hello how have u been what have u been up to i miss u n ur blog n i think ant strawbericream days on here at the start of corona often. it was so fun looool. imy ❤️
hello!!! you sent this in april so idk if you’ll see this LOOL but im doing good!! hope u r too!! 💖
in the past 11 months, ive switched jobs which was probably the thing that improved my mental health the most. i don’t really write anymore tho ;; i do miss it but am so much happier now than I was then
the convenience story is empty and no one’s behind the counter.
komori yawns behind you a few steps back and kiyoomi catches a glimpse of his ruffled hair in the glass windows. the bell goes off as he walks through the electronic doors, but still the cashier counter is empty.
“the milk tea’s on sale.”
kirin milk tea, two for ¥150. kiyoomi puts four into komori’s basket.
the pair shop around for snacks. chips, drinks, candy. komori bites his tongue about how kiyoomi’s choosing particular items.
“what’s this?”
“what?”
“your pinky.”
kiyoomi’s left pinky finger is soft pink. like a rose that’s been steeped in orange pekoe and the liquid spilled onto a white table.
“your sister did it. last night.”
“oh yeah, she was saying something about how the girls in her class said your love comes true if you paint your left pinky pink. i can’t believe you let her do it though.”
kiyoomi brushes past him towards the section for prepared foods.
“she was persistent....to say the least.”
komori snickers. “yeah, but yours isn’t one-sided. your relationship, i mean.”
kiyoomi stays quiet, adjusting his mask and picking out two of your favourite onigiri.
my feelings for her are big enough for it to be almost one-sided.
glancing up, miruko looks up at her papa and then to her baby sister in the carrier strapped on his shoulders and back.
“papa!” she tugs on the hand she’s holding. “is haru awake yet?”
chikara shakes his head, offering a gentle smile to her. “not yet.”
“oh,” she pouts.
“don’t worry, we’re almost there,” he soothes.
the sun’s out and it’s warm despite the season so with his day off, chikara decided to take your daughters out for a stroll to the park to see the ducks in the lake. you’re home, taking some much needed time to yourself (and a nap).
“but i wanna see da duckies ta-gether wif haru.”
“we will,” he chuckles. her pout never gets any less endearing. he fixes the beanie on her head and distracts her with her water bottle, popping open the lid for the straw.
hydrated, chikara takes her hand and gently guides her up the path to the lake front. they stop once to rest under a wooden bus shelter and for him to help miruko relace her shoes before puttering back onto the gravel. miruko huffs, willing herself to walk as fast she can so she can see the duckies. chikara huffs a laugh at her pulling his arm.
"miru."
she looks up. "papa?"
he flicks his head towards a small stall on the side of the pond. "do you want to buy some seeds for the duckies?"
her eyes glimmer and she nods, the pom-pom on her beanie flicking with the movement of her head. "yes pwease!"
"ouuh!"
miruko gasps, pulling on chikara's arms to see her baby sister. he kneels down, brushing through the short bangs of his infant daughter as she coos and giggles seeing her older sister.
chikara can't help but grin, gently thumbing over haruna’s cheek. "c'mon, let's go get the seeds."
he stands back up again, digging into his jean pocket to grab a ¥100 coins. he places it in miruko's hands and instructs her on how to buy them.
on her tiptoes, miruko places the coin on top of the wooden plate of the stall, so short she has to tilt her head nearly all the way up just so that the stall owner can see her eyes. "one bag of seeds, pwease!"
"here you go." the stall owner grins and places a small cloth cag of seeds into her hands.
miruko grins, jumping to say her thanks. chikara bows and thanks her before following his daughter.
she stops a few feet before the pond, turning to usher her papa over.
chikara chuckles. "wait a bit, miru. i have to adjust haruna so that she can see."
she frowns a bit but walks over to the bench where he is, waiting for him to flip haruna around so that she could see the lake too. adjusted, she babbles at the sight of the pretty greens and browns. standing near, miruko watches as the ducks bob underwater to grab something to eat while their feathery butts stick out and their little feet pedal in the air.
