to care about the overworked businesswoman.

As you continue to observe her, you begin to realize that beneath all the work she's been doing every time she visits, there's always something behind her eyes that just made you know that this was something beyond work.

When you asked Varka about Jean, he could only sigh in response.

"Her parents passed away back when she had just turned twenty-one, leaving her to take care of her sister, Barbara, who was still young at the time." He said with a serious look.

"Jean eventually got hired to a company that offered a high pay, enough to help provide for Barbara's school. Though… not a lot of people liked that company, as it was known for often overworking its employees."

"I even tried to convince Jean to try out a different company, but she insisted the one she's in had the best benefits for Barbara and didn't want to risk losing it."

Your heart sank hearing her story. "...Where's Barbara now?"

"Oh, she's second year in college already."

Varka sighed. "But… it's like the two of them weren't as close as they used to be. Not when Jean is always on her laptop the whole time and never having the time to go to any of Barbara's school events."

You began to understand the businesswoman more after that.

One evening, while cleaning up empty plates, you suddenly asked out of curiosity:

"Miss Jean… Do you really enjoy that cream stew I made?"

Jean paused, her fingers froze above her keyboard.

For a moment, the sounds of typing stopped. 

And after a long silence…

She smiled. A sad kind.

"Sorry if it’s weird.. I-It’s just… it reminded me a lot of my little sister, Barbara, back when she was little."

She began to reminisce a little, a longing but pained look on her face. “Our mom would make cream stew for me whenever I’m sick, and she’d proudly stay by her mom’s side and bring me bowls without fail, wanting to see me feel better."

Jean let out a small laugh.

“I always finish them even when I’m already full, because she looked so happy."

Her smile gradually weakened.

"I don't think I've had cream stew since then… Not since our parents died."

“She probably doesn't even remember anymore."

You began to regret asking her that question, unaware of how much such dish meant to her. 

As if reading your mind, she smiled sadly. “Thank you for asking though. I.. I guess I needed to get that out of my chest.” She said reassuringly. 

Eventually, Jean began coming to the restaurant without opening her laptop immediately.

Sometimes she actually ate while her food was still warm.

Sometimes she stayed simply to talk.

And one evening, she quietly asked:

"Do you think… It's too late?"

When you stopped cleaning the stove for a moment to look at her, she quickly clarified her question.

"...Do you think it’s… too late for me to fix things? With her?"

You shook your head, already knowing what she meant.

"No."

"It’s never too late to fix things. Not if both people still care." You said softly. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.” 

A few weeks later, Jean didn't show up.

Nor the day after.

Nor the day after that.

You found yourself glancing at the door every evening, wondering if she was drowning in work.

Until nearly a week later.

The familiar bell rang.

"Welcome—"

You froze.

Jean stood there.

Looking happier than you had ever seen her.

Beside her stood a younger woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

"Good afternoon!" The younger woman greeted cheerfully, waving at you.

"You must be the one my sister always talks about!"

Jean actually looked embarrassed.

"Barbara… Must you say that?"

"But it's true!" Barbara giggled softly.

That night, the two sisters stayed until closing.

No laptops, no reports, no emails.

Just laughter and two cream stews.

Turns out, Jean had quit her job and went to a company that treats their employees better and had a much better benefit for her and her sister, giving her more time to finally make up the lost time with her sister. 

From then on, Jean no longer came every day.

Whenever she does visit, she always has stories to tell. Whether it was about movie nights with Barbara, about finally attending one of her performances, about embarrassing herself trying to bake, about weekend shopping trips, about the little moments she had thought she had lost forever.

And every time she spoke of her sister… Her eyes shone.

One evening, after finishing her meal, Jean lingered by the counter instead of immediately leaving.

She looked oddly nervous.

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Jean hesitated for a moment.

"...Would you be willing to teach me how to cook cream stew? Barbara and I have been trying, but we can never quite recreate the taste."

She smiled sheepishly.

"And I thought… Perhaps I could learn from the expert."

You were quick to say yes. 

So on the weekend, when the restaurant was quieter than usual, Jean came by wearing an apron instead of her work uniform.

It was such an unusual sight that you almost didn't recognize her.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"N-No… It's just strange seeing you without your laptop." You said with a sheepish smile. 

Jean laughed softly.

"I left it at home. Barbara made sure of that."

And so the two of you spent the afternoon together in the kitchen.

You taught her how to prepare the vegetables, how long to simmer the broth, and the importance of patience.

Though admittedly… Jean wasn't exactly gifted in the culinary arts.

"Miss Jean, that’s milk, not cream."

"Ah… Right. My apologies."

Despite her mistakes, Jean looked genuinely happy. Happier than you had ever seen her during those long nights spent working.

Every now and then, she'd excitedly ask questions or proudly present her progress to you.

And before you knew it… The afternoon had slipped away.

"How does it taste?" Jean asked nervously.

You took a spoonful.

And smiled.

"Not bad."

Jean blinked.

"Not bad? That's all?"

You laughed.

"For your first attempt, it's excellent."

Jean smiled.

A bright, genuine smile.

One that made her look years younger.

"Thank goodness."

"Barbara will be happy.

And so time flew by as you watched the businesswoman become happier and healthier. 

One day during her visit, Jean smiled softly towards you.

"Barbara really liked the cream stew I made yesterday. I’m getting better thanks to you."

She then sheepishly added, “It's still not as good as yours, though."

She paused for a moment, as though she had something important she wanted to say.

"I've been meaning to thank you."

She said quietly.

"Not just for the meals. Or for taking care of me when I was sick."

Jean lowered her gaze slightly.

"I thought I had already failed as a sister. That perhaps… Barbara and I had simply grown too far apart."

A small smile appeared on her face.

"But because of you… I remembered the things that mattered, and Ww found our way back to each other."

She let out a soft laugh.

"Barbara says I've become less quiet lately. Though I'm not entirely sure that's a compliment."

Despite her words, she looked happier than ever.

"Still… Thank you. Truly. I hope your grandfather gets better soon as well."

One evening, before leaving, Jean stopped in front of the wishing board.

Looking thoughtful, she picked up a pen.

Then, with a gentle smile, she wrote:

"I want to be a better sister."

When she finished, she looked at the board for a while.

Before quietly adding:

"And perhaps…"

"A better version of myself as well."

Though she never wrote those words down.

Because deep down, you had already helped her do that.

Unlike Jean and Varka, Hat Guy had quite an entrance.

It happened on one rainy day when the door suddenly slid open harshly, the bell ringing rather in a wrong and hurried way.

When you check on the newcomer, you certainly didn't expect to see a foreign young-looking man with a large hat that's dripping rainwater on the floor, holding a permanent scowl on his face as he quietly curses at the unfortunate weather.

You watched carefully as he sat down on the very end of the counter seat with a huff, removing his wet hat, unsure if he was the type to shout at poor employees.

Before you could greet him and ask for his order, he beat you to it, scanning over the menu pasted on the counter.

"I'll get the most bitter tea you have with a cold cut platter meal."

As you quickly get started on preparing his meal, you try to ignore his quiet curses to himself.

"Great… First my men lost that cursed doctor, then it started raining, and now I'm stuck in this stupid town."

So much for first impressions, am I right?

Based on his constant complaints that he "kept to himself," you managed to put two and two together that Hat Guy happened to pass by the neighborhood while trying to find a doctor for reasons only your ancestors can tell, but due to the heavy rain, he had to take a detour and come to your restaurant.

Despite his harsh demeanor, he wasn't exactly harsh to you in a way one would expect an entitled customer to be.

If you could guess, you'd assume he's actually just a reasonable man with a sour attitude.

When you served his order, he was already quiet, taking light bites as he continued to put on a nasty look on his face.

He didn't leave any more comments when he was finished either, standing up from his stool and grabbing his now dry hat as he left the bill on the counter, ready to go back to whatever he was doing since the rain finally stopped.

You thought that would've been the last time you'd see the foreigner.

But then he came back the day after tomorrow.

This time, he didn't look as angry and mean as before as he went to his previous spot, scanning the menu once more without another word.

"I'll get the most bitter tea you have and the flaming red bolognese."

It slowly became a routine.

Every twice a week, he comes back to your restaurant ordering different meals with the same bitter drink.

Each time, you felt like you're walking on eggshells due to remembering his nasty attitude during your first encounter, not wanting to deal with any hassling conflicts with any customers as it's the last thing you needed.

Yet despite all his complaints, he somehow never had anything bad to say about your cooking.

Not that he'd ever compliment it.

"The tea's acceptable."

"This one's edible."

"You didn't burn the noodles today."

Which, according to your grandfather, was probably the closest thing to praise coming from someone like him.

Eventually, you stopped being nervous around him.

And perhaps he noticed.

Because he stopped glaring at you whenever you approached his seat.

Sometimes, he'd even push his empty plate forward before you could ask.

"Same drink."

"And surprise me with the meal."

"I don't care."

Which was strange.

Because for someone who kept to himself so much… He had somehow entrusted his meals entirely to you.

Though he would deny such a thing if anyone pointed it out.

"Don't misunderstand. I'm just too lazy to read the menu."

And yet, every dish you recommended was always finished completely.

One evening, when you apologized for making him wait longer than usual due to the amount of customers, Hat Guy merely scoffed.

"What are you apologizing for? I'm not in a hurry."

He paused.

"...Besides, I was planning on staying a while."

Somehow, hearing those words made your heart skip a beat.

Not that you'd ever admit that.

What really made you surprised was the time when one of the children accidentally bumped into Hat Guy while playing around, and just when you thought the poor kid was about to get one hell of a lecture and berating comment, you were instead surprised to see Hat Guy checking up on the kid and shooing him away, before going back to his meal as if nothing happened.

Huh, maybe he really is just a reasonable man with a sour attitude.

Out of habit, you continue to observe your foreign customer while handling your restaurant around.

Though he often claims that he simply happened to be passing through, it somehow becomes a routine for him to visit every twice a week.

He never orders the same meal twice. But his drink always remains the same.

Sometimes he brings a newspaper.

Sometimes he sits in complete silence.

And sometimes, when there aren't many customers around, he quietly listens to the conversations of the elderly residents while pretending not to.

Oddly enough, he no longer scans the menu and actually knows all your meals by heart.

Even stranger, he always visits during the busiest hours despite how much he complains about noisy places.

He never joins any conversations, but he never leaves early either.

In fact, you've noticed that after finishing his meals, he often stays behind with his tea.

Watching the rain outside.

Listening to the grandmothers gossip.

Listening to the children giggling and playing around.

Listening to you talk with the regular customers.

And every now and then, you catch him looking at you.

Only for him to immediately avert his eyes with a click of his tongue.

"...Watch where you're walking."

"You'll trip."

Or—

"The soup's boiling over."

Or—

"You missed a spot."

He always notices.

Somehow, he notices everything.

Huh.

Maybe he really is just a reasonable man with a sour attitude.

One particularly quiet evening, you accidentally cut your finger while preparing ingredients.

Before you could even react, Hat Guy was already standing up, leaning towards the counter to check up on you. 

"Idiot."

His voice was sharper than usual. "How are you this careless?"

You blinked in surprise.

"...Hat Guy?"

He looked equally surprised himself, as if he hadn't realized he had gotten up.

"...Tch."

"You were getting blood everywhere, you might mess up my order."

Despite his complaints, he stayed beside you until the bandage was wrapped properly.

Only then did he return to his seat, ears slightly red as he hides his face with his hat.

"...Don't misunderstand. It would've been annoying if you got sick."

You couldn't stop smiling to yourself for the rest of the evening.

Before long, the regulars become used to his presence.

Though nobody knew his name, the children eventually started calling him "Hat Guy."

Much to his annoyance.

"I'm not answering to that."

"Good evening, Mister Hat Guy!"

"...Brats."

And yet for some reason, he always carries little candies in his pockets, and the neighborhood cats seem to adore him for some reason.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I just happened to have leftovers." He said, crossing his arms when he realized you were watching him after you took out the trash. 

Huh.

Maybe he really is just a reasonable man with a sour attitude.

One afternoon, while helping one of the regular customers cross the road from the restaurant, you noticed Miss Nahida sitting outside her home.

The oldest resident of the neighborhood who used to be a very beloved teacher in the school that’s located in the neighborhood.

Though age had weakened her body and memory, she remained beloved by everyone. Even your grandfather, who always has something to say about people, had nothing but respect for the elderly woman.

Some days she remembered your name.

Other days she mistook you for one of her old students.

Without fail, she always remembered to smile.

"Good afternoon, dear."

"Have you seen my grandson?"

You blinked.

"Your grandson?"

"Kuni."

She smiled warmly.

"Such a sweet boy. He's been away for work. But he promised to visit me soon."

"He promised."

Varka, who happened to be nearby, simply sighed.

And when Nahida wasn't listening anymore, he quietly explained.

"That promise was made years ago. He left after high school and never looked back."

Your heart sank.

According to Varka, Nahida had found an abandoned baby left outside her doorstep decades ago.

