lee p.

hiatus

[mreowsu]

                     Pieter Lee   9teen   He   ᴘʜ   istj-t   🐈‍⬛

           Take what you want; my pulse, my marrow, the red hymn spilling from my wrists. And here is devotion made of myself, so vehemently, veraciously. My love, my faith.

                      terminal        branch station

[yummydummyangel]

Put me in a headlock puhhheasddedded daddy

[mreowsu]

Yo i think im gay

[koaflower]

kaiser and ness !

no, i’m not a human ⋆｡°✩ day 2

includes. mentions of death, gore. inspired by no, i’m not a human. no romance involved, but it is a reader insert.

a/n. finally made a part two for everyone that asked! @mreowsu read day 1 here and go play the game if you haven’t already hehe <3 MIGHT make this a series cuz i love writing interactive fics.

it was bound to happen.

your neighbor—the kind, trusting man that he was—could never survive in an world like this.

you could do nothing but watch as thin wisps of black smoke curl into the aurora night sky. the heavens paint a pretty illusion of northern lights—a cruel mockery of the death shrouding your vision. people in white flock from the neighborhood, their clothes stained with rubble and ash.

there’s a distant knocking at your door.

you tear your gaze away from the window, ignoring the guilt gnawing at your chest. the earth continues to revolve, dead or alive, and you have no time to mourn.

the house is quiet save for the occasional creaky floorboard or muted hum from the tv. every day feels like a further descent into madness—disfigured shadows scampering past and bodies strung up high on flickering lampposts. you’ve learned to stop flinching at every small noise.

no FEMA officers have appeared since your confrontation with that strange, teal-eyed man. for whatever reason, you have an inkling that death passed by your house last night.

[skip this part if you did NOT let sae in.]

it’s been a long time since you’ve had company.

you find sae sitting in the living room, his body sunken into the couch with a distant expression on his face. you’re not sure if he’s moved at all in the past 24 hours. the tv displays a vibrant backdrop of green fields and blue skies, a voice droning on about different numbers and names you can hardly make out.

a soccer match.

you didn’t realize they still aired those.

he glances up at you as you approach, his shoulders stiffening a little before he lets out a slow exhale. dark bags hang under his jaded eyes, his face now as lifeless and still as the room around him.

the gash in his side is healing well, medical gauze forming crisscrosses over his toned chest as his coat lays folded over the couch.

sae isn’t in the mood for small talk right now. you’ll have to save your questions for later.

reluctantly, you return your attention to the front door. the knocking grows more insistent, and like every other hellish night, you approach it. here’s where the interactive story begins.

[it’s up to you whether you let them in or not.]

instructions: pick a dialogue line and follow the response based on the matching number. you can only use the clues and background information given by the three options to arrive to a conclusion. no, i won’t tell you if they’re visitors or not at the end. suspense! :b

“hello..! oh wow, there really is someone living here,” the man says, peering back at you through the peephole. the light illuminates his profile, eyes wide and tinted a dewy magenta. his accent is thick, like honey poured over broken glass, lips stretched thin into a smile that’s far too chipper for his surroundings. you envy him, as unsettling as it is. hope is all you can have in a place like this.

slung around his shoulder is another man—blond and in his early 20’s. they seem to be around the same age, though his toned body is covered in blemishes and scars, hands hanging loosely by his sides. his features, if they weren’t marred by crimson, are reminiscent of youth. the kind you see in magazines and billboards. dark blue clings to the tips of his hair, tangled and muddled with god knows what. the other boy shifts a little, as if sensing your stare.

he grins. “oh, don’t worry about my friend here! he just needs to rest.” his friend makes no objection. no… anything. you’re not sure if he’s even alive. his eyes are half-lidded, bloodshot and bleary, standing motionless against his shoulder.

1 — who are you?

2 — what happened to your friend?

1 — “oh, forgive me! i’m ness. this is my friend, kaiser.” he gestures to the blond, eyes glimmering with adoration as he speaks. “we were just passing by. i didn’t think… anyone was still living here.” his gaze shifts past the porch to somewhere you can’t quite see but can envision all too well. the neighbor’s house—burnt to a crisp and lined with grotesque bodies littering the gravel pathway. you could still imagine his daughter's shrill laughter as she rolled down lush fields of greenery, now tainted black and dying. in its place are wooden pikes planted into the soil, human skulls rotting on the sharp end. he shifts uncomfortably.

2 — “we ran into a few visitors on the way here. i managed to escape, but my friend got injured. he’ll be up and walking again after some rest, won’t you, kaiser?” the blond—kaiser—lifts his head up, albeit slowly. blood cakes his arm in dried rivulets, deep gashes obscuring what seems to be a rose tattoo. diamond blue eyes pierce through yours, the skin on his lips parched and flaking. kill me, they seem to say. ness lets out a strained laugh, adjusting his hold on his friend. “he’s just a bit delirious right now! the heat’s affecting us all, you know?” he pulls at his shirt’s collar, sweat clinging to the skin of his neck. the fabric is damp and stained—a testament to the long journey they took here.

1 — can he talk?

2 — why did you come here?

1 — he blinks at you, almost offended before his expression melts back into that all too pleasant smile. “of course he can talk! he’s just… tired. that’s all.” his friend doesn’t move, only breathes shallowly—jaw clenched tight and a thin line of saliva trailing down the corner of his mouth. he laughs nervously, brushing it away with the pad of his thumb. “see? he’s fine. just resting his voice.” he leans closer to kaiser as if shielding him from your steely gaze. “it’s been a long day for us.” it’s clear he won’t elaborate further.

2 — ness hesitates, eyes darting toward the treeline where the last threads of smoke coil into the sky. the grip he has on the blond shifts. “we didn’t mean to intrude,” he starts softly. “i was looking for somewhere safe to stay.” kaiser coughs then—a wet, gurgling sound—and ness steadies him immediately, thumb brushing along the blond’s jaw where the skin looks peeled. “the empty houses in your neighborhood make good shelter… but it looks like FEMA got here first.” he gestures to the side, at the fields of gray and dilapidated buildings. “i couldn’t just leave him out there.”

1 — where were you headed to?

2 — is your friend a visitor?

1 — “i… don’t know. anywhere. away from those monsters. we were with a group but…” he trails off, biting his lip. it’s clear he doesn’t want to recount the details. “kaiser doesn’t do well with others.” his gaze drifts over to the man on his shoulder, eyes softening a fraction. he doesn’t elaborate, just fishes out a small pack of canned foods and energy drinks from his backpack. corn, fruit, green beans—it’s enough to last an entire week, if rationed correctly. the straps of his bag are loose and tearing at the seams, held up by only a few makeshift slips. “there’s more. we’re willing to share if you let us in.” a bribe.

2 — his face goes pale as if you’d just suggested something utterly horrific. “a… a visitor? him? ha… hahaha! you’re real funny, ma’am/sir. it’s rare to meet people with a sense of humor these days.” the smile on his face quickly returns, almost as if it’d never left at all. he straightens himself up. “of course not! kaiser is… he would never be one of them.” he punctuates the last word with a scowl, features twisting in disgust. the man on his back lets out a weak groan. “he’s just tired. we need a place to stay until he heals up. you understand, don’t you?”

an eerie thud comes from behind them, like light footsteps crunching on gravel. there isn't much time left. you'd have to make your decision soon.

ness clasps his hands together. the smile on his lips doesn’t fade, but you can tell he’s growing impatient.

“we—we won’t disturb you, promise! it’s really not safe out here for him… i’m worried.”

1 — you should leave

2 — come in

3 — only if your friend stays behind

1 — he falters, eyes widening in panic. it’s the first genuine reaction you’d seen since the conversation started. “did—did i say something wrong? i don’t understand…” his nails leave crescent-shaped indents in his marred skin, hard enough to hurt. ness lowers his head. something inhuman scrapes against the pillar, slow and deliberate. they’ll die before morning, that much is certain.

“i should’ve known better,” he mutters to himself, that strange, delirious look in his eyes. he adjusts his grip on the blond, pulling him upright with surprising strength. his expression stays hollow, gaze fixed on a point past your shoulder. “let’s go, kaiser.”

you watch as they limp down the porch steps, silhouettes shrinking until the fog encapsulates them completely.

they’ll die, and the blood will be on your hands. the silence that follows is unsettling. better safe than sorry, right?

2 — “r-really? thank you! you won’t regret this, i promise!” he guides kaiser over the threshold with careful hands. the blond stumbles once, catching himself on the doorframe. up close, his breathing sounds uneven, a wet rasp that doesn’t match the steady rise and fall of his chest. his gums look irritated when he winces, a thin smear of red along the inside of his lip.

ness doesn’t seem to notice. or maybe he’s pretending not to.

“you’re doing us a big favor,” he says, stepping inside and glancing around your entryway with quiet interest. his clothes cling to him, soaked through with sweat and dried dirt. he brushes a few flakes of debris from kaiser’s sleeve, gentle in a way that makes something in your stomach pull tight.

“we just need a place to rest for the night.” he looks up at you, smiling eerily. “that’s all.”

3 — he stares at you, brows knitting like he didn’t hear you correctly. “what..? what do you mean?” his hand closes around kaiser’s arm, steady but tense. “there’s nothing wrong with him,” he says.

you can tell he’s trying to keep his tone even, but it wavers with uncertainty, like he doesn’t even believe it, himself. the porch light flickers, catching on the sheen of sweat sliding down his forehead and the faint tremor in his fingers. “i’m—i’m not leaving him. i promise i’d...” he trails off, biting his lip when he realizes you’re not changing your mind.

“fine. we’ll go.” his voice is strained as he speaks, bitter resentment swirling in his eyes. he doesn’t look back when he steps off the porch.

“have a good day, miss/mister.”

the scraping stops entirely, plunging you into a heavy silence. you have the feeling that you’d just narrowly avoided death tonight.

koaflower ᥫ᭡.

[mreowsu]

HUZZZAAAAAHHHHHHH

[koaflower]

sae itoshi !

no, i’m not a human ⋆｡°✩

includes. mentions of death, gore. inspired by no, i’m not a human. no romance involved, but it is a reader insert.

a/n. praying to god no one’s done this yet. it’s my first time writing an interactive fic with choices but this was sooo fun hehe. i’m gonna be real embarrassed if no one knows wtf this game is or what i’m going on abt. prob gonna make one for a diff character, prob not. we’ll see!!

the world outside is ruined.

bodies litter the gravel paths—limbs bent and fractured in ways that shouldn’t be humanly possible, little bits of cartilage peeking out from the hollow gashes. the world as you knew it is long gone, now desolate and caked in dying embers.

it’s only been two weeks, maybe three now, since the first known sighting of a visitor was reported—nasty, hostile creatures from the underground seemingly affected by a brain parasite.

the days blend together in a kaleidoscopic blur of blacks and blues. everyone you love is gone, and still, you hide out in your little pocket of safety. how much longer? the view outside your window, once vivid in color and the sound of playing children, is now painted in death.

the FEMA officers took the last of your inhabitants, promising you true retribution, yet you understand the hidden implication. they’re dead.

a knock sounds at your door, and like every other hellish night, you approach it. here’s where the interactive story begins.

[it’s up to you whether you let him in or not.]

instructions: pick a dialogue line and follow the response based on the matching number. you can only use the clues and background information given by the three options to arrive to a conclusion. no, i won’t tell you if he’s a visitor or not at the end. suspense! :b

“hello.” a man, perhaps in his early 20’s, stands on the other side of the door. he carries a brown sling bag over his shoulder, the fabric worn and rusted like it’s a light brush away from snapping. he looks at the peephole, trying to discern if you’re really there or not.

“sorry to bother,” he says, his voice dry and raspy, like it hadn’t been used in a while. you couldn’t blame him. what is there to say in the midst of an apocalypse, when everything is either dead or dying?

“can i come in? i just… need a place to stay for a few days.” his eyes are a brilliant shade of teal framed by long, dark lashes, hair a faded magenta pink. he could’ve been a model in his past life, though the heavy bags beneath his eyes made him seem more jaded than youthful. even the dying sun could not rob him of his beauty. but you’ve played this song and dance a hundred times before, and you know deep within those eyes could be an otherworldly secret.

visitors have no definite appearance.

1 — are you a visitor?

2 — did you walk all this way?

1 — he raises a brow, looking at you like you might be the stupidest person alive. “do you expect visitors to say yes?” he asks, tongue darting over dried, cracking lips and a glimpse of pearly white teeth. point taken, but he didn’t have to be such a dick about it. at your silence, he sighs, rolling his shoulders out a little. it’s hot where he stands, the heat sticking to his skin despite the sun’s disappearance beyond the horizon. “no. i’m not a visitor, and even if i was, i wouldn’t tell you that.” he casts a glance back at the neighboring houses. of course, there’s no one else here. only corpses and faces where there shouldn’t be any.

2 — if the worn soles of his shoes and the crisscrossed scars on his legs weren’t evidence enough, he nods. “yeah. i ran out of food. i was hoping to refuel for the night and then get out of your way.” it’s hard to make out from the dim lighting of your porch, but his hand clutches at his side, dampened by a slight… crimson? you’re not sure what color that is. “i came from the backwoods, just out north. rin—i mean…” his eyes flicker with emotion before it eclipses, gone before you could even register it. “they’re gone,” he whispers. “if i had known, i wouldn’t have wasted so much food.” his tone harbors on apathy, but you could tell it was more than that. grief. damnation. an attempt at consolation.

1 — how did you survive on your own?

2 — are you alone?

1 — his expression sours. a hint of impatience, only shown in the slight furrow of his brows. it’s gone soon after. “i wasn’t. why does it matter?” his eyes dart to the side in distaste. he didn’t seem to like repeating himself. you take note of the resentment brewing behind his cold facade. dangerous. “i’m a—no.” he shakes his head, trying again. “i used to be a soccer player. i’m athletic. can handle a few visitors and the distance, if that’s what you’re asking.” he frowns. softer now. “though if i were as strong as i’d thought, maybe they’d still be here…”

2 — “what do you think?” it comes out forcibly, barely strained with emotion despite the thin line of his lips. he takes a deep inhale before looking off to the side, maybe at the rusted stain in the wall or the chipping paint. you’re not sure how much longer this house can hold up. “visitors,” he murmurs. “they caught up to us. about a group of them. they looked so… human. i told my brother not to—“ he pauses, eyes closing like he’d seen flashes of something traumatic. “…you get the idea.” you wonder what horrifying things he’d seen to make such a melancholic expression.

1 — are you hurt?

2 — why do you think you’ll be safe here?

1 — his breathing is a bit ragged as he glances down at the deep gash on his side. it’s clearly infected, the thin strip of cloth he’d secured over it hardly serving as a proper bandage. he looks like he’d rather not talk about it. “yeah. got this when i was running. the… thing took my weapon. didn’t think it would try to use it against me, though.” he waves it off, slightly wincing from the movement. “it’s not as bad as it looks.” he doesn’t say anything else.

