hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
Series Summary: Satori Tendou is your best friend, but you fuck for fun.
Chapter Title: Act I, Scene 3 â Pomegranate
Chapter Summary: Work is a nice distraction sometimes. Satori uses it as his own personal way to forget the shit he doesn't want to think about. It's a shame that said shit walks through the front door.
Chapter Content Warnings:Â afab!reader, tendou's pov, college au, friends with benefits, no strings attached, angst, jealousy, competition, insecurity, tension, sexualization of a fruit (my bad), dirty pictures / suggestive conversation, multiple partners (not cheating)
Word Count:Â 5.4k
A/N:Â After many moons, she's back and in the same exact outfit she wore 6 months ago. crossposted to ao3 ofc.
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âSo what if they're seeing someone else?â Wakatoshi says, tossing him the small, round figure theyâd been throwing back and forth. âHas that stuff ever really bothered you before?âÂ
Satori is a contradictory person, he thinks. There is a lot about him that he feels defies definition. An unplaceable sense of desire that radiates from every crevice in his body. Something about him that he can both hide, but never hope to conceal.Â
âNot really,â Satori responds.Â
Heâs reclined on his bed, his neck craned at an awkward angle against the headboard. Wakatoshi sits across the room at his desk chair, one foot pushing him absentmindedly back and forth.Â
âSo whatâs the issue?â Wakatoshi questions, his baritone voice bouncing lightly off of the walls.Â
âNot really sure,â Satori says, turning the object over in his hand before tossing it back. âI just donât⊠like it.âÂ
âBut you donât wanna go out with them?â He raises the question like it baffles him, which Satori supposes that it does. Wakatoshi has always been⊠monogamous, for lack of a better term. When he likes something, he goes for it without thinking about anything else.Â
Satori isnât quite like that. Thatâs not to say that heâs considerate, because consideration requires a sort of awareness for others that Satori lacks in a very abstract sense, but heâs calculating. What Satori does, he does because he wants to and because it feels right, but he considers the dynamic of it. He thinks often about what âcould beâ in an extreme sense and then seeks out that thrill with whoever he has in mind.Â
âItâs not really in the agreement,â Satori laughs dryly and with no particular disdain.Â
âIt could be,â Wakatoshi says, his ideal state of mind peering through.Â
Satori just gives Wakatoshi a pointed glance before turning his attention to the window.Â
Late November this time of year sees the beginning of snowfall and as December begins to get going in full swing, snow comes down often. Thick, powder-like clusters flurry past his window outside, clinging to the small divots on the outside of the window. It begins to crowd his view and if he were to glance out of the window, heâd see that the streetlight outside is hazy and looks somehow distant.Â
âI like what we have going though,â he says, not with any particular sort of conviction. âIt works for me and itâs nice. The sex is good and their company is great. It seems like a shame for it to end.âÂ
âThey havenât said anything about ending it yet though, have they?â He tilts his head.Â
Satori shakes his head noncommittally, shrugging his shoulders briefly.Â
Itâs true that you havenât. The two of you tip-toe carefully around the subject of your relationship to Bokuto, but you never break it off. Each time you finish and lay sweat-soaked and panting in each otherâs company, Satori gets the distinct feeling that itâs coming, but it never quite does. The ball never drops and he vaguely feels like thereâs a space there for him to speak. To maybe be the bigger person and do it himself. He doesnât think he will though, he likes this far too much to end it.Â
âNot yet,â Satori says. âBut theyâve been seeing each other for more than a few weeks now and from what I know, itâs pretty regular, so⊠you know⊠matter of time, I guess.âÂ
Wakatoshi doesnât really say anything. Heâs never been a man of all too many words. Satori shouldnât find his silence unsettling, but for some reason he does. Itâs like a quiet confirmation.Â
Satori is an idealistic person at times. The world, for him, is played in saturated color. Itâs vibrant and it glitters. Heâs never been all too preoccupied with the negative side of situations because when things sour, Satori is exceptionally good at cutting his losses. Thereâs fun and then thereâs not fun and they exist in two completely different universes. Satori happens to exist in the fun one, where he never has to take anything all too seriously.Â
Maybe itâs a negative quality of his. He sometimes thinks that if he never takes anything too seriously, heâll never have to worry about getting hurt, and if heâs always having fun, thereâs no room for pain. Satori doesnât like pain or discomfort. He has a very low tolerance for it and heâs never been too keen to stick around and see where the limit is. Of course, the flip side of this is that Satori inadvertently causes pain wherever he goes. Carelessness acts as a sort of medium for it, one that he himself manages to circumvent.Â
You have been the first arrangement where heâs avoided that particular discomfort. The discomfort of causing another person pain. You just get it and in the process, you get him.Â
âThe futon is in the closet,â Satori says, sinking down into his bed and pulling the comforter up to his chin.Â
He hears Wakatoshi get up from the chair and it gives a distinct click as it moves back into its fully upright position. Thereâs the gentle squeak of the thin closet door, the soft sound of a blanket rustling, and then the click of the closet latch. Satori listens as Wakatoshi lays the futon out on the carpeted floor beside his bed, the distinct ruffle of it as he throws it out and slowly lays it down. As Wakatoshi crawls to lay down, Satori glances over at him, watching his friendâs broad body get under the blanket heâd laid out with it.Â
âYou know that itâs really impolite to make your guests get out their own futon, right?â Wakatoshi says absentmindedly as he settles in.Â
âYouâre more like family,â Satori grins, the corners of his lips curling up. âAnd since Iâm older, you should do it yourself.âÂ
Wakatoshi blows a quick puff of air out of his nose and Satori gives a small chuckle as he settles in. Thereâs a long beat of silence as Satori turns out the light and they lay in the dark room. He can hear as Wakatoshi turns over and then finally settles and lays on his back.Â
âI think itâs worth talking to them about,â Wakatoshi adds, picking up the previous conversation as if it had never stopped. âYouâre stupid if you donât.âÂ
Satori lets out one quick laugh. âMaybe Iâm stupid, I donât know.âÂ
Wakatoshi groans a little and Satori is a bit surprised to see him show that sort of frustration over something other than volleyball. He laughs a little and stares at the ceiling.Â
âWhat?âÂ
He hears the sound of Wakatoshi shaking his head against the pillow. âNothing. It just sounds to me like you like them.âÂ
âWell,â Satori muses. âI do. Obviously. Theyâre one of my best friends, how could I not?âÂ
âLike that?â Wakatoshi emphasizes.