Nobody knew who the parents were, and nobody ever came looking for him. 

So she simply brought the child inside and raised him herself.

"His name's Kunikuzushi."

Varka smiled softly.

"Though she always called him Kuni. Based on what the grannies told me, he had always looked up to her more than anything. But then he grew up. Said he wanted something bigger than this little neighborhood. 

Varka then sighed. “And one day, he left. Nobody knows what he does, and nobody's heard from him since. Not even Miss Nahida. I remember granny telling me about how devastating it was to see their favorite teacher looking so hopeful yet sad when each year flew by without him visiting."

For some reason, your thoughts immediately drifted towards Hat Guy. Though you quickly dismissed the idea.

Surely not.

Right?

Yet the coincidence kept bothering you, especially when you often see him either lingering or staring in the direction of Miss Nahida’s home. 

And one evening, after watching Hat Guy stare absentmindedly out the window towards Miss Nahida's house, you finally asked.

"Do you know Miss Nahida?"

The spoon in his hand stopped.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then—

"...Who?"

It was far too quick, far too rehearsed. He didn’t even look you in the eyes.

And that’s when you had your answer.

After that, you started noticing strange things.

Every morning, someone leaves fresh flowers by Nahida's doorstep, someone fixes the broken fence before Varka could, and someone leaves groceries outside whenever she forgets to buy them.

And not one single person knows who did it.

Except one rainy morning, when you accidentally caught Hat Guy holding grocery bags outside her house.

Upon seeing you, he clicked his tongue.

"Don't misunderstand. I just happened to be passing by."

You raised an eyebrow, unsure what to think. "Passing by with groceries?"

"...Shut up."

Despite all that, he never bothered to knock nor call her outside. 

And as the months passed, his questions slowly became stranger.

"...Tell me." He hesitated for a moment, holding his tea and blowing the steam off. 

"If someone wasted years of their life doing stupid things… Would it even matter if they came back?"

Another time, he quietly asked: "What if they've done things they can never take back?"

And another time: "What if they're afraid?" 

And every time, you always answer each question reassuringly, knowing that he wasn’t talking about someone else.

Then one day, you found yourself asking Hat Guy a question when he came to visit.

"Why won't you talk to her?"

His expression darkened.

Instead of denying yet again about not knowing who you’re talking about, he dropped the act. "...What's the point? She forgets everything."

"Maybe.” You replied softly. “But she remembers waiting for you."

For the first time since you've met him…

He said nothing.

He simply stared into his tea, then quietly paid the bill and left.

And for nearly two weeks…

He never returned.

You honestly thought that would be the last time you would see him.

Until one evening, the bell rang.

And there he was.

Though something about him seemed different. Quieter. Softer. As though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

After finishing his meal, he suddenly spoke.

"...She remembered."

When you look up at him in surprise, he continues speaking. "Not everything though, but she remembered me."

He laughed weakly.

"...Stupid old woman. She asked why I took so long. Then she forgot and asked who I was.” 

Despite the insults, you noticed how suspiciously red his eyes were.

"Did you answer her?"

"...Yeah. I did."

After that night, Hat Guy began visiting more frequently. He looked relaxed a little more. Though his questions never seemed to stop.

"...If someone wanted to leave everything behind to start over… Would running away make them a coward?"

You thought about it for a moment.

Then smiled.

"Not if they're running towards a better future."

He stared at you. 

"...I see."

Sure enough, after finishing his meal, he stood up. Putting the money on the counter, he adjusted his hat.

Then, with a strange look in his eyes, he quietly said:

"Thanks.. for everything.”

And then he left.

You never saw him again after that. 

Strangely enough, Miss Nahida smiles more these days.

"Kuni visited me the other day. He was such a good boy, he asked if I wanted to go with him to a far away place for a fresh start.” She said to you one day. 

Your eyes widen in surprise. “And did you say yes, Miss Nahida?” You asked. 

She shook her head, laughing softly. “No, of course not. I’m too old to travel, and I think it’ll do him good to go out there without worrying about me. But he did promise he'll come back again when the time comes."

And though sometimes she forgets his name, the conversation, and even his identity, 

She never forgets that he came home.

And one evening, while cleaning the restaurant after closing time, you noticed a new wish hanging on the board.

You don't recall seeing any customers putting it there.

Yet the elegant handwriting gave you an inkling feeling that you already know who it came from. . 

Written in small, neat letters were the words:

"Thank you for everything."

No name.

No explanation.

But you understood, a sad smile forming on your face.

Wherever Hat Guy had gone—

You could only hope that, this time…

He was finally running towards happiness.

The first person you met when you first arrived at the neighborhood is none other than your grandfather's physician.

You had only just finished listening to your grandfather's instructions on how to manage his restaurant when the bell above the restaurant door chimed.

Turning around, you expected a customer.

Instead, a tall man dressed in a doctor's uniform stepped inside with a smile on his face.

"Good morning." He greeted, his voice gentle, calm and pleasant to listen to. "I'm here for your check-up."

Before you could even react, your grandfather groaned from the kitchen.

"You’re here already?"

The doctor chuckled. "Goodness, what a cruel thing to say to your physician."

"Bah. You're only here to nag me."

Nonetheless, the doctor smiled more. "Because you refuse to listen."

As you listen to their conversation, the two of them sounded less like doctor and patient, and more like old friends.

That was your first impression of Doctor Baizhu.

To the neighborhood, Baizhu is a wonderful doctor who has the most effective medicine there is, with the price of having to suffer from the extreme bitterness of said medicine. To your grandfather, he's a nuisance who constantly reminded him to rest and not work his bum off to run the restaurant.To the children, he was the terrifying man responsible for making them drink awful syrup. Though they still adored him, finding him “cool” for having a snake in his home. To the elderly residents, he was the kind young doctor who patiently listened to their complaints even when they repeated the same stories over and over again. To the shopkeepers, he was someone who always remembered to ask how their families were doing.

To everyone else…

Doctor Baizhu was simply Doctor Baizhu.

Someone reliable, kind, and always seemed to have a smile on his face.

Knowing how stubborn your grandfather is during his morning check-ups, you couldn't help but feel bad for the doctor and offer Baizhu to eat at the restaurant every time he checks up on your grandfather, to which the doctor always appreciated and kindly accepted your offer.

"Are you certain?" He asks. 

You nodded reassuringly. "Of course! It’s the least I can do as thanks for putting up with the old man."

At that, he laughed softly. "Then I shall gratefully accept."

He then became some of the customers that come in the morning given that's the time he visits your grandfather, so he got to experience the peaceful atmosphere of the restaurant that only occurs at this hour.

The sunlight filtering through the windows, the quiet chatter of regular customers, the smell of freshly baked bread, and the sound of dishes clinking together was peaceful and comfortable, enough to make any tension come off.

And in your opinion, Doctor Baizhu fit perfectly into that atmosphere.

His order is usually a crab, ham, and veggie bake with tea on the side, and he prefers sitting by the wall near your kitchen where he has alone time and can call you when he needs something.

He always thanked you whenever you brought his food without fail.

"Thank you. This smells wonderful."

Even if it was something simple as merely refilling his tea, you couldn’t help but feel something warm in your stomach from his gratitude. 

Doctor Baizhu always made people feel appreciated.

Most of the customers who came by would notice him and greet him, to which he greeted back with a polite smile on his face, often asking them about their well-being and whether they had taken care of themselves better despite the fact that some of them were no longer under his care.

"Good morning, Mrs. Faruzan. Remember to take your medicine after breakfast."

"Mr. Cyrus, please don't strain your back again."

"Ah, Varka. Have you been drinking too much lately?"

Which earned a loud protest from the neighborhood leader. "Doctor! Don't expose me in public!"

Baizhu laughed. "My apologies. Professional habit." 

It was clear to you that everybody loved Doctor Baizhu.

Though admittedly… They couldn’t say the same to his medicine. 

"Bah! Why does this blasted thing taste worse every day?" Your grandfather grimaced after swallowing his daily medicine.

"Because you complain about it every day." Baizhu replied with a patient smile.

"It's bitter!"

"It's medicine."

"Can't you make it taste like tea or something?"

"I could, but then you'd complain that it doesn't work."

"Hmph. Still tastes awful."

"And yet you drank it without fuss today."

"Don't get smug, doctor."

You'd often hear him laugh softly whenever that happened.

A gentle laugh.

One that made the peaceful mornings feel even warmer.

You've come to like Baizhu. A lot.

Which is why it didn't take long for you to notice something about the doctor.

Every time he eats his meal, his hand often trembles, as if struggling to lift the spoon up to his lips.

But he never lets it be known to the whole world, not when he often stops using his utensils right away whenever someone comes to greet him.

He's always seen smiling, always composed, always elegant. And yet… His smile made it easy to overlook the exhaustion beneath his eyes.

When you decide to ask your grandfather about Baizhu after he left, your grandfather sighs.

"Ah, Dr. Baizhu's physical condition is far from perfect. Truth be told, I don't know how he even manages to keep up with his work. That fool should be the one lying on the bed instead of me."

You blinked.

"Doctor Baizhu is sick?"

"Always has been." Your grandfather huffed. "He's got that pharmacy of his to manage, patients to look after, and his assistant Gui running around like a headless chicken."

He sighed. "Even so, he still insists on making house calls. He never says no and never complains, especially when it comes to the children and people at my age… even when he's coughing his lungs out."

He then crossed his arm, displeased. "Bah. Doctors make terrible patients."

Your heart sank.

Ever since then, you begin paying more attention to him.

You notice how he often excuses himself to cough in private, how he occasionally loses his appetite, how his tea always turns cold because he spends more time checking on others than himself, how he quietly massages his wrists whenever they ache, and…

How he simply closes his eyes for a few moments before putting on his smile again.

Whenever you ask him how he's feeling, he simply smiles.

"I'm alright. Please don't worry too much about me."

Though the shadows beneath his eyes only seem to deepen.

One morning, while you were cleaning the tables, Baizhu suddenly collapsed.

Thankfully, it wasn't severe, but seeing the neighborhood's beloved doctor unconscious for the first time deeply worried everyone.

Especially you.

By the time he woke up, he was already embarrassed.

"My, this is rather humiliating."

You checked up on his condition, worried for your friend. "Doctor Baizhu. You scared everyone."

He simply laughed softly.

"My apologies. I suppose my body wanted a break."

Yet despite his lightheartedness, you couldn't bring yourself to feel assured that he’s alright.

And for the first time since you've known him, Baizhu noticed the tears in your eyes.

His smile faltered. "...Oh dear. Please don't cry. I assure you, I'm quite difficult to get rid of."

That only made your chest hurt even more.

After that day, you became more stubborn.

You prepared lighter meals for him, made sure his tea stayed warm, scolded him whenever he skipped meals.

And before long, the regular customers joined in too.

Varka often helped Baizhu carry his medicine supplies, some of the children reminded him to rest, and your grandfather grumbled at him every chance he got.

Somehow, the entire neighborhood had begun taking care of its doctor.

Much to Baizhu's amusement.

"Goodness. I've become everyone's patient."

One peaceful morning, after the other customers had left, Baizhu quietly asked: "May I ask you something?"

You were quick to lend an ear. "Of course."

He looked towards the window, his eyes softening. 

"...Do you think it's selfish to wish for more time?"

Your hands stopped.

"More time?"

Baizhu smiled weakly.

"Mm. More time to work and to help others."

Then, after a brief pause—

"...And to stay beside those precious to me."

Somehow…

Your face grew warm.

And Baizhu chuckled softly upon noticing. "My apologies. Perhaps that was too embarrassing."

"Not at all." You replied quietly. "I think it's only human of us to always wish for more time."

He looked genuinely surprised by your answer. 

From then on, Baizhu begins lingering after meals. 

Sometimes he stays in the restaurant more to keep you company in the lonely mornings. Sometimes he reads a book beside the counter. Or sometimes, if he feels bold, he simply watches you cook.

And every now and then, you'd catch him smiling to himself. His smile this time was fond and sincere. 

One that made your heart skip a beat.

While Baizhu was on his way to the restaurant in the morning, some of the children in the neighborhood were quick to follow him, still in their school uniforms as they’re on their way to their school.

 "Doctor Baizhu?" One kid spoke up. 

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about that’s making you smile so wide?"

He blinked, then laughed quietly.

"Ah. Was I?"

He thoughtfully tried to come up with an answer. But deep down, he already knew the reason behind it.

“I suppose it’s a good day today.” 

One morning, as you walked with Baizhu to see him off and return to the pharmacy near the exit, Baizhu stopped in front of the wishing board.

He stood there for a long time. Longer than anyone else.

“My, how cute.” He commented. 

Then, with a gentle smile, he wrote: "I wish everyone a long and healthy life."

You smiled.

"That's a very Doctor Baizhu answer."

He laughed softly. "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid."

Then, after a moment, his gaze drifted towards you.

Warm.

Tender.

Almost wistful.

"Though… If I may be selfish just this once…"

He smiled.

"I hope I get to enjoy many more meals with you."