2 — “don’t have a choice. im out of supplies. no food, no water, weapon’s gone,” he monologues, scoffing but there’s no humor behind it. “even i know my limits. i’m good as dead if i stay out here.” he empties his pockets—a splintered knife, only good for cooking now, and a couple dollars in cash. money has no use at the end of the world. he doesn’t show you the contents in his sling bag, but it’s not large enough to hold anything other than snacks and some personal belongings. maybe nothing at all in its sorry state.

an eerie thud comes from behind him, like light footsteps crunching on gravel. there isn’t much time left. you’d have to make your decision soon.

sae shifts his weight awkwardly, as if feeling your scrutinizing gaze on him. he casts several small glances over his shoulder, shuddering though there’s nothing there. not yet.

“so… you gonna let me in or not? i won’t waste my time standing out here.”

1 — come in

2 — you should leave

1 — “thanks,” he says softly, entering your home and immediately shedding off his torn coat. his skin is muddled and cut, dirt peeking from beneath his fingernails. his eyes shine an even brighter teal beneath the dim yellow lights of your hallway. he nods in appreciation. “i won’t be dead weight.” it’s a promise, judging from the bitter resentment behind his eyes. either you’ve just gained the biggest adversary or dug yourself a hole six feet under… that’s to be determined. you just hope the FEMA agents won’t get him in the next round.

2 — “tch.” harsh lines form on his face, lips twisting into an ugly scowl. he seemed accustomed to rejection, though the last glimmer of hope fades from his eyes. he could resent it and you, but he understands. if the roles were reversed, maybe he would leave you out to die as well. “of course. i should’ve expected that. you’re no better than those FEMA agents,” he mumbles, dusting the debris off his shirt and turning away. “i’ll be going then.”

guilt tugs at your heart as his figure retreats, low and crouched with a hand over his wound. who gave you the authority to be an executioner of death? despite that, it’s too risky to let another person in. kindness isn’t something you can afford in the midst of an apocalypse.

you just hope you made the right choice, or in the worst case scenario, he finds a place to stay.

koaflower ᥫ᭡.

[mreowsu]

OH YES

[mreowsu]

are you okay??? omg😨

uuummm 😅✌️✌️ okay first awff i wanna explain why and how i disappeared for almost 2 weeks i think... i spent em for physical therapy cuz my legs went crazy but also nothing too crazy at the same time—BUT DZONT WORRY! it's all good now and i have decided to come back stronger than ever 🦵 i appreciate u big time 4 checking up on me anon. js keep in mind to always look both ways before crossing the road 🥀❤️‍🩹

[mreowsu]

C-could y-you d-Do b-bachira m-megs a-as our husband like going out on a date to see the stars and boom it starts raining but we play in the rain meow

⋆.˚🦋༘

yeeeoowww i owe you the biggest apology for hiw super duper delayed this ended up... writer's curse + life tag teamed me, but i finally made it back alive! i really liked your request though, and i hope you enjoy... (& that u didn't wait too long...)

you don’t even remember who suggested it first, but somehow the night turned into a drive that turned into a late dinner that turned into him saying, “hey, let’s go somewhere and look at stars.”

so now you’re both parked at the edge of nowhere, the air a breeze that combs through your hair. bachira’s sitting cross-legged on the hood of the car, finishing the last bite of convenience store ice cream, his curls pulled back messily.

“you know,” you say, “this is technically your fault if we get lost.”

he licks his thumb, shrugs. “romantic though, isn’t it? dying together under the stars?”

“you’re such an idiot.”

“yeah,” he grins, eyes darting to you, soft and gold and too much, “but i’m your idiot.”

corny.

you roll your eyes, but the smile breaks through anyway. he always wins like that—just by being him, just existing.

the sky’s a quiet thing tonight (if bachira decides to keep his mouth shut), big and open and almost kind. he keeps pointing at random spots, naming stars wrong on purpose, all just to make you correct him.

“that’s orion’s belt,” you say for the third time, clipped, patient and amused.

“nope,” he hums. “that’s meguru’s belt. limited edition.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “you are so silly.”

your amusement halts once a breeze picks up, prompting goosebumps all over both you and your husband's skin like frost, thus you huddling closer against him, head on his shoulder. the fabric of his shirt smells like detergent and grass. he moves just enough to make space for you, resting his chin in your hair.

you don’t notice the first drop until it lands on the bridge of your nose.

then another.

then a scatter of them—tiny, hesitant, and almost shy.

“oh,” you say softly.

he glances up. “huh.” and then—because he’s him—he smiles. “guess the stars are jealous.”

you snort. “of what?”

“of how good we look together right now.”

before you can even think of a comeback, the drizzle turns into real rain—heavy and unstoppable. you flinch instinctively, pulling your hands over your head, but bachira just hops off the hood, letting it drench him. he turns to you, arms wide, grin stretching stupidly bright.

“come on!”

“meguru, are you insane?”

“yeah,” he calls absent-minded, spinning once, water splashing around his shoes.

you groan, but he’s already grabbing your hand, tugging you down into the downpour. the metal hood squeaks under your shoes as you stumble into him, both of you half-laughing, half-screaming from the cold shock of it.

“see?” he says, hair plastered to his face, droplets clinging to his lashes. “worth it.”

“y—” you try, but he kisses you before you can start, and suddenly the world goes soft around the edges. it’s wet and messy and tastes like happiness—like meguru. his slides up your cheek steadily and sure.

when you pull away, both of you breathless, he presses his forehead to yours. “we should do this more often,” he murmurs.

“what, ruin my clothes?”

“no,” he says, eyes half-lidded, voice low enough to almost be a secret, “forget the world a little.”

you close your eyes, the rain still coming down, washing the air clean. the stars are gone, hidden somewhere behind the clouds, but you don’t mind. he’s right there—warm, soaked, ridiculous—and you can feel his heartbeat thudding against yours like it’s trying to say something you already know.

he bumps his nose against yours, grinning again. “told you we look good right now.”

“..stupid…” you whisper, rubbing your nose against his and closing your eyes.

“and you’re stuck with me,” he says, tugging you closer until there’s no space left between you, “so i’d say we’re even.”

and maybe it’s the rain, or maybe it’s just him—but everything feels easier then.

the sky could fall apart, the stars could burn out, and you’d still be standing there, barefoot in the mud, soaked through, his hands around you, both of you too in love to care about the weather.

© mreowsu

[mreowsu]

This is so sick and twisted I js got into an accident and my legs r fucked up is the writer curse for real

[koaflower]

sae itoshi !

as your sentient android (but you’re just a teenage girl) ⋆｡°✩

includes. fem!reader. STRICTLY platonic !! tags use x reader bc idk how else to categorize this. sae in a maid dress, gen z slang, cute little drabble to get me back on track.

word count. 967

01

"y/n, can i come in?"

sae's monotonous voice is followed by three steady knocks—rhythmic and precise, just as you'd instructed. there's a quiet click! of the doorknob before a figure clad in lace and a frilly maid dress enters your room.

with pink ribbons and a headdress adorning his hair, sae stares at you unblinkingly, a deep scowl set on his artificial features. he holds a sterling silver plate in his hands, placing it down on your wooden nightstand. “…your breakfast,” he says.

it was almost ridiculous—a highly advanced android being used as a dress up doll. he could tolerate cleaning your messes, cooking your food, and doing your schoolwork, but this? nothing in his manual mentioned being the nanny of a little human girl.

"you look so cute! oh my god, can you spin around? my friend wants to see." he's momentarily blinded by your camera, optics readjusting as you giggle. your coos only increase in pitch when he actually listens, dress swaying in the air as he twirls.

he wishes you'd deactivate him already.

02

do it yourself.

—is what he would say if he wasn't utterly afraid of you.

although he was programmed to withstand the human concept of fear, the wrath of a teenage girl was a horror he didn’t consider until he’d experienced it firsthand. you seemed to override all his training and instill a strange sense of dread in his system that made the metallic whirring in his brain go haywire.

sae sifts through the pile of papers on your desk, scanning the messily scribbled algebraic equations and doodles. he blinks.

"you got a 61."

"yeah, i see that." you roll your eyes, peering over his shoulder at the red ink marks left by your teacher. "that's why i need your help."

"she was being generous. you got this one wrong too," he says, pointing to the last question that you left blank. sometimes, he questions if you're actually a 5th grader in a teenager's body. sae doesn't even need to turn around to know you've flopped back onto the bed. so dramatic.

"sae, pleaseeee? can't you just do this for me? c'monn, it'll take you two seconds—no, less! i won't even tell my dad you're secretly in love with me."

"it's directly against my orders to do your work for you. and as an ai model, i'm incapable of—”

"falling in love, i know! it's a joke. please, sae, i won't ask you for anything ever again. just this once?"

"you said that last time."

you huff, "i mean it now!"

sae picks up the pen with a resigned sigh, but there's a soft smile curling on his lips when your eyes light up in relief.

"don't make this a habit."

it was in fact, not the last time.

03

sae stares into his reflection with a blank gaze, touching his fingertip to the white powder on his artificial skin. his hand is immediately swatted away.

"stop! you're ruining it," you chide, dusting another fine layer of setting powder to cover the track print on his cheek. it tickles and makes his nose wrinkle.

"i don't need a "makeover". my skin is made from—"

"don't care, didn't ask. stop moving." you turn his head to the side, blending light eyeshadow onto his eyelids with the stern professionalism of a middle-aged cosmetologist. he sits perfectly still across from you, analyzing the beauty products you pick up and the disorderly mess it leaves on your vanity. he wants to clean it.

you pause, leaning back to survey your work with a proud smile. "it's unfair how pretty you are. what do androids even need long lashes for?" he closes his eyes at the tingly feeling of the mascara running over his already dark lashes.

"75% of customers preferred this model as opposed to the other one," he explains, unflinching even when the mascara tip accidentally brushes against his scelera.

"really? was the other one that bad?" you set the tube down, grimacing as you wipe the black ink off his eyeball. human empathy is such a peculiar thing.

"it's a replica of the creator."

"that bald, ugly guy in his 70's?" your face scrunches in disdain. "thank god for 75% of voters."

you don't let him see the result until the very end, claiming suspense before swiveling the chair towards the mirror. it was impressive. he wouldn't have recognized himself if his retinas didn't come with a built-in facial detection feature.

"sooo? what do you think? pretty right?"

"you wasted your time," he replies, storing the look to his memory when you're too busy sulking. just for future reference. (he loves it.)

04

"what does ‘sybau’ mean?"

you're laying on your stomach next to a stiff, uncomfortable looking sae on your bed, scrolling through tiktok together. he looks completely out of his element, a grown ass man surrounded by plushies and pink pillow sheets.

"shut your bitch ass up," you reply, not even bothering to look up before swiping to the next video. you were used to his questions about gen z terminology by now, seeing as most of the words weren't part of his vocabulary. he falls silent.

"oh. i apologize. did i offend you?"

you raise a brow at his genuinely confused expression before bursting into laughter.

"no, sae. it literally means shut your bitch ass up."

"oh." his brows furrow, eyes darting back to the comment section. some of the replies didn't even relate to the video. how is this funny? "what's the context?"

"there isn't one. it's like a vocal stim."

his confusion only deepens. you grin.

"you're not going to start saying that, are you?"

"no, i was simply curious. it seems popular with the youth these days."

"okay, unc."

"sybau."

[suksatoru]

rabid royals

{prince!itoshi rin x princess f!reader}

summary: despite being arranged to marry his older brother itoshi sae, rin can't keep ignoring the way he feels about you forever. your reciprocation of his affections only makes the tension thicken and fold in a way that couldn't be ignored, and chaos was only inevitable by the time sae realized what was going on between you and his little brother.

warnings: arranged marriage, angst (but we THUG IT OUTT), fem!reader, brief sae x reader, rin is basically a lovesick puppy no one make fun of him, infidelity, cursing, & if you've read the prologue for this, it appears again as a flashback! header art is by @/AnoNiku___ on X <3

word count: 11.2k (asjadkj this took me wayy longer than expected !!)

Rin had been in his older brother's shadow for as long as he could remember. He was always one step behind, always lacking in some sense, always coming close, but never close enough. Ever since they were little kids, Rin had always borne the label of second best like a bad costume he couldn't take off.

Sae's always been destined for greatness, Rin was sure of it. Not only did his older brother possess an unbeatable mindset for himself and the Itoshi name, one he'd polished and carved expertly for the world to see, but Sae had the talent and skills to back up every ambition he wished to pursue. No matter how impossible a task or business deal seemed—if Sae was the one at the center of the ordeal, it was sure to go his way no matter how the situation fared before he entered the picture.

Despite it all, it was the small bits and pieces of him, the aspects of a person that made them human, which Sae lacked considerably.

A good husband, even just a decent one, would go and make sure you're okay. The words lie heavy on the curve of Rin's tongue, but he swallows them down the moment Sae's sharp gaze cuts to his.

"Rin, go check on her, will you?"

A wordless nod from his younger brother is all he gets in return, and Rin leaves Sae's room right after to go look for you.

Five doors down from his own room and three rooms down from his brother's was where you resided. It was decided that once the wedding was over, you would move into Sae's room with him. Rin knocks once on your door, waiting for your usual gentle voice to call him inside. He stands outside patiently, but after a near minute passes with no response, he knocks again, thinking you didn't hear him the first time.

"Y/n?"

Rin's hesitant call of your name is met with silence once more. His hand finds the doorknob, and he frowns once he realizes the door is unlocked. With a single, fluid motion, he twists it open and steps inside, only to be met with your empty bedroom.

His gaze sweeps over everything in front of him—the crumpled sheets and comforter of your bed, the little trinkets and gifts from your homeland littering your dressers, the assortment of necklaces laid out on the floor, and the empty spot beside the door where your outdoor boots usually resided.

Ah. So that's where you were.

A crease forms between Rin's brows when he realizes your hat is still hanging from your bedpost, and he grabs it without a second thought before he exits your room and closes the door behind him, heading straight towards the manor's gardens outside.

You didn't take very good care of yourself. You were still young—clumsy in getting adjusted to the new world you found yourself thrown into, and Rin can't even fault you for it. Who he's wished to reprimand many times is Sae, who doesn't seem to care about your well-being in the slightest. It was beyond frustrating to see Sae take no interest in the woman who would bear his children and take on the Itoshi name, but Rin's not sure what he expected from someone as emotionless as Sae. He'd imagined the one exception to Sae's coldness would be his own wife, but it seemed even you weren't spared.

Rin used to understand his brother better than anyone. They'd always come to each other when things got tough, and to Rin, it felt like he could face the whole world and win if Sae was by his side. But in the past few years, in which his nii-chan had gotten further and further into the political world outside the walls Rin was raised in, was when they finally began to drift apart. Rin simply didn't understand Sae's logic anymore. His principles and basis on seemingly everything had been flipped like a switch. Before, when they were children, Sae would spend every minute of his day with Rin, doing tasks for their parents together and spending time just being brothers. Now, the elder brushes off any attempt Rin makes to spend time with him, labeling it as a waste.