“where are da baby duckies, papa?”
chikara hums. “maybe they haven’t hatched yet. it’s still very cold out.”
miruko hums too, nodding in understanding but unable to hide her disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to see any ducklings. impatient, as soon as her papa and sister are done, she dashes back towards the lake but stops where she was before to look at him.
he laughs at her endearing antics. "be careful."
chikara catches up and takes the bag from her, putting some seeds in her small hands and mimicking throw.
"food for duckies!!"
the ducks swim over, bobbing their heads to nip the seeds. chikara steps back, taking photos and filming miruko as she feeds the ducks enthusiastically.
"buu!"
"ah," he smiles. "you want to feed the duckies too, don't you?"
haruna coos, waving her arms and kicking her legs while chikara crouches down near miruko. she grins at them, helping her baby sister hold onto the seeds and teaching her how to throw them.
"wike dis!!"
"un!"
haruna does her best, flaying her little arm but her seeds don't quite make it into the water.
"good job." chikara holds onto her little hands. "the duckies can come up and eat them later."
haruna grins, babbling as she watches her sister feed the ducks. she gives it another try before an elderly couple walks by and offers to take photos. it takes a couple shots to get both his daughters to look at the camera at the same time but chikara thanks the couple just as warmly.
“fank you!” miruko says, offering her bag of seeds. “does gwanny and gwanpa want chu feed da duckies?”
they chuckle, the elderly man declining her offer but praising her for her kindness. “you’ll feed them much better than the two of us will.”
“here, sweetie.” the granny pulls a slip of paper out of her coat pocket. “there’s a little taiyaki stall on the right of that sign over there, close to the entrance. this’ll get you one for free.”
“they’re a nice size,” the grandpa chuckles. “you can share it with your little baby sister.”
“oh! fank!!” miruko shows her papa the ticket. “can we go, papa!! ”
haruna babbles in shared excitement while chikara graciously thanks the couple, bowing almost in embarrassment. they see the pair away on their walk and chikara shuffles miruko back to feeding the ducks.
when the bag of seeds is empty, miruko stands by her papa and sister, watching as the ducks bob and swim around to grab the food.
“can we take one home, papa?”
she looks at him with her puppy eyes, putting her hands together.
her little brows are furrowed downwards, looking all the more adorable as she pouts up at him. she’s trouble, he knows, because it almost works.
"but then the ducky would be all alone." he holds out haruna's hand for further convincing.
“oh,” miruko mumbles. chikara watches as she pouts. he can see the gears in her little head, thinking about how lonely the duckie would be away from its family and friends. “mm, i don’t want duckie ta be wonely.”
haruna coos, wrapping her tiny fingers over her sisters.
“papa.”
“hm?”
“is mama wonely? she’s all awone at home.”
“mama!!” haruna giggles, kicking her legs.
“i think she’s missing us a little by now.” chikara stands up, gently grabbing onto miruko’s hand. “let’s go home.”
“un!” she grins. “papa chake photos, wight? wanna show mama da duckies!”
letting her hold onto his phone, chikara leads the way back home. he’s sure that if haruna could walk, she’d be waddling along right next to her big sister, pit pattering all the way back home. much like little ducklings.
when they stop by the taiyaki stand, miruko puts on her puppy eyes to beg her papa for a set of three.
“papa, pwease!! da ‘yaki are keeper if you buy fwee!”
“you can’t eat three,” he frowns. the grandpa from earlier was right--they are quite large.