And despite the weakness that remained in his body, the uncertainty of tomorrow., and knowing that life could never promise him forever.

Doctor Baizhu still smiled ever so brightly.

Because for the first time in a long while, he had found something precious enough to look forward to tomorrow.

And for now.... That was enough. 

You remembered Zhongli from back when you still lived in the neighborhood.

Back when your world was much smaller, when your biggest worries consisted of unfinished homework and whether your grandfather would catch the two of you sneaking snacks from the kitchen.

He was the son of an elderly woman whom your grandparents were very close with.

And because the adults spent so much time together, their children naturally did as well.

You met him when you were young, far younger than either of you could remember.

Neither of you could really recall when exactly your friendship began, but you knew it simply existed. As naturally as breathing and as naturally as the sun rising every morning.

Since then, the two of you had been inseparable.If people saw you, Zhongli was usually nearby. And if they saw Zhongli, you certainly weren't far behind.

You grew up together, went to the same schools, shared lunches, studied together, walked home together, celebrated birthdays together, cried together, laughed together.

And before either of you realized it…

Childhood became adolescence.

And adolescence became high school.

Everyone around you simply assumed that one day, the two of you would get married.

Even your grandfather loved teasing the both of you.

"Oi, Zhongli."

"When are you taking my grandchild away, hm?"

Which only resulted in Zhongli smiling politely while you nearly died of embarrassment.

"Grandpa! Please don't tease him." You complained to your grandfather. 

Yet Zhongli always answered so calmly, so composed, and so so so dignified. “It’s alright.” 

Yet despite his collected demeanor, the tips of his ears would always turn red.

Which only made your grandfather laugh harder.

"Look at him!"

"Grandpa!"

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Meanwhile, Zhongli merely coughed into his hand, looking everywhere except at you.

And despite your embarrassment, you secretly thought he looked adorable.

It’s safe to say that Zhongli was your first friend, your first crush, and your first love.

The person who knew you better than anyone else.

And perhaps…

Your greatest regret.

Which was why it hurt so much when your parents announced that you would be moving to the city.

You still remembered that evening.

The two of you sat inside the restaurant after closing hours, the lights were dim, the streets outside were quiet, and for the first time in your life…

You didn't know what to say to him.

Because how were you supposed to tell the person who had always been by your side that you were leaving?

You remembered crying, struggling to get the words out, and how Zhongli was quietly listening.

As he always did.

And what hurt the most was that he never once made things difficult for you. He never once complained, nor even asked you to stay.

Even though you knew that deep down, he didn't want you to go.

"...It's alright." He smiled softly. "We'll still call each other."

"And besides… You'll visit when you grow older right?” 

You smiled through your tears.

"Of course. I'll come back all the time. Nothing's going to change."

Such naive promises, such foolish confidence.

Because life had a cruel habit of getting in the way.

One year became three.

Three became five.

Calls became texts.

Texts became occasional greetings.

Occasional greetings became birthdays.

Birthdays became silence.

Yet neither of you forgot.

You couldn't.

Because Zhongli has always been your person.

And you had always been his.

Which was why, when the bell above the restaurant door rang during the final hour of the evening… You never expected to see him.

Of all people.

Zhongli.

Standing there.

Looking exactly as you remembered.

Handsome.

Elegant.

Timeless.

His expression softened upon seeing you, and he smiled. The same smile that had accompanied nearly every memory of your youth.

"...I hope I'm not too late."

Your breath caught.

For a moment, you thought you were dreaming. Yet there he was walking toward the counter, pulling out a stool, and sitting down with all the familiarity in the world.

As though no time had passed at all.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled.

"No… Not at all. The usual?"

And unlike everyone else, Zhongli only ever ordered tea.

Just tea.

Nothing more.

And every evening after that…

He would arrive during the last hour, without fail.

The first thing he always asked was: "How was your day?"

And you found yourself telling him everything, about the customers, the regulars, your worries, your frustrations, and the little things that made you smile.

And Zhongli listened. He always listened, looking genuinely happy just hearing your voice.

Just like before.

Which only made your chest ache.

Because regret still lingered. You regret for the years lost, for the distance, and for all the things left unsaid.

Of course, Zhongli noticed. 

He always noticed.

He placed his tea down and hummed softly. "That was a long time ago." He spoke softly, looking at you. 

"Please do not beat yourself up over it." His voice remained warm, gentle, and familiar.

"Would it make you feel better if you take a break and enjoy this tea with me?"

And no matter how exhausting your day had been, no matter how tired you felt…

You always found yourself sitting beside him.

Just like old times.

Sometimes the two of you reminisced about high school, you complained about city life, you laughed until your stomach hurt.

And sometimes… Zhongli simply listened.

Just as he always had.

Every time you apologized for losing touch, Zhongli only smiled.

"You always apologize, yet I never once blamed you."

And those words… those kind gentle words… 

Only made your heart ache even more.

His visits continued as you managed the restaurant, to the point where it became a precious routine that you found yourself looking forward to every day.

Because seeing him again made you happier than you'd been in years.

Before long, the final hour became your favorite part of the day.

Because it meant seeing Zhongli and reliving your childhood all over again.

One evening, while laughing over an embarrassing memory from high school, Zhongli suddenly asked:

"...Do you regret anything?"

You paused.

"...A lot."

"Such as?"

You looked away from him for a moment, your smile disappearing. "...Leaving… and not being here."  

Zhongli quietly listened.

As he always did.

Then he smiled gently. "Life simply happened. There's no shame in that."

Yet, his smile seemed sadder than usual. 

Truth be told, it pained him to see you constantly beat yourself up for what happened. He wanted you to truly be happy. 

Then one evening… He didn't come, nor the day after, nor the week after that.

You found yourself staring at the clock, constantly waiting for the bell.

But it never rang.

After a month had passed, your grandfather had finally recovered enough to leave his room and help around the restaurant again, feeling better than ever thanks to Baizhu’s miracle work and his perseverance.

Excited, you found yourself glancing at the clock, waiting once again for Zhongli to come.

You wanted to tell Zhongli the good news.

You wanted to tell him that Grandpa had recovered.

You wanted to tell him how happy you were.

You wanted…

To see him.

As the final hour approached, your grandfather noticed your constant glances toward the door as he was wiping the counter.

"...Waiting for someone?" He asked gruffly. 

You smiled softly. "...Not really.” 

You hesitated for a moment, sighing softly as you looked down. 

“...I just suddenly missed Zhongli."

Your grandfather paused, then smiled sadly.

"...Me too, kid."

Silence settled between the two of you.

A quiet, familiar silence.

The kind Zhongli himself would've appreciated.

Looking at the empty stool opposite yours, your chest started to hurt.

Because you already knew.

He’s never coming back at all. 

“...His death anniversary is coming next week.” You spoke sadly, voice suddenly hoarse. 

You had known ever since you returned to your hometown, ever since you stood before his mother in his home, and ever since you learned that the boy you'd loved all your life had quietly left this world while you were away.

And still, you find yourself waiting.

Listening for the bell, hoping, wishing that he comes at the last hour to talk to you.

But the bell never rang.

That night, after closing the restaurant, you quietly excused yourself.

And for the first time since returning home…

You visited him.

The moon hung high above as you stood before the gravestone that held his name, his dates, and the proof that this wasn't some terrible nightmare.

It was real.

He was gone.

Everything you had been holding back came crashing down.

The missed calls, the messages you promised to answer later before drowning from work, the news from old neighbors you were too busy to read, the funeral you arrived too late for, and the flowers.

You remembered seeing his mother crying when you entered his home, only to learn from the elderly woman that he had been battling cancer for years and that he had hidden it from everyone.

It pained you that just when you were able to finally visit him after so long, it was already over.

You collapsed before his grave, letting out shaky breaths as you sobbed.

"I'm sorry…"

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"I'm sorry I came too late."

"I'm sorry…"

"I'm sorry…"

The words became sobs.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been kneeling in front of his grave, the grass prickling your legs as you continued to cry in grief and regret. 

You missed him so so so much.

You wanted to tell him so many things.

And before you knew it, exhaustion overtook you as you fell asleep, curled up in front of his gravestone.  

And in your dreams, you finally saw him.

Zhongli.

He was sitting across from you with a cup of tea in his hands.

Smiling just as he always had. He was no longer the Zhongli consumed by illness, or the Zhongli that haunted your memories.

Right in front of you was Zhongli.

Your Zhongli.

You broke down immediately.

"I'm sorry,” You gasped. “I'm sorry I wasn't there! You must've been scared, you must've been lonely, a-and I—"

"It's alright." He interrupted softly.

You sobbed even more. "...But it isn't! I left, I lost touch, a-and when I finally came back—"

"Life happened." Zhongli smiled gently. "There's no shame in that."

Tears blurred your vision.

"But I missed so much." You shakily replied. 

He nodded. "Mm. But we had many wonderful years together, didn't we?"

You cried even more as he continued to talk, “...And those memories made me very happy."

He sounded so happy, it ate you alive. 

"Zhongli… Weren’t you angry at me?" You asked brokenly. 

He blinked.

Then chuckled softly. “Angry? At you?" His eyes curved warmly. "Never."

"You always apologize, and I never once blamed you. You know this was something that’s out of our hands."

Those words only made you cry harder.

"I loved you."

The confession escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Zhongli froze.

His smile then returned. "...I know."

"...And I loved you too."

Your breath caught.

There was no regret in his eyes, only warmth and peace.

As he finished his tea, he placed the empty cup down. 

"...Thank you. For remembering me, for coming home, and for allowing me to say goodbye."

Tears wouldn't stop falling, yet you smiled.

Zhongli had always known how to comfort you.

Just as he always had, and just as he always would.

"...Will I ever see you again?" You whispered.

Zhongli merely smiled.

And with the same tenderness he'd shown you since childhood, he answered: "Perhaps when the time comes. But not yet."

He then placed a hand on top of yours. "You still have much to see, so many people to meet and befriend…”

“...So please… live well for both of us.”

The world around you slowly faded.

And by the time you opened your eyes… morning had come.

You were still beside his grave alone.

Yet the loneliness didn't hurt as much.

Because for the first time since his passing…

Your heart no longer carried regret alone, but instead gratitude.

“...Thank you, Zhongli.” You whispered, sitting up from the cold ground and caressed his gravestone. “I’ll live for the both of us.”

And so, you returned to the restaurant. 

One week later, his death anniversary arrived. 

Your grandfather decided to throw a special party at the restaurant just for him as everyone that you knew came and celebrated in his name.  

As you watched the party going on, you decided to finally try out the wishing board and write your own wish. 

Tears filled your eyes once more as you pasted the paper on the board. 

Despite your tears, you smiled, knowing that Zhongli can finally move on alongside you.

“I wish you were here to see this.”

[betterinvienna]

but even though you're killing me | childe x gen!reader

chapter 4: touch

prev / masterlist / next

synopsis: Ajax is most attracted to the things that hurt him: combat, heartbreak, and you. Inspired by Chainsaw Man’s Angel, reader possesses deadly, unwanted power; to touch reader’s skin is to shorten your lifespan by an unspecified, varying amount. For this reason, reader resides in a secluded spot of Dragonspine and wears heavy, impenetrable clothing—well, up until reader’s life is impeded by a moment of weakness. Luckily for the lovestruck redhead, he’s here for a good time—not a long time.

[ 1.0k words — fluff, slow burn & angst — warnings: n/a ]

ac: rainsword01 on twt

taglist: @usagiarchive, @kaerotica

author's note:

TRUST me i'm updating this more often from now on pls forgive me

Three days in solitude have never felt worse.

It’s not the change of scenery, although that was a possibility you considered. Instead, there is this guilt about you that you cannot seem to shake off. Childe hasn’t visited in three days, and you’ve involuntarily thought of him all three. There are things to do here—read a book, cook (though you don't consider it fruitful enough for its timespan), and sleep. At this point, you begin to miss the ache in your foot that dwindled along with your resilience to the perpetual silence the house puts you through—pitifully interrupted by a measly thump every now and then as if the gods were checking if you were still alive and there. Mentally or physically? Maybe both.

This guilt eats away at you and you hate it, in a prejudiced manner, due to its origins. Denial is sweet up until you must face the inevitable, genuine truth. It’s connected to Childe, and you hate that.

You’re not magic—you know that to a certain degree—but when you’re sitting on the pilled, ugly green couch, willing for the door to open, for him to walk through, you channel the play-pretending eight-year-old in you and swear, through quiet resolve alone, he will remember you’re here, and allow you to prod at his brain like a dehumanized lab subject.

Yes, like a lab subject. It’s what you’ve been telling yourself to deter yourself from seeking an emotional connection with him. If the relationship is perfectly, exclusively curious, how could it ever become anything intimate?

The palms of eight-year-old you glow, for the first time in a decade, and three very hesitant knocks echo through the silence of your own. It takes you a minute to lift your body off of the bed—chest first, head next, legs follow, just over the bed. There are two other impatient knocks, but you allow yourself to savor this victory on your journey to the door. You tug your thick gloves on and turn the door handle, the plush material slipping and sliding on the metal until you firm your grip.