If Sae wasn't able to take good care of you, thanks to his persistent tendency to be isolated all the time, couldn't he have asked Rin to marry you instead? The marriage between you and Sae was purely political, so did it really matter which brother you married? At the end of the day, it was a union between kingdoms, not people. The bitter thought that he'd make a better husband himself is one Rin pushes down almost instantly in silent shame.

Stupidly enough, Rin had fallen for you. The sight of your smile and the echo of your laughter were the things to make his heart stutter—the things that allowed him to feel what love was like. But Rin believed his only option was to reject his heart, because to go after you was to wage war on his own brother.

Rin's fingers dig deep into the soft material of your hat as he approaches the glass doors leading outside. He takes a quick glance at his reflection in the manor's hallway mirror, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his way, before opening the door that led outside.

The chill that hit his face was unexpected as it was biting. Every gust of wind carried traces of snow, and they curled around Rin slowly, gliding through the air leisurely and wrapping him in a cold embrace.

You're a little ways down the main pathway parting the middle of the garden. Rin ducks back inside the manor and grabs a shawl hanging from one of the closet's hooks before leaving the manor and tightening his own coat around him.

"Y/n," he calls out gravely, and when you turn around, whatever thought was forming in Rin's mind is forgotten within an instant when your eyes meet his. He tightens his grip on the shawl and your hat, suddenly feeling himself get warm despite the cold that surrounded him.

Your cheeks are tinted a rosy red, and there are dozens of snowflakes hanging from the strands of your hair like it was the most natural place in the world for them to be. Plump lips are parted in surprise at his sudden appearance, and there are puffs of cold fog slipping past your lips as you wait for Rin to gather his thoughts.

"It's... It's cold. You should wear this." He murmurs, holding out the hat and shawl for you as he avoids your gaze. Rin can't stop himself from imagining the way your eyes must be widening in surprise, or the way your mouth must be forming that 'o' shape you make whenever you're particularly bewildered, and he can't stop himself from turning anyway to look at you, because when was the last time he's gotten to be this close to you without Sae or anyone else in his vicinity?

"Oh—sorry, sorry! I promise it wasn't snowing when I first came out to walk. I must have been too deep in thought to notice when it first began to fall," you assure with an embarrassed smile. Rin doesn't respond, his lips merely settle into a firm line before he raises the shawl in his hands and wraps it around your shoulders, twisting the fabric and pulling it close to ensure no cold seeps through.

"You need to be more careful, you'll get sick." He mumbles, lips twitching downwards into his usual frown before he digs his fists into the pockets of his coat, blowing another stray strand of hair from his face as you look down at the shawl he put around you with a gentle smile.

"I promise to remember next time, Rin. Thank you."

Rin huffs quietly in response with a short nod. Your eyes are drawn to one of the stray snowflakes that had fallen right over the gentle curve of his cheekbone, and you have to resist the urge to brush it off of him.

"Good," is all he says afterwards, his eyes flitting towards you hesitantly before they instantly dart away. In his mind, Rin blamed his horribly obvious and skittish movements on the cold before straightening his back and quietly bidding you goodnight.

Normally, Rin's steps were short and confident—never slow and always with a destination in mind. But as Rin turned away from you, his steps seemed to falter, like he wanted to say something more, but he ended up not saying anything else and walked back to the manor instead. Your eyes stay trained on his back as you nudge your nose against the comforting yarn of your scarf.

Your gaze doesn't leave Rin until he disappears inside. You lick your snow-coated lips to ease some of the tension you felt thrumming through you before turning back to the garden's pathway.

Rin looked breathtaking in the snow. His pale skin blended into the winter wonderland outside the Itoshi manor seamlessly, and his chiseled green gaze only seemed sharper in the moonlight. You noticed the way the snow seemed to swirl around him, too. You wouldn't be surprised if it was Aphrodite herself swirling a finger around Rin's figure and sending the snowflakes in a spiral that revolved around him and him only. Rin was just that beautiful.

Since the Itoshi manor was located up North, the land was in a perpetual state of winter, which also meant the garden they had outside had plants and flowers made for the everlasting cold; it was an environment they could thrive in. You admire the snow-coated petals of the flowers and how, despite the harsh conditions around them that would've already killed any regular flora, they stood tall, petals resilient and flourishing despite all odds.

The wedding was set to take place three weeks after you'd moved into the manor. It's been about a week since you've arrived, and the past few days have been filled with you visiting all sorts of people—the head chef, dressmakers, florists, and even the royal jeweler—to help prepare for the big day.

Sae wasn't there for any of it.

Frankly, you weren't too upset by it. He was busy beyond belief with securing the last details of his arrangement with your home nation. Marrying you was only a portion of the alliance, as there were still a dozen other things he had to review and arrange. Sae didn't have time to waste on something as trivial as choosing what color flower assortments each table should have as a centerpiece.

You tried to tell yourself it didn't matter—you shouldn't be this bothered. The servants were exceptionally kind to you, and you had even taken quite a liking to your personal handmaid (she was an older woman with a gentle soul, always sneaking you pastries and sweets from the kitchen to snack on just because she could), and Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi liked you well enough. Truthfully, you were being taken care of like a princess by everyone. Especially Rin, who sought you out every day with the simple intention of wanting to be near you. Sometimes, he wouldn't even make his appearance known to you; he lingered nearby, quietly and hopefully, just in case you wanted company.

But it was during the night, when you went to bed alone in a bedroom that felt too big for just one person, when you truly began to realize how lonely you felt.

Marrying someone made them your person. If Sae wasn't interested in forming any real relationship with you, then, well, you wouldn't have someone to call your own.

The thought of being alone frightens you more than anything else.

You couldn't really be alone with Rin around. Not when he doted on you every day, silently but steadily. But how long would that go on for? How long was it until he got married? The prospect of Rin marrying someone else sends a sharp pain straight through your chest, one that causes you to physically recoil and flinch before you shove your face back into your pillows with a groan.

No, seeing someone else marry Rin was something you never wanted to happen.

The night passes by in a blur, and so does the next morning. Eventually, you're heading towards the kitchen with the head chef—laughing softly at an old story she's telling you about the Itoshi brothers.

"They used to be very picky eaters—the oldest sir especially. When he was eleven, he sent his younger brother's birthday cake back to the kitchen because the frosting was vanilla, apparently not to his liking at all."

You have to stifle your laughter as you try and imagine an eleven-year-old Sae Itoshi getting upset over Rin's birthday cake not being the right flavor. Your lips twitch downwards as you think about how much their relationship has changed over the years—actually, you're not sure if you've even seen the two exchange any sort of pleasantries with each other. Not even once.

"Now, dear, I'll leave you to the cake taste testing—just call me in when you're all done. The spoons and napkins are laid out for you, so please enjoy what the bakers made. If you have any complaints, feel free to let me know at the end so I can pass on your message!"

You send her a tight-lipped smile, nodding your head and trying to hide your disappointment at being left alone once again.

"The sir is inside to help as well. Good luck!" She bows before her departure, and you still at her words.

Sir?

Sae had left early this morning to travel to a nearby city for a day trip of sorts, so that meant...

When you open the kitchen doors, Rin is sitting on a stool, staring intently at the assortment of cake slices placed on the table in front of him, and his head raises when he hears the door open a moment later.

It clicks closed behind you, and you stare at him wordlessly. For a moment, Rin thinks he may have crossed a line by asking the chef to assist you today with the cake testing after hearing you were doing it alone, but then your lips stretch into a smile so bright it makes something in his chest ache.

"Rin! You're here!"

You shuffle over to where he is, and Rin blinks rapidly as you drop yourself into the seat beside him. You're wearing a cozy sweater and plaid skirt to match, both a deep brown that complement you stunningly. Your hair is pulled back with a matching bow, and although this outfit is much simpler than what you usually wear, Rin is aching to let you know how pretty you look.

He has a feeling no one else has told you today.

"Hello," he murmurs, and the tips of his ears turn pink from the subtle scent of your shampoo, which is intoxicatingly sweet. Rin watches you get settled silently, grateful you seem happy to see him. Mindlessly, your finger reaches out to swipe at the frosting of one of the cakes, and you lick it with anticipation before your eyes shine with satisfaction.

"Yummy! So, you'll be helping me out today?" You grin, and Rin huffs, crossing his arms over his sweater. You note that his hair looks fluffier in the warm golden light of the kitchen, and his demeanor seems to soften at the sight of your smile.

"Yeah... Nii-chan is busy, like always, so I... I just don't want you to be alone."

You pause at his words, and his honesty cuts a little closer to your heart than you want to admit. You let your hands fall in your lap, taking a moment to let his confession sink in.

He doesn't want you to be alone.

"...thank you."

Rin's eyes widen a fraction when you scoot your stool closer to his, but his attention is quickly redirected when you pull a plate towards the two of you to begin—the air is tinged with the sweet smell of sugar and fruit, the atmosphere is domestic and calm, and Rin finds himself melting into the moment.

The next hour is filled with the two of you trying a variety of cakes. There were nearly thirty plates on the surface of the table, all spongy soft, decorated with heaps of creamy frosting, and layered expertly.

Rin wants nothing but to be good company for you, but he's not quite sure how to. He grew up with only one person close in age to him, and that was Sae. He didn't have any friends, only his nii-chan. But as they got older, the rift between them grew until it was an ocean—one Rin was sure to drown in if he ever tried to cross it. Losing his brother like that made Rin's heart retreat, and he's never made a connection with someone after Sae. He knows he doesn't talk much, and he's not as interesting as his brother, but...

"Rin, you're spacing out again!"

He's snapped out of his trance when you call his name, turning to see you laughing as you hold a spoonful of cake to his lips. Rin blinks owlishly before mumbling a sheepish apology under his breath and scooting closer to you.

"You want me to try this one?" He questions with a raised brow, and you nod enthusiastically.

"This one is really good! The cake is so tender, like a cloud on my tongue, and the chocolate is super rich. But, if you ask me, these strawberry wedges in the frosting are the best part." You grin, and Rin makes an attempt to smile in return—it's wobbly and unsure, but it feels right to smile at you.

He parts his lips for you, and you feed the bite to him. The realization that your mouth had been on the very same spoon makes him clamp down on the spoon in embarrassment, but then his taste buds get a feel of the cake, and his eyes widen a bit.

"Oh... this is really good."

"I know!"

After that, you feed him every bite right after your own. The sheer variety of cakes is what surprised you the most—there was dark chocolate, coconut cream, peppermint, honey lavender, and toasted coconut—all made with love and dedication. All made for you. Your chest feels warm and light at the thought.

Finally, there was one slice of cake left untouched. Tucking a leg under you, you reach across the table to grab it, pulling it towards you and Rin .

"This one is called Blackberry Elderflower," you comment, taking the label off the plate as Rin's brows furrow in thought.

"It looks okay, but I'm not sure if it can beat our first-place cake." Rin says firmly, and you can't help but laugh at the accusatory glare he offers the slice of cake in front of you.

"It was delicious! It had the perfect balance of sweetness, and those strawberries were heaven-sent, I'm sure of it." You grin, and Rin grunts in response, nodding his head.

Rin is the one to reach for the spoon this time. He carefully slices into the cake before bringing the bite to your mouth, hovering it over your lips before speaking.

"Remember, this is the last flavor. Savor the taste and consider it carefully—what we think about this one decides the final cake." Rin says, and when you nod with parted lips, he places the bite in your mouth and watches you carefully.

"Hmm. Alright, your turn."

You take the spoon gently from his grasp and dig it into the cake. Despite being perfectly capable of feeding himself each bite, Rin made no move to stop you.

His tongue darts out in anticipation, and he chews slowly once it's in his mouth. You try and fight back your smile as you watch his eyes suddenly widen, almost comically so. Rin's lips twist into a scowl as he's left completely appalled that another flavor actually managed to beat the chocolate cake you two were initially infatuated with.

"This is delicious." he mumbles in defeat.

"Uh huh! This is the one."

You're smiling again, picking up the cake's label and flipping it over to read the list of ingredients neatly printed on the back. Your legs swing back and forth on the stool you're sitting on, and Rin takes a moment to look at you. Really look at you. He only has to blink once before coming to his undoubtable conclusion.

Sae is really stupid sometimes.

If it was Rin marrying you instead—good gods, he'd abandon everything for you. He would take such good care of you; he knew he would. Truthfully, he was ready to bend his own body backwards and break every bone he possessed if it meant he'd get to see you smile. It took his breath away every time—because your smile gave him hope like no other.

Your cheeks are round and full with cake, and you let out a pleased hum as you swallow. Rin can't tear his gaze away from you—you're so close and just... there. It's impossible for him to do anything else but admire you. You're sitting close, close enough where if he shifts, his knee would bump against yours under the table.

You turn to look at Rin, and he's already looking at you.

His gaze is sharp, intense in a way that you haven't seen before. Not since...

He murmurs your name quietly, almost ashamed of himself, almost, and your heart leaps to your throat in an instant when his hands twitch in his lap, reaching for your face.

His fingers are soft and hesitant as they brush against your jaw silently in question. When you make no move of protest, stilling and watching him with round eyes instead, his index finger nudges your jaw towards him before he cups your cheek so tenderly that you nearly shiver.

"Rin..." you whisper, and he only tugs you closer. Rin's eyes are filled with a desperation you haven't seen before—a hunger that hasn't been satiated in too long, and he's trying to stop himself from moving any further. His other hand grips the kitchen counter as if he's physically trying to ground himself.

His hold on you softens, and he's close enough to where his nose is just about to bump against your own. Rin swallows the lump in his throat and stares at you silently with his mind screaming at him, because he has never wanted something in his life before so badly.

"What are you doing?"

Sae's voice cuts through the air like a knife, and Rin lets go of you in an instant, reeling back like he'd been physically struck at the sound of his older brother's voice.

Sae stands in the doorway, one hand still perched on the door he'd just opened and his gaze trapped on the two of you. He squints, eyes narrowing and lips settling into a thin line before Rin suddenly moves away from you. His chair drags loudly against the floor as he does, and he looks upset.

If Rin's mad, you're not sure if it's at himself for letting it get this far or if it's at his brother for interrupting. Again.

Rin's murmuring under his breath about how there's somewhere he needs to be, pushing past Sae before he has a chance to even say anything, and moving straight for the exit. He's barely a blur of green before he's gone within seconds, leaving you and Sae alone in deafening silence.

Sae is still in his uniform. It's pressed as pristinely as usual, with his shimmering silver sword hanging low on his hip. He regards you silently before speaking up.

"Did you two decide on a flavor?"

If Sae's angry, he does a remarkable job at hiding it. His voice is just as even and calm as it always is, but there is something terrifying simmering in his gaze—something as hot as molten lava, and it's threatening to boil over. Your lips part, but when nothing comes out, you have to take a moment to collect yourself.

