ShanelleTFics!

[shanellet9fics]

Blog for my one-shot or rather short stories :)

And yeah, it has basically everything my main blog does, just excluding the more random elements! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

╰┈➤ Main blog ╰┈➤ AO3 ╰┈➤ Wattpad

And ooh yeah, a little bit about me! Basically, usually, instead of writing, which is, always, the goal of the day, I spend it watching animes, C-dramas, K-dramas instead.

Oops.

Yep! I NEEED someone to hold me accountable. Without it, welp, I just erm... fall into the habit of thinking "oh well, time to watch anime........." So if someone really is waiting for updates-

You know where to find me (˶>⩊<˶)

[shanellet9]

Just another day of the disastrous life of Saiki K.

Saiki Kusuo was a psychic. He was sixteen, he attended high school, and just a moment ago, he was standing on a perfectly normal building. 

Well. 

It was rather nice. 

Tilting his head slightly, Saiki narrowed his gaze. The air, light and cool, swept through his hair, pink locks curling slightly before returning to rest. Trees covered the terrain. Bushes lined the near non-existent path, the Sun hanging differently in the sky.

Not wrong.

Different.

No one was near him. He was alone. Completely, utterly, only a couple lone birds, and a mouse, dawdling quietly in this… arrested space. 

Oh. And an insect. 

Space glitched, folded. 

Less than a second later, Saiki breathed out a faint sigh, the horizon opening up before him to reveal a sea of green. This time, he wasn’t alone. The being stared back. Two pairs of blood red eyes, muscles locked—statuesque marble—slightly surprised. 

This was new. 

Very new.

With an expression as flat as the surface of a grazeland, Saiki vanished. Again.

Sukuna blinked. 

Hm. 

[shanellet9]

What Remains After a Thousand Lives

I keep thinking about this one character who dies tragically in each life only to respawn in the weirdest ways possible. 

They don’t have a name. Not even a gender or a set appearance. What they do have, though, is unpredictability. Not sure whether that’s a blessing or a curse. On one hand, boredom is a foreign concept. On the other, there is no such thing as stability or a comfort zone.

One second, they could be walking down the streets of modern day Japan, trying to take a bite out of their freshly made, newly bought dango, only to blink and realise they have been dropped in the middle of a zombie apocalypse in the middle ages.

In the form of a slime blob.

On the bright side, at least the zombies wouldn’t be interested in them with that form. No need to worry about being eaten alive. Or to have several bites taken out. A pity they didn’t get a chance to taste that dango though.

They still weren’t certain what killed them.

After several lifetimes, maybe their sensitivity towards death had weakened. Or their memory was no longer enough to hold everything. It mattered not. They only had enough energy for one emotion, and that was irritation.

Pure irritation.

Why couldn’t whoever it was, have waited five more seconds before killing them? That way, at least they could have savoured—some of—the dango. Now it was probably going to waste lying on the ground or something. How annoying. 

And apparently you could also die as a slime blob. Don’t ask how it happened, they don’t know. 

Weren’t slimes supposed to be resilient? They bounce back from everything. Squashed, spliced, stretched, whatever, and they still survive. Why? Because they are shapeless blobs that can take on any form of any container or mold.

Like water. Just more viscous. So how exactly did they die?

Now, they are a puddle of water. Cursed to watch through hazy eyes as the world distorted around them. Cursed to endure the antics of mischievous children who—Ow! Don’t stomp on me you miserable—

When the Sun came up, they died again. Evaporated, drop by drop. Hey, at least it was painless. But it plummeted them into another life.

This time, a snail.

How lovely. How… Tranquil. 

It was quiet. Peaceful. Slow. Okay, maybe boredom was a thing. They were just going to hop over, close to the edge—just a little closer and—

Yay. New life.

Though this time, instead of spawning relatively normally—in other words, quietly—, they fell—screaming—down several layers of the atmosphere, crash landing on a—pink? Purple?—planet. How did they die as a slime, but not as a human who went whizzing through space without a space suit or any form of protection?

Plot armour. Or their unique brand of luck.

This planet was amazing though. Sparkling lights decorated plants, hanging canopies of trees and beautiful crystal clear waters that were covered in glittery algae. There was no night and day, and there were no animals, human or otherwise.

And no insects. Thank goodness. They still remember when they died due to that pesky mosquito.

They were sad when it was their time to go.