Childe stands awkwardly at the door, scratching the side of his neck. “Hello.” 

You nod (what?) and say “hi” back. You open the door beyond yourself, and he gets the hint.

It’s only now you notice the plastic bag he holds in one freckled, red-knuckled hand. The material groans with an imprint—more than one, actually—but you’re not interested enough in that subject to investigate further.

“Albedo said I should stop by.” He drops the plastic bag on the coffee table, which weakly shifts back due to the sudden force, and he points to it, sitting down on the couch opposite from yours. “Some medicine, or something.” He grins. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod, again, wordlessly, again. Regrettably, in your eyes, he is now magic—a figment of your pure will, your manifestation. This newfound idolatry is something you realize quickly, and receive, vexed. Much to your dismay, he chuckles.

“Scaramouche told me.” His smile tugs up at your look of betrayal. Was it that easy to coerce it out of him? “It’s fine if you want to know more about me,” he pulls at his wrist cuffs, “I doubt you’re one to judge anyway.”

“What makes you think that?”

He eyes you, dissecting you. His countenance speaks, “really?” But instead, he decides to let you down a bit easier. “Maybe we’re the same.”

The words burn your ears and heat you up. Foreseeing him saying them was one thing, him saying them was another. One part of you grew annoyed, whereas the other part grew more fond of him. 

“I don’t know about that,” you croak out, “you don’t really know me.” 

“I don’t.” He shrugs. “But I’d like to.”

You silently laugh to yourself—you’d like to know him. Not the other way around. That’s useless. “I’d rather get to know you.” You voice.

“I figured.”

“What did Scaramouche mean when he said you lost yourself?”

The question, obviously too blunt and straightforward, caused Childe’s expression to falter in the slightest. Nevertheless, he answers it, very vaguely at best. “I’m not a person—fully, I suppose,” he starts, “I see myself more as a weapon. A tool. I’m okay with that though.”

The answer has you tightening your hands into a fist and the room falling quiet. It’s times like these when you remind yourself of sonder—someone out there isn’t experiencing this. They don’t have to. You try to channel that eight-year-old again, begging for some type of teleportation into this lucky conscience, but she’s gone off to play mermaids with somebody else. “Oh.” You itch your ear.

The awkwardness screams at you, but he hushes it. “I know you do, too.”

The shock factor of the entire conversation has you desensitized, so you give in. “Sure.”

His quiet says, “tell me,” but he just looks at you.

“I’m a murderer.” You say, forthright. 

At this, Childe just laughs. “I appreciate your candor.” 

“I don’t think you understand.” You sober up. “It’s involuntary, yes, but it’s embedded in me. Physically, not mentally. I’d never do that to someone if I had a choice.”

His eyebrow perks up, and he’s more curious than before. The bubbles of options dizzy you and you simply decide to lay it, flat.

“My hands,” you say, hushed, “my bare skin, I mean. Just brushing against me takes years off of someone’s lifespan. I’m a freak.” 

For once, Childe’s eyes have a hint of a glow—they propose it, but don’t show it. He curses under his breath, absolutely marveled by you. “Anything but.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, irked by this unorthodox appreciation. Childe’s eyes meet the ceiling, and he thinks of what next to say. You fiddle with the hem of your dense canvas trousers. 

“Touch me.”

What?

You scoff. “You’re insane.”

He gets up from his couch, and stalks over to you, standing over you. “I’ve got enough life to waste. Touch me.” 

The couch creaks under your weight as you push yourself further back into it. “That’s not how this works.”

Childe shrugs, dropping down onto the space next to you. “It was worth one to shoot my shot. Just…” He decides against finishing his sentence, and rolls his neck, facing you. “You need fresh air. Ever been to Mondstadt?”

[calxide]

HIT "TWEET"! 🐦

⸻ PAIRING med student!Kaeya x med student fem!reader

STATUS on-going | updates everyday (at least until act 2 ends)

TAGS smau with lots of written parts, enemies to ??? lovers, mutual pining, humor/crack, fluff, dying med school students, suffering college burnt out gifted kids

SYNOPSIS Going to med school was, by far, not the best decision you've made. But, because of it, you've made multiple friends online - especially on MedTwt on Twitter. Do you need help? Just type your problem with the hashtag "#MedTwt," and you're one step closer to getting the answer you've longed for!

When you experience struggles in the world of studying medicine and science, your Twitter moot is always there for you. On the other hand, an acquaintance enemy of yours never fails to bothers you. They have such contrasting personalities, yet a familiar feeling of comfort whenever you talk to them. Or is it uneasiness?

Fate surely is a playful one.

🐦 TWITTER PROFILES: Fullmetal Hoes | Noble Gases

TWITTER MOMENTS 「BOOK」 ⚡️

What's happening? this stupid guy fought against me because of a book and is now ruining my life.

1 Tweet: Bookstore

2 Tweets: I love Taylor Swift!

3 Tweets: kaiser 💓

4 Tweets: Kaeya

5 Tweets: delusions are okay

DELETED TWEET 1: painful reminder

6 Tweets: science is not science-ing

7 Tweets: do you care?

8 Tweets: siblings

THREAD | REPLY 1: non-existent ass

9 Tweets: be there or be square

THREAD | REPLY 1: i am done with you

REPLY 2: blue emojis

REPLY 3: gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss

REPLY 4: mission: unblock me please

10 Tweets: uhm so like

THREAD | REPLY 1: just eat, bro

REPLY 2: what kinda subscription

REPLY 3: it’s no stranger danger

TWITTER MOMENTS 「GIFT」 ⚡️

What's happening? my scholarship is in danger.

11 Tweets: a little gift

THREAD | REPLY 1: then all be damned

REPLY 2: chat 🥀

12 Tweets: trust

BOOKMARK 1: twists of life

13 Tweets: smiley face

14 Tweets: fragile

THREAD | REPLY 1: crash out

15 Tweets: a week

16 Tweets: stalking the stalker

17 Tweets: in a trance

18 Tweets: conclusion

19 Tweets: confrontation

THREAD | REPLY 1: it runs in the blood

20 Tweets: @ rosaria, go offline again, please

21 Tweets: truth or dare

THREAD | REPLY 1: was i what

22 Tweets: last night

23 Tweets: man vs self

THREAD | REPLY 1: wanna know a lil something?

TWITTER MOMENTS 「...」 ⚡️

What's happening? i don't know either.

⠀

UNRELEASED CHAPTER NAMES ARE STC.

WARNINGS profanities; time stamps don't matter unless stated (time seperators do tho – but not the time itself) ; kaeya is a bitch (affectionate); y/n is tired of kaeya's shitty shenanigans; slow burn ('cause we love it here); y/n has an online persona that is named "zie" — this nickname will be used and mentioned a lot; a lot of "k why s" jokes (+ y/n's intrusive and impulsive thoughts). more warnings will be added as the story progresses.

AUTHOR'S NOTE please expect a lot of typographical errors, because i write whenever i'm unhinged and wrote most of the chapters late at night

TAGLIST is open, please send an ask or comment HERE if you want to be added/removed! if i am unable to tag you, please check this post.

TAGLIST 🐦 @mayasshitposts @eternal-dokja @aemiko @temshouineichi @sukunasrealgf @eutopiastar @wonderland-fan @kissingkzuha @aether-darling @zamorazz @n0rmalsimp @boomie-123 @yolocaltrashaxolotl @jiminscarmex @bananasquash

[wastingmylifesecondatatime]

Various Genshin Characters Archive - One Shots/Drabbles

🔞 = mature Other masterlists: mother masterlist, masterlist archive

A Gesture by @witch-hazels-musings (added: Jun 7th, 2024)​

↳ “Reader gets a blister on their foot, Genshin men notice and provide respite from the discomfort”

↳ Diluc, Xiao

How you made at me, 'cuz I'm a cunt, bitch? by @staryuee (added: Jun 4th, 2024)​

↳ “You wouldn’t call yourself rude just…”free-spirited” and liberal in your word choices”

↳ Childe, Ayato

I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you (and I) by @kleewie (added: Jun 4th, 2024)​

↳ “Could I request Kaeya and Diluc's little sister making them lunch boxes because she's always worrying about their health?”

↳ Eula, Xiao, Thoma, Ei, Furina, Navia, Wriothesley

Kaeya & Diluc w Sibling!Reader by @genshin-obsessed

↳ “Could I request Kaeya and Diluc's little sister making them lunch boxes because she's always worrying about their health?”

↳ Kaeya, Diluc

Look, but don't touch. by @mrpenguinpants (added: Jul 29th, 2024)​

↳ “You're the only one who's allowed to touch him. Likewise, he's the only one that's allowed to touch you.”

↳ Childe, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Dottore

[wasvrenagusa]

ALMOST HOLY YEARNING | MASTERLIST

pairing: Phainon x Fem!Reader summary: A painfully ordinary healer is transferred into the worst possible workplace scenario: direct proximity to the literal sun in human form—Phainon, the Deliverer you have been secretly, responsibly, and catastrophically worshipping from afar. Between overflowing infirmaries, impossible odds, and a boss who thinks throwing you at the Chrysos Heirs is “character building,” you must keep people alive and keep yourself from combusting every time Phainon smiles, laughs, or unforgivably, comes back just to see you. This is, let's say, a comical story about accidental closeness, professional boundaries being obliterated, and the terrifying realization that the man you admire from a safe distance might be looking back… and finding you hilarious. status: Ongoing

一 PART I: Safe Distance? Obliterated

一 PART II: Discount Day: Enter at Your Own Risk

一 PART III: Hello, My Name is Embarrassment

一 PART IV: A Healer's Guide to 'How to Lose Your Chill in Front of the Sun God' 101—Yet Again

一 PART V: One Healer, Five Chrysos Heirs, and a Funeral for Existing

一 PART VI: A Tale of Two Dummies (One Divine, One Ghost)

一 PART VII: Don't Call it Clinging, Call it Intimate Resolution

一 PART VIII: Anaxa's Provisional Title Has a Colon. Of Course, It Does

一 PART IX: Free Dinner (Derogatory) vs. Free Dinner (Affectionate)

More chapters will be added soon.

[kkitooo]

fame is a gun

idol!reader x assassin!lohen (+ small art in the middle !)

synopsis: Lohen is an assassin who thrive on the thrill of the hunt—especially the moment fear breaks in his targets' eyes. But when tasked with eliminating a famous idol, you had offered acceptance rather than fear and that single moment turns his mission into a twisted game: he will show you life beyond the stage before ending it at your peak. However, the more he pulls you into the world, the more he dreads for the end.

contains: 10.9k wc, female reader, modern au, depressive themes, mentions of death/suicidal ideation, attempted murder, psychological distress, implication of eating disorders, violence, controversial (?) takes on the idol industry, lohen might be ooc, fluff with a bit of angst

notes: this came out longer than i expected it to be but i just couldn't stop when i started..whoops. tbh i saw an edit of lohen with 'fame is a gun' as the audio and instantly got inspired to write this. (somehow i always get ideas on trains LOL) not beta read, so please excuse any mistakes aso i rlly cant draw anatomy or do any rendering so yikes..

STAGE 0. THE MISSION

'M1RAGE'

Almost everyone knew of them. Even those who had never deliberately followed idols had, at some point, heard of their songs drifting through public spaces—playing softly in stores, trending in edit across countless fandoms, woven into the background of a world that never seemed to stop talking about them.

So it was no surprise that Lohen recognised the name the moment it appeared in the file handed to him.

But what did interest him was not the group iteself—it was the specific target.

[Name]

Of course he knew who you were too.

It would have been difficult not to.

You were, by far, M1RAGE's most popular member.

Your face was impossible to avoid. Billboards stretched across city skylines, advertisements flashed your image beside brands, and your smile had been perfected into something both inviting and untouchable. Entire marketing campaigns seemed to orbit around your existence. It was said that anything you endorsed would sell without question—that your name alone could influence markets.

That was the kind of fame you held.

Which made the assignment almost amusing.

You who were adored by millions.

A person whose every movement was documented, discussed, and scrutinised by the public.

And yet someone, somewhere, had still decided that your life was worth paying to erase.

"Hm."

Lohen rested his chin against one hand, eyes lingering on the photograph clipped to the file.

His gaze lingered for a moment before he flipped to the next page.

"I wonder what you're actually like.."

The thought appeared and disappeared just as quickly.

It didn't matter.

People were people.

Once the fear set in, they all become predictable.

The paper shifted quietly beneath his gloved fingers as he reviewed the remaining details. At some point, a small dagger found its way into his hand. He rolled it lazily between his knuckles, the polished blade catching the light before disappearing again.

"I wonder why the Grandmaster accepted such a case?"

No answer came.

Not that he expected one anyways.

With a small shrug, he closed the file.

"Eh, not my concern."

If it was a job assigned to him, then it would be completed the same way as all the others—without hesitation nor questions.

His eyes drifted back toward the photograph one last time and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Still.."

The dagger stopped spinning.