“awww, but papa pwease! dey are keeper...,” she pouts.
saving ¥100 wasn’t exactly cheaper relative to a two hour sugar high, but chikara soon eats his words: haruna knocks off a row of the stall’s wooden taiyaki figures onto the gravel and only giggles at the sound of it; miruko looks to be on the edge of tears, and; there’s a group of teenage girls giggling over the whole thing and whispering about how cute they are.
tooru squats down next to his little girl. the pet shop worker smiles at him as he cups his hands under his daughter’s to make sure she doesn’t drop the small creature in her hands.
she looks at her daddy, eyes wide and in a small voice, tells him, “ham-der.”
the worker turns his head to cough while tooru does his best to hide the weird noise that escaped him.
“hamster,” he corrects.
“ham-der,” she repeats, smiling cutely.
“hamster, baby,” he tries again.
she glances at her daddy in confusion and then looks back at hamster while it nibbles on a piece of vegetable.
“ham, heem—,” she tries. “hamp-ter.”
the worker coughs louder. tooru can hear him take a shaky deep breath.
behind tooru, iwaizumi bites the inside of his cheek as he watches tooru’s shoulders shake. he so badly wants to know how tooru’s daughter continues to butcher the word but he’s forced to leave when his own little girl asks him to see the rabbits.
tooru watches them leave and turns to see his daughter petting the grey and white hamster with two of her fingers. the friendship bracelet made with glittery beads she has on her little wrist (and that matches her dad’s) shimmers in the bright lights.
“do you want to go see the bunnies too?”
she shakes her head, wispy brown hair following the movement.
tetsurou watches his daughter’s pig tails bounce as she jumps up and down, slapping his knee. he places his can of beer down onto the glass coffee table before lifting her into his lap.
“papa, can we—.”
“may we,” you interject.
“may we,” you daughter repeats, emphasizing the correction. he chuckles at the cute inflections.
“—get cotton candy ta-morrow?”
he pretends to think, closing his eyes and putting his hand to his chin while humming. seriously, of course.
“aren’t we already getting you candied popcorn? you don’t want to get a tummy ache, do you?”
your daughter thinks, furrowing her little brows. her pout ever the more pronounced.
“will not, papa.” she shakes her head, pigtails swaying side to side. “pwomise.” she offers her papa her pinky finger, sharp look on her round features.
he snorts. ever since bokuto’s eldest son taught her what a pinky promise was, she started using it on every occasion.
when you told her it was going to rain the day you would all go visit her grandparents, she pinky promised that it wouldn’t.
she pinky promised her preschool teacher that the garden’s flowers would not trigger mimiko-chan’s seasonal allergies because the buzzy-bees said so.
and just the other day, she offered her tiny pinky to the white, fluffy terrier at the park, asking him to promise not to jump on her school bag again.
“is that how promises work now?” tetsurou asks, smoothing away her stray hairs.
“yes!!” she beams. “dat’s what big broffa said.”
the crinkle of her eyes and plumpness of her cheeks has him pulling her in for his ultimate attack of repeated kisses all over her little face. she giggles loudly, hitting her papa with her tiny hands in attempts to stop him.
“papa!” she squeals. “tickly!! it’s tickle!”
tetsurou laughs with her. he can’t help his grin hearing her delighted, tinkly laughter.
“nyra!”
your daughter pushes at his face and looks up to see manon, your ragdoll cat, in your arms.
“manon-chan!! mommy!”
she puts her arms out and you laugh as you place manon onto tetsurou’s lap. she meows, letting your daughter hug and pet her.
“manon wan’ cotton candy?” she asks, petting her back.
manon meows, stepping to lie down on couch cushion, resting her bushy tail on tetsurou’s thigh.
“manon can’t have sweets,” you say.
your daughter hums. “i have candy?” she puts on her best puppy-dog eyes for you and tetsurou. “pinky pwomise no tummy ache.”
tetsurou thinks of how much she looks like you. with her eyes, the pout of her lips, the way she puts her left thumb over right when she clasps her small hands together.
“why not?” you grin. “since it’s papa’s day off tomorrow, let’s go all out.”
your daughter cheers, bright smile lighting up her face.