The next world brought them to the Victorian era. A Victorian era mimicry. Or the actual Victorian era. They had no idea. It wasn’t like time, labels and such meant much to them. Everything tended to blur a bit after a certain period.

This new world was disgusting. Terrible hygiene, nonsensical gibberish disguised as medicine and the misfortune to have been born a female. The first chance they had, they ran.

Now a fish, they swam free. Drifting down below into the dark abyss, floating up towards the surface bathing in the Sun’s bliss. Sure, sometimes they might have needed to perform some complex acrobatics in order to escape the bigger predators, but it was still leagues better than some of the other lives they had led.

The next life, they were happy to note that they had spawned in Japan again. This time, in a manga. That wasn’t so nice, but at least they could eat the food again. They made sure to buy—steal—and consume a dango as soon as possible.

It really was the best. Rivaling even Tanghulu.

They got caught up in the plot, because of course they did. The last thing they saw was the Demon king’s red eyes, before fire burned through their veins, tearing them to pieces. 

They were surprised to find out that they were still in the same world. They were sure—nearly a hundred percent sure—that they had died.

And they did. Except now they were no longer a cat.

Being a demon was a new experience, The hunger was unbearable. Dango no longer tasted good. The king was tyrannical.

They were glad to leave.

Drifting through the darkness, they blinked in surprise. This was the first time they held consciousness after death, and before rebirth. Humming, they twirled, fluttering their ghostly hands—smoke really, that kind of resembled hands—in various directions, trying to get somewhere.

Eventually their surroundings disintegrated, and gravity stuttered into existence, brute unforgiving force.

Something was wrong. 

They—

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

—Memories fractured. 

Shattered. 

It slipped, one at a time, liquid through the cracks of fingers, gliding, falling—

Disappearing.

"What's your name?"  crooned, familiar, eons ago.

“Could bes”

“what ifs,”

different worlds—timelines of loneliness, solitude. 

Forget remember, long lost, now gone.

They never clicked with people. How could they, when they knew that they would just leave? That they would be forced to carry memories of those times while the others could happily enter the wheel of reincarnation and come out a blank slate.

—what was the point?—and now someone remembers that they exist?

Did Meng Po finally look through her records or something, and go “oh hey! I missed this guy”—?

Why now? After they had already gotten used to this?

Splat!

Mist.

Fog.

Bit by bit. Little, missing—somehting they knew. But not anymore. 

Incomplete.

Niggling, naggling—a favourite colour?

Blue.

Red. 

Sand. 

Gross. 

Dag—dango.

What’s dago?

Pop!

Weightless.

The universe blinked—an endless abyss. Colours sparked, stars flaring thousands of light years away. Dying, growing, shining. Reaching out—oh? They blinked, staring down at the little wispy white thing. 

They wiggled it. 

It moved.

Wait—THAT’S THEM?!

Another blink. 

Darkness. 

They were enshrouded in darkness. 

They squirmed. Slightly, tentatively. The darkness parted. The slightest bit.

They squirmed again. Froze. Retracted. Pushed—felt it again.

Cold. Cold pushed up against them. Softer—even more yielding than the fluffy substance. It rose, slithering—that felt weird. Really weird. 

But… at the same time, it was… nice?

More of it gushed. This time, from… above? It trickled down. Soaking the fluffy substance, pressing down on them. It was… kind of annoying. Scratch that, very annoying. 

Hey! they screamed, shaking angrily in the direction of the cold thing. They resumed the struggle, straining to break free from the fluffy—comfortable, and they were going to return, just after giving that–

Singing. 

A voice, each second, getting clearer.

For them.

They paused, cocked back—again. Pushed—trying to reach that sound. 

Reaching, stretching, higher—higher—soft, fluffy surroundings gave. 

Lightness. 

Deja vu.

“There you are,” that same voice giggled. A meaning—oh- that was a greeting! 

They waved their little stem in reply.

The voice giggled—again.

It—the voice—touched them. One rounded finger, dragging down the length of their—eek!

They disappeared back into the soil.

Under the careful care of that kind voice, they grew.

They grew and grew until eventually they were moved out of their pot—as they came to learn was what that hard thing was called—and out into the open.

The Sun glared down at them. In response, they leeched off of that energy and used it to further grow themself.

Centuries later, a grand, majestic tree stood upon a hill—buried within the miles of other trees that made up the immense forest.

They wove themself, their very essence and soul into the earth, bringing life and companionship, quiet and safety.

Peace.

But sometimes, a lone thought drifts.

What is the outside world like?