"I wonder what face you'll make when you realise you're going to die?"

STAGE 1. THE TARGET WHO WASN'T AFRAID.

Now standing on the rooftop a short distance away from the massive stage where M1RAGE was set to perform, Lohen blended into the night without effort.

His dark clothing absorbed what little light remained, turning him into something indistinct against the skyline. From below, the city was noise and colour, thousands of voices merging into a single living thing, but up here everything felt distanct, reduced to silence.

He exhaled once as he set the case down and opened it with practiced precision.

The sniper came together in his hands piece by piece, each movement calm and familiar to him, guided by repetition rather than thought. After years of doing this, assembling a weapon felt no different than buttoning a shirt or tying a knot.

Tonight's plan was simple.

A warning.

The purpose wasn't to end your life tonight. Death was far too quick to be satisfying. No, that would come later, after anticipation had been given enough time to fester into something uglier.

He had chosen the rooftop carefully, sacrificing the perfect firing angle for one that offered greater visibility. The distance was still more than enough to gurantee the shot, yet close enough that, if fortune favoured him, your eyes might catch the sihouette of a man standing against the night, a sniper rifle resting in his hands.

Recognition was all he needed.

Fear would do the rest.

Lohen could already picture it unfolding. The exact moment when the illusion of safety shattered beneath the realisation that someone was out to harm you.

The sleepless nights that followed.

The bodyguards.

The constant glances over your shoulder and the way every unfamiliar face would become a potential threat.

Paranoia had a way of hollowing people out from the inside—it was slow but relentless, almost beautiful in its efficiency to wear someone down.

By the time he returned to deliver the final blow, most of his targets had already done half of the work for him. Exhaustion had stripped away their judgement and fear clouded instinct, leaving them isolated and vulnerable.

He wondered which kind you would be.

Would you scream, like so many before you, your voice tearing itself apart as reality finally caught up to you?

Or would you belong to the quieter ones—the people whose terror swallowed every sound before it could escape, whose mouth opened but whose voices never came, frozen in the suffocating grip of panic?

The thought of his past victims earned the faintest smile.

As time passed, the performance began.

The stadium exploded into life.

Floodlights carved through the darkness in sweeping arcs while music thundered across the area hard enough to rattle the steel beneath his boots. Ten of thousands of voices merged into a deafening roar as M1RAGE emerged beneath a storm of colour, smoke and blinding white light.

Lohen shifted without hurry, settling comfortably against the concrete ledge.

The sniper rifle rose in one fluid motion, fitting naturally against his shoulder. Within seconds, he'd found the perfect angle, his breathing slowing until even his heartbeat seemed to fade into the silence inside his own head.

Through the scope, the world tightened into focus, everything outside the frame dissolving into irrelevant blur. The stage became sharp under the flood of lights, the crowd an indistinct wave of movement and sound.

And at the centre of it all—

You.

For a brief moment, he understood why people became so obsessed.

The stage seemed built around you.

Even surrounded by your group members, attention drifted toward you effortlessly, drawn by some quality he couldn't immediately name.

Perhaps it was charisma.

Perhaps it was the effortless confidence of someone accustomed to standing beneath the gaze of thousands.

Whatever it was, it made sense why your face was everywhere.

Lohen adjusted his breathing again, allowing the rifle to settle naturally into position. His finger rested against the trigger, simply waiting.

Timing mattered more than accuracy.

Accuracy had never been the difficult part.

He centred the crosshair over your face.

But then your gaze shifted.

It rose from the crowd, past the cameras, the building stage lights, and setlled somewhere far beyond. It aligned with his position with unsettling accuracy, as if the distance between you had never existed at all.

He held his breath, wondering if you were going to scream—

And then you smiled.

Right at him.

As though acknowledging his existence up there was no different than acknowledging a member of an audience.

For a moment, Lohen simply observed you.

Fear was something he knew intimately.

He'd watched it bloom in countless forms. Shock that cracked across someone's face before they understood what was happening. Denial that stubbornly insisted everything was fine until reality became impossible to ignore. Blind panic that sent people running without direction, convinced movement alone could outrun death.

Those reactions were familiar to him, predictable enough that he could anticipate them before they formed. Even the ones who hide it still leaked something—fear, confusion, that ugly little instinct to survive.

What he was seeing now didn't belong to any of those categories.

There was no break in your performance. You moved through the choreography with effortless precision, laughing with your members, waving towards the crowd as though nothing had happened.

As though meeting the gaze of someone pointing a rifle at your head hadn't interrupted your evening in the slightest.

Lohen let out a low delighted sound under his breath, his thumb tracing the edge of the scope absently as he watched you continue your performance without a single visible fracture.

"Oh? That's not right.."

He leaned back slightly from the scope, just enought for his eyes to leave the lens for a moment, but his weapon stayed trained forward regardless, held steady by muscle memory alone.

One hand rose to his face, and with slow, unhurried motion, he pulled his mask down. The cool air hit his skin, but he barely registered it.

It felt unnecessary to keep hiding behind it now.

He then leaned forward again, but not to aim properly—just to look. To confirm what he already knew he was seeing.

"No trembling," he murmured, almost fascinated. His eyes tracked your movements effortlessly as you crossed the stage, "No hesitation...no nervous eye movements.."

The grin forming on his face widened.

"That's new."

His heartbeat had always remained steady during jobs. Now, however, he could feel his pulse quickening in excitement.

Because for the first time in a very long while, something unexpected had happened.

Every assignment before this had followed the same predictable progression.

He locates the target, the target realises they're being hunted, fear takes root and they try to run only to be hunted down by Lohen with quiet efficiency.

Whether they screamed, begged or fought, the ending never changed.

He still enjoyed the hunt, but even enjoyment dulled when every chase ended the same way.

Predictability was efficient, but efficiency was boring.

Then there was you.

You had looked toward the rifle aimed at your head with impossible precision, met the gaze of the man behind it, and smiled.

Not the brittle smile of someone pretending everything was fine or the strained composure of someone refusing to panic.

A genuine smile.

As though the possibility of death standing hundreds of meters away wasn't alarming enough to deserve even a second thought.

A quiet laugh escaped him, richer this time, carrying amusement.

"This isn't how prey behaves.."

His finger eased away from the trigger without him consciously deciding to do so. The shot he'd been preparing moments earlier no longer held any appeal.

Instead, this attention fixed entirely on you, studying you as you moved around.

Either you possessed extraordinary control over your emotions..

Or you really didn't fear him.

And it seems it was the second possiblity which made it far more interesting.

What would make you afraid?

"I guess," he said softly, grin unwavering. "There's a change of plans."

Slipping backstage proved almost laughably easy. Security existed to keep fans out, not people like him.

By the time anyone realised an unfamiliar face had wandered into the restricted area, he was already seated comfortably in the makeup chair inside your dressing room.

He leaned back in the chair as though it belong to him, lazily spinning in slow circles while his gloved fingertips drummed against the armrests. His eyes wandered across the neatly arranged cosmetics, bouquets of congratulatory flowers, and handwritten letters from fans scattered across the vanity.

The company must have really liked your group to give everyone their own private rooms.

The door opened.

You stepped inside, still dressed in your performance outfit. Sweat clung to the loose strands of hair framing your face, and a towel rested around your shoulders as you closed the door behind you with a tired sigh.

The moment your eyes landed on the stranger occupying your seat, you paused.

Confusion crossed your features before melting into polite concern.

"Oh." you said, offering the same practiced smile that had greeted thousands of fans only minutes earlier. "Are you..a fan? I don't think visitors are allowed backstage."

"I wasn't"

The chair completed one final turn before Lohen planted both feet on the floor, bringing it to a smooth stop. He rested his elbow against the armrest, supporting his chin with one hand as a slow smirk spread across his face.

"But maybe I am now."

His gaze lingered on yours for a long, thoughtful moment, as though he were comparing the person standing before him to the one he'd watched through the rifle scope earlier.

"Tell me something."

You tilting your head slightly, waiting.

"When you looked toward the rooftop during the concert," His tone remained almost conversational, "..what did you see?"

Recognition flickered across your face.

"Oh..! Were you perhaps the fan up there?"

Lohen blinked, "..What?"

"Our concerts usually sell out almost immediately." A quiet laugh escaped you, "I figured maybe a fan couldn't get a ticket and decided the rooftop was the next best thing."

For the first time since you'd entered the room, genuine amusement crossed Lohen's face.

"You looked at someone trespassing on a rooftop," he said, leaning back on the chair, one hand coming up to cover part of his mouth as delight flickered openly across his face. "And somehow concluded they're just an overly enthusiastic fan?"

"It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud." You hum, shaking your head at yourself. "But fans have done stranger things before. Some followed our vans..climbed fences, waited outside venues for hours just to wave at us for a few seconds.." You shrugged lightly. "Going up to a rooftop to see a concert didn't seem impossible."

"No.." His grin lingered for another moment before dropping slightly. "I suppose it wouldn't" he sighed.

No wonder you smiled.

His eyes remained on you, studying you with the same careful attention he'd given you through the scope earlier.

"Ah a shame..I made sure you could see me, you know?"

The sudden confession of his made you raise an eyebrow.

Lohen leaned back further into the chair, lifting one ankle and casually resting it over the opposite knee as though he were reminiscing about a pleasant evening rather than discussing an attempted assassination. His fingers drummed a slow rhythm against the armrest once again.

"I even gave up a better firing position for one where the sihouette would be obvious! Plus my rifle was exposed."

Your brows knit together.

"Rifle?"

A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. He straightened in his seat, one gloved hand lifting as if presenting an invisble outline in the air, his eyes brightening with mischief.

"Yes indeed! If you had seen it instead of merely thinking I was a fan.." He paused, tilting his head as though picturing the scene all over again. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I wonder..."

His voice trailed off, entertained by the thought more than the answer.

You lowered your gaze, smoothing an absent wrinkle from the towel draped around your shoulders. Your fingertips lingered against the soft fabric as you searched for the words.

"I..If I had been shot by your said rifle, then at least I would've died with a smile."

The smile disappeared from Lohen's face.

The tapping of his fingers stopped.

He didn't laugh. Instead, he watched you in complete silence, searching your expression for the slightest crack—for a nervours smile, an exaggerated flourish, anything that might reveal it as a joke.

Finding none, he slowly leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"...You're remarkably accepting of death."

You met his gaze before giving a small shake of your head.

"No..I don't think that's quite right." you countered, "I don't want to die. But if I had seen the rifle from the start, I don't think panicking would've changed anything either."

Your eyes drifted toward the brightly lit vanity mirror. Under its glow, your reflection still looked every bit the perfect idol, immaculate beneath the makeup and stage lights, even as exhaustion settled heavily across your shoulders.

"Are you here to finish me off?"

Silence settled over the dressing room.

For several long seconds, Lohen remained perfectly still, his gaze fixed on you without wavering. Then, with an almost inaudible sigh, he rose from the chair.

The soft squeak of its wheels echoed across the room as he stepped away from it. One hand slipped into his pocket while the other idly adjusted the cuff of his glove.

Rather than stopping, he wandered a slow circle around the dressing room, his fingertips brushing over the edge of the vanity, lingering briefly against a bouquet of congratulatory flowers before absentmindedly straightening one of the ribbons tied around it.

Only then did he stop—now a few paces from you.

Close enough now that you could see the faint glint returning to his eyes.

"No."

He turned back to the nearest bouquet, plucking a loose petal from a flower, rolling it between his fingers before letting it flutter to the floor.

"That would be dreadfully dull."

"Dull?"

"You know what I enjoy most?" he asked quietly, picking up one of the neatly wrapped gifts from the vanity next. He turned it over in his hands with idle curiousity before setting it back exactly where he found it. "It isn't the killing."

You stayed silent, and that seems to encourage him to continue more.

"It's the waiting."

He wandered a few more steps, aware that your eyes were following him wherever he went.

"I enjoy the part before the ending." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "The part where people realise someone is after them. That they have too much left to lose..and suddenly become desperate to survive."

He turned around, back now facing you as his hand came to rest against the vanity.

"They stop sleeping properly. They start second guessing every sound, every shadow. Every stranger who glances at them for a second too long becomes a suspect." He chuckled quietly. "Eventually, even familiar faces begin to feel wrong."

Looking up, he looked at your reflection in the mirror rather than at you directly, "By the time I return," he mumured, almost thoughtfully, "most of them have already started falling apart on their own."

Only then did his eyes leave your reflection to meet yours.

"But you..."

A quiet breath escaped him, somewhere between disappointment and reluctant curiousity. He studied you for another long moment, his head tilting almost imperceptibly, as though he were discarding one conclusion in favour of another.

"..You already accepted the possibility."

"I didn't say that."

The protest came more quickly than you intended, though even to your own ears it lacked conviction. Your grip tightened around the towel before slowly easing again.

"You didn't have to." he replied, almost gently, as if correcting something self-evident instead of arguing with you.

That made you fall quiet.

Lohen regarded you for another few seconds before speaking again, his voice stripped of any of the playfullness he had from before.