“pinky pwomise, papa?”
and like the way she twists the rules of the world to fit her imagination, she twists her papa around her little finger too.
tags: post break-up, light angst
✨ ending based off of john berger’s “will it be a likeness?”
semi unlocks the door to the break room, lying down in one of the oversized couches. he takes a deep breath, throwing his arm over his eyes and willing his shoulders to relax.
he’s on tour, singing across the country to crowds in the tens of thousands, but the technical difficulties of the last stage have him tensing as the memory resurfaces. he takes a deep breath and gets up, taking his shoes off and pulling his phone out to distract himself.
[ ▇▇▇▇ just posted a photo.]
his heart lurches. he pulls his phone closer to him even though there’s no one else in the room and taps on the notification. instagram pulls up, right into your profile to the photo you just posted.
it’s a string of four photos of you and one of your best friends, yurika. the first is of you and her, hugging each other as you squish your cheeks together. the next is of you kissing her cheek, then her kissing yours and finally, a shot of four tubes of lipstick. sponsored, the caption reads three kiss emojis and a tag of the brand.
he swipes through the photos again, eyes stuck on your flitting expressions. he forces himself to look away, swiping down and taking a final glance at the kaleidoscope of photos you have before he exits the app and locks his phone.
he throws it onto the couch and runs his hands over his face.
he knows he doesn’t have the right to be thinking about you anymore.
(“what?” your voice is shaky, disbelieving. you blink, vision going blurry as your eyes water.
“i can’t—there’s things i want to achieve, work towards,” he tells you, “and i’m not going to have time for a relationship. this isn’t the right time.”
“b-but—,” a black hole opens itself in your stomach, “you said we’d be fine, eita, i don’t care if you only see me once a week, every two weeks, i just—!”
he says your name.
but not in the way you’d ever want him to.)
he grabs for his phone again, pulling up the notes app. scrolling down, he finds the untitled one. he has numerous, but the one that specifically deals with the theme of you is always near the top.
thumbs hovering over his keyboard, he struggles to unravel the things he wants to say into a coherent stream of thought.
(“...no.”
he looks at her from his seat. her cappuccino sitting untouched.
“yurika, i—.”
“no, you know what, semi, you—!” she leans back in her chair in frustration, fingers coming to pinch the tall, slender bridge of her nose. “forget about her.”
he looks up, voice clipped, nose scrunched up, “what?”
“forget. about. her,” yurika snarls. “leave her alone. you’ve done enough. move the fuck on so that she can move on.”)
“fuck,” he grits, fingers grabbing the front of his bangs. the pull on them gives him a slight sense of stability. “fuck.” he exhales but it doesn’t make the lump in his throat go away.
(when he first saw you in the magazines, he felt….proud. you were on the front page of vivi, one of the country’s most widely circulated fashion magazines, smiling broadly. your head was tilted to show your better angle and face airbrushed to perfection.
he tucks his sunglasses into his jacket pocket. standing in the quiet conbini in the middle of the night reading through your interview.
that night, when he closed his eyes, he saw your face. your lips, the warm glow of your skin when you rest next to him, and how you squeeze his hand in your sleep. he remembers the smell of your perfume, that you drink lemon tea with two dollops of honey, or that you love him.
you loved him.)
“hey, semi. the members of the idol group are here.”
he turns around, nodding and giving a quick “thanks” with a forced smile. he grabs a water bottle before leaving the room.
(when he landed his first audition, you’d been ecstatic. you pulled him into your arms and laughed his name in exhilaration with him.
when he was too jittery to sleep that night, you let him lay his head in your lap, keeping him company. he had dozed off with the feeling of your fingers in his hair, his face buried in your soft t-shirt.)
in all honesty, even after breakup, semi thought you’d get back together eventually. but he could never get himself to swallow the pins of needles of what he said. after all, you have a career now, are established, someone. someone.