"Yes, but I... I'm sorry, I didn't—we were just—"

"Don't worry. Rin will get over his little crush on you soon enough."

Now you were stupefied. You stare at him, rendered speechless, and he stares back in silence. Sae makes a mental note of how you kind of look like Rin when he's about to cry—his brother would make the same face when they were younger. Parted lips, wide, glossy eyes—and since the one thing Sae absolutely cannot stand is crying, he sighs through his nose and looks away.

"Come with me."

He beckons you over with two fingers, and you practically scramble out of your seat to follow him. He's halfway down the hall when you're out the kitchen door—and you have to walk as quickly as you can to catch up. Keeping your head low, you don't say anything.

Sae stops short in front of his bedroom door, fishing out a small golden key from the breast pocket of his uniform before inserting it into the doorknob and opening the door. He holds it open for you, and you walk in silently, stiff as a board.

There were no personal touches in Sae's room. It's large, larger than your own room—and it feels even emptier, too. It was also spotless, but you expected nothing less of him. The moment Sae grabs your hand is sudden and you have no time to react before he places the key in the palm of your hand.

"This is the key to the master bedroom you and I will share. You can come here anytime before the wedding to move in all your stuff. I'm rarely ever home, so there's no need to worry about me getting in your way or anything like that."

His tone is clipped and sharp, leaving no room for negotiation. You nod your head slowly, turning the key over in the palm of your hand as you observe it. Sae walks over to his dresser, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a small, velvet box—he opens it a moment later before handing it over.

"This is for you."

You open it, and inside is the most beautiful ring you have ever seen. It has a thin golden band with an elegantly cut emerald gem resting on the hilt, one that glimmers spectacularly in the dim light.

"It should be to your liking. I had my royal advisor pick out the best one he could find." Sae hums, watching you carefully as you slip it onto your finger. The band alone must have cost a fortune; forget the gem—you can feel the sheer quality of it by touch alone.

"Thank you."

Your voice is a little breathless, your eyes weary, and your head bowed. Sae looks back towards his desk, where a number of scattered documents resided on top.

"Don't thank me. I didn't do anything."

Then again, with the riches Sae had, this ring probably meant nothing to him.

"All right, you can leave now."

Sae's back is turned towards you a moment later, and he busies himself with the documents on his desk. The way he doesn't spare you even a glance more lets you know just how important Sae found you in the moment. You stand there for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat and holding the small velvet box close to your chest.

He hears you shift behind him as you start heading towards the door. Your brows are bunched together, and a plethora of emotions explode in your chest. You're confused with his reaction to you and Rin's proximity, angry at his constant avoidance, and just... sad.

You take your leave quietly, but Sae's voice, softer than you've ever heard before, catches you on the way out.

"Good night."

You don't have the strength to respond without your voice breaking, so you close the door quietly instead.

Maybe you should feel more remorse for feeling nothing for Sae and everything for his brother. But you yearned for Rin. Quietly, passionately, and undoubtably.

Sae didn't understand the way either of you felt—he thought Rin's feelings for you were some form of a minor crush, but you knew it wasn't as simple as that. It never had been.

Sae may not have known it, but he didn't stand a chance with you since the night you first met Rin.

flashback ⋆˙⟡

You had arrived at their family's magnificent manor in a simple satin gown, a bowed head, and a broken heart.

Initially, you had no idea what the Itoshis looked like, didn't even know their names, and spent most of the evening indulging in mindless chatter and eating small pastries instead of getting to know your betrothed. It seems like he wasn't interested in marrying you either, since he never bothered to come down and introduce himself.

No one stayed with you, mingling throughout the party and getting drunk on different sparkling drinks instead, and you found yourself gliding down the long halls of the Itoshi manor like a ghost. You walked with no destination in mind until you heard the gentle melody of someone playing the piano. Magically, at that.

The angelic sound seemed like a safe haven for you in the perpetually dark night, and you followed the music with tentative steps.

Soon, you found yourself in front of a tall, oak door and bowed your head through the frame to peer inside. A strand of hair fell in front of your eyes, and you pushed it away before your gaze fell onto the boy playing the piano inside. You couldn't see his face, only his back faced you. Pale, slender fingers play the instrument in front of him like it was his destiny, and after all the rage and heartbreak you felt throughout the day leading up to that night—a rare serenity of calm filled the empty hollowness in your chest, warming you entirely.

The boy looks to be about your age, and he remained entirely entranced by the piano in front of him as the pads of his fingertips danced—you watched his skilled fingers perform stunningly for no one at all. Well, besides you—but Rin didn't know you had been watching him. Not until he heard you sit on the piano stool beside him, smiling shyly with eyes twinkling in the dim moonlight that spilled through the glass panes.

His heart skipped a traitorous beat when you asked him to teach you how to play. His lips parted, as if you'd rendered him speechless. And you had.

"I... who are you?"

"No one important. Tell me, what's your name?" You questioned softly, curious eyes peering up at Rin with a shine he'd never once seen before. He tells you his name and asks you for yours in return before repeating it to himself quietly.

Rin didn't tell you how he forbade everyone, even his own family, from entering his music room. He merely slid a few inches over to give you more room and explained the history of how the piano came to be before placing his palm and fingers over yours.

Rin taught you a simple tune he came up with on the spot that night. It only spanned a few keys and held a slow tempo so you could follow along easily, but it was inspired entirely by the feeling he felt in his chest the moment he saw you smile at him.

He held his breath as he watched you play on your own only an hour later, a rare smile gracing his features. There was something about the way you treated his piano, careful fingers pressing down on the keys like they were glass—like they were alive and you were afraid to hurt them—before the tension eased and ebbed out of your form with time.

You'd arrived at the ball at six and spent a little under an hour at the actual event. You had spent the rest of the night with Rin's hands splayed over yours.

Sae was late to his own party for no reason in particular, arriving in a pristine suit and his bright pink hair gelled and styled for the occasion. To say he was intrigued to learn you'd been missing for the majority of the party from your mother and father's panicked expression was an understatement.

The first ten minutes with you gone? Sure, it made sense. You could have been in the bathroom or in line to get some sort of refreshment. After thirty minutes, he decided maybe you're out getting fresh air on the manor's balcony, or perhaps you're strolling through the gardens and giving the forgotten flowers outside some much needed attention. But once your time being missing hit the hour mark, his mother approached him and told Sae to go get his brother, who also hadn't come down in a while.

Sae knocked on Rin's music room door twice, tapping his foot impatiently outside as he thought about your whereabouts. Perhaps you did go to the manor's balcony for some fresh air, but maybe you fell off the twenty-foot railing and were lying dead somewhere. For some reason, the thought doesn't seem to stir much of anything in his chest.

He realized he'd been waiting outside the door for far too long and twisted the doorknob with an impatience he didn't usually allow himself to feel.

It took Sae a moment to understand the sight in front of him. Rin, smiling softly with his hand over yours, and you—hair pinned back to reveal lovely eyes and painted lips stretched into a smile so magnificent that Sae actually had to blink in order to confirm the graceful sight was indeed real.

And then it just clicked. Neither of you saw him, neither of you recognized the true identity of each other, so he took a step inside. The tension in the air shifted, and finally, you noticed him.

"Rin, just what do you think you're doing with my wife?"

When it came to avoiding people he didn't want to talk to, Rin had the qualifications of a professional. His lean frame allowed him to push through crowds of people easily without making a disturbance, and he was sneaky—taking advantage of all the spots he used as a kid when playing hide-and-seek with his brother to seemingly vanish into thin air whenever you got too close.

It wasn't that Rin wanted to avoid you; no, that wasn't it at all. He was just sure that he wouldn't be able to hold himself back if he saw you again. It didn't make sense how someone like you could end up with someone like Sae—it was absurd and horribly unfitting.

He's been doing his best to fill his time with things that don't remind him of you, but it's difficult. Dueling with the guards isn't helpful because he finds himself getting distracted and tripping over his own feet when he gets a glimpse of you passing by in one of the manor's windows above, sitting in on Sae's meetings is far too boring for him, and all the servants in the manor were busy preparing for the wedding—everywhere he turned, he was surrounded by the mere mention of your name, and it was maddening.

Accepting the fact that he can't not think about you, Rin makes the decision to expand the song he taught you the first night you two met.

He'd spent the majority of his day in his music room, playing and scribbling down every note on his sheet as the song progressed and grew into something beautiful—he was spinning the little melody he taught you that day into a full number that was playable, and he imagined himself performing it for you one day.

Maybe you'd lean your head on his shoulder while he played, or maybe you'd ask him to teach you the song—both possibilities are enticing, and Rin can't help but wish they were true.

There's something wrong with him. He shouldn't be thinking of playing the piano for you—he shouldn't be thinking of you at all. But there's no point in even attempting to stop himself, you'll intrude on his thoughts whether he likes it or not.

"You're so stupid," Rin mumbles to himself, pulling the piano cover down and resting his cheek against the cool surface with a sigh. The song was done now, he'd played it over more times than he could count and until his fingers ached—but it was ready.

He uses his pen to write your name in the title spot at the top of the sheet, and after looking around to absolutely ensure his brother wasn't hiding somewhere in the shadows, Rin draws a small heart right beside your name.

It's as if every time Rin does anything regarding you, Sae emerges from the depths of hell itself to find him, and the sharp bangs that sound against Rin's door a second later seem to confirm his suspicions.

"Rin! Shit, get out of there now, we have a big fucking problem—"

Rin stuffs the sheet in his music folder in an instant, kicking back his feet and getting off the piano stool within another second before swinging open the music room's door.

Sae is standing on the other side, and Rin can immediately tell something is wrong. The bags under his brother's eyes are heavier and more prominent than usual, and his hair is a bit of a mess, seemingly because of how much he'd been running his hands through the pink strands.

Rin has never seen his brother look like this. Sae was the calm one, the one more composed than everyone else in the room, and the one who had absolute control. But now, seeing his brother's clenched jaw, the frenzied look in his eyes, and the incoherent words he mutters under his breath as he drags Rin by the elbow and back into the music room has him dumbstruck.

"Nii-chan, stop. What the hell happened?" Rin hisses, tugging his arm out of Sae's grasp as the latter slams the door shut behind him. Sae knows how much Rin despises having other people in his music room, so the fact that he disregards that fact entirely and barges in anyway lets Rin know his brother isn't in the right state of mind.

"The wedding's off—I made a big fucking mistake. Her parents are going to demand she go back home, there's no doubt. And when that happens, we're going to lose our biggest trading partner yet. I don't know what—"

"Off? What the hell are you talking about? What did you do?" Rin snaps, watching Sae's fists coil harder—and before his brother can punch something out of rage—Rin stands in front of him and grabs hold of his shoulders.

"You need to tell me what you did. How am I supposed to help if you won't tell me what's going on?" Rin questions, and Sae pushes his brother off roughly, looking away in anger. His brows are pinched together, and it takes him a moment to get the words out, but they're as clear as day once they leave his lips.

"I got another woman pregnant."

Rin stills, and for the first time in his entire life, he sees the heat of regret in his older brother's gaze.

"I don't even know who it was. Whoever it is—she left the baby on the goddamn doorstep of the manor and fled. There's only some shitty note left behind telling me to deal with it. Shit, I'll find that woman and kill her if I have to. Who the hell does that?" Sae murmurs, more to himself than to Rin, as he sits down on his piano stool with an exhausted sigh.

"Who's going to raise it? The servants can't, it needs an actual mother of royal lineage—all the women I had relations with were lower class, never noblewomen—it will be virtually impossible to find a new wife that would accept a boy who isn't a hundred percent royalty, not when we're about to lose our biggest trading partner yet. I have my month-long trip to Spain two days after the wedding is supposed to happen—I can't miss that either, it's too important." Sae sighs, and Rin stares at his brother, speechless.

"You don't know who the mother of this child is?" is all Rin can manage to say as Sae shakes his head no.

Wordlessly, Rin sits beside Sae on the piano stool. He stares hard at the ground, and Sae sits beside him with his head in his hands. He was obviously stressed out, but Rin has nothing to say. This was his older brother's fault—and he had messed up badly.

Unbeknownst to them, on the other half of the manor, you're peering into the small bundle lying in one of the servant's arms—you can already tell what's going on. The baby has a full head of unmistakable pink hair, and everyone around you is panicking.

"Can I hold it?"

She looks up at you suddenly with wide eyes, smiling hesitantly while using her free hand to pat your shoulder comfortingly.

"Of course, dear. Are you feeling alright with all this?" The woman questions softly, and while her touch is gentle, her eyes are concerned. You shrug wordlessly, smiling at the baby in her arms.

"I'm not sure what to feel right now. But this baby didn't do anything wrong, so I'd like to hold it. Though I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl. Do you know which it is?"

"It's a boy." She says softly, lowering the baby into your arms as you hum.

He looks just like Sae. With delicate pale skin, tiny green eyes, and a little frown tugging down his lips—you know in your heart that this was his son.

You don't know what's going to happen now—you were never given a choice with this wedding, but you know there was no world where your parents would have you marry Sae knowing he had been seeing other women casually enough to produce a baby.

For now, you simply snuggle the little bundle closer to your chest with a quiet sigh, pressing your body further into the cushions of the couch as the sound of chaos around you turns to static.

It's been nearly a week since the surprising arrival of the Itoshi heir, and the day of the wedding was only getting closer. Unfortunately, it seemed like the entire manor was buzzing with panic and stress.

Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi have already formally apologized to you, but you had yet to see Sae. There was no time to inform your family back at home about the news, because by the time they received the letter that the wedding needed to be called off, they would already be here at the manor for the wedding. There was absolutely nothing that could be done to stop them in time.

Right now, you're rocking the baby boy back and forth in your arms, humming quietly and yawning to yourself, wondering what Rin must be up to.

There was a chance he'd attend the emergency council meeting scheduled for tonight after dinner to figure out what to do with the baby and you—you'll have to finally face Sae, but you're almost... relieved you don't have to marry him. Yes, of course the entire situation was disastrous—but while everyone around you seemed to be spiraling because of the news, you found yourself able to catch your breath for once.

"How can such a cute baby cause so much chaos..." you mumble to yourself as his nimble little fingers play with one of your bracelets. You wondered when he'd get a proper name and who would take care of him when you ended up leaving—the reminder that you had to go also reminded you that you'd have to leave Rin behind, too.

Rin. You'd remember him forever.

You arrive to the meeting early, since you didn't have much else to do after lulling the baby to sleep. The meeting room in the Itoshi manor is lavish and large, designed with high ceilings and glass panes that shimmered in the sunlight. There are about fifteen chairs lining both sides of the long table, each cushioned and empty. Well, besides Sae's seat, where at least a dozen envelopes and a hundred documents were laid out in front of him. He hasn't noticed you yet, too busy with the mountain of work in front of him, but when you place the ring box he'd given you in front of him, he looks up.

"It's okay," you start before he can say anything, and you watch his body stiffen at your words before he sighs. He rubs a tired hand across his forehead before speaking.