"You bore me."

The words should have stung.

Instead, they landed with surprising indifference, less an insult and more of an..honest conclusion. The disappointment on his face lingered only briefly before something brighter took its places.

His eyes sharpened, the corners of his mouth lifting as though he'd stumbled across a puzzle he hadn't expected to enjoy.

"And yet." he smiled. "You fascinate me more."

"Becauseee," he let the word linger, almost savouring it. "I've never met anyone who reacts quite like you do."

The room fell silent once again.

"If that's true.." Your fingers finally released the towel, dropping back down to your side, "..maybe you're simply early."

Lohen tilt his head.

"Early? Do explain."

"You said you enjoy watching people become afraid when they realise they have something to lose."

You slowly met his gaze again.

"If that's what you're looking for.." A faint, almost apologetic smile touched your lips. "Then perhaps I don't have enough to lose yet."

Something unreadable flickered across his face, but before he could response, the words left your mouth first.

"Show me that life is worth holding onto."

The sentence surprised even you. Your brows drew slightly together, as though you hadn't meant to say it out loud, yet once the silence setlled between you, you found yourself unable to take it back.

"Show me why tomorrow matters. Show me something that makes me want to wake up excited instead of simply because my schedule says I have to."

Your eyes drifted towards the bouquets and gifts lining the vanity. So many congratulations. So many smiling messages..

"Maybe one day, I'll be terrified of losing all of it too." you mumbled, your eyes shifting back to him.

Lohen stared, considering your proposal and soon enough, the excitement spread across his face, his eyes brightening with fascination, as though you offered him something far more valuable than anything he has ever owned.

A quick death would answer nothing.

Watching someone slowly rediscover the joy of living—only to witness the exact moment that joy transformed into desperation...

Now that was worth waiting for.

A low laugh escaped him as he shook his head once, almost in disbelief, his eyes never leaving yours.

I accepted a contract to kill an idol," he murmured, sounding more as though he were speaking to himself to you. "Somehow.." his grin widened. "I've ended up with the most entertaining game I've ever been given."

He straighted his clothes with meticulous care before turning towards the door. His polished shoes clicked softly against the floor as he crossed the room, each step unhurried, as though he had already decided there was no need to rush.

"The day you finally look at me and beg for your life.." He rested one hand on the doorknob without opening it, quiet excitement threading through every word. "I wonder whether you'll still wear that smile of yours."

STAGE 2. BORROWED FREEDOM

The next time you met Lohen, it was inside your dorm.

You had just returned from a filming schedule, exhaustion still clinging to your shoulders as you stepped inside and let the door shut behind you.

The silence of the room should have been familiar, a brief moment of privacy between obligations, but the moment of peace was broken almost immediately when you noticed who was there.

Lohen stood there with his shoulder resting lightly against the frame, as though he had been waiting there for some time without any urgency or concern about being discovered—if anything, he looked almost bored.

In his hand, a small dagger turned lazily between his fingers, catching faint reflections as it spun with practiced ease.

Then his gaze lifted and settled on your properly, and something in his expression eased, as if your arrival had simply completed a thought he had been holding onto.

"Oh." he said, pushing himself off the window frame as he straightened, slipping the dagger away with a smooth motion. "You really do come back at this time."

Your grip tightened slightly on the strap of your bag as you took a cautious step further inside, your eyes flicking once more toward the window before returning to him.

"How are you in my room?"

He glanced over at the window too for a brief second, then back at you, as though the answer was too obvious to elaborate on.

"It wasn't difficult," he said simply, with a small shrug that offered no real explanation at all.

Then, as if the conversation had already moved past that point in his mind, he tilted his head slightly and spoke again, his tone shifting.

"Say, have you ever been to a festival?"

You blinked once, caught off guard by the change in subject.

"A festival?" you repeated.

He didn't clarify immediately, only watching you as if your reaction mattered more than your answer. The silence stretched long enough that you began searching your own memory properly instead of giving him the easiest response.

"I guess I have," you said eventually, though even as the words came out, they felt incomplete. "For filming..variety shows, promotional events...things like that."

His expression didn't change much, but something in his gaze sharpened slightly, like your answer confirmed something he had already suspected.

"That's not what I meant," he said, "Have you ever gone for yourself? You know..enjoy the food, the atmosphere blah blah.."

You frowned faintly, the distinction he was drawing wasn't something you had really considered before. Festivals had always been work environments to you, even when they were dressed up to look like enjoyment. There were cues, timings, expectations, cameras always somewhere nearby, even if they weren't obvious.

"I don't know," you admitted more quietly, your voice losing some of iter certainty. "I've been there, but it's always been..part of something else. I don't think I've ever gone for myself."

"Huh." Lohen moved, pulling the chair out more to reveal a duffle bag sitting on it.

"Get ready then," he smirked, confidence high. "I'll show you exactly what you're missing out on."

Thawck—!

The sound of the target being hit entered your ears as you stood beside Lohen, cleverly disguised with his help.

He had changed out of his outfit from earlier too, the sharp edges of his usual presence softened by something almost casual—an open collar white button up instead of his usual dark clothing, sleeves rolled slightly at the forearms as if he belonged here among ordinary crowds rather than something else.

"Here." He held out the ball towards you, nudging his chin toward the remaining setup on the stall, "Try it."

You hesitated only briefly before taking it, your fingers closing around the small weight as you stepped closer to the counter. The stall felt closer than it should have, the expectation of attention from nearby strangers sitting somehwre at the edge of your awareness, even if no one was actually looking at you for once.

You drew your arm back and threw—

Just for the ball to miss completely.

"PFt—Hahaha!" Lohen laughed, shaking his head, "yout technique was wrong from the start," he grinned, tossing the worker a few more coins for another try.

"You did the same mistake you did the last time you tried games like this."

"Wh—?"

"The trick!" he interrupted, picking up one of the balls from the new mini basket now placed in front of the two of you, placing it in your hand as he adjusted your stance. "Is to aim it higher than where the target is.."

Satisfied with his adjustments, Lohen took a small step back.

"Try again.

You let out a sigh, before drawing your arm back again.

The throw followed a clean motion this time, at least in theory, but the results didn't change. The ball veered off just enough to miss the can entirely, bouncing harmlessly away while the last can remained stubbornly upright.

You paused, then turned back toward him with a sheepish look. "Whoops..?"

"Hm." Lohen tilted his head, his grin never fading.

 “Or maybe you’re just bad at this.” he said simply, shrugging as he picked up another ball and threw it from where he stood. The ball struck the center of the last can cleanly, sending it flying off the stand it was on.

The stall owner rang the bell to signal a win, the sound sharp and final against the festival noise. A few seconds later, they returned with a slightly oversized blue bunny plush, its floppy ears uneven in a way that made it look more endearing than intended.

Without ceremony, it was placed into Lohen's hands.

He barely looked at it before turning toward you, extending it forward.

"Here," he said. "I have no need for these."

You accepted it carefully, your fingers sinking slightly into the soft fabric as a small smile formed without effort.

“Oh,” you murmured, glancing down at it for a moment before looking back up at him. “It’s adorable… thank you.”

The sincerity in your voice seemed to linger for a fraction longer than expected. You adjusted your grip on the plush absentmindedly, still caught in the quiet satisfaction of the small victory, when something he had said earlier began to settle properly in your thoughts.

Your expression shifted slightly.

You looked up again, brows drawing together just faintly.

“Wait,” you said slowly. “Earlier—you said last time?”

There was a brief pause in which the surrounding festival noise felt suddenly more noticeable. Lohen didn’t immediately respond, which only made the question hang heavier between you.

Then, as if it were nothing worth hiding, he let out a soft sound of acknowledgment.

“Ah,” he said, almost lightly. “You think I wouldn’t do my research?”

He turned his attention away from you then, gaze drifting over the crowd as though the answer didn’t require further explanation. But the faint curve of his mouth didn’t disappear, and something in the ease of his posture suggested he was enjoying your reaction more than the conversation itself.

“I spent a long time watching every video of you that exists on the internet,” he added, tone almost conversational.

You stared at him.

Not startled enough to react loudly, but visibly trying to process where exactly this line of logic had come from.

Before you could find a response, he lifted both hands slightly in mock surrender, as though pre-emptively dismissing whatever protest he expected from you.

“Hey now,” he said. “I need a way to understand you better, right?”

Then, without giving you space to recover from that, he shifted his stance and lightly guided you forward by the direction of his movement rather than touch, steering you away from the stall and toward the row of food vendors nearby.

“And which is why,” he continued, voice lighter again, “I also learnt…”

You were already being led before the sentence even finished forming.

He stopped in front of the food street, where steam, heat, and scent collided in a messy, overwhelming wave—grilled skewers, fried batter, sugar, spice, and something sweet burning at the edges of metal pans.

“You always seem to watch what you eat,” he said, as if stating another conclusion he had already verified.

“I—” you started, immediately caught.

“Ah ah ah,” he interrupted smoothly, not even looking at you now as he scanned the stalls. “No disagreeing. I know I’m right.”

And with that, he simply started walking again, weaving into the flow of people as though the decision had already been made for you both. There was no room left to argue—not because he forced it, but because he moved with the kind of certainty that made hesitation feel unnecessary.

After a second, you followed.

The first stall he stopped at was crepes.

Warm light spilled over a glass display filled with neatly folded sheets of batter, each one layered with whipped cream and fresh fruit. The smell reached you immediately—sweet, buttery, almost comforting in a way that felt strangely unfamiliar after years of carefully measured meals and backstage catering. 

You could feel the saliva, and you swallowed once.

Lohen noticed.

He always did.

He glanced at you briefly, just once, before turning back to the stall as if he already knew what he was going to do.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The question was simple.

But your response didn’t come immediately.

Your eyes moved over the options automatically, already sorting through invisible rules you hadn’t consciously thought about in a long time. Calories. Image. Schedule. What was acceptable in front of people. What could be explained away later. What would be forgiven if posted, what wouldn’t.

It wasn’t hunger you were considering.

It was the consequences.

“I don’t think—” you started, then stopped, because even saying it out loud felt wrong in a space like this.

Lohen’s gaze shifted to your face—waiting patiently.

You cleared your throat slightly.

“I’m not that hungry,” you said, defaulting to something easier.

His expression didn't change. 

After another second, he simply turned back toward the vendor.

"One strawberry crepe, please."

The order was placed with such casual certainty that it almost felt as though your refusal had never happened.

A few moments later, he accepted the warm paper-wrapped crepe with a quiet nod before turning back toward you. Holding it out at chest height, he regarded you with the same matter-of-fact expression he'd worn since arriving.

"You don't have to worry so much," he said, his attention drifting briefly toward the stream of people passing through the market. "Besides..." A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If you think about it, strawberries are healthy!"

You stared at him instead of the crepe.

Then at the crepe.

Then back at him.

The warmth rising from it brushed against your fingers as he nudged it a little closer, never forcefully, but in a way that left very little room to keep refusing without making it obvious you were refusing.

When you still hesitated, Lohen simply reached out and lightly wrapped his fingers around your wrist. The touch was gentle, almost absentminded, as he guided your hand beneath the crepe and settled it securely into your grasp. At the same time, he lifted the bunny plush from your other arm with effortless efficiency, tucking it beneath his own as though he were merely redistributing the weight between you.

"There."

He stepped back, dusting his hands together once with quiet satisfaction, as if the problem had been solved.

You blinked down at the crepe before looking up again, but he was already walking away, weaving through the crowd without bothering to check whether you'd followed.

"Just one bite," he called over his shoulder, lifting a hand in an absent wave. "That's all I'm asking."

The next stalls blurred together after that. 

At each one, Lohen never asked you to make a decision quickly or explain yourself. If you hesitated, he simply waited. If you started to refuse, he ignored it with quiet confidence, buying something anyway before placing it into your hands as though it had always belonged there. 

Soon, he left fewer and fewer places for your hesitation to settle.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped calculating every choice before making it.

You couldn't say exactly when it happened. The constant stream of thoughts—calories, schedules, appearances, expectations—didn't disappear all at once. They simply grew quieter beneath the chatter of the crowd, the sizzling food, and the warmth of paper bags gradually filling your hands. 

By the time the two of you settled onto a wooden bench near the quieter end of the food street, your arms were full of things you never would have allowed yourself to buy on your own. The warmth seeped through the paper wrapping into your fingers, while the mingled scents of butter, grilled food, sugar, and spices drifted lazily through the cool evening air. 

It was almost overwhelming. 

But—

Not in an unpleasant way. 

For a while, neither of you spoke, both staring ahead.

Families wandered past carrying trays piled high with food. A little boy laughed as he chased his older sister between the lanterns overhead before their mother caught up, pretending to scold them while struggling not to laugh herself. Somewhere nearby, a vendor called out another order, followed by the sharp hiss of something hitting a hot grill.

You watched it all in silence.

"...I don't really know how to do this."

The words slipped out so quietly that you almost hadn't realized you'd spoken.

Not the food.

Not the festival.

Something much harder to name.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the warm paper bag resting in your lap.