[shanellet9]

“Amaryllis Rose Potter. Do you know why you have been summoned?”

She stared, unblinking, an unfocused haze of fractured emeralds.

A beat.

Then another.

“Miss Potter.”

Nothing.

Then—she smiled.

Sweet, innocent. A precious, delicate flower.

A tilt of a head, a breezy light giggle. Her feet scuffed against the floor as she kicked childishly.

“Oh?” she hummed. “Oh right.”

“I killed him, didn’t I?”

[shanellet9]

I thought of this story (quite some time ago). Just the beginning and end, and a bunch in the middle that I was too lazy to write. So here’s that:

“I'll wait, for as long as you need,” he said, gazing at me with those utterly devoted eyes.

I smiled, nuzzling into him as happiness trickled in little by little until it was like a dam burst and I drowned in it.

I loved him. This man who always looked at me like I was the reason for all the good in his world.

This man who promised to stand by and support me, who still radiated love even though I had just rejected his proposal.

Truly, he was the best.

He was someone I could see myself traveling down the road of life with.

Someone who would stay when no else would.

———

I screamed, wrenching myself away from his grasp. Him, who once embodied home was now the demon that haunted my dreams, a shadow of malevolence that I couldn't escape.

He brushed it off, brushed me off, as if I wasn't worth taking seriously. As if my comfort, my wants and desires, mattered not in the face of his own.

He chuckled, softly, a sound once reassuring but now something I feared.

Smiling that same serene smile that matched the cold glint in his eyes, his following words - an echo of the ones I'd heard before but now held a completely different meaning -, sent a chill down my spine.

“It's fine,” he murmured, fingers skimming over the curves of my waist. “I'll wait, for as long as you need.”

[shanellet9]

Faded Eclipse

呪術廻戦

Some things can't be taken back, mistakes you have to live with.

Aka when you accidentally run someone (Gojo) over. Oops.

≽ ^⎚ ˕ ⎚^ ≼

“Shit, shit shit,” you mutter to yourself, eyes glued to the road ahead. The rain pours—relentless—battering the glass of the car. The poor sweepers, squeaking with every shaky movement. 

Ding! 

The screen lights up, and— “Oh not now–”

Of course, as always, the heavens aren’t on your side. With another extended ping! the notification evolves into a longer, familiar melody. 

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut–”

The device slips, landing onto the scratchy mat. “Of for god’s–”

With a final beep, it clicks shut. 

“Thank—”

Bzzzt!

“FUCK–!”

With a yell, you reach down, straining the tips of your finger to brush against the screen. The wheel stutters under your grip, and you’re forced to abort the movement in favour of swerving—

The car screeches to a halt. 

Rain splatters, softening into a muted landscape that makes you almost, almost second guess. But you saw a flash, and you were pretty sure you heard a thud.

“Shit–” you rush out, seatbelt tugging at your skin as you throw the door open. The first step squelches as puddles distend, water rapidly drenching your form as you round the corner—

—and see the lump. 

Your legs weaken, as you stumble over. 

“Oh my gosh.” 

You suck in a breath, half-desperate, half-oh my god I killed somebod—

“Hello?” you whimper, “Please be alive…”

No answer.

Your fingers tremble as you tentatively, apprehensively, poke the person. His skin is ice cold, rain not letting up as your pokes increase in strength—one finger becoming two, and then five, and then both palms as you crouch over him. You brace yourself, lowering a shaking finger to his nostrils.

He isn’t breathing. 

He. Isn’t. B—

You wrench yourself backward, rain crashing harshly onto hard pavement. With this weather, whatever traces would be wiped—

You pivot, launching yourself into the car. The phone still buzzes, but that annoyance is something far gone as you hit the emergency dial. But the signal beeps, and it never connects. 

Lightning flashes, illuminating the world in brilliant white. You spin back out, falling onto your knees next to your very possible victim. 

“Okay, okay, let’s get you to the car, and hopefully the signal will come back once we’re off this mountain.”

Easier said than done. 

The man, possibly twice your size, is as solid as a boulder. And his legs are obviously broken. And his ribs. And you don’t want to think why that might be but staring at the ghostly complexion, water rolling down snow white hair– “Please be okay.” 

Hopefully, that prayer will be enough to inject him with a dose of life essence. Probably not but well, positive thinking, right? 

With a grunt, you slide under him, bracing your torso against your back. He almost slides right off, the water making nothing easier. Socks soaked, vision blurred, maybe this is all a very realistic nightmare. 