(“you’re so stupid,” yurika sneers, flexing her pretty manicured hand. “you don’t know what you want.”
“what?” he scoffs.
she rolls her eyes. his jaw clenches. he wants to yell, to tell her otherwise.
but if he doesn’t get through to yurika, your final line of defense, he’ll never get to you.
“you don’t,” yurika smiles, relishing in the anger of the so-called man and a-list celebrity you called an ex-boyfriend. “you told her that ‘it wasn’t right’ or whatever, so don’t tell me that that wasn’t right, but that there will be a time when it is.”
“what the fuck are you talking about? i never said that we weren’t right, i said that it wasn’t the right time! we talked, yurika, and we both agreed to put things on hold. ”
“then why are you here?”
eita looks down at her to realize he’s standing up.)
“we met on tuesday.”
“who?” you angle your head up to let the makeup artist take your foundation down to your neck.
“semi.”
and then your mouth feels like chalk.
(eita wasn’t a bad boyfriend. no, he was good. good. there were a lot of good things.
he shared his fork and spoon before you even asked for it. you’d go over at one in the morning and bring a tin of cookies and the two of you would lie there as he scribbled messy lyrics onto crinkled newspapers. on the highway, you’d sing so loudly your voices grew hoarse.
you were afraid of a lot of things, but not in the fairy tale eita spun with you. no, only the fairy tale ending in which you weren’t the heroine but he was the hero.)
there’s a bite to the wind tonight. he pushes his hands into his jacket pockets, the unzipped sides coming in closer, fabric straining against his shoulders.
“this is a train bound for osaka station. please stand behind the yellow line as the train stops.”
(it’s june. his shoulder bag is heavy. textbooks and notebooks and pens and crumpled, then flattened papers pull on the fraying strap.
he sighs. the hand not holding yours readjusting his bag. it alleviates the pressure momentarily. you yawn and he watches as yurika rests her head on your shoulder.
“semisemi!”
he lurches forward when tendou pats his back, brows furrowing. reon’s behind him, giving the three of you a polite smile and wave combo.
the sun blazes and tendou asks him if he wants to go over to wakatoshi’s for the evening. he turns them down, wanting to take you home properly.
“why not, eita?” you smile. “yurika and i can walk home together.”
yurika grumbles when you nudge her for help carrying his bag. eita’s soft; he kisses you goodbye in front of his friends and asks you to text him when you get back home, promising you a date tomorrow. he watches you leave, train doors closing as you wave cutely behind the glass.
the train takes you away.)
he stood there for a while before reon called him over. wind through his bangs, he had walked the platform back into the city, feeling that you, who had just gone, were more there. more than when you were in class, standing next to him, than when he embraced you before you climbed into the train.
maybe that’s why he had kissed you goodbye: to take into his arms what he wants to keep when you’re gone.
“the train is approaching. please stand behind the yellow line as it stops. thank you for riding.”
you look at him, chin in your hand. your fingers cover half of your mouth.
“what?”
his curls fall over his left eye. it makes you smile: how soft they are, curly they are, the way they fall over his eye. you gently brush them away.
“i have a trade offer.” he scooches closer. you lean back, he leans closer. you’re leaning against the wall now, caged in by it, the desk, the booth wall and him. your hand stays stubbornly on your chin.
“what is it?”
he wants your hand off your chin so he takes it away. he’s taken aback when you push it against his chest.
“wait, my back hurts.”
“oh.” relief. he lets you sit up but stays close, in your personal space, popping your bubble.
“well? what’s the trade?”
he watches your hair spread out against the back of the seat as you lean against it. he mirrors you and laces your hands together.
“well,” he purses his lips. “i was thinking…”
you hum. out of the corner of your eye, you see tommy from calc one. in your eyes, there’s issei.