"I don't really know how to..." You searched for the right words before giving up with a small, embarrassed laugh. "...just be."

The admission hung quietly between you, stripped of the careful polish you usually wrapped around every sentence.

Lohen didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he turned toward you properly.

The person sitting beside him with tired shoulders, food balanced awkwardly across your lap, and no audience left to perform for.

His expression softened slightly.

"You're doing it right now."

You looked at him.

He held your gaze for another moment before the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Just..." he said quietly. "Don't overthink it, [Name]."

His eyes drifted toward the crowd again.

"You don't have to earn every moment you enjoy."

Three months passed since you first met Lohen.

Three months since the two of you had agreed upon this strange little deal—or game, as he like to call it.

Somewhere within those weeks, the routine had quietly formed itself. On days your schedule allowed it, he'd appear without warning and drag you out into the city, wandering from cafés to parks, quiet bookstores to crowded festivals, never really explaining where he intended to take you next.

Little by little, without either of you acknowledging it outright, he chipped away at the polished shell you'd spent years building around yourself.

Even so, one thing never truly changed.

You believed your life would end at Lohen's hands.

That certainty lingered beneath everything the two of you did together, impossible to ignore for too long.

No matter how many ordinary days he showed you, some part of you remained convinced you were living on borrowed time—time that existed only because he had chosen not to pull the trigger yet.

Perhaps that was why fully embracing happiness still felt strangely out of reach.

How could you let yourself become attached to tomorrow when you'd already accepted there might not be one?

And what if he simply grew bored?

The game had only begun because you interested him. If one day you stopped being interesting—if he decided you'd never become the terrified person he wanted you to be—then there would be nothing left to wait for.

He would kill you.

Quickly.

Quietly.

Then move on to someone else who could give him the reaction he had been searching for all along.

The thought never truly left you.

It lingered in the back of your mind during every outing, every conversation, every quiet walk home together.

And yet...

Not everything about those three months had felt temporary.

You found yourself appreciating the little things—the smell of coffee drifting from a corner cafe, the warmth of fresh bread from a bakery you'd passed dozens of times without ever stepping inside, the way the city slowly changed color as evening settled over it.

Sometimes, walking beside Lohen beneath an ordinary sky, you caught yourself forgetting everything else and simply living in the moment, unburdened by the image you had spent years building.

Every moment you allowed yourself to enjoy became another reason to want tomorrow.

...And wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

Perhaps this 'game' was coming to an end soon either ways.

The rain began without warning.

At first, it was nothing more than a light drizzle, speckling the pavement and drawing the scent of wet concrete into the air. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, it grew heavier. The steady patter became a downpour, blurring the streets beyond the station entrance as pedestrians hurried beneath their umbrellas.

"Huh..the rain's getting heavy."

Lohen tilted his head back for a moment, watching droplets splash against the edge of the station roof before grinning as though the weather had merely presented another opportunity.

"Guess we'll have to take the train to my next plan."

Before you could ask what that plan even was, he'd already stepped up to the ticket machine. A few quick taps, two tickets in hand, and he was gently tugging you after him toward the platform.

Unfortunately...

It seemed everyone else had reached the same conclusion.

By the time the train pulled in, the platform had become a sea of umbrellas, damp coats, and impatient commuters. The doors slid open to reveal an already crowded carriage, every available space occupied as people pressed shoulder to shoulder.

The moment you stepped inside, your chest tightened. 

It was as though everything you'd managed to quiet over the past three months came rushing back at once. 

‘They'll see me.’

‘They'll see me with Lohen.’

‘What if someone recognizes me?’

‘What if someone takes a picture?’

‘What if it becomes a scandal?’

Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your shirt as your shoulders instinctively drew inward. Every passing glance suddenly felt deliberate. Every nearby conversation sounded as though it might somehow be about you. You found yourself trying to occupy less space, shrinking into yourself despite there being nowhere left to move.

You didn't realize how quickly your thoughts were spiraling until something settled lightly atop your head.

"...?"

You froze.

Lohen's cap.

Its brim dipped low enough to cast a shadow over your eyes.

When you looked up, he was already watching the crowd instead of you, a faint smile resting on his face—not playful this time, but reassuring in its own quiet way.

"Crowded, isn't it?" he murmured, his voice barely carrying above the rattle of the train. "I think it's better if we get off at the next stop."

You couldn't find the words to answer.

Only then did you notice something else.

It wasn't simply that he was standing beside you anymore.

His body had shifted, angled just enough to intercept the constant jostling of the crowd without drawing attention to himself. One arm rested casually against the overhead handrail, while his shoulder blocked the nearest passengers from pressing any closer. To everyone else, it looked like nothing more than a man finding his balance on a crowded train.

To you, it felt like breathing room.

Outside the station, the two of you paused beneath the shelter, watching rain pour from the gray sky in shimmering curtains. It struck the pavement in an endless rhythm, splashing against the empty streets beyond.

There was rarely anyone around this part of the city.

Lohen stood beside you in silence, though his attention had long since drifted away from the rain.

It had settled on you instead.

Maybe it always had.

After a moment, you reached up and slipped his cap from your head. Your hair, damp and slightly flattened from both the rain and the hat, fell messily around your face as you turned toward him.

"Thanks..." you said softly, holding it out.

The smile you wore was small and unguarded.

Not the effortless smile perfected beneath stage lights.

Just yours.

"Not going to keep it?" Lohen teased, taking the cap back before settling it onto his own head with an exaggerated sigh. "That's a shame."

He glanced toward the rain-soaked street ahead.

"The place I wanted to show you is only a little farther."

Before you could ask whether he intended to walk through that weather, his fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.

"Huh—?"

"Run!"

The word had barely left his mouth before he was already pulling you forward.

A startled laugh escaped you as you stumbled after him, the two of you darting into the rain together. Water splashed beneath your shoes as you weaved between puddles and hurried pedestrians, your laughter growing louder each time one of you nearly slipped.

Within seconds your clothes were soaked through.

Your mask clung uselessly to your face.

Lohen's hair, usually neat beneath his cap, had begun sticking stubbornly to his forehead.

By the time you finally ducked beneath the overhang of a closed storefront, both of you were breathless.

Rainwater dripped steadily from your sleeves and hair, forming little puddles around your feet. Lohen pushed damp strands away from his eyes with the back of one hand before glancing over at you.

Your eyes met—

And you both burst into quiet laughter at the sight of each other.

"I never been caught in a rain as heavy as this before." you sigh, wiping the hair out of your face.

Lohen stared.

"You've never been caught in rain?"

"Not like this."

You wandered toward the edge of the shelter, stretching one hand beyond its cover so droplets splashed harmlessly across your fingertips.

"If it rains during filming, everything stops. If it rains during a concert, the managers start panicking. If it rains when I'm outside..." A small, almost embarrassed smile crossed your face. "...someone always has an umbrella over me before I even realize it's raining."

You watched the water dancing across the pavement.

"So..."

You laughed softly to yourself.

"This is actually my first time."

The words settled somewhere unexpectedly deep inside him.

Rain.

Such an ordinary thing.

Countless people complain about it every year.

Yet here you were, looking at it as though you'd just discovered something wonderful.

It made him wonder how many other ordinary moments had quietly been stolen from you.

A faint melody drifted through the rain then, carried from a nearby restaurant whose doors had been left open despite the storm. It was soft enough to be nearly swallowed by the steady rhythm of falling water.

Lohen glanced over his shoulder toward the dark storefront he had planned to visit.

"...Well."

He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

"It looks like the place I wanted to bring you to is closed."

You turned back toward him.

"But..." His grin slowly returned, carrying the familiar spark of mischief in his eyes. "I just thought of something much more fun."

Before you could ask what he meant, he stepped closer and gently took your hand.

"What are you—"

With a smooth tug, he drew you toward him before spinning you beneath his arm.

"How about a little performance?"

"What?" You laughed, stumbling into the turn before lightly swatting his chest. "Are you crazy?"

"We're already soaked." His shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. "Besides.." He glanced around the nearly deserted street. "I don't think anyone's going to see us."

You rolled your eyes despite the smile tugging at your lips.

"...You're unbelievable."

"And yet you're still here."

He offered a theatrical bow, extending one hand toward you once again.

"So?"

You let out a sigh, but still place your hand in his regardless.

The two of you drifted back into the rain as the distant music continued to play. At first your movements were clumsy due to the wet pavement, more laughter than dancing, but before long your years of choreography began to show. You guided him through a few simple steps, laughing each time he exaggerated a movement just to make you smile, while he followed with surprising enthusiasm despite getting nearly every turn wrong.

The rain blurred the world around you until it felt as though the city itself had quietly disappeared.

There was no audience.

No cameras.

No stage.

Only the two of you.

Lohen watched you as you laughed, your smile brighter than any he'd seen beneath concert lights.

You look happy.

‘Are you... enjoying your life?’

The thought came uninvited.

With it came another.

The game the two of you had made three months ago.

His chest tightened.

Ah.

I might be in trouble.

STAGE 3. THE BIG REVEAL

"You've been stuck on this target for a while, Lohen."

The steady rhythm of steel striking the training dummy came to an abrupt stop. Lohen lowered his knife and glanced over his shoulder as Varka stepped into the training room, the older assassin taking in the sight of the battered dummy with a quiet chuckle.

"That's rare," Varka remarked as he folded his arms across his chest. "Usually you're finished long before anyone even notices you've been assigned." His gaze drifted from the dummy back to Lohen. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes." Lohen answered without hesitation, driving the knife into the dummy's chest one last time before letting it topple backward with a dull thud. "A hugeee problem." He sighed dramatically as he yanked the blade free, wiping it clean against a cloth before pointing it lazily in Varka's direction. 

"Actually...maybe you can help me. How about you answer one teeny tiny little question that's been bothering me?"

Varka laughed. "Go ahead."

"You only ever assign me people you believe deserve to die." Lohen tilted his head, his usual playful smile still resting comfortably on his face. "People who've done something unforgivable." The smile faded ever so slightly. "So why..." He studied Varka's expression for a moment before finishing quietly. "...why was [Name] given to me?"

The room fell silent.

For the first time since entering, Varka's relaxed expression faltered. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away with a small sigh before finally answering. "...She's a special case."

"I noticed." Lohen's voice remained light, but there was a quiet insistence beneath it now. "I asked why."

Varka didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked past the fallen dummy, stopping beside one of the weapon racks as though searching for the right words there instead of in Lohen's eyes.

"When she came to us..." He paused, fingers idly brushing over the handles of several knives before coming to rest. "...she looked exhausted."

Lohen frowned.

"...She?"

"[Name]."

For a second, he simply stared.

Then a quiet laugh escaped him.

It wasn't mocking.

It sounded more like someone convinced he'd misheard.

"You're telling me..." He shook his head, smiling in disbelief. "You're telling me [Name] hired us to kill herself?"

Varka didn't laugh.

He didn't correct him either.

He simply held Lohen's gaze.

The smile slowly disappeared from Lohen's face.

"...You're serious."

"I tried talking her out of it," Varka admitted quietly. "I refused at first. But she kept coming back." He exhaled through his nose, his eyes lowering briefly toward the floor. "She wasn't angry. She wasn't looking for revenge. She just..." His voice trailed off before he finally finished, "...looked tired."

Silence settled over the room once more.

Lohen stood perfectly still, the knife hanging loosely at his side as the words slowly settled into place. The rain. The festival. The dancing. The countless ordinary moments she'd looked at with quiet wonder. Her laughter. Her smile. The way she'd asked him to show her that life was worth holding onto.

None of it had begun because she'd been afraid of dying.

She had already accepted death long before he'd ever met her.

"...I have somewhere to be."

His voice barely rose above a murmur.

Without waiting for Varka to respond, he sheathed his knife and strode past him. The training room door slammed shut a second later, followed almost immediately by the sound of hurried footsteps disappearing down the hallway.

"[Name]…my favourite idol. Wake up." 

You stirred at the sound, blinking awake to find Lohen standing over your bed, a faint smile resting on his face like this was the most normal hour in the world. 

“Lohen..?” You grumbled, slowly sitting up as you rubbed your eyes, looking over at the clock on the wall.

3.04 A.M

"It's three in the morning…" you sighed, still half-asleep. "What are you doing here?"

"I have somewhere I want to show you," he replied simply, as if that explained everything. "And it has to be now."

Before you could properly process that, he reached for your hand and pulled you up from the bed.

"Nooo I'm tired—"

The protest barely formed before the world shifted.

You let out a startled sound as Lohen scooped you into his arms with effortless ease, as though your weight meant nothing at all. He moved without hesitation, carrying you straight toward the window.

"Lohen—what are you doing?!" you protested, gripping instinctively at his shoulder.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the window like he’d done it before—like it was familiar—and stepped out into the night air.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you thought he might actually drop you.

Then his footing found the branch of the tree outside, and he descended with practiced ease, one arm securing you against him while the other guided his balance as if gravity was merely a suggestion.

The night wind brushed past you.

Below, the world was silent and still.