"I stopped when I knew you and I were arranged to get married. I just didn't think..." he trails off, and you can hear the bitter resentment in his voice.

"It's okay." You say more firmly this time, before awkwardly patting his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. Sae looks up and watches you with narrowed eyes, silently questioning if you were some sort of a saint. He half expected you to slap him, yell at him, something, but you just stood there in front of him, quiet and in deep thought.

"I don't know what will happen," you start, and he raises his eyes to meet your gaze as you continue.

"—but I know you're under a lot of stress. You work very hard; I've only ever seen you working since I've arrived, so I hope your council finds a solution that works for us both." You conclude, and as the others begin to enter the meeting room, you don't wait to hear Sae's response before you move to take your seat.

The royal council members are the first to arrive in a hurry. They're discussing a number of things as they find their seats and immediately recapture Sae's attention, swarming him. A few relatives enter the room with Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi before Rin finally makes an appearance.

He seems a bit overwhelmed by all the noise and people clamoring into one room, and your heart rate quickens at the sight of him. Rin looks even more handsome than usual, sporting a dark sweater that complemented his hair and a simple pair of pants to match. You can see his gaze sweeping over the room before it lands on you, and his back straightens once he sees you.

Maybe Rin sees the silent plea in your eyes, the need to not be alone, because his feet shift towards your direction before he moves and takes the empty seat right next to you. He doesn't say hello, and neither do you—but having Rin next to you is more comfort than you could have hoped for in a time like this.

You try your best not to look at him, but your body betrays you, and your gaze finds him anyway. Rin looks up the same moment you do—bringing about a single second of the most intense eye contact of your life before you both look away in embarrassment a second later. Sae watches the entire scene unfold in front of him with his brows pinched together in thought.

You were three years younger than Sae and two years younger than Rin. You were all in the same general age range—but Sae knew he had much more real-world experience than you and Rin did combined. You, being a girl, and Rin being the youngest, just meant you were naturally both sheltered and innocent. Unfortunately, Sae was forced to grow up quicker, and he knew how horrible the world could be.

Sae cared more for Rin than he let on. Of course he knew he could have had his brother marry you instead—truthfully, it would have made his life easier. But Sae had no idea what kind of person you were. If you were anything like the royal women he knew, you'd be a snob: you'd be selfish, unkind, and have your own personal agenda—all the things he didn't want Rin to encounter. Sae had no interest in subjecting his brother to such filth. He knew he was heartless, but Rin's heart bruised far too easily.

You were different than what Sae expected. He wanted to find something about you to criticize or to frown upon. Something he could flesh out and show Rin saying, 'Look, she's not good for you.'

But when Sae watches his little brother's sly attempt to hold your hand under the table without anyone noticing, he can only sigh quietly in resignation.

"Alright, let's get this meeting started. There are a few major things we can clear now, so let's do that."

Quickly, the murmurs of everyone's prior conversations faded as Sae cleared his throat and stood up.

"The wedding doesn't need to be called off," he starts, walking around the table as his royal advisor quickly raises his hand with an exasperated sigh.

"Sir, with all due respect, there's absolutely no possibility her parents will allow you to—"

"That's not what I'm saying. The wedding will continue, but it won't be mine."

Sae rounds the table, approaching you and Rin with relaxed steps. Rin feels you go rigid in his hold, and he does the same once Sae comes and stands behind you two. Before either of you can react, Sae's hand is under the table and snapping around Rin's wrist—pulling it out from under the table as he holds up your intertwined hands for everyone to see.

The look of absolute mortification on Rin's face almost makes him smile.

"It's a good option. We'll have these two think about it and let us know what they decide later, but it'll most likely work out. I'll allow it, since these two can't seem to keep their hands to themselves or their eyes off of each other. It's disgusting how obsessed they are with one another."

You and Rin look towards Sae, identical faces of absolute bafflement: you both stare at the elder with wide eyes, flushing with embarrassment at his bold move. Sae doesn't spare either of you another glance as he turns towards the other council members, who mumble their agreement at the prospect.

Sae lets your intertwined hands go before heading back to his seat. You don't dare to look at Rin now—you always knew there was a possibility of you marrying him, but you never thought it would actually come to pass. Now you needed to talk to Rin more than ever before anything was confirmed. He sits there, stiff as a board and silent just like you, but he doesn't let go of your hand. If anything, his grip tightens just the slightest bit.

A serious look crosses over Sae's face as he sits back down, and everyone seems to be holding their breath as they wait for Sae to address the real issue at hand.

"The boy... he's going to be a problem. No one will marry me knowing I have a half-blood son. I'm sure you all know how picky people are with keeping their royal bloodline pure and all that. But that means he won't have a mother, and I won't be here often enough to raise him."

The murmuring starts again at once, concerned whispers flooding the room instantly as everyone tries to come up with some sort of a solution. Suddenly, a voice from the back rises.

"Could we put it up for adoption?"

There's an uproar of protest as everyone turns to the voice in bewilderment. The council member sinks into their seat with embarrassment, apologizing profusely for even suggesting the idea—but Sae doesn't seem bothered by it at all. His chin is perched on his fist, and he merely sighs before leaning back in his chair.

"It's a possibility if we can't come up with a solution. Stop being so rowdy and give me a better idea instead of complaining."

Some people were suggesting having the boy be raised by the servants in the manor, but Sae was insistent on making sure he had a proper mother and father. Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi were too old to take care of a baby—so that was out of the options, too.

You and Rin could take care of it. If anyone's thinking it, no one has the courage to voice it. Sae considers the idea silently as everyone discusses solutions noisily around him. He knows he can't speak the possibility into existence yet—he didn't even know how Rin would react to possibly marrying you; it seemed like too much to dump a baby into the picture too. Sae was running out of options, that was certain, but he wasn't going to force anything onto Rin until you two had talked.

Sae glances up to look at you and Rin. Both of you sit side by side, with neither of you speaking. Rin's brows are furrowed, and he seems to be in deep thought. You look nervous, peering up every few minutes with a small frown at every obnoxious suggestion said in regard to what to do with the baby. At some point, Rin's hold on your hand had become considerably tense, and you brushed your thumb over the back of his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

There was also the possibility that Rin didn't want to marry you. The entire situation was becoming far too messy, and you could feel yourself sinking further and further into your seat. After another hour of arguing that led to nowhere, Sae ended the meeting curtly and stated there would be another meeting some other time. Now that everyone had been dismissed, they were beginning to file out of the meeting room to leave. You look over at Rin hesitantly, only to find he was staring at Sae. You couldn't make out his expression nor what it meant.

"Do you want to talk to him, Rin?" you question softly, and Rin swallows the lump in his throat before nodding slowly. You gently pull your hand out of his grasp; his touch lingers on you for a second longer before you pull away completely, and you blend into the crowd a moment later and disappear out the exit with everyone else, leaving Rin and Sae alone.

You had absolutely no idea what would happen now.

Marrying Rin? It almost sounded too good to be true. But what would happen to Sae's son? There were far too many factors to consider.

With not much else to do, you found yourself walking down the manor's hallways in an attempt to try and clear your head. There was an inordinate amount of things going on, and you needed to take a step back and think about what you wanted to do.

You liked Rin. You liked him a lot. But you had no idea how he felt—you two had never once discussed what was between you, and you can imagine he must feel just as conflicted as you did. You knew there was something between you two, but would Rin ever want to go further?

It wasn't an appropriate time to go look for Rin now. The sun had set hours ago, and it felt like the manor was asleep with the lack of people you saw in the halls. With no other idea on what to do, you head back to your room.

You would just have to find Rin tomorrow. Getting ready for bed, your movements feel more sluggish and slow than usual. There's a gnawing feeling in your chest that won't go away—telling you that you're not going to be able to sleep peacefully until you talk to Rin. You're not sure how you'll be able to rest with so many issues untied, but there didn't seem to be anything you could do about it now.

Rin was most likely asleep now since it was so late. You could knock on his door and check since he was only a few rooms down, but you quickly shake away the thought with a sigh. Slowly, you untie your hair from your usual updo, take off your makeup, and slip into a simple nightgown. The soft fabric hugs you in a warm embrace, and after brushing out your hair, you walk towards your bedside table to blow out your candle when you hear a sound.

It's muffled and soft, so quiet you almost miss it at first. You don't move, listening closely to see if you can hear it again, and just when you think it's gone away, it starts up once again.

Slowly, you lower yourself onto your knees and allow your head to dip low enough where you can press your ear against the floor. You hear it much clearer now; the gentle vibrations coming from Rin's piano are as distinct as they are marvelous—blending together as naturally as watercolors.

The revelation that Rin was awake in the music room right beneath you is startling.

You've never heard him play at this time of night before. The melody he strings together has you sinking onto the ground completely, and the sound of his music is just as soothing and magical as you'd remembered. You picture Rin's slender fingers moving about the piano as artfully as they did the night you first met him, and you let yourself stay on the floor for a few minutes longer to listen.

By the time he starts up his next song, you've already grabbed your candlestick and started your path downstairs towards his music room.

There was no way you'd be able to sleep knowing Rin was awake—there was no use in even trying, because you were sure you'd end up staying awake to listen to him play anyway. Your footsteps are hurried and purposeful, and while you're not entirely sure what you'll say to Rin once you find him, you know you can't wait any longer to see him.

You open the door as quietly as you can, slipping inside and gently locking it behind you. You watch Rin's fingers come to a slow stop, and you move forward until you're standing right beside his piano stool. You're holding your breath, clasping your hands together nervously as he turns to look at you.

"Hi, Rin." You offer with a hesitant smile.

"...Hello."

He moves over wordlessly to make space for you to sit beside him, and you make sure to keep a little more distance than usual between you two once you're seated, only because you're not sure how Rin felt. His response is immediate—brows pulling together as his lips tug into a small frown, but he doesn't say anything, just quietly watching as you carefully place your candle on the edge of his piano's top.

The warm glow of the candle highlights every feature of yours in a fiery gold, and Rin's eyes widen a bit when he sees your hair is down. You're in a simple nightgown and not wearing any makeup either, and he's positive his heart is stuck in his throat. The soft curve of your cheek looks far too kissable in the candlelight, and he inhales sharply when you finally turn to look at him.

"I heard you playing from my room and couldn't ignore it." You smile, and Rin makes a small sound of embarrassment in the back of his throat once he realizes he must have kept you awake. Before he has the chance to apologize, you speak up.

"I wanted to talk to you either way; I don't think I'd be able to sleep until I did. But if it's too late for you, or if I'm interrupting—"

"No—no, I just... came here to clear my head. Couldn't sleep either." He mumbles quickly, discreetly moving the music sheet with your name written at the top back into his folder and out of your sight as you smile, relieved. Rin notices it doesn't reach your eyes, and he tries his best to mask his concern. His brother always told Rin he had a horrible poker face, so Rin does his best to school his expression into something neutral.

"Do you want to marry me?"

Okay, maybe Rin would have been able to appear as calm and collected as Sae usually does if you hadn't asked him that question outright. He becomes flustered in an instant, stammering as the tips of his ears turn a bright shade of red. He tries to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence, but after an entire ten seconds of stuttering, he simply clamps his mouth shut to avoid any further embarrassment before he takes a steadying breath.

"Yes."

You lean back a bit at his words, almost as if you weren't expecting them.

Rin's never been good with communicating how he felt. He often found himself retreating when his emotions got too overwhelming or confusing—facing them head-on was something he's always struggled with, but he wants nothing more than to lay his heart bare for you to understand. He watched his brother slip away because they couldn't talk, couldn't voice their thoughts when they were upset, and Rin didn't want to lose you because of his inability to trust—so he tries his best.

"I feel happy when I'm around you, it's as simple as that. I would never say yes unless I knew what I wanted—I was... I was mad at myself when I found out you were marrying nii-chan. It wasn't something I wanted. I'm not well versed with all the business stuff he does, and I know he's in a tight spot, but he would never ask me to marry someone I didn't want to. We can figure this out together, you and I—there's really no one else I'd rather be with than you."

Are you sure, Rin?

Rin had said yes to his brother then, and he's saying yes to you now. He's never been more sure of anything in his life. His future, his hopes, and his dreams all depended on what you said now.

You're already looking at Rin when he looks up to meet your gaze. Your eyes are glossy, and your smile is just as sweet as he remembered it to be. He can't stop his lips from twitching at the sight—can't stop looking at your lips at all. And when you lean forward, you can just barely hear the hitch in his breath.

"Can I kiss you?"

You whisper the question softly, but Rin doesn't have the strength to respond. Instead, he leans forward to meet your lips. They brush over your own once, tentatively, before his hand moves to cradle your face. Carding his free hand through your hair, his mouth molds against yours.

The kiss was gentle and timid, undoubtedly imbued with every bit of love you and Rin felt for each other, and there wasn't a single other place either of you would rather be than in each other's hold.

seven years later ⋆˙⟡

Akio stands outside his parents's bedroom door, shifting from one foot to the other before turning to look at his two younger siblings behind him. Haru and Akie are yawning, still clutching onto their blankets and stuffed animals tiredly, but they smile lazily as they peer up at their older brother.

"I can't believe you two followed me." Akio huffs, irritated, but Akie merely nuzzles into her older brother's arm with a yawn.

"You were loud. And we wanted to come!"

"Let me go in first. You guys can come in after, kay?"

The pair nods, and Akio slips into the bedroom as quietly as he can, letting the door click close behind him. It's already six am—there was a chance you and Rin were still tired, but the little pink-haired boy was ready to start his day. Slowly, he approaches the bed, poking your cheek once to confirm you're asleep before huffing and lifting one leg up and over the bed.

He crawls onto the heap of blankets, squeezing himself into the small spot between you and Rin on the bed easily as the latter stirs in his sleep. You must sense the little boy, because your eyes flutter open a moment later.

"Oh, good morning." You smile with a sleepy giggle, pressing a gentle kiss onto Akio's cheek as he huffs, snuggling into your side.

"Ma, it's six already. I can't believe you guys are still sleeping." The little boy murmurs, turning to look at Rin with a scowl—adorably appalled at the peaceful expression gracing his features.

"You're an early bird—but me and your papa like to sleep in. He's very tired, you know?"

Akio mumbles something into your chest, winding his arms around you in a bear hug as he pokes Rin's stomach with his foot.

"Dad's going to teach me how to make eggs for you. And the twins. But I really just want to make them for you."

You laugh quietly, but the sound is still enough to wake up Rin. Akio quickly rolls off of you, poking Rin's cheek with his finger as he slowly begins to stir again.

"Wake up, lazy."

"Go away."

Akio winds his arms around Rin either way right after, and you watch Rin tiredly pat the boy hanging off his back. The door creaks open a little further, and you see your twins heads poke through right after. Rin finally manages a small smile, sitting up and pressing a kiss to your forehead before beckoning the rest of the children inside.