Half-dragging, half-pulling, you freeze before the closed door. You look down at him, then at the car, a muttered expletive leaving your lips. With a shudder, you place him back onto the ground, reach over to unlatch the door, and—stare at the back seats. 

Okay… so just… cram him in. While trying not to hurt him any further, though maybe that concern is… wasted. 

Yeah no.

You will go to the nearest hospital, and they will rescue him. Resuscitate, whatever. Besides, it isn’t like you’re a licensed professional, or even someone with medical training. How many times have you tried to feel your own pulse, and failed?

So see, all is fine, and he’s probably marinating in pain so—

With a forced exhale, you jump into the driver’s seat, and pull out of there. 

You watch the road carefully, hitting the emergency dial at odd minutes, hoping, hoping that one works, and eventually, ten minutes later, it does. “This is like the nth time I tried calling this emergency line!!!” you screech the moment the call connects. “Okay, whatever, I have a possibly dead but I hope not, because then that would make me a murderer, and I don’t want to be a murderer, but oh god, I think I’m a murderer, ‘cause I just murdered—”

“Is someone hurt?” the voice breaks through—steady, solemn. 

You drag in a deep breath, and calm down. The wheel feels clammy under your palms, tires sloshing over the wet terrain, as you ignore the whole ‘horror movie vibe’ of the entire situation. “I think—no, I did run someone over. He’s in my backseat now, and I don’t know whether he’s breathing.”

“Okay, where are you now?”

“Mountain!” you blurt, because where else would you be at eleven P.M, in the middle of a thunderstorm? “ I’m trying to get to the hospital!”

“Ma’am,” a pause, “Are you driving?”

“Well duh! I’m trying to get this person to the hospital!” To punctuate the point, lightning slices a jagged wound through the sky, illuminating the side of the mountain. 

“I need you to pull over right now. Find a spot slightly away from the road, and park the car.”

“Huh? Oh, okay,” you guide the vehicle, steering it to press against the cliff’s wall. Though you are still on the road. Well, who would be here in this weather, at this time, apart from yourself, and the weirdo you ran over?! “You guys are sending help, right?! Well, duh, why else would you tell me to pull over, and–”

The line drops.

“Oh shit, no, no, nonono–” you lunge at the device, but the screen stays dead. Stubbornly, inconveniently, irrevocably. “SHIT–!”

Great. 

Alone—no battery, shitty service, and a possible corpse. Actually, don’t say corpse. Saying corpse makes it sound so much more… ominous.

You slam your palm down. It smacks the car horn, the answering loud honk doing your nerves no justice. Closing your eyes, you pinch the bridge of your nose, and finally, finally, turn to your passenger. 

He’s… sprawled. Over the backseats, arms hanging off. You turn back, muscles so stiff they are practically solid concrete cast. The silence stretches, each minute an eternity. 

By the time the police—and ambulance—arrive, the rain has trickled to a stop, and the sun has started to peak. Shivers wrack your form, whether from grief or the cold, you don’t know. Water still drips, somewhat, half-dry. A layer of moisture that hammers in your new reality so much harder. 

“Do you need a blanket, or water?” the police asks, tone sympathetic, though it doesn’t shake away the memory of pronounced dead. Your knuckles whiten, the practiced motions of the people outside blurring into one colourless mass. Your car is still there. The— body—still there. 

And it’s your fault. 

“No,” you say quietly. What else can you do? Freak out? Panic? Go to jail? “Am I going to get arrested?”

The police smiles, a small, firm, though uncertain one. “Just a few questions, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

Right.

“Can you tell me what the visibility was like, right before impact?”

The query lingers. You hesitate, mind flickering to that instance. “Rain.” It comes out faint—halted. “A lot of rain.”

And your phone. 

The police smiles, again, and you look away. 

The soft morning glow filtering in brightens to a harsher, afternoon radiance. You fold your hands. Then unfold them. And fold them again.

“Ahem,” The officer clears his throat, “Do you have any relatives?”

Relatives. 

“No.”

A lie. Well, half-truth. You’ve been saying a lot of those lately. 

“None that can help,” you mumble. The officer winces, and not for the first time, you wonder whether he actually cares. Or if it’s all an act. It probably is. 

“Where are we going?”

“The station.”

 Oh. 

“Just some tests,” he reassures. You nod, and say nothing.

The tests pass. Clean. Witness statement, another round of questions. 