Only then did he glance down at you, a smile softening just slightly at the edges.

"Then I’ll walk for us," he said lightly, as if carrying you out of your house at 3 A.M. was nothing more than a change of plans.

And just like that, he kept going.

He set you gently back onto your feet when the two of you reached the beach.

The cool sand shifted beneath your bare feet as you looked out across the endless sea. Moonlight spilled over the water, turning each wave into silver before it disappeared against the shore with a quiet rush. The air smelled of salt, clean and cold, carrying away the last traces of the city.

"...This is beautiful," you murmured.

"I know." Lohen smiled, slipping his hands into his pockets as he stood beside you. "Did you know? The night we first met... the moon looked just like this."

"Yeah,"  A faint smile tugged at your lips as your gaze drifted toward the horizon. "I remember thinking... if I died that night, I would have died on a rather beautiful one..."

The words escaped before you had the chance to stop them.

Silence settled between you. You were about to find an excuse to what you meant when Lohen shook his head, his smile fading.

“[Name], I know.” Lohen said quietly. “I know you were the one who sent in the request.”

“Oh.” you let out. “I guess…there isn’t any use in pretending anymore, huh?”

For a moment, you simply stared at the waves rolling onto the shore. They came and went in an endless rhythm, filling the silence neither of you seemed eager to break. When you finally spoke again, the words came more easily than you expected, as though they had been waiting for an opportunity to escape. 

“I was tired.” You shook your head almost immediately. “No... tired isn't even the right word. I was exhausted.”

Your fingers curled together unconsciously.

“Every morning I'd wake up already wishing the day was over because I knew exactly what was waiting for me. Smile. Practice. Film. Perform. Smile again. And if I wasn't smiling enough...” A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “People would ask if something was wrong. So I smiled harder.” 

Your gaze fell to your hands. 

“It got to a point where I couldn't tell where the smile ended and I began. I couldn't be angry because idols aren't supposed to be angry. I couldn't be selfish because idols are supposed to love everyone. I couldn't date. Couldn't make mistakes. Couldn't have bad days. And whenever I felt exhausted, there'd always be someone telling me how lucky I was.”

The wind swept past, carrying your words toward the sea.

“People always say idols are living the dream.” Your smile returned briefly, but it didn't reach your eyes. “They see the concerts, the fans, the awards. They see the edited clips, the interviews, the moments we're supposed to look happy. But they don't see everything behind it. They don't see how every mistake becomes entertainment for thousands of strangers. They don't see people picking apart the way you look, the way you speak, the way you breathe.”

Your voice grew quieter.

“And eventually... you start doing it to yourself.”

Slowly, you crouched down and reached toward the sand. Your fingers dug into it absentmindedly, letting the grains slip through the gaps between them as you watched them disappear.

“I loved singing. I really did.” The confession came with surprising certainty. “I loved dancing until my legs gave out. I loved hearing everyone sing along with us. I loved seeing people smile because of something I'd done.”

For a moment, your expression softened with the memory.

“But somewhere along the way, I stopped being the person who loved those things.”

Your eyes lowered again.

“I became someone who was simply good at pretending she still did.”

The words hung heavily between you.

“I don't even remember when it happened. It wasn't sudden. There wasn't some dramatic moment where everything fell apart.” A shaky laugh escaped you. “One day I just looked in the mirror and realised I couldn't recognise the person staring back at me anymore.”

Lohen remained silent.

Not because he didn't have anything to say.

Because he knew this wasn't the moment for words.

You drew in a slow breath, turning your head up toward him fully for the first time since the conversation began.

“I just wanted everything to stop.”

There was no bitterness left in your voice now.

“I thought if someone else ended it, then maybe I wouldn't have to disappoint everyone by doing it myself. It felt easier that way. Less selfish.”

Your gaze drifted back toward the ocean.

“To tell you the truth... I already knew exactly who you were up there. My fan was just a last minute thought of excuse—a lie.”

"But then you ruined everything..you didn’t kill me that night. Or even do any of the things you said you usually do to a target." A small laugh escaped you despite yourself. "We had this..game. You kept showing me all these tiny, ordinary moments I'd forgotten people could have..and somewhere along the way, I started looking forward to tomorrow.."

"I..." You smiled at him, and for the first time there was no trace of the idol who had spent years performing for everyone else. "I suppose I'm grateful I didn't die that night. Because I wouldn't have met you...and I never would've remembered how beautiful living could be."

Your voice softened into little more than a whisper.

"So...thank you."

Silence settled once more as the waves rolled endlessly onto the shore.

After a long while, you drew in one slow breath and met his eyes again, your smile calm.

"I think..." You paused only briefly.

"...you can kill me now."

Lohen didn't answer.

For the first time since you'd met him, he found himself with nothing to say to you.

His eyes remained on you, searching your face almost desperately for the slightest crack in your expression. Some hint that you'd said it to test him. That you were joking. That you were lying.

But no.

You were sincere.

Lohen dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, though it carried none of his usual ease.

“You said I ruined your plans,” he murmured, gaze still fixed somewhere between you and the horizon, “but you ruined mine too.”

The words lingered in the space between you as he slowly lowered himself down onto the sand beside you. He didn’t rush the movement. If anything, it felt careful, as though he was trying to match the stillness you had fallen into, afraid that any sudden motion might break something neither of you knew how to fix.

For a while, he simply looked at you.

Not like a target nor like an idol.

Just…you.

His hand lifted slowly, hesitating midway as it neared your face. It stopped there for a moment, suspended awkwardly in the air, as though his body had forgotten how to do something so simple. Violence had always been instinctive to him, clean and certain, but this—this uncertainty, this gentleness—seemed foreign in a way that unsettled him more than any weapon ever had.

When his fingers finally made contact with your cheek, it was almost tentative, like he was afraid you might disappear if he pressed too firmly. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, wiping away the tear that still clung there without him even seeming to notice at first.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of no longer having you,” he admitted quietly, the words rough at the edges, like they had been forced out before he could stop them.

That was when he noticed it.

His own hand.

It was trembling.

Subtle at first, then undeniable, like his body had finally betrayed something he had spent his entire life keeping under control.

Lohen stared at it for a moment, almost as if he didn’t recognize it, before letting out a faint, disbelieving laugh that died quickly in his throat.

“…Look at that.”

The sound that followed wasn’t quite humorous. It was something closer to disbelief at his own body.

“I’ve held a rifle without my hands shaking,” he said slowly, “I’ve stood in front of people pointing guns at me and never once—never once—felt this.”

His voice faltered slightly, and for the first time there was something unsteady beneath it that had nothing to do with confidence or control.

“I’ve never trembled before.”

As if the admission itself made the moment too real, he exhaled and slowly pulled his hand away from your face, as though he needed distance from the vulnerability he had just exposed.

His other hand moved into the inside pocket of his coat.

When he pulled it out, it was with something folded carefully between his fingers. The assignment, the contract signed that was suppose to guranteed your death.

The one that had defined everything between you.

He looked at it for a long moment, unmoving, the paper catching faint traces of moonlight as the wind shifted around the two of you.

“…How troublesome,” he muttered under his breath.

Then, without ceremony or hesitation, he tore it.

Once.

Twice.

Again and again until it was nothing but fragments.

The pieces scattered into the wind almost immediately, lifted away by the breeze rolling in from the ocean, disappearing into the pale light of the moon before either of you could track where they landed.

Lohen watched them go in silence.

“I’ve never failed a mission before,” he said finally, voice quieter now, almost distant. Then he turned slightly toward you, expression softening in a way that felt almost painful. “But I don’t think I mind if it keeps you alive.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as though he was trying to memorize something he was afraid he might lose.

Because when he spoke again, there was no hesitation left in him at all.

“Somewhere along the way…” he exhaled softly, a small, helpless smile forming as if it had no choice but to exist, “…I fell in love with you.”

"So please don't leave this world yet."

masterlist

© kkitooo

[bookishgalaxies]

masterlist ꨄ

most of my past my hero academia writing here is on my old blog @fandom-eclectics ! I will work on linking my things down below but it will take you to a different blog :))

Works not on list: 0

Last updated: 05/14/2026

riordanverse:

nothing yet

stranger things:

☞︎ Robin Buckley

The Party, the Punch, the Kiss, the Confession

summary: you would have never guessed that going to a store reunion party would result in you confessing your feelings for your crush.

☞︎ Steve Harrington

steve harrington x baker!fem!reader

the umbrella academy:

☞︎ Five Hargreeves

The Hargreeves in Highschool pt. 1

summary: some of my personal hcs abt these crazy siblings in high school

Quiet Doesn’t Mean Weak

summary: thoughts on five hargreeves with an s/o who’s quiet but is killer at hand to hand combat.

☞︎ Victor Hargreeves

The Hargreeves in High School pt. 1

summary: some of my personal hcs abt these crazy siblings in high school

Arguments - blurb

summary: you had too much to drink and you both said some not kind things.

Making Up Aftee An Argument - ☽ ✔︎

Dating Victor H.

grishaverse:

nothing yet

atla:

☞︎ katara

“Then Do Ir.“

summary: you go with the gang to a play that you all end up hating. The only good part was seeing a certain someone loosen up and laugh a bit.

my hero academia

nothing yet

marvel

nothing yet

criminal minds

nothing yet

pfps

st - robin, nancy, steve, eddie

genshin impact

☞ Albedo

I’m Here Now

summary: you are having a particularly hard day and are lucky enough to be dating these cool characters that want to make you feel better.

Dating Albedo Headcannons

summary: albedo x gn!reader sfw dating headcannons

Alluring Aromas

summary: what does their room smell like? do they use candles? essential oils?

Within Reach

summary: things they keep in their nightstand/bedside table drawer

Dating Albedo GIF Board + HCs

summary: just some GIFs + headcannons for albedo dating a gn!reader

Crayon Colored Hearts

summary: you as a teacher of small children with these genshin people as partners

☞ Venti

Within Reach

summary: things they keep in their nightstand/bedside table drawer

☞ Wanderer

Hug Me Instead, Idiot

summary: you just want some cuddles but are too scared to ask, so you hug your plushie instead. You didn’t realize that Wanderer had caught on to this habit of your’s.

Alluring Aromas

summary: what does their room smell like? do they use candles? essential oils?

Within Reach

summary: things they keep in their nightstand/bedside table drawer

Crayon Colored Hearts

summary: you as a teacher of small children with these genshin people as partners

☞Kazuha

Alluring Aromas

summary: what does their room smell like? do they use candles? essential oils?

Within Reach

summary: things they keep in their nightstand/bedside table drawer

☞Kokomi

Alluring Aromas

summary: what does their room smell like? do they use candles? essential oils?

☞Yoimiyah

It’s Not Luck, It’s Skill

summary: games these characters are stupid good at

☞Heizou

It’s Not Luck, It’s Skill

summary: games these characters are stupid good at

☞Diluc

It’s Not Luck, It’s Skill

summary: games these characters are stupid good at

☞ Kaeya

A Little Company

summary: You just want Kaeya to stop and reflect on the day of his father’s deathl. He had spent too long avoiding it.

☞ Lisa

Final Exams? More Like My Final Straw?

summary: some Mondstadt girlies helping you through finals

☞Jean

Final Exams? More Like My Final Straw?

summary: some Mondstadt girlies helping you through finals

☞Amber

Final Exams? More Like My Final Straw!

summary: some Mondstadt girlies helping you through finals

☞Lumine

Final Exams? More Like My Final Straw!

summary: some Mondstadt girlies helping you through finals

hsr

☞Bronya

Cosmic Fried Rice

summary: Bronya would always insist she was okay but Seele could tell otherwise by the tear stains on her face

☞Seele

Cosmic Fried Rice

summary: Bronya would always insist she was okay but Seele could tell otherwise by the tear stains on her face

[chaepink]

I hate when it’s mentioned that the char is usually the dom in fics 🫩💔

[dandilionschild]

As much as I would love to I can’t see myself writing the fanfics I dream of on ao3 because of just how judgmental those users are, maybe it’s just TikTok but I swear every other week I see them complaining another how much they dislike certain writng styles, some of which are actually very talented or just. Basic writing you have to learn in school

I’m honestly just worried, are you that brain fried that you can’t stand to read a few synonyms during a scene?? Just because it’s fanfiction doesn’t mean it isn’t FICTION it’s still worth thought put into it…

As someone insecure about my own writing and characterization skills I just can’t find myself writing for a site like that as much as I would absolutely love to.

[churomo]

my body is ready for the return to mond

[sadmanask]

[toasted-for3v3r]

Honkai Star Rail

Characters

Anaxagoras

Ashveil

Blade

Boothill

Caelus

Dan Feng

Dan Heng

Elio

Jing Yuan

Phainon

Version reviews

3.3 - 3.4 - 3.5 - 3.6 - 3.7 - 3.8 - 4.0 - 4.1 - 4.2 - 4.3

Stories

Sic Vita Humana

[c1nnam00n]

Who else is lowk craving HEAVY GUTTT WRENCHING angst rn 😛