Satori just sort of hums noncommittally and it isnât long before the room has settled into silence, evened out by Wakatoshiâs breathing.Â
Satori supposes that there may be love there. There has to be. Maybe itâs not the kind Wakatoshi thinks heâs looking at, but Satori is near certain that it exists.Â
â
Satori works part time in a small izakaya. Itâs an out-of-the-way, run down place, but he likes it. At first, he only picked up the job to help pay for his car, since the shit-mobileâs expenses were dipping a little too far into savings, but now, he finds that itâs a nice escape. For some reason, the space feels like heâs just walked into a picture.Â
It hasnât been redecorated since the place opened and itâs dressed in a classic Japanese style. The space is small, no more than 8 tatami mats for the sitting area, giving it a pleasantly stuffy and crowded feel, and it always smells vaguely of barbecued meat and beer. Satori thought the smell was unpleasant at first. He didnât like the way it clung to his clothes, giving the impression that heâd spent the evening drinking, but now heâs grown rather used to it. Itâs become one of the many smells he sometimes carries with him.Â
The outside of it is modest, just down a step from the sidewalk, with a small sliding door that is always open during daytime business hours. Thereâs a glowing neon sign just outside, protruding from the side of the building and into the alleyway. Itâs the most marketing this place does, but that suits it fine. Most of its customers live in the neighborhood anyway and tourists are infrequent visitors, as there are far trendier bars in Sendai.Â
The inside is homely and gives the distinct impression of having walked into somewhere familiar. Just inside the doorway, there is a small area to remove your shoes, along with cubbies lining the wall. As Satori enters, he sees a few pairs of shoes already inside and he slips his own off carefully and puts them in the staff section along the other side of the entryway. Harunaâs shoes are already in there. A pair of neat black flats, worn at the toes and creased just behind where the balls of her feet would be, tucked squarely into the left middle cubby. She stands on her tiptoes a lot. Akioâs shoes are also in the cubbies. He wears a pair of old white sneakers with soles so worn that theyâre completely smooth in the center.Â
His work shoes, the uniform ones meant for the kitchen and behind the bar, are just beyond the main room and around the corner. Satori enters the izakaya without a bow. Heâs so accustomed to being here that he no longer does it and Haruna just tosses him a pointed look from where sheâs rounding the corner to the staff area.Â
âYouâre late,â she comments. âYour shift started ten minutes ago.âÂ
Haruna has a pointed way of speaking. Her words are sharp on her tongue and almost nothing slips past her.Â
âYou keepinâ track of my punch card now, Runa?â Satori laughs, breezing past her to punch it in the old fashioned machine by the wall. Itâs not even automatic. Satori has to physically push the stamp to make it work.Â
âNo, Iâm keeping track of when I get to go home,â she scoffs. âWe only have a thirty minute overlap today and I canât leave if youâre not here.âÂ
âBut I am here,â he teases.Â
âYouâre lucky Daisuke likes you so much,â Haruna scowls, scrunching her nose.Â
Satori shrugs his shoulders and fastens his apron, walking behind the bar without a proper response. Haruna just shakes her head a little.Â
Sheâs really not a bad person. Haruna is actually really enjoyable and Satori likes working with her, sheâs just⊠particular about how she works. She doesnât like working longer than sheâs scheduled. It fucks up her mojo as she would put it. Satori finds it endearing, despite her being nearly six years older than him.Â
Haruna actually works two jobs, one in a retail office and another here at the izakaya. Her other job is what the flats are for. He only ever sees her actual shoes on weekends.Â
âWhat are you even doing here?â She says, coming to stand next to him behind the bar as she gathers small plates on a tray. âYou donât usually work Thursdays.âÂ
Sheâs right. Satori usually works on Sundays, Mondays, and Fridays.Â
âYasu called out, so Iâm covering,â he states plainly.Â
âWhy are you doing that?â She pulls a face.Â
Satori places a beer in front of a customer at the counter and then leans one hand on the bar. He lets his weight rest on his shoulder, causing it to rise to his ear as he tilts his head.Â
âAre you not overjoyed to see me?âÂ
Haruna doesnât dignify his tease with an answer and he clicks his tongue with mock-disappointment.Â
âNeeded a break,â he says.Â
âSo you came⊠to work?â She laughs, a plate topped with sprouts in her hand. âYeah, right.âÂ
âYeah,â he smirks, âI needed a break so I came to work. You gonna keep grilling me and wait for those bean sprouts to become full-blown mung beans or what?âÂ
âSmartass,â she mutters.Â
Satori hums again and itâs not long before sheâs back around the corner and serving a table on the far end of the izakaya.Â
He falls quickly into a rhythm, calling back orders to Akio in the kitchen. Satori disappears a little when he works. Itâs like he goes on autopilot. Satori doesnât like rules, but when he goes into work by choice, especially when he feels he has a lot on his plate, he seems to appreciate the work flow a little more. Besides, his job is relatively relaxed. As long as Satori serves drinks and food, heâs golden.Â
Of course, another one of his stress relief methods is photography. Pictures of the things he likes, beautiful things that some people find ugly or without taste. Usually sexual thingsâpornographic, as his classmates might say. In his second year, Satori did a photo series in his film photography course centered around a pomegranate. He only used one and he carved it up over the course of many days. He let the fruit bleed, nearly rot, and photographed it throughout the process. He liked the color of it, so red and inviting, and the photos seemed to give off the distinct tarte smell of the peel. His classmates said that it made them particularly uncomfortable and that the pomegranate, which was really just a fruit, no longer felt like something inanimate by the end of the photo series, but rather something aliveâor something that was once alive. Itâs a little abstract, but thatâs exactly what Satori was going for.Â
He canât really take photos in this situation. Lately, youâve been a bit of a muse to him. There are aspects of you heâd like to photograph and when Satori wants to photograph something, he canât seem to stop thinking about it. He thought about that pomegranate for weeks. About the roundness of the juice-full seeds, the way they began to dry out and the ones that survived long enough to shine amongst the bunches of dried pulp. A small part of him regrets not eating it.Â
Ideally, heâd like to disappear into the lens of his camera for a bit. Look at the world through the little window at the top of it and enjoy the December season behind glass. Maybe it was a bit of a hasty idea to make you the central point of his project for his self study class. After his conversation with Wakatoshi earlier this week, heâs afraid that the pictures will chronicle his marvelous, long overdue downfall. By the end of it, the photos will no longer be of your back from a few inches away, but rather of your face in a crowd of people heâs never met, surrounded on all sides and taken from feet away. He never wants to use a distance lens on you. Heâd take your picture with a microscope if he could, if only to see the cellular composition of your skin.Â