They come in squealing, immediately hopping onto the bed and climbing onto you and Rin. Your husband yawns, circling his arms around any kid he could get his hands on while closing his eyes.

You pepper everyone's faces in good morning kisses, and after Akio's made sure he's disrupted you and Rin's sleep enough, he drags himself and the twins outside to brush their teeth and get ready for the day. Once they're out, you bring the blanket around you closer and brush your nose against Rin's.

"Hi."

"Hi, pretty."

Rin's touch is gentle as he cradles your cheek, and you both spend a moment simply staring at each other, admiring the face you've come to love more than life itself. He pulls you into his chest, breathing you in as you slump tiredly into his embrace.

He taps his pointer finger against your waist slowly, and every tap was to the rhythm of the song he'd made for you so many years ago—just like he did every morning.

a/n: oh my god...it's done...hollllyyyyYYY MOLY this took me a while but yay i'm so happy with it!! :D sae's kind of a deadbeat i'm sowwyyy 😞 rin and reader are happily married and sae's prospering overseas and doing business :p maybe one day he'll settle down, but who knows!! thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed it :))

tags: @rroxii @tsukimoon-chan @rainychi2 @cheriiepies @jukiamae @hotdogkongmalaki @theogfruitl00psmunch3r @danhoneyyysblog @mfreedomstuff @introspectiveintroverthere @ocean-mochi @kajironunaji @minasgirl @jiavirie @literallyn0ne @ankol-heap @ysvanielle 

[mreowsu]

Holy. This is so beautiful. Heartwrenching. My god

[mreowsu]

thank you for one hundred SIXTY-NINE followers!!! as a thank you, here’s my first fully fledged, written smut featuring our fav midfielder

it might not be the best of the best, but it’s my ode to you all—i hope you can feel the gratitude dripping between the words

before you proceed, if your account doesn’t have a specified age or under 18, you will be blocked immediately. please refrain from interacting if you fall into these categories. thanks for understanding and for keeping the space safe!

[mreowsu]

I’m sorry but the similes you use in your writing are…very misplaced. They never fit the tone you have for that part of the story, you also use one every other paragraph. And half the time they don’t make sense. “The grocery bags rustled like quiet applause” What? Sae moved the character like a chess piece…all he was doing was leading the character to the couch.

Most parts of writing don’t need to have metaphors or analogies to get your point across, nor a deeper meaning. If you have too many it ruins the pacing of the story. Like I said before, you use them almost every other paragraph.

It also reads like you use AI to write for you, AI is obsessed with putting together metaphors/ smiles that don’t make sense. And also ones that often time overexaggerate many scenes. AI writing adds a lot of depth to the most basic sequences which is how I’d rate your writing. I can’t say 100% that you use AI but if you do, it’s extremely obvious.

(complete yap ahead so so sorry)

Hi anon, thank you for taking the time to share this. I completely understand how you can say that and I deeply apologize if my writing came across the way you described.

I really appreciate this message because although I’ve posted a multitude of fics and oneshots, I’ve never been fully confident in my writing. I’ve always struggled with not inherently knowing exactly where and how to improve myself, and most of the time I based it on the notes or how my works are received.

My original style leaned toward lyrical prose (that’s how I was trained to write back in my uni days), but I realized it wasn’t being received as well as some of my simpler works. Then, when I wrote in a simpler style, I noticed those weren’t being received as much either. So I tried weaving in a little of poetic prose (metaphors and imagery) in hopes of maintaning a balance and engaging readers more. That’s how I ended up where I am now.

I think I've mentioned it here somewhere before how I sometimes feel it comes out bland/unfulfilling and whatnot, which is why I experiment a lot with different styles. I wanted to push myself creatively, and part of that meant trying out said metaphors and analogies. I also noticed that many other writers use them in their works, which is where I got the decision to incorporate them more often.

Somewhere along the way, I realized my writing has strayed from where it used to be, and I’ve been struggling to find that balance again. It’s not just here on this writing account—it’s something my prof pointed in my school publishing works too.

With the “chess piece” part in particular, I already debated whether to include it because as you said it did feel a bit misplaced, rven to me, but my intention was to portray sae in a more dominant light—placing the reader exactly where he wanted, rather than just depicting a neutral action.

And to clarify: I’ve never used AI for my writing, nor do I ever plan to. Writing has always been something I’m genuinely passionate about. To be honest, I’m actually quite scared of using it—my prof in uni always drilled into us that AI or any form of cheating was pure cowardice, and that has been instilled within me ever since. English isn’t my first language, never quite understood how to use it sometimes, so I know my similes or phrasing might not always land the way I hope, and for that I apologize too.

I really do appreciate this message—it’s definitely something I’ll be keeping with me in and for the future. Thank you for being honest with me; even if it’s quite hard to hear (or read haha), it gave me the guidance I needed.

[mreowsu]

massage — married life w/ itoshi sae

The door clicked shut behind you, grocery bags rustling against your legs as you kicked off your shoes. Your back screamed in protest all the way down your spine—thank the perpetually “out of service” elevator for that.

You were seconds away from face-planting onto the couch when you caught sight of him—your husband, already home. Sae pressed the towel to the back of his neck, patting absently, damp hair spilling over his temples in a way that betrayed the heat of the shower he’d just stepped out of. His face held that flat, unimpressed cast—halfway between exhaustion and irritation—but when his gaze caught you, teals flickerered steady and unhurried, the edges of it gave way, softening.

“Oh, perfect. You’re alive,” you muttered, dropping the bags onto the counter with all the grace of a martyr. “Thought practice and five press meetings would've finished you off by now.”

“You look like a grandma.”

You frowned. “That's your entry?”

“You’re walking funny.” he replied, already striding to the fridge like he hadn’t just commit assassination.

You rolled your eyes and sighed loud enough to be heard from orbit, unpacking vegetables. “Well, someone had to bring these up while you were out being… famous.”

No retort. Just the soft hiss of a bottle opening, glass clinking against glass, and then—casually, too casually, “Lie down.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“Your back. Lie down.”

“Oh, no way,” you protested, waving him off. “You’ve been through hell today. Media, training, whatever else. If anyone deserves a massage, it’s you.”

But Sae was already moving, hand finding your shoulder with that quiet insistence that brooked no refusal. He guided you toward the couch like he was setting a chess piece exactly where it belonged. “I don’t care. Lie down.”

There wasn’t room for argument in the way he said it—matter-of-fact, inevitable, like announcing the weather. And with him, resistance was laughable anyway; an athlete’s strength made sure of that. So you went, corralled by his grip, flopping onto your stomach with all the sulk of someone who’d already lost.

The first press of his hands tore a sound out of you you’d be embarrassed to admit—an embarrassing loud sound that had him exhaling through his nose, akin to a kind of almost-laugh. His fingers press deeper, mapping the terrain of your spine and cataloging every knot.

“God,” you muttered into the pillow. “That feels… unfairly good.”

“Unfairly?”

“You’re not supposed to be good at everything, Sae.”

“Not everything.” he said evenly.

His hands wander lower, dragging slow pressure down the slope of your spine. Kneading carefully—until suddenly, unmistakably, he was massaging a little too low.

Your head snapped up instantly. “Saeeeee.”

He couldn't even be bothered to act guilty. “What?”

“That’s not my back.”

A pause. Then, calmly, as if lecturing you in anatomy: “It’s connected.”

“Excuse me?”

“Muscles overlap,” he continued smoothly, like he’d prepared this defense long before. “I’m being thorough.”

You twisted enough to glare at him, incredulous. He looked perfectly unbothered, thumbs still firmly kneading at your ass with precision that was anything but innocent.

“Thorough, my ass.”

“Exactly.” His mouth curved, smug as hell.

You groaned, burying your face back into the pillow, laughter muffled but traitorous.

“Don't brat to me." He replied softly, fingers squeezing pointedly before sliding back up to your actual lower back.

The massage continued—though, with the way his palms lingered, and with how his thumbs pressed a little too reverently everytime he passed over the place he favored the most, you knew this wasn’t going to stay innocent for very long.

ⓒ mreowsu

[dreamerdeity]

Quick Kaiser sketch. If you look closely you’ll see that i gave him dimples because i have a headcanon that he has them…

[mreowsu]

[mreowsu]

midfield — jersey #10 giving up being the greatest striker.

he waits by the half-lit gym. the walls wear fluorescent hums like fear. your shoelaces fray into that ache, too much—each pull a heartbeat stretched thin.

“pretty warm tonight,” you breathe, voice low enough to blend with the rigged hum of the concrete. sweat bears down the side of your temple.

“it’s always warm.” his words land on static—trying to keep the hollow out of their shape.

you glance at him, searching. “no, i mean, back home… it wasn’t like this, right?”

the question dangles, brittle, between two rooms whose doors he has already closed.

he doesn’t answer. he stands. because moving is safer than not.

night folds in. he thinks of scraped knees and low tides, the smell of late summer cicadas. he replays your hand on his wrist, sand brushing into something warm he thought he left here too. how far that feels now—

if he lets himself want, for a heartbeat, he knows he'll shatter.

so he trains. steps harder on drills. lets fatigue dull the world. sleeps when he can.

madrid swallows its stars whole, hangs them back up in his chest when he sleeps.

days bleed.

the pitch is a mirror. it reflects only the hours he has given up, the ones he’ll never get back. green that isn’t green, life that doesn’t breathe. stretched past its edge, devoid of color.

every pass, every shot, another piece that costs him.

wanting is a useless language here. it does not translate. it catches in the throat, in the cotton of dorm sheets, in the hiss of the air conditioning that never quite comforts.

he tries sometimes—half-thoughts on the walk back from training, words that start as your name and end as static.

you linger anyway, like the phantom weight. he thinks of your hands, the clumsy knot you’d make at his collar. how you’d laugh at the cold, call it soft, call it nothing. there is nothing soft here. only sweltering heat and the taste of iron behind his teeth.

at night, the ceiling presses lower. the bed feels too narrow for what he’s lost.

he doesn’t clasp his hands together and pray, beg. he doesn’t ask. he runs laps until the world smears. stares at the stadium lights until they bloom red. he tells himself this is what growing looks like—something that splinters, and not something that heals.

morning comes gray, as if the sun couldn’t be bothered to rise all the way. the train windows sweat cold, each breath clouding the glass. you sit across the aisle, one knee drawn up, chin resting on it. the city outside slides past in dull streaks of concrete and steel.

he watches your reflection more than your face. it’s easier that way—less like looking, more like tracing something. your mouth moves, some offhand remark about the way madrid always smells faintly of diesel and oranges. he hums, doesn’t answer.

the train rocks. you move with it and almost bump your head by the window. his fingers twitch where they rest on his knee.

you then offer a piece of bread wrapped in tissue. “breakfast,” you say, unaware of the brewing in his mind, his being.

he takes it. it tastes like nothing. or maybe it tastes like the morning before the world turned foreign, when bread was just bread.

for a moment—just one—you lean your head back against the seat and close your eyes. he almost does the same. almost lets the weight of the motion carry him somewhere softer, somewhere closer to the shore where your scarf once brushed his arm, where the sea never asked him to be more than what he already was.

but the station arrives. the moment doesn’t.

he stands before you open your eyes.

practice is the same as yesterday. the same as every day. cold breath. sharp lungs. the field swallowing his name like it has to known it.

you walk ahead on the way back, bag slung over one shoulder, your silhouette framed by streetlight halos that flicker.

this city does not deserve you.

neither do i.

he thinks too much, and still never says a word.

at night, the sheets hold no warmth.

at night, he traces the silence you leave behind like it’s a map back home.

if wanting had a place here, it would sound like your voice saying nothing at all.

the days bleed without edges. sun up, sun down—just a smear of light over concrete. sometimes, he counts the hours by the sound of cleats on pavement, the whistle's shrill bite, the taste of salt that isn’t sea.

your voice floats somewhere behind him, always a step late. it’s softer here than it used to be, like it’s been sanded down by all the things you don’t, couldn't say.

“coach said the next match is three towns over,” you murmur one evening, fingers knotting the strap of your bag mindlessly.

he nods.

home feels like a myth—something veteran players talk about when they want to sound human, something to pretend they haven't been swallowed by bright light. he used to think distance was just geography, something a flight could undo. now he knows better. distance is a language too, and he’s losing fluency.

you laugh at something on your phone. the sound ricochets in the hallway—bright, clumsy, almost cruel in how alive it is. he bites the inside of his cheek until the copper floods his tongue. because for a second, he wants to ask what’s funny. for a second, he wants to step into that sound and stay there.

but his shoes are already facing the other way. his hands are cold even when they shouldn’t be.

at this point in your journey in madrid, you’re supposed to want everything—fields to run, streets to own, futures with too many doors. but here, wanting is a luxury. here, wanting is a bruise you press just to make sure you can still feel it.

he wanders if you press yours too.

the dorms reflect the city outside and drag its night across the asphalt. it all sounds the same: foreign, endless.

his phone screen lights up. a message from his brother.

— rin (9:39 PM):

how’s training, nii-chan?

he stares at it until the screen dies. the words rot there, unsent. what can he say? that he hasn’t seen himself in days, weeks, years? that his chest feels like a goalpost someone had forgotten to score?

that you’re the only familiar shape left in this place, and even you are slipping?

he rolls over. counts the cracks in the ceiling. the bed frame creaks like it wants to say something.

yet he never said anything.

rin’s message remain unopened.

morning again. his knees ache before his feet hit the ground. he pulls the laces tight—too tight, maybe. it doesn’t matter. nothing here breathes unless you force it to.

on the walk to practice, your sleeve brushes his. once. accidental. enough to remind him of what it used to mean.

he doesn’t look. he can’t.

once, there was a time he wanted the world to see him.

to score. to stand at the mouth of the goal and feel the crowd swallow his name whole. you and rin at the fence, cheering until your throats ached, the late summer air tasting like tangerines and lakewater. back then, it felt simple: aim, shoot, become.

but madrid is not built for dreamers. it is built for survivors. and strikers—they burn too fast here. they want too much. they ask to be remembered, and in return, the city asks for everything.

midfield is quieter. a position that only demands the rhythm. it is the kind of place you go when you still want to be on the field but not in the crosshairs.

one night, after another practice that leaves his throat tasting like iron, he lies awake and traces the lines on the ceiling like they’re passing lanes. if he can’t be the one to finish it, maybe he can be the one who starts it. maybe control is safer than glory. maybe building the play hurts less than watching it fall apart.

“you always wanted to be up front,” you say once, during a lull between drills. your voice is half-remark, half-memory.

“things change.” it comes out flatter than he means it to.

you squint at him like you’re trying to find the boy who used to shout about hat-tricks with dirt on his cheeks. maybe you see him. maybe you don’t.