“—that if i receive a kiss, i’ll give you one in return.”
you raise a brow. “really? that’s it?”
he pouts, dipping his head lower as a hand comes up to squish your cheeks. “hey.”
you’re in public—the economic department’s study space and—,
“didn’t say ‘no’,” you grin.
he grins too, cheeks pinking when you lean up to kiss him. he tastes like the vanilla flavoured lip balm you gave him last week. a squish to your cheeks has your lips puckering longer than you’d like them to be as he plants a swift one before finally pulling away.
“well?”
“mm?” he rests his forehead on yours.
“where’s my kiss?”
he chuckles at the endearing frown on your pretty face, thumbing over your soft cheek. “right here.”
.
a yawn and there’s tears forming in your corner of your eyes. through the kitchen window, you watch as the street lights flicker on, muddled orange yellow spots giving light to the streets.
“where did you get them?”
a look to your right, past issei’s shoulders and you see a girl with balayage highlights in her dark hair. she’s pretty, real pretty. a little blurry but you can still tell her eyes are gorgeous. you don’t know if she’s paying attention to you right behind him, sitting on the kitchen island. she asks another question, “which one’s your favourite?” you know, that which, out of the eight piercings he had, was his favourite but you’re not about to tell her. resting your head on his shoulder, you look down, accustomed to the way people tried to hit him up.
he tells her his favourite as his fingers grace along the inside of your calf. his thumb and fingers dance along the skin of your ankle, drawing images you try to visualize in your head as you close your eyes.
“right, babe?”
you glance up at him.
“sorry?”
he puts his drink down and turns around, facing you entirely. you half wish he wasn’t so broad and tall so you’d be able to see who else was around you.
“tired?” he mumbles, kissing your forehead.
“a little.” you sit up straighter, stretching a little. the girl with the nice golden hair is half a ways away, walking back to her group of friend who start to comfort her. “what were you talking about earlier?”
“the time hiro almost broke the chair at the shop with how hard his leg had kicked when he got his.”
you hum, admiring how good he looks in the starchy yellow light. “did it hurt?” you rub a finger over his bushy brow, lighting passing over the studs in his skin.
“my piercings? or his?” he has a hand on your knee now, other one over yours on the counter. he watches as you giggle, tipping away a little more than you would if it wasn’t for the red solo cup in your left hand.
“no,” you lilt. he laughs along with you, kissing you through your cute fit of laughter.
“meant when you fell from heaven,” you slur, breaking away into another melody of giggles.
he chuckles, putting your arms around his neck as he carries you, keeping you tucked tight against his chest. “do i look like i came from heaven, babe?”
you nod, lying your head on his shoulder as he takes you to the car, to home, to heaven.
.
he feels you before he sees you, arms around his waist, head between his shoulders.
“you’re back.” he automatically puts his hands over yours and also over the large mango in your hand.
“‘m back.”
“why’re you holding a mango?”
“it’s huge.” sugawara snorts. “the heck you get that from?”
you release your arms to stand next to them, holding the precious fruit in the palm of your hands. “from the grocery store.”
“why a mango?” sugawara takes a sip of his caramel macchiato.
you shrug, rubbing the smooth skin.
“y’gonna eat it like an apple?” he continues.
you shrug again. “maybe.”
sugawara looks at issei, who shrugs at well, before announcing his leave for his chemistry class.
issei looks down at you and offers his coffee which you shake your head at. “why’d you get a mango?”
“it was all i could afford,” you say. “wanna share?”
he chuckles, “sure. you hungry though?”
you grin, tucking the mango into your armpit and putting your palms together. “snacks?”
he puts his hand into yours, placing a kiss on your forehead. “got mints, but i’ll treat you to something at the new korean restaurant.” he leads you along to the school’s food court, buying you a plate of black bean noodles and pork dumplings on the side to share. you share your large mango, bought for $1.29 plus tax. you cut it into three and he gets the juice all over his hands when he takes the middle part with the refuse. the fruit is tender and he laughs when it slips out of your hand a tad only for you to use your chin to stop it from falling. it’s sweet, sticky and you have to hold onto his phone while he washes his hands in the washroom.