Heâs deep in these thoughts when the inner paper door of the izakaya slides open with a thud and a raucous composition of three voices. His coworkers welcome them in, but Satori is so caught up in the thought of you and the pomegranate that he forgets, idly wiping at a glass in his hands and staring blankly at the shining, translucent rim.Â
âTendou?â A voice calls, baritone and confident. They sound almost surprised.Â
He looks up from the class and is greeted with eager, gold eyes and thick expressive eyebrows.Â
âBokuto,â he says, his lips curling into a faux smile. So much for getting his mind off of things. âFancy seeing you here.âÂ
âWell, we were in the area,â he laughs a little, motioning his head to the people who begin to seat themselves at the bar near him.Â
There are two other people with him, a girl and a boy. The boy he recognizes as someone who usually hands around Bokuto, but heâs never seen the girl before. Sheâs got a mid-length, reddish-brown bob and calm eyes. She doesnât look up as she peruses through the menu and Satori gets the distinct feeling that Haruna might like her.Â
âYou gonna drink, Akaashi?â Bokuto turns to his friend with a raised eyebrow.Â
âMaybe,â he says, âIf I get a beer are you gonna pressure me to drink four more afterwards?âÂ
âWhen have I ever done that?â Bokuto questions.Â
âYou do it every time we go out to drink,â the girl chimes in. âWhy do you think you always have to beg him?â Then, she turns her attention to Satori. âThree beers and two orders of beef skewers, please.âÂ
âThatâs so not true,â Bokuto responds indignantly. âBut also, why end the party just âcause your glass is empty. Might as well get more.âÂ
âHere he goes,â the girl laughs.Â
âYukie, donât just order for me,â Akaashi chides the girl for getting him a beer.Â
âYou know youâd have caved eventually,â she says calmly. âLetâs not go through all the back and forth this time. Bokutoâs a hard person to say no to.âÂ
âHey, woah,â Bokuto turns to Akaashi and gives his friend a genuine look. âYou never have to do anything you donât want to. Iâm just saying that Iâll be so crushed and sad and depressed if you cancel the order. Thatâs all.âÂ
Bokuto speaks earnestly, like he doesnât realize how hypocritical he sounds as he talks and his friends chuckle pleasantly at his airheaded demeanor. Itâs too late to cancel the order anyway. Satori eavesdrops on their conversation as he fills their glasses with the house beer. Heâs already pouring the third. Akaashi is getting one whether he likes it or not.Â
âThree beers,â Satori sets them down in front of each of them. âSkewersâll be out in a second.âÂ
âThanks man,â Bokuto says, pleased as he takes a sip of the amber liquid. âDrink up, Keiji.â
The grill is just behind the bar facing the guests. Since the izakaya is rather homestyle, Satori prepares and grills things like skewers directly in front of guests, though itâs not really for performance purposes. Right now, he wishes that Akio were in charge of cooking things like this. That way, Satori wouldnât have to stand directly in front of Bokuto and his friends for all too long. No matter, he can deal with it. Itâs not like he particularly dislikes Bokuto.Â
âI thought youâd be with ____ tonight,â Bokuto says brightly as Satori places the first of the skewer sets on the grill. Akaashi gives him a somewhat mortified, sideways look.Â
Satori smirks down at the grill and flips a skewer with one hand. His lips curl at the corners and he pleasantly takes in the idea that Bokuto had assumed youâd be with him.Â
âWhat makes you think that?â He smiles, his words a little slimy.Â
Bokuto shrugs his shoulders, leaning up to look at the meat on the grill. He doesnât spare Satori a glance as he watches it.Â
âWell, theyâre usually with you no?â He says evenly. âOtherwise theyâre with Yuki. Maybe Alice or Keiko. Oh, not this Yukie, though.â He jostles the girlâs shoulder and she lets out a huff of air as she struggles not to spill the drink held up to her mouth.Â
Satori shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head briefly at the assumption that he wouldnât have noticed that this Yukie is an entirely different person from the one he met at the party. Then, he gives Bokuto a slick grin and returns his attention to the meat on the grill, satisfied with Bokutoâs relief. Â
âYou know,â Bokuto starts, âIâm a little relieved theyâre not with you right now. The idea was making me jealous.âÂ
Satori furrows his eyebrows and lets out a small laugh. Bokuto looks almost bashful, though not in an insecure way. Instead, the statement almost gives him an indiscernible look of unknowing confidence. Bokuto doesnât have to worry about divulging this information to Satori because he doesnât even view it as a competition. Neither does Satori really, but it irritates him that Bokuto is so nonchalant about his confidence. Itâs almost like heâs sure that things will work out for him. Satori isnât sure if thatâs something with his personality or something that you told him, and the idea unsettles him.Â
âWell, Iâm here,â Satori says, plating two skewers of meat and starting on the next two. His eyes dart up to look at Bokuto over the tops of his cheeks, tone dipping slightly with the next part of his statement as his lips curl up in the corners. âAnd so are you. No harm, no foul.âÂ
Bokuto nods his head a little at the slight. He picks up on it, Satori can tell that much, but if it bothers him, he doesnât let it show. The comment rolls off of Bokutoâs broad shoulders and he moves on to the next topic with an almost unintentional ease. Yukie glances up at Satori briefly, her expression closed and unreadable before she returns her gaze to Bokuto.Â
Even the steam from the skewers gets caught up in Bokutoâs social pull. It floats towards him evenly, almost as if itâs drawn to the openness of his expression. Satori idly works on the second plate of them, turning the wooden skewers with his bare hands over a crosshatch grill. Bokutoâs voice carries and as Satori busies himself with the remaining order of skewers, he can see the way other patrons of the izakaya glance at where he sits at the bar. He passes the plate over the counter, setting it down in front of the group.Â
âLet me know if you need anything else,â he offers before starting off to the other end to help a few other patrons.Â
Satori briefly studies the sort of looks Bokuto receives, his eyes slinking across strangersâ expressions. Most of them, it seems, are admiring. They look at him as if there is something there to be desired, something theyâd like to take for themselves or experience. Bokuto carries on with his loud conversation obliviously and Satori wonders if he truly doesnât notice that people are looking at him or if heâs so accustomed to it that it no longer phases him. Itâs likely the latter and Tendou furrows his eyebrows momentarily before setting down a glass of dark beer in front of an older patron. She thanks him with a practiced smile, curling her shoulders forward as she takes a sip.