“midfielders run more,” you tease, a thin smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

he doesn’t tell you that’s the point. to run. to move. to stay busy enough that the wanting can’t catch up.

the coach starts noticing—how his passes thread tighter, how his vision stretches wider than the box. you think before you shoot, the man says one cold morning. that’s rare here.

he remains silent. it’s not thinking. it’s surviving.

the dream he had with rin—of goals, of the kind of glory that earns posters on bedroom walls—sits somewhere behind his ribs, brittle now. he wonders if rin still imagines it that way, if the little brother still believes in the big brother who promised to score enough for them both.

he almost texts him that night.

i’m trying something new.

but the phone stays dark.

you fall asleep in his dorm. the city hums below like it’s chewing its own tongue. and he lies there, feeling the field shift beneath his feet—one step further from the boy he was, one step closer to someone he doesn’t yet know how to name.

midfielders don’t dream of goals. they dream of control.

they dream, similar to how a boy who once wanted to score now only wants to survive the game.

ⓒ 2025 mreowsu / All rights reserved.

[mreowsu]

where we used to build castles — the sea may hold his secrets, but the water never forgets.

— itoshi sae, itoshi rin

violence, angst, near-panic attacks, death-adjacent content, strangulation, asphyxiation, blood, graphic detail of injury (broken bones)

※ just a heads up, this fic starts off sweet w/ sae and get really sick and twisted with rin. i advise for you to please read the cw and proceed at your own jurisdiction. thank you! ※ this is gonna sound cliché, but english is not my first language. so i ask of you to bear any errors which i know there are, thank you!

a pair of shoes tumbles before the step homewards in the genkan, a grunt heaves from you as you reach down to hook your fingers in the open mouths to place them tidy amongst other pairs.

“thanks for walking me back,” you say, casting a sideway glance at your companion. your eyes narrow, already bracing for an incoming smart remark. “even if it’s just six houses away.”

sae shrugs. “didn’t want you falling asleep standing up.”

“as if you'd catch me if i did.” you yawn, plopping a seat on the step of the genkan.

sae doesn't say anything. instead, he moves toward the empty space next to you, lowering himself into a seat.

but before he can settle, you spring back to your feet. his brow lifts in quiet confusion, catching the way you’re giggling at his expression. you turn away, stepping inside—only to feel your socks betray you, sliding across the freshly polished floor.

because the genkan is far too fucking wide for you to grab ahold of a wall, you let out an involuntary wail, a high-pitched noise somewhere between panic and despair, arms flailing as your legs scramble for grip. it’s a pathetic sound—loud enough to echo against the empty hall.

in a desperate attempt to save yourself, your hand latches onto the nearest thing—sae’s head.

your fingers clutch his hair like the claw of a crane machine, yanking upward as you twist your body to keep balance. the wail tapers into an awkward groan as you finally manage to steady yourself in the most absurd pose imaginable, one foot twisted behind the other.

there’s a beat of silence. you slowly turn your head, heart pounding to see him below you—one full palm braced against the floor, his back caught mid-fall, hair sticking up between your fingers where you yanked like you’d damn near uprooted him.

he looks up at you, deadpan, while you’re still frozen in your awkward stance, clutching his head like a trophy you didn’t mean to win.

the ridiculousness of it all hits you, and you let go like you’ve just realized you were holding fire. a choked laugh slips out—half hysterical, half wheeze. “oh my god… you—i—”

sae doesn’t move. “are you done?” 

you're not. you're doubling over, clutching your stomach, the laughter spilling out like you've completely lost it. “your face—i almost killed you—”

“you almost killed yourself.” he mutters, running a hand through his hair with a sigh as if this is somehow your fault.

you stagger back a step, still giggling, wiping at your eyes. “i’m sorry, i swear i didn’t mean to grab you like a—like a claw machine prize.”

he pushes himself up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “you’re terrible at walking.”

“no, it’s the floor,” you shoot back between snickers, pointing an accusing finger at the glossy surface. “it’s polished within the inches. i was set up.”

he gives you a flat look, the kind that says he’s not buying it, then walks past you like nothing happened.

you watch him, still trying to catch your breath. “wow. no sympathy, huh?”

“you lived.” he says simply, heading for the kitchen like he owns the place.

you trail after him, muttering under your breath, and grab a glass from the cupboard. cold water rushes from the tap, and the sound steadies you a bit.

“want some?” you ask, holding up a second glass.

he glances at you, expression soft under the kitchen lights. “yeah.”

you fill it and carefully walk over, planting each foot like you’re crossing a minefield. he takes the glass from you, fingers brushing yours for a split second—enough to make you overly aware of the warmth.

you lean back against the counter, sipping your water with exaggerated nonchalance. “sooo,” you say, “do you always escort people six houses down just to watch them nearly die in their own home?”

sae sips his water slowly, eyes flicking up to meet yours over the rim. “only you.”

you choke on your drink a little, coughing, while he turns away to set his glass down like he didn’t just say that.

then you ask if he wants anything else. he only shakes his head.

“no. i’ll just head home. we have an early morning tomorrow.”

you nod, gulping down the rest of your water, the coolness washing away the lingering heat of embarrassment. setting the glass aside, you follow him back to the door.

the night air seeps in as you slide it open. he steps into his shoes while you linger by the door, hand resting on the frame. there’s a beat where neither of you moves.

“i’ll walk you,” you offer, almost casually.

he gives you another of those looks of his—flat, the kind that makes you second-guess yourself. “you’re walking me home now?”

you mirror his expression without missing a beat. “i’m being polite.”

for the first time all night, his mouth twists, not into a smirk but a sneer. it’s faint, but it pulls at his features in a way that tugs at a memory—rin’s face, sulking and bitter, flashes briefly in your mind. the resemblance is uncanny; you're struck by how alike they are in moments like this. you bite back a laugh, thinking how much rin would hate that comparison.

sae doesn’t say anything, just shoves his hands in his pockets and steps out. without thinking, you fall into step beside him.

the summer air is still warm and heavy, clinging to the edges of your skin. streetlights hum above, their glow pooling faintly on the pavement, and somewhere in the trees, cicadas drone—a low, constant chorus that stitches the night together.

you walk side by side, shadows stretching long and thin, barely brushing. neither of you talk much, but it doesn’t feel awkward. silence always settles between you that says everything without saying anything at all.

you arrive at the entrance of the itoshi estate sooner than expected. the gates stand tall, sleek against the dim glow of the solar-powered lights lining the path. the house looms beyond, parts of it swallowed by the dark, save for the warm glow of a single light upstairs.

“he’s still out?” you ask, squinting at the window.

“probably,” sae mutters. “told us he was with friends.”

you snort. “and he says they aren't his friends.” 

sae doesn't say anything. the silence folds back over the two of you, thick and still. you shift your weight, toes curling against the edge of the pavement.

“well… i’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” you say, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes.

sae steps forward, close enough that the faint scent of summer clings to him. the breeze teases a loose strand across your cheek, and without thinking, his hand lifts. fingers ghost over your skin as he tucks it back, grazing the side of your face with a touch so light it almost isn't there.

“yeah,” he says, voice low—softer than the night air.

you keep his hand there, leaning into the warmth, and meet him halfway. your lips press a quick, lingering kiss to the side of his face—fleeting, but enough to leave something burning in the air between you, a spark that hums long after you pull away.

his hand abruptly slips from your cheek as you turn, the movement almost reluctant, as if it wishes to stay. but you take off quickly, not daring to look back, and so you miss the way he stays there—rooted to the spot, the night holding its breath around him like he is. the glow under the streetlight spills over him, catching on strands of auburn—his current shade so close to the strands it almost blurs, as though the night itself softened to hold him in its light.

sae watches as your figure retreats into the night, each step pulling you deeper until the shadows and the heavy summer air seem to swallow you from his sight. yet his eyes follow, tracing your outline long after it’s gone, as if by sheer will he can keep you from disappearing. 

8:12 PM

your phone buzzes against the desk, screen lighting up the dim of your room.

— (8:12 PM) rinnie boy: can you meet me at the usual spot? wont take long.

you stare at it for a moment, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. no greeting. no explanation. just straight to the point. you laugh under your breath—quiet, hearty. it’s so him. so rin. 

you don’t text back. instead, you slip the phone into your jacket pocket and tiptoe out of your room, tell no one. the house remains still as you move through it like a ghost.

the front door groans open on its hinges, a muted creak breaking the stillness. you leave it unlocked, a small, silent promise to yourself that you’ll be coming back.

outside, the night air wraps around you once more with the smell of summer earth; you inhale deeply, filling your lungs until it almost aches, then tilt your head back as you exhale slowly, watching the breath disappear into the darkness.

above you, the moon hangs high—silver and clear, its light spilling soft across the quiet street.

how pretty.

the neighborhood fades behind you, each step carrying you closer to the edge of the trail where the scent of saltwater thickens in the air, sharp and familiar. ahead, the distant crash of waves rises and falls, a low, steady heartbeat calling you forward.

you know this path by heart. it’s the same one you’ve taken a hundred times before, back when summers were endless and the sea belonged to you, sae, and rin. even now, the memories cling—you can almost hear their voices chasing each other through the dark, laughter bouncing between the trees.

the rocks appear first, jagged silhouettes against the pale sand, and you smile faintly at the sight. how many times had you dared each other to climb them barefoot, only to scrape your knees raw? you step closer, the sand crunching soft under your soles.

the beach opens up before you, quiet with the low glow of the moon on the water. the tide reaches lazily across the shore, then slid away with a sibilant sigh, leaving behind trails of moonlit fissures.

you crouch at the edge where the sand meets stone, fingers curling under the hem of your shoes. they slip off, the cool air brushing against your socks. you peel those off too, tucking them into the shoes before setting both aside neatly.

the rocks usher you down slowly, hands brushing against the rough stone for balance, the sea growing louder with every step. the moonlight cuts across the water, a trembling path of silver leading straight into the horizon, and you follow it with your eyes, heart thrumming.

the sand is cold, the grains soft and shifting between your toes, clinging as if they don’t want to let you go. you breathe in deeply, the salt in the air biting at your lungs, while the wind threads through your hair, pulling at it like an old friend. for a brief moment, the night feels almost gentle—wrapping itself around you with the same warmth it once held in summers past.

as you walk further, the sand darkens, damp and heavy, sticking to your skin with every step closer to the water’s edge. the sea breathes in and out, each wave folding over itself. you smile faintly because this place has always been yours—yours and theirs.

and there—where the tide stretches to kiss the shore—you see him. rin stands unmoving, the wind tugging at his hair. his back is to you.

you pause for a moment, your steps slowing as your eyes trace the rigid line of his shoulders. even from here, you can see how tightly he’s wound, every muscle locked like he’s holding something back. is he cold?

the wind bites sharper the closer you get, and he looks as if he’s been standing there for some time. how long has he been out here, waiting in the dark with only the sea to keep him company? the thought settles heavy in your chest, but you keep walking, drawn to him like the tide to the shore.

8:22 PM

“you’re late,” rin’s voice cuts as he turns to meet you.

you laugh softly, brushing hair away from your cheek as the wind nudges it back. “only by five minutes.”

but there’s something in the way he stands—something brittle and trembling, like glass stretched thin to the point of shattering—and it stills your laughter in your throat. you take a step toward him, then another, the sand giving way beneath you. “what’s wrong?”

“why him?” he says, and immediately, the words don’t sound like they belong to him at all. they rip free, raw and jagged, like something torn from his throat—stripped of the calm you’re so used to. it’s not the voice of rin who teases, who sulks, who hides behind sharp remarks—it’s something darker, something that trembles with anger and something else you can’t name. it sends a shiver crawling up your spine, because for the first time, you’re not sure if he’s asking you, or if he’s asking himself. “and why was it always you?”

you blink, stunned, his words ringing against the roar of the sea. “rin, what are you—”

“you could’ve chosen me,” he whispers, and there it is—laced with something fiercer, something akin to a storm tearing itself apart. “you could’ve stayed.”

the tide swells at his voice, a sudden surge against the shore, louder, harsher, like the sea itself recoiled with him.

it unsettles you—like standing barefoot at the shoreline, the tide lapping at your ankles, each wave pulling sand from beneath your feet as if urging you. to answer to it—and you would if it were any other time. the sea had always been beautiful. but tonight it feels like the trick of the tide—soft one moment, pulling the next.

your gaze meets rin’s, and find the ocean staring back at you.

its surface seems to burn, swirling with a fierce, impulsive light—lit by sharp, unspent fury. harsh breeze churning like waves struck by a storm. it’s something desperate enough to ignite the water itself, and you feel it crawl up your ribs like the start of an undertow.

it’s a sea that doesn’t wait for you to swim. it seizes, it drags, it devours.

it is so how unlike sae it is. his waters never lunge. his tide a patient pulse that presses gently against your ankles, again and again. his sea is quieter, cold in the right places and almost still, but the brined winds are sharp where it must be. a calm that only cuts those who venture too deep, but with you, it was always a quiet hush.

“rin, you’re my—” but the words tangle and catch, fraying on your tongue. a friend, a brother—something not enough. and whatever else you might have said is swallowed by the storm raging in his eyes.

then his hand moves—faster than thought, faster than fear. the impact explodes white behind your eyes as his fist collides with your face. blood rushes hot and sudden from your nose, the metallic taste flooding your mouth.

teal eyes flash—something jagged caught between fury and remorse—just as your balance slips. the tide lapping higher as you stumble backward, the shore vanishing beneath your feet. cold bites at your shins, then your knees, then your weightless plunge. and before you can catch yourself, the ocean spreads its arms wide and cradles your falling in.

you thrash on instinct, the salt scalding your eyes, lungs searing as you break the surface with a ragged gasp. “rin—!”

but his hands are on you again, holding you, forcing you under. the sky fractures above, stars scattering like shards of broken glass as your vision blurs, bleeding at the edges. the waves roar in your ears, louder and louder, until the world narrows to nothing but sound and the searing panic in your chest. your hands swipe blindly, clawing at his sweatshirt’s arm, nails catching and tearing through the fabric as though in doing so would unmake his hold. your mouth parts to scream—but the sea swallows it. your cry turning to bubbles that rush upward, burst and disappear into nothing.

through it all, through the burning in your throat and the darkness curling at the edge of your sight, you see his eyes.

they hover above you, unnaturally bright against the hollowed dark of his face, catching light where none should linger. glowing faintly as if the moonlight itself had sunk into them. they churn—alive and uncontrollable. they hold you there as surely as his hands do, burning with anger and grief and something you can’t name.

your breath curls into ribbons of nothing, lost to the waters. and still—still—you see them.

amidst the sea against the rocks, they are like seaglass kissed by the sun. like the ocean caught mid-breath, like light bent and refracted through water until it becomes something softer, something sadder. they burn into you, the only thing that does not blur no matter how the world folds in on itself.

you want to tell him they’re beautiful. you want to tell him they’ve always been beautiful. but the water chokes the words before they can leave you, drowning them as easily as it drowns the last air in your chest.

and then—suddenly—the pressure around your throat eases. almost as if the fury has burned itself out. his grip, once the anchor dragging yoy under, shifts—hesitates—then slide from your neck to your shoulders. his fingers tremble against your salted skin as it continues to your back, gathering your unmvoving body as if something fragile, breakable. fingers that moments ago threatened your life now clutch at you with a different kind of desperation, hauling you up, up, as if the sea itself might seal you away. 

he drags you through the dark, breaks you through the skin of the sea with you in his arms. the night air rushes in like a gasp, cold and trembling, kissing your face where water could not. 

but it’s too late.

the fire in your chest is gone, the weight in your limbs drags you down from within. even as he holds you, the tide claims you, resting you in its cold embrace, rocking you.

your body drifts, weightless, and your gaze stays locked on his. even as the world dims, even as everything else fades, those eyes remain—the storm-tossed fury is gone, snuffed out like a wave receding from the shore.

what’s left is something unsound, something breaking—tears gathering at the edges, trembling before they spill. they catch the moonlight as they fall, glimmering like tiny shards of glass, sliding down to the apples of his cheeks, ripened red from the cold and from something far colder.

amidst your fading consciousness, as your hearing betrays you and the roar of the waves swallow all else, you catch them. your throat raw from the water, you force out the words anyway.