“hand cream?”
he pockets his phone and nods, holding his hand out for you. “is it mango-scented?”
“nope” you squeeze out a generous amount out for him. “pomegranate. this is mango-scented though.” you pull out a tube of lip balm and he stills his head, letting you put it on for him. the scent is soft, but strong and he finds himself nodding at how nice it is.
“it’s nice, isn’t it?”
he hums his agreement, helping you zip up your backpack and taking your hand to walk you to your next class. he kisses you good luck and is there to pick you up at 5:30pm on the dot, surprising you with a bag of mangoes.
.
“look!”
he looks, watching as you unpack something that’s a pretty mint green and white. “a wireless keyboard?” he reads.
you grin happily, delicately setting everything down on the table and pressing at the keys, satisfied with the sound and feel them. “wanna try?” you pass it on to him as you glimpse over the instruction manual. he taps at the keys and grabs onto the small mouse that came with it.
“this is so small,” he mutters.
“hm?” you look over to see the entirety of his palm already cover the top of the mouse. “oh.” you take it from him and while it is noticeably smaller than a regular mouse, it works just fine. “it’s fine,” you say, testing the scrolling bit.
he helps you set it up, tiny mouse and everything. sitting next to you, he watches as you open up your notes app and type gibberish onto the page, a look of sheer joy on your face. he smiles along, slotting himself behind you while you type away like a little secretary.
“think you’re gonna be more productive?”
“nope!” you laugh. “but at least it’s cute; it’s for the aesthetic, ‘sei.”
he snickers, placing his much larger hands over yours as he too, types away on your new keyboard, mashing keys and filing the screen.
“stooop.” you move to swat his hands. “i can’t move my hands!”
he laughs, enveloping them entirely despite your protests but eventually does let you go after a couple of thrashes and elbows to his stomach.
“it’s a nice keyboard though,” he adds, kissing your forehead.
you huff, returning a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “‘course. i have good taste, y’know.”
“mhm,” he chuckles, hand coming up to hold your jaw gently as he plants a full one on your lips. “i know.”
tags: reader is pregnant, intrusive thoughts.
✨ with lines from maggie smith’s “good bones”
kiyoomi watches as his daughter pushes her face into the blanket draped over the couch cushions, tiny fists resting near her head. she sniffles before lifting her head, rubbing her nose and eyes before planting her face down on another section of the couch. her runny face leaves round damp ghoulish-looking indents on the towel and he’s forced to hide his laughter in the act of clearing his throat.
“sweetheart,” he mumbles, putting a hand on her tiny back.
she shakes her head, voice wobbly but firm. “no!!”
“look at me.” his voice is soft as he slowly pushes at her little curly bangs.
she shakes her head again, pushing her face into the couch cushion.
“look at daddy, sweetheart.”
she finally gives with another brush of her bangs and turns to lift her head. her face is messy, full of tears and snot.
“no nap, daddy,” she says.
kiyoomi sighs at her pout that endearingly resembles yours. he’s been trying to get her to nap for the past two hours but no dice.
“then let’s clean up and go see mommy in the kitchen.”
she frowns, sniffling and turning to push her face back into the couch. seconds pass before she turns so half of her face is seen.
“pwomise?” her sweet voice is half muffled.
kiyoomi sighs, leaving a kiss on her temple. “i promise.”
she nods, rubbing her nose. he cleans her up, blowing her nose and wiping her tears before they start picking up her teddies, bunnies and building blocks.
“cwean, daddy.” she looks up at him through her lashes, pretty doe eyes tinted with a bit of nervousness.
he hums, giving her a soft smile and opening his arms. “good job.”
she grins cutely, letting him carry her. he tucks her into his chest, running a hand through her bangs and leaving gentle kisses on her forehead and eyelids.