âHey!â Bokuto calls from across the bar. His voice rises above the conversation in the room and if the whole room werenât already aware of his presence, they certainly were now. âCâmere for a sec.âÂ
Bokuto waves Satori over casually and he obliges, slinking over and leaning forward on the bar with a raised eyebrow. Bokuto raises his glass of beer to his lips with open posture, tilting his head up slightly and taking a large gulp. Thereâs not a hint of shyness in his movements. All of it is executed with an oblivious, admirable confidence.Â
âYes?â Satori questions, glancing at the half empty beer in front of him. âYou wanna prematurely order another drink?âÂ
Bokuto swallows and sets his glass down, shaking his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Akaashi makes a face at him.Â
âNah,â he says, leaning forward a little. âI wanted to ask you something.âÂ
Tendou raises an eyebrow and Bokuto offers him a broad smile that feels too friendly for their relationship. Itâs all teeth, surrounded by full and round lips.Â
âYou and _____,â he starts. Yukie sighs heavily and glances at Akaashi, who shrugs his shoulders in a defeated manner. âWhatâs going on there?âÂ
Satori is caught off guard by the question, though he really shouldnât be. Bokuto has proven time and time again to be so forward that it borders on stupid.Â
âWhy do you ask?â He grins lightly.Â
Bokuto gives Satori a bashful look, running his hand down his face to cover the expression he wears. It does little to hide it and the gaps in his fingers and color of his cheeks betray a recklessly confident emotion that makes Satori wonder through what light Bokuto even sees him.Â
âAh, well, you know,â Bokuto says. âWeâve been talking.âÂ
Satori nods slowly, subconsciously chewing the skin on the inside of his cheek. What he wouldnât give to be able to leave this conversation.Â
âSo?â Boktuo presses.Â
Satoriâs lips curl up in the corners, his expression twisting into something cat-like and aware. Itâs not quite friendly, but Satoriâs never had that sort of face.Â
âWeâre friends,â he offers.Â
âFriends?â Bokuto says, perking up a little. âWhat kind?âÂ
âGood friends,â Satori says, sticking his tongue in his cheek so that it rests over a sharp canine.Â
Bokuto nods, his body language opening up a little bit. Satori examines the way he moves, the confidence in the breath he lets out, as if the idea that Satori might be lying has never even crossed his mind. That, or it betrays the idea that Bokuto doesnât even view Satori as being in the same playing field. Both are irritatingly casual and he rolls his head over his shoulders as if to rid himself of the tension.Â
âSo you donât mind?â Bokuto adds, his words a little more measured. âIf I ask them out?âÂ
Satori momentarily grits his teeth, raising an eyebrow as he returns Bokutoâs gaze. On either side of him, Akaashi and Yukie are suspiciously minding their own business.Â
âWhy would I mind?â Satori answers, hiding the way his stomach clenches unpleasantly. He greases up his words with a curled smile, as if the idea is amusing to him.Â
Bokuto looks at him for a moment before setting both of his hands on the counter and leaning back with a wide grin.Â
âThatâs good,â Bokuto says, his tone returning to the light and somewhat airheaded tone he usually maintains. âProbably would have made things awkward if you did when we start goinâ out.âÂ
Bokuto says this with his head angled down, picking up a skewer and taking a bite out of it.Â
âOh, this is good,â he says to Akaashi, putting the skewer in front of his face. âTry it.âÂ
Satori comes to the quick realization that Bokuto hadnât been asking for permission. Heâd been letting Satori know that heâll be asking you out. It wasnât a question of if he can, but rather a warning that it will happen regardless of what Satori wants. The arrogance of it makes his skin crawl.Â
Thereâs a confidence about Bokuto when he talks about you. Something intrinsic within his person. A haughty, unabashed confidence that things will just work out for him, so much so that he hardly seems to notice when he says something arrogant. Even worse, his arrogance comes across as justified.
Itâs rare that people genuinely get on Satoriâs nerves, but Bokuto does. Bokuto grates on him like sandpaper and Satori canât help but click his jaw as he turns around and returns to his duties. Thereâs something in the way he talks about you, as if youâve already handed yourself over to him, that makes Satori feel uneasy. It would be unfair to say that youâre Satoriâs. After all, itâs just sex, but he canât help but feel some sort of possessiveness over you. Youâre not just a fuck buddy either, youâre a friend, someone he connects with on a very real level. To have Bokuto reduce the relationship between the two of you to something as definable as âmindingâ provokes him.Â
Of course, this sort of thing is likely inevitable. Itâs not like Satori plans to put any sort of ring on your finger. Shit, he doesnât even intend to put any sort of label on it. For Satori, this is fun. Itâs fun heâs not exactly eager to give up. Itâs his. This discomfort, however, toes the line and he can feel the way the urge to just let go creeps up on him. Satoriâs never been all that much of a fighter, even when it comes to the things he adores. Boredom follows displeasure quite quickly with him.Â
Bokuto and his friends linger for the larger portion of his shift, chatting idly. Like Yukie said, Bokuto pressures Akaashi into quite a few more drinks and by the time they leave, the two boysâ figures are swaying as if thrown softly off their axis, pushed and pulled by imaginary breezes. They settle their tab with cash on the counter and clamor out with a final wave. Yukie, the soberest of the group, stops in the doorway to give Satori a look that he can only interpret as apologetic. The sort of look you give someone who has started a losing battle.Â
He laughs to himself at it, lowering his gaze as he clears away their plates and wipes down the counter. None of them even know the half of it. Not the way you whisper to him, the way you look at him, the curve of your body in his camera lens. What do they know about the two of you?Â
â-Â
The air outside is cold when Satori steps out of the izakaya and shuts the sliding door behind him. It makes his cheeks and nose feel like theyâre being pinched and as he exhales, he can see the billow of clouded breath that leaves his open mouth. The street is calm in the way city streets get on weekdays in the late evening and the streetlamps create a familiar glow across the black pavement. He pulls his phone out of his coat pocket, studying for a moment the way his knuckles redden in the cold.Â
Satori: Saw your boyfriend today.Â
You: Not my boyfriend.Â
Satori grins at your message, exhaling through his nose and shaking his head. Heâs unable to hide his pleasure at the quickness of your response.Â
You: Where?Â
Thatâs a little less funny.Â
Satori: Work.