“...i’m sorry…rin..”

even as they scrape from your lips, hoarse and thin, your gaze finds his tears. the salt on his face mirrors the salt in the sea, and for a fleeting instant, all you want is to reach out to him, bring comfort to him, to tell him it’s okay, but your hands—still clutching at him—feel impossibly heavy. your limbs refuse their service and only a scarce breath escapes you.

he sees it—or at least, he sees you try. and in that frozen instant, panic and horror and love all collide in his gaze.

you’re still alive.

you no longer hear the waves, or the wind, or even the loud thread of your own heartbeat. but through the haze of your rapidly darkening vision, you catch the shape of his mouth, trembling as it forms words you can’t reach.

“no, no, no—i’m sorry!”

his voice doesn’t carry to you, but the desperation does—cracking, splintering under the weight of your name. 

you feel him wipe at your busted lip, again and again, only making it worse. his knuckles brushing the cut like he can erase the damage he put there. salt stings it. his breath hitches, catching in his throat like barbed wire.

the sea sloshes cold at your back, your legs, pulling, but rin pulls harder—hauled up against him with frantic, jerking movements. his hands are everywhere at once: his thumbs drag beneath your nose, pushing the wet hair from your face, his palm cups your chin but trembles too hard to hold you steady, snearing the blood across your cheeks in his rush to find you under it all.

“come on—hey—breathe,” he stammers—no, begs—his voice cracking and frayed, words spilling without aim. like the prior storm-wracked in his eyes. he shakes you once, stills, then shakes again—too hard, too desperate the longer you don’t react. CPR doesn’t even cross his mind, the sheer urgency of his panic burns out reason—there’s only the animal, blind instinct to have you respond to him.

your nose is bent at an ugly angle, blooming a bruise warping the bridge of your nose, the swelling, the slick blood pooling in the hollows of your face. his breath stutters as he presses there, gently at first, then firmer as though coaxing bone back into place could undo the way your breath rattles. he sees your eyes dull, the life draining out of them—staring, unfocused—and that terrible, terrible thing crawling up his throat as your life slips through his fingers: what have i done?

the fury returns in his eyes—at himself, at you, at the world—but it’s drowning fast, collapsing under the weight of horror. he’s still shaking you, but it’s softer now, like shaking is the only thing left he knows to do, and it’s failing him.

the waves is too loud. it presses from all sides. too heavy, too cold. his arms are the only warmth, and even that is fading.

the sea holds you, his arms are around you, but it’s his eyes that cradle you, and you realize as the darkness at last swallows you, that they are the last piece of the brothers you take with you.

the sea keeps all secrets.

there’s a place in kanagawa where the waves don’t reach too far up the sand.

where the wind isn’t harsh, and the sun sets slow.

they’d build lopsided castles with toy shovels, scold the tide for ruining them, try again anyway.

“this one’ll last.”

“let’s build it taller than yesterday.”

“if we make it far enough from the water, maybe the sea won’t touch it.”

and the brothers would nod. every time. because if she said so, it must be true.

tonight, the stars are out.

they scatter like shards of glass across the black, sharp and cold, but still burning. they watch silently from above, distant witnesses, as if they too, remember.

but rin doesn’t notice. not the stars, not the sky—he barely notices the cold creeping up through his soaked socks, numbing his feet. the weight in his hands heavier than he ever imagined, dragging at the back of his shoulder blades, his arms, at his chest—its struggles slowing, weakening, until it settles into something unbearably still.

she’s not fighting anymore.

only her hair moves now, fanning out on the surface—like seaweed, like something untethered, like a ghost.

something in him breaks open when her body finally slacks—utterly, fatally still. his hands fall useleslly at her sides, then clutch again. tighter, tighter, until his nails leave crescents in her skin. his head bows, forehead to forehead, breathing shaking and hot with the salt of the sea and something bitter.

“i didn’t…” he starts, low, lost. caught between throat and chest, too heavy to form properly. “i didn’t mean—”

the words refuse to leave, sinking like stones in water, pressing down against his tongue. each breath shudders through him, ragged and trembling. carrying weight of everything he cannot undo.

he tells himself it’s not happening. that if he just blinks hard enough, he’ll wake up. maybe in the old room he shared with sae, maybe in 2012, sunburnt and laughing, ten years old again. knees scraped raw from the beach, the smell of salt clinging to their skin.

her voice would be there too, ringing sharp and bright in his ear. 

“rin! look at this crab! it’s waving at you!”

but this one isn’t a crab.

it’s her hand.

floating.

limp.

8:34 PM

he didn’t mean to do it.

that’s what he keeps telling himself.

he’d just wanted her to say it. that all this time, he hadn’t been invisible. that sae could see him too. hadn’t stolen her too.

“why him?” he asked her. “and why is it always you?”

she said something, he can’t remember what. perhaps, he never really heard it. it wasn’t what he wanted. it wasn’t enough.

he doesn’t remember the way his hands were moving.

doesn’t remember his fist flying toward her, the shock in her eyes before the edge of the dock.

he doesn’t remember pushing her into the water.

doesn’t remember holding her down.

only the way his name left her mouth last.

soft. breaking. gargled.

8:39 PM

the grains lodge under his nails. salt stings every raw scrape on his fingers. he’s still breathing hard. shaking. half-choked on sea air and something copper. he’s still on his knees when the tide rolls in.

the same tide they used to play tag with. the same one they used to pretend was magic. that they could tame it.

“if you stand really still,” she told rin once, “you can feel the ocean’s heartbeat.”

right now, he can’t feel anything.

not even the fresh color of scarlet tainting the water, painting his palms. not even the faint pulse from her neck.

his hands fall away from her, and the waves rise to claim what’s left—washing the blood into the dark, swallowing it whole.

he stands, but the sea does not absolve him.

the water cleanses everything but him.

he nudges her with his foot, a small, almost reluctant motion that sends her drifting farther out. her shoulder rolls with the tide, the moonlight catching on pale skin. for a moment she floats—weightless, suspended—before the current claims her again, pulling her under like she knows how to hide.

his fingers tremble when he pulls off his sweatshirt. leaving him in a thin, white undershirt. the fabric bears the evidence of the chaos, but it’s not in tatters; it’s still whole enough to be folded. a dark, wet stain mars the hem, obvious against the fabric. he folds it once, twice, balls it up tight, and the bundle disappears into the underbrush along the cliff trail, down the path no one goes to anymore.

his socks squish with each step. squelching and waterlogged. so, they're off next. they are cold and suffocating, and he peels them off like skin—like shedding something rotten. flings them into the ditch and lands by the service road, swallowed by weeds.

his shoes go back on bare. the laces cut into his skin. they bite, and he lets them.

he doesn't run. running would make it look real.

so he walks—slow, steady—each step measured against the pounding in his chest. he pats his sand-ridden pants as he passes the forgotten footprint trails that won't survive the tide. past the rocks where the three of them once sat shoulder to shoulder, necks craned to watch fireworks bloom and die in the sky.

rin’s gaze catches the shoes she had kicked off before making her way down the rocks toward the beach. he snatches them up without a thought, tossing them into the underbush, burying them in the shadows. evidence, he knows. and he can only hope the sea carries her body far, far away before anyone finds it. 

he moves past the gnarled tree they’d used as a goalpost, where laughter once clung to the bark. the echoes now twisting in his chest like a cruel reminder of what’s been lost.

by the time he gets home, it was a quarter to nine. his fingertips are raw, skin scraped from stone and salt, every nerve humming with exhaustion and a carefully maintained air of nonchalance. but underneath it all, he’s shitting himself.

his parents don't notice his missing clothing. nor the dampness clinging stubbornly to his pants. they never paid too much attention, after all. never asked too many questions, never lingered long enough to see.

rin passes by his older brother’s room. sae had just returned from spain with her—something about renewing visas—and earlier, rin had seen the two of them together. although sae had seemed to have no plans to stay at the house, he knows his brother is in there; he caught sight of sae’s shoes by the genkan. sae had stayed, after all—conveniently along the way after dropping her home.

sae is probably already asleep, unaware of everything that’s happened. 

rin swallows hard, picturing the scene tomorrow… tomorrow, when practice rolls and she doesn't show—what will his brother do? the thought claws at him akin to earlier on his skin. sae isn’t cruel, not entirely. he’s still a human, with rules, with morals. capable of emotions, capable of normal worry. but rin knows the sharp indifference, the cutting edge of his brother’s personality—the same edge that had scarred him one snowy night—shall it slice through tomorrow.

he imagines sae pacing, almost see the sharp line of sae’s jaw, the narrowing of his eyes as frustration blooms, the quiet gnawing disappointment in his brother’s eyes. lips pressing into a thin line as he processes the absence. maybe a sigh, a terse question, or an eruption of pointed words—but ultimately, concern will bloom through the cracks, because sae may be blunt, but he has a conscience.

the weight of guilt presses hard against rin’s ribs. constricting and unforgiving. he could lie, fudge the truth, pretend. but he knows sae. the truth, when it finally strikes, will land like a storm.

and rin, passing by, can only feel the weight of what’s coming, he can’t stop it. he can only brace himself for the reckoning he knows is coming.

he showers without thinking. the water runs hot, so hot it burns the skin at his shoulders, but not enough to scald away what clings to him. the steam clouds the glass, curling around him like a shroud. there’s blood beneath his nails—thin, dark crescents that refuse to wash out. he digs at them, scrubbing until the skin around them furthers, reddened and raw. he tells himself it’s rust from the swing set they used to fight over. he tells himself it’s nothing.

each lather, each scrub of his arms, his chest, is frantic, desperate. the water beads and rolls off, but the water only runs red, then clear, down the drain, but not the weight in his hands. it doesn’t wash.

he reminds himself again that it’s nothing. tells himself she would’ve said sorry for making him feel this way. 

he swears it. each pass of the soap like a prayer, each rinse like a wish, like a child trying to trade his soul for a do-over.

he tells himself again that it’s fine. you cleaned it all. you didn't mean it.

she would have forgiven you.

and that’s the worst part. she would have.

if he’d cried. if he’d said sorry. if he’d just reached for her instead of pushing her deeper where the water swallowed her screams.

she would’ve hugged him. told him it’s okay. like she always did when sae ignored him. when he was mean.

she would’ve forgiven him for murder.

he swallows the bile blooming at the back of his throat, bitter proof that guilt has a taste—and it lingers.

his fingers rake through his hair like sand, as if he could tear out the memory with the strands. the water runs down his face, hot enough to sting his eyes, but not enough to erase the image of her hair fanning out on the water, the way it wrapped around his wrists like bounds—soft, silken chains that burned more than any rope could.

his fingers rake again and again through hair, across skin, searching for something that was never his to hold.

not her hand.

not her throat.

not her forgiveness.

but he digs anyway—into his scalp, into his own flesh—if he tears deep enough, he might find it buried there. as if pain could trade for absolution. as if depth could turn back time, as if the tide hadn’t already swallowed her laughter whole.

the water runs hot, then scalding, then cold, but still he digs. because stopping would mean admitting it’s gone. admitting she’s gone. and the only thing left of her is the memory that won’t let him go.

it clings to him, even as she sank. how it tethered him to the moment he wishes he could wash away, the moment that will never loosen its grip.

with each desperate handful of sand, he stacks apologies he’ll never get to say.

walls to keep the tide from coming in.

turrets of denial rising against a storm that won’t stop.

the shower hisses to a close, the last threads of steam curling around him like smoke. he tilts his head back beneath the dying spray, relentless—like the phantom trace of nails once dragged down his back, something that dared to fight even as it yielded.

it’s almost punishing, but not enough.

it can’t beat the blood out of his hands. can’t strip the ghost of her touch from his arms. can’t drown out the sound of her voice saying his name for the last time.

as the water slides down his face, he remembers her voice, small and sure, from summers long ago. the three of them crouched by the shore, watching the tide eat away at the edges of a sandcastle they’d built too close to the waves.

“my nana always tells me that the sea never forgets,” she had told them, eyes bright as she traced circles in the wet sand. “the water holds memories. it keeps them, even when people let go.”

back then, he’d laughed, throwing shells into the foam. back then, it was just a story.

now, every drop feels like it should cleanse, like it should take the weight from his shoulders, but instead it reminds him—water remembers. it carries things. it holds them close, even when no one else will.

and no matter how hard he scrubs, no matter how hot the water runs, it leaves him standing there with the same stain seared into his chest.

some things, he realizes, are never meant to wash away.

the tides watch.

and the sea never forgets.

extras

— (7:55 PM) you: You made it home safe, right?

— (7:57 PM) pest 🦟: yup!

— (7:57 PM) you: Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.

— (7:57 PM) pest 🦟: oh haha oh nooo i think im sickk

— (7:58 PM) pest 🦟: i wont be able to come to practice tmrw i think cough cough

— (7:58 PM) you: You are not getting out of this.

— (7:58 PM) pest 🦟: 😰😰

> read

— (8:18 PM) you: Thanks for earlier btw.

he deletes it. Retypes.

— (8:19 PM) you: Thanks for walking with me.

sae hesitates, thumb lingering, then hits send.

minutes stretch. he scrolls up, eyes catching on the last message she sent—something silly, something mundane, just minutes ago.

— (8:23 PM) you: You’re not asleep yet, are you?

the screen stays blank. he exhales, turns onto his side.

— (8:34 PM) you: Guess you are.

— (8:34 PM) you: Call me when you see this.

he types one more, softer than the rest, almost like he’s saying it out loud.

— (8:39 PM) you: Goodnight.

ⓒ 2025 mreowsu / All rights reserved.

[mreowsu]

What's your fav kph song ? 🫣

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS TUUUURN IIITTT UUUUUUUUPPPPPP ‼️‼️‼️

[mreowsu]

MIDTRms ARE FINANLLY FDONE AND I CAN RETURN TO MY CAVE AND WROITE FANFICS LIKE A TEENAGE FIRL