“mommy?” she whispers.
“in the kitchen.” kiyoomi rubs her small back, heading towards where you are.
you’re in the kitchen, your mother on the phone giving you instructions on how to cook spare ribs with bitter melon. your hands stir fry the fragrant dish in the pan while your cheek is pressed up against your phone. it’s a sight too beautiful for the magazines.
“say hello to them for me.”
“i will, mom. take care.”
kiyoomi feels his little girl’s head lifting at your voice. her eyes are barely opened but she still manages to mumble a soft, “mommy?”
you hum. “grandma says hi.”
“hi hi,” she coos, resting her head back on kiyoomi’s chest.
you don’t mention how sleepy she is—you know how stubborn she is, a mirror of the man cradling her with all the love in the world in his arms.
“are you hungry, baby?” your voice is soft and so is her reserve to keep her eyelids open.
she murmurs quietly, “dindin, mommy?”
“mhm, just about.”
the three of you sway in the kitchen, near the stove where a pot of bitter melon with spare ribs simmers in black bean sauce. the oil crackles in the pan holding eight even slices of medium-firm tofu.
kiyoomi looks at you, motioning towards the general direction of your bedroom. you nod and he’s off, a sleeping princess in his arms.
by now, he’s an expert at putting her to bed. she’s clingy, sticking to him and you like frog slime on a lily pad. kiyoomi tucks her into bed, bringing the blankets up and kissing the little hand that holds on to his shirt.
he stays with her for a moment, wallowing in her presence and endearing expression. he brushes his thumb over her little hand, admiring her small nails—how perfect she is. kiyoomi leaves another kiss and “sweet dreams” before heading back into the kitchen.
“she must’ve tuckered herself out crying,” you laugh, hearing his footsteps entering the kitchen.
he huffs, “took too long.” he watches as you switch the stove off before grinning at him.
“but you managed in the end.”
he exhales with a sigh then inhales. there’s a soft smile on his face when he brings you and your mother’s recipes into his chest.
you laugh again at his reaction before covering the pan with its lid. “with how late her nap is today, she’ll be staying up late too.”
he hums, before tucking you into his chest, lips resting on your forehead. “we can nap, stay up late with her.”
you turn to wrap your arms around him. “are you sure? don’t you have a game coming up?”
“mm.” he leaves a kiss on your forehead, mindful not to lean in too close. “s’not that important.”
you’re sure it is but you don’t bring it up, letting him take you into the living room. again, he keeps you close, leaning you against his side and holding onto your hand.
he’s sure it isn’t as he sits in your home on the gently worn couch, thumb gently grazing over your wedding ring, asking you, “tired, love?”
you can’t help the yawn that escapes you. “a little.”
his eyes follow your other hand as it rubs against your stomach.
“upstairs,” he mumbles, kissing your temple.
lying in bed, he watches as you drift off. your daughter mumbles in her sleep, subconsciously rolling over to you. kiyoomi brings her closer to him, chest to back, wary of her kicking the baby. a soft “daddy” tumbles out of her lips and he gives her a kiss on the forehead in return.
he can’t sleep so he sits up, careful not to disturb the two of you. the early evening sun casts a deep golden filter in the room as it glimmers through the windows.
and suddenly he feels like crying because life is short and the world is half terrible. he thinks about all the horrible things there are and how your daughter and unborn baby will come face to face with it one day. he thinks that maybe he will be part of that terribleness, part of the hellhole that exists because he’s not all too sure how to be a dad.
you shuffle in your sleep and the noise brings kiyoomi out of his head.
he dries his eyes, taking a deep breath. lying back down, he leaves another kiss on your daughter’s forehead and looks back at you, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face.
life is short and the world half terrible, but you make this place beautiful. so like any realtor, he sells himself fatherhood and your children, the world: this could be beautiful. you could make it beautiful.
areudirty
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dailybridgerton
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