You: I thought you didnât work today?Â
Satori: Someone called out.Â
You: Sucks lolÂ
Satori tucks the device and his hands away in his coat pockets after liking the message, stepping further out into the street and starting off in the direction of his apartment. He focuses on his breathing, distracted by the way his breath comes in clouds that he leaves behind. His cheeks burn and his lips are chapped from the delicate nip of the cold. A thin layer of snow tucks itself away at the edge of the street, fading out into puddles on the road.Â
Some part of Satori regrets the answer heâd given Bokuto. So noncommittal and careless. Heâs never been one to give the whole truth, but itâs obvious to anyone that the two of you are fucking. Even his photography class knows it.Â
For some reason, it makes Satori feel worse that Bokuto didnât even squirm. He hadnât even stopped to consider that maybe heâd lose. What Bokuto would be losing, he isnât sure, but he knows that it never even crossed the other manâs mind.Â
Satori hates losing. Heâll stop competing if it means he doesnât have to admit that he did. Heâd rather not play at all than get burned doing it. Even when he played volleyball, heâd been noncommittal. When his team lost in his final year of high school, heâd let it roll off of his shoulders because it was just for fun anyway, the thrill of the game. Whatâs fun about a game where he loses? Or worse, a game that he wasnât even considered to compete in in the first place but thought heâd been playing all along. Yukie had given him a look like that, like he was only on the team to be kept from being left out. Satori likes high stakes, but heâll take the bets he knows he can win.
His phone buzzes in his pocket as he gets back to his apartment, vibrating quietly in his pocket when he slides the key into his lock.
You sent an imageÂ
You: How about something like this for your photography project?Â
Itâs a dimly lit photo of your legs, cut off just before the apex of your thighs where they meet your center. One knee is bent, leaning against the other outstretched leg, and in the mirror across from you he can just barely make out where your bare ass rests on your duvet cover, shadow hiding the place on you he most wants to see. He stares momentarily at the photo, feeling the way blood rushes to his lower half.Â
Satori: Iâd rather keep something like this for myself.Â
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.
When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.
Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity
All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.
Word Count:Â 14.4k â 53k total on ao3
A/N:Â it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.
Two hundred and seventy six. Itâs been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You donât really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else.Â
The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone youâre not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldnât follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why youâve brought it along with you all this time. Thereâs no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.Â
Maybe itâs because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend youâre in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment.Â
The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.Â
Itâs easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when theyâd cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, youâd do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like itâs holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you donât want to hear.Â
Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you supposeâif left on your ownâwill burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.Â
A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.Â
You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.Â
"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent.Â
You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight.Â
"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula."Â
The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the manâs features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.Â
You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity.Â
"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.Â
You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word âgroundâ. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands.Â
Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.
"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed."Â
He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.Â
"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.Â
"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.Â
"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?"Â
The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I donât want your shit."Â
You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane.Â
"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid."Â
"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess."Â
The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now.Â
"Got a name?" he asks.Â
You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. âYou want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?âÂ
You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling.Â
"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?"Â
You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.Â
"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am."Â
He nods his understanding.Â
"Come with me."Â
"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if youâre stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both.Â
"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed."Â
You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that heâs willing to take you there at no cost.Â
He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"Â
He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesnât look so promising.Â
"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to."Â
"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?"Â
Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.Â
"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."
You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything youâve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldnât go with him. What if theyâre dangerous? Itâs easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesnât exist. Or worse, itâs easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you donât know yet if heâs the type to delude himself. He doesnât seem it.Â
The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesnât have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if heâs too heavy to be swayed by any missed step.Â
As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees.Â
Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. Itâs relatively small, for how large the world is, but itâs some of the most open space youâve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where youâre both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you.Â
By the edge of the clearing, thereâs a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that itâs likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation?Â
"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!"Â
In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You canât make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room.Â
Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him.Â
âYeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned."Â
The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost.Â
"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while."Â
"Well, I'm back," he says.Â
"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.
"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. âI found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didnât bring them back.â The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word.Â
"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?"Â
Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check."Â
Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.
"You must be tired.âÂ
When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?"Â
"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?"Â
"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, donât tell anyone."Â
You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell?Â
"Sounds like a good deal," you say.Â
You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn youâd assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock.Â
Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki.Â
"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..."Â
She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him.Â
Thereâs an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.
âUhmâŠâ you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you.Â
âYouâre okay,â Mina says lightly. âPlenty of time to get to know you when youâve rested and had something to eat.âÂ
Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.
"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting.Â
"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't."Â
Those listening in the group nod their affirmation.Â
"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?"Â
âLike you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.
"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day."Â
The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. Youâre salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. Thereâs something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen.Â
"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if youâre at all concerned with the implication that she doesnât do much work, "they know weâd hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this."Â
Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isnât just her doing it.Â
"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can."Â
You canât really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe thatâs rude, but you donât have the energy to consider it. Thereâs food in front of you. Food that doesnât taste like itâs been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months.Â
The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You canât relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up.Â
They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, youâd done this around a fire with the people you loved. Youâd passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit.Â
âSo, where did you come from?â Izuku at the end of the table asks.Â
It takes you a moment to realize that heâs talking to you and thereâs an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words.Â
âLeave them be,â Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. âThey just got here. Theyâre probably freaked out.âÂ
The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together.Â
âI think,â she says with an awkward laugh, âit may be time for bed.âÂ
Mina turns to you. âIâll show you where you can sleep.âÂ
You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that youâre grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words donât come. Instead, you meet Katsukiâs gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away.Â
â
âItâs just up here,â Mina says as she guides you through the house.
You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. Itâs like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.
âThe bathroom is across the hall,â she says. âYou can take a shower if you want. Iâll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.â Â
You nod.Â
âNo worries if you donât,â Mina adds in a whisper. âWhen I first met everyone, I didnât undress to bathe for days so⊠take your time. We wonât be offended.âÂ
She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. Itâs not much, but itâs nicer than anything youâve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You havenât had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You havenât felt safe enough to properly wash since youâd lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric.Â
You probably shouldnât. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still donât know these people or what theyâre capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet.Â
The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though itâs cloudy, thereâs a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse youâve had of yourself in weeks.Â
You donât know who youâre looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animalâs, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person youâve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if youâd ever encountered them.Â
You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant.Â
The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing.Â
The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You donât look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your bodyâa part of yourself you never really recognizedâwould drive you over the edge.Â
Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. Thatâs fine. Beggars canât be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, itâs warm enough outside that the water isnât too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldnât be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring.Â
Thereâs a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. Itâs simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if youâve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. Itâs dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark.Â
The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. Theyâre someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it werenât for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back.Â
The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that itâs safe out of habit.Â
Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and youâre unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didnât get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway.Â
Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. Theyâve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you werenât sure even existed anymore, yet youâre sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.
The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that youâve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath youâd been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment.Â
The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and itâs entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now.Â
The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and theyâre made of dark wood. Theyâre steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner.Â
Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner.Â
âOh,â Kiri says, âdid you need something?âÂ
You shake your head. âNot really, I just couldnât sleep.âÂ
Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. âWell, you look like you feel a little better at least.âÂ
You pad over to where heâs doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you havenât experienced in a long while, even with your last group.Â
âAre you sure we canât get you something?â Mina says, furrowing her brows.Â
âWhy are you all being so nice to me?â You ask. âYou donât know the first thing about me.âÂ
âIs there some reason why we shouldnât be nice to you?â Kiri says over his shoulder.Â
âNo,â you shake your head. âI just think itâs reckless, thatâs all. I could have been anyone.âÂ
Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like theyâre debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina.Â
âWe donât usually decide to do this so quickly,â she admits. âWeâre friendly, but nobodyâs that friendly anymore.âÂ
Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning.Â
âBut, Katsuki doesnât usually bring people in,â she continues.Â
âHeâs a little more closed off than the rest of us,â Kirishima adds. âHeâs a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.âÂ
âMhm,â Mina says.Â
âWhat does that have to do with me?â you ask. âThis is nice and all, but Iâm sure you get why Iâm wary.âÂ
âHeâs a good judge of character,â Kiri adds earnestly. âHe doesnât bring people in often, but when he does, heâs usually right.âÂ
You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you donât plan to do anything terrible. In fact, youâre content to accept their kindness and stay, if theyâd let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one manâs judgment of character makes you uneasy.Â
âHe was alone for a really long time,â Mina adds. âA lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsukiâs luck was a little less fortuitous.âÂ
âSo you all just⊠happened upon each other by chance?â You ask.Â
âYeah, pretty much,â Mina says. âIt was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. Weâd found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didnât seem to like each other all that much. We still havenât really figured that out, especially because theyâre so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. Weâve been like this since.â
âSo youâre all strays,â you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri.Â
âSure,â she says. âWeâre all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denkiâs girlfriend.âÂ
âIâm sorry,â you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, youâd be apologizing forever.Â
âDonât be,â Kiri adds. âBut best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denkiâs only just started to get over it.âÂ
You swallow thick and nod a little.Â
âAnyway,â Mina says, âwe canât really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. Thatâs all.âÂ
âHm,â you hum, understanding that to a degree.Â
You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where theyâre coming from.Â
âWhat are you talking about,â Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink.Â
âNothing really,â Mina says.Â
Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly.Â
âDonât you look cozy,â he says. âYou get settled?âÂ
âWhen can I go get my stuff?â You ask.Â
âSomeoneâs eager,â he says through lightly gritted teeth. âDidnât I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, whatâs there really to miss in that lot of junk?âÂ
âKatsuki!â Mina quietly chides.Â
âI have things I care about there,â you say. âThings Iâm not ready to lose.âÂ
Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. âWeâll leave when you get up in the morning.âÂ
âYou donât have to come with me,â you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude.Â
âLike hell,â he scoffs. âWhat if the dead are waiting back there for you?âÂ
âI made it this far on my own,â you respond.Â
Katsuki nods for a second. âIâm going. Come find me in the morning.âÂ
He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting.Â
âDonât pay too much attention to that,â Mina says. âItâs past his bedtime.âÂ
âYouâll get used to him,â Kiri adds.Â
âRight,â you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. âIâm going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.âÂ
Mina and Kiri nod, but you donât stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom theyâre letting you stay in.Â
When your head hits the pillow, youâre out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us.Â
âÂ
Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you canât see them, you get the sense that theyâre having a pleasant conversation.Â
As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted youâd really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, itâs easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that youâd been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop.Â
Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you canât feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that youâll never be able to outrun it.Â
You wonder if theyâll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than theyâve ever been and if they ask you whether or not youâve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you donât even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. Youâre just a person and youâve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, youâre not sure if thatâs enough.Â
You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. Itâs fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still donât recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago.Â
The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you donât recognize.Â
âHe should be back by now,â a woman says. âShotoâs never gone longer than a day or two, max.âÂ
âWe shouldnât jump to conclusions,â another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? âWeâre only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.âÂ
âSomeone needs to go look for him,â a man says.
âAnd what? Risk getting yourself killed?â the first woman says. âNo, it doesnât make sense. We need you here.âÂ
âYouâd rather we leave him to die on his own?âÂ
âNo oneâs fuckinâ dying.âÂ
You recognize Katsukiâs voice.Â
âHeâs perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,â he continues. âHeâs done it before.âÂ
âI should have gone with him,â says the same woman.Â
âOn that leg? You wouldnât have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,â his voice raises a little. âDonât be stupid. Heâll be back.âÂ
You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You canât sneak up on anyone nowadays.Â
âSorry,â you say, âI didnât mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?âÂ
Itâs not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto.Â
âFine,â Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. âNothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?âÂ
Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding.Â
âI did,â you say. âThank you.âÂ
âNothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,â he smiles and you canât help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice.Â
âI donât think weâve met,â the woman standing across from Izuku says. âIâm Momo. Sorry I wasnât there to meet you last night. Iâve been a little under the weather.âÂ
You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that sheâs guarding that side of her leg.Â
âIs itâŠ?â you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit.Â
âNo,â she says quickly, âno, it isnât. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.âÂ
Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. Sheâs really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like sheâs engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. Sheâll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe thatâs something else their friend Shoto set out to find.Â
âI assume youâll be wanting to go get your supplies?â Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts.Â
âReady when you are,â you respond with a nod.Â
Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look.Â
âSomeone get them something to eat,â Katsuki says. â...Iâll get my shit ready.âÂ
âFig jamâŠâ Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen.Â
You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. Itâs a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than whatâs inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop.Â
âThis stuff is so good,â she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. âYou wonât believe it.âÂ
She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you.Â
âItâs fig jam,â she says with a smile. âHomemade.âÂ
You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. Itâs been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You donât think youâve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes.Â
You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldnât have been much, today it is something extraordinary.Â
Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant.Â
âWe got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?â she offers. âWe were starving and there wasnât enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like⊠nine of us.âÂ
You listen as you eat your crackers.Â
âThis place was in such an awful state,â she laughs. âI mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, weâd have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,â she interrupts herself â-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didnât rot.âÂ
She smiles at you like itâs a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat.Â
âI know it doesnât sound like much,â she says, âbut for some reason itâs a really nice memory. Honestly, weâre lucky we didnât die.âÂ
Mina laughs a little.Â
âI mean,â she continues, âwe didnât even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.âÂ
You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile.Â
âYouâre really forthcoming with information.âÂ
âYou just seem a little hesitant, is all,â she answers.Â
âCan you blame me?âÂ
Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesnât really offer an answer. You assume itâs because she canât, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked.Â
âThe jam is good,â you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. âEven if it is months old.âÂ
âThings keep well in jars,â Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you.Â
This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop.Â
âYou ready?â Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder.Â
You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down.Â
When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you donât respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl.Â
Itâs strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someoneâs kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and youâre certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didnât exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it.Â
Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing youâd come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that youâre still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.
You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if youâre not. Itâs unintentional, but you donât have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula.Â
âHow do you know where weâre going?â You ask in a whisper.Â
Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. âIâm good with directions.âÂ
His tone is clipped, like heâs pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadnât asked him to come along. In fact, youâd have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. Youâd have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but youâre not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely.Â
âThanks for coming,â you decide. A peace offering.Â
Katsuki doesnât answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if heâs always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners.Â
Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. Thereâs the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what heâs looking at.Â
Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. Youâve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world youâre in now.Â
You catch Katsukiâs eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. Itâs a silent communication that youâve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly.Â
The two infected havenât noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. Thereâs time to look at them like this and youâre struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now theyâre a disease using someoneâs skin as a mask.Â
Infected people arenât quick, thatâs one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyesâlike low-grade cataractsâthat develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from.Â
These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, thatâs what causes the twitching and convulsions. Itâs what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back.Â
Most infected will crack when they move. Itâs the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as theyâre weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You donât know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it.Â
Maybe the infected think theyâre dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someoneâs skull if you convince yourself that theyâre silently begging for it.Â
Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from.Â
Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They donât really have time to begin moving towards you both. Youâre faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.
Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you donât have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someoneâs brain. You didnât used to do that, only starting when you realized that thereâs no going through this world anymore without it.Â
Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. Itâs brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesnât register in your brain and you continue on behind him.Â
There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up.Â
âYou okay?â Itâs barely above a whisper and you wouldnât have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones.Â
âYeah,â you say, continuing forward.Â
The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full nightâs sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that youâd hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind.Â
You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadnât even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like heâs covering your tracks.Â
âThe next person that comes through here might not be alone,â he says plainly. âAnd they may have more bullets than you did.âÂ
âRight,â you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion.Â
âGot everything?âÂ
You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected youâd killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it.Â
Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesnât glance back to make sure youâre following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about whoâs next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers.Â
Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread.Â
You watch Katsukiâs back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well.Â
Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when youâre alone. Is that worse than loss? If youâre alone long enough, youâd probably forget what youâre missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out.Â
Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom youâve never seen before, Shoto maybe.Â
âA plus one,â the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way.Â
âKatsukiâs,â Kiri says with a low smirk.Â
Shotoâs eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation.Â
âWell, thatâs rare,â Shoto says.Â
âWhatâs rare?â Katsuki spits. âThey were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let âem die?âÂ
âMaybe,â Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. âWhatâs your name?âÂ
You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again.Â
âHow long are you staying?â
Youâre not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something.Â
âShoto,â he says. âYouâre probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?âÂ
âSure,â the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm.Â
She glances at you as she passes, almost like sheâs too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. Itâs like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, itâs not likely in this world.Â
âJust until Iâm rested,â you add with a small tilt of your head. âA few days.âÂ
Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. Itâs funny, you can see kindness there. His actions arenât kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsukiâs, you think. Like heâs strange in some way.Â
âIâll start on dinner,â Sero says. âKiri, give me a hand.âÂ
The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people youâve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if youâve just sealed your own tomb.Â
â
After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that theyâre probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days.Â
You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people donât know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any.Â
You think that if you let yourself walk away, youâll probably die. Youâre out of bullets and donât know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and theyâre everywhere nowadays. Itâs spring, water wouldnât be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, thereâs the possibility of loss. Youâd come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it.Â
You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. Thereâs really no choice to be made. Youâll let them make it for you, even if you donât know them. Itâs their house and you wonât walk in uninvited or try to take it. Youâre not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.
The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. Itâs a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. Itâs been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. Youâre too nosey to leave it be.Â
You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source.Â
You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. Youâre out of sight. The only way theyâd know youâre listening is if you made a sound, but you wonât. Youâre good at being quiet.Â
âWe donât even know them,â someone says in a rushed whisper. âWe donât know what theyâve done before.âÂ
âEveryoneâs done things theyâre not proud of now, Shoto,â a woman adds. Itâs Mina. Sheâs spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice.Â
âI agree with Shoto,â says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks âWe have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.âÂ
âYou mean like me, Ochako?â A man adds. âI could have been dangerous.âÂ
The group grows quiet for a moment.Â
âNo,â Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. âShoto might be right, Denki. Itâs been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We donât- we canât know for sure.â
âCan we really know anything for sure?â Another man adds, Kiri.
âWhat about you guys?â Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group.Â
âI donât know.â
âIâm hesitant, but I donât know either.â Â
âJesus,â another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. Thatâs Katsuki, the first voice youâd heard of the group. âYou guys make me a little sick.âÂ
âThatâs not fair,â Ochako says.Â
âNo,â he interrupts. âIt is fair. You guys want to⊠what? Send them back out there to die?âÂ
âItâs not like that,â Shoto says. Â
âIt is like that,â he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. âYou didnât see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didnât look⊠shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckinâ waste away? I donât know about you all, but I wonât do that to a person.âÂ
Thereâs a pregnant pause.
âKatsukiâs right,â Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like heâs finally made up his mind. âSending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people weâre trying to protect ourselves from?âÂ
âWhat if there are more of them?â Ochako says quietly. âWhat if theyâre not alone?âÂ
âTrust me,â Katsuki says, âThey were alone.âÂ
âBut what if theyâre not?â She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. âWhat if people come for us?âÂ
âSee?â Shoto says gently. âThere are so many what-ifs.âÂ
âThat works the other way too,â Mina adds.Â
You donât listen to hear the rest of their conversation. Theyâre going to run themselves in circles debating about you. Theyâll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. Theyâll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control.Â
The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didnât. You donât blame those who opposed. Youâd have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One personâs stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they donât know enough about you to be certain that youâre not one of those stupid people. Itâs how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago youâd have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didnât get it until you lived it.Â
Still, Katsukiâs humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you canât help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and thatâs why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you donât recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you donât expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect?Â
Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open.Â
You hear a womanâs voice, so muffled that you canât make out what sheâs saying. Then, you hear the sound of a manâs affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house.Â
Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, youâd never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. Thatâs probably why so many can fit. Youâd guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place.Â
Thatâs a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal.Â
You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. Itâs been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. Youâre eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. Youâre better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling.Â
â
âNeed some help?â You say.Â
Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. Heâs holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck.Â
âOh, sure,â he says, a bit surprised. âDo you know how generators work?âÂ
He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him.Â
The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it⊠generates power, probably.Â
âNot quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,â you say softly, passing him a tool heâd been reaching for. âDid it break?âÂ
âNo,â Denki says, âbut itâs probably on its last legs. The thingâs almost as old as we are, probably older, so itâs good to tune it up a bunch.âÂ
You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work.Â
Youâre not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe itâs because heâs got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldnât. That and he was the first person youâve come across this morning who you donât think distrusts you too badly.Â
âAre you dodging something?â Denki smirks up at you from his crouch.Â
âWho on earth would I be dodging?â you snort a bit defensively.Â
âShoto,â he says with a light smile. âHe put you in a tight spot the other day.âÂ
âYeah, well,â you say, glancing over your shoulder. âIt wasnât anything he didnât have a right to ask.âÂ
âRight, but it sure was rude, huh?âÂ
Denki laughs to himself a little and youâre surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others.Â
âOh!â He exclaims, âI have something you can do for me.âÂ
You tilt your head.Â
âThereâs a bucket over there,â he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. âWe use the water from the creek as coolant. Itâs not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when Iâm done tuning this thing up?âÂ
You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek heâs talking about is.Â
âThe creek is just over there,â he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. âI know you canât see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, youâll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.âÂ
When you donât immediately answer, Denki whines a little.Â
âI mean,â he says, âIâd go myself, but-âÂ
âIâll do it,â you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do.Â
âReally?âÂ
âYeah,â you shrug. âIâd like to pull some weight at least while Iâm here. Plus, I offered.âÂ
Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. Youâre much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side.Â
The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didnât want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun.Â
You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe heâs fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. Youâre not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. Heâs handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable.Â
As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it werenât for the looming idea that youâre contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denkiâs attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that.Â
Youâre only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.
As you approach, you realize what it is that heâs doing. Itâs laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character.Â
âKatsuki,â you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.
He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow.Â
âYouâre still here,â he says plainly, returning to his task.Â
âClearly,â you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket.Â
âWhy are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?â He says, like heâs somewhat frustrated. âHe does that shit to anyone he can.âÂ
You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him.Â
âAre you just gonna stand there?â He huffs out.Â
âYouâre doing laundry.âÂ
âYeah?â he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. âSo?âÂ
âNothing,â you say. âI just didnât expect that.âÂ
âYeah well,â he stops for a moment like heâs struggling to find the words. âIt needed to be done. Figured I might as well.âÂ
âHow progressive of you,â you joke with a straight face.Â
He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit.Â
âIf youâre going to linger, sit down and do it,â he says. âYouâre creeping me out.âÂ
You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that youâre not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. Youâd thought longer than youâd like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if itâs not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe itâs because youâve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but thereâs a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. Heâs not looking at what you could be, but rather what youâre showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive.Â
You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick.Â
Katsuki doesnât seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then youâll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like heâs trying to figure out exactly why youâre lingering.Â
âHow long have you been with them?â You ask, more as a way to fill the silence.Â
Katsukiâs hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace.Â
âA decent amount of time,â he says. âI met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.âÂ
You furrow your eyebrows.Â
âNo offense,â you start, âbut you donât really seem like the group type.âÂ
âAnd you donât seem like the type whoâd be alone,â he retorts, like your statement was stupid.Â
You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond.Â
âSorry,â he says, shaking his head a little.Â
âWere you?âÂ
âWhat? Was I sorry?â He furrows his eyebrows at you.Â
âNo,â you shake your head. âWere you alone? Before Izuku.âÂ
He goes silent. Youâll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, youâd probably react the same way. Thatâs just as well, you donât really need to know him like that anyway.Â
You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history youâll likely never be privy to. Then thereâs Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease.Â
âDo you have a girlfriend?â you ask and Katsukiâs response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh.Â
He turns his head and looks at you from the side. âAnd what the fuck are you asking me that for?âÂ
âJust curious,â you say. âIs it Momo?âÂ
âMomo?â He makes a sour face at you. âYeah, right.âÂ
âSheâs pretty,â you say.Â
âSure is,â he responds dryly. âIf youâre into the mom type.âÂ
âWhat? Youâre not into moms?â You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you.Â
âSo you do have a personality,â he scoffs a little.Â
Thereâs a pause. You havenât felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant.Â
âIâm kinda serious though,â you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. âDo you?âÂ
Youâre leaning a little closer to him now.
âYou seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?â he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when theyâre a bit amused.Â
âYou donât have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?â You laugh a little.Â
Katsukiâs lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry.Â
âYeah, well,â he starts, looking away from you. âIâm a romantic. Sue me.âÂ
Heâs just full of surprises, isnât he? You find that youâre captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. Itâs something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food.Â
Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. Youâre not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him.Â
Itâs not as if you like him, but itâs something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.
Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesnât leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. Itâs an anxious kiss, confused and slow butâlike someone riding a bike for the first time in yearsâit quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into.Â
You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You havenât felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you.Â
The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsukiâs fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. Theyâre little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both.Â
Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. Theyâre swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position.Â
âDenki will want that water soon,â he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet.Â
âOh,â you say, laughing a little. âRight.âÂ
You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope.Â
âHey,â Katsuki calls softly. âYou should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.âÂ
The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadnât said anything at all. You donât respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes.Â
Dread settles in your stomach. Itâs an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesnât dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldnât have kissed him if heâd asked you that earlier.Â
The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house.Â
Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel.Â
âJeez, what took you so long?â Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better.Â
âI asked Katsuki for his life story,â you respond dryly, following him back to the generator.Â
Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. âDid he tell you?âÂ
You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in.Â
âNope,â you say. âNot a thing.â
Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!
hello, i am moving to the blog @woahjo and will no longer bc posting fic on this blog!! eventually i'll be logging out of here entirely <3 my ao3 will remain this same and this blog won't be deleted, just so that my writing doesn't end up in the void. but this will not be my main OR writing blog anymore ;( that's gonna be @woahjo!!! please hop over there if you want to and if you don't, thanks for being here!! you can reblog this post if you'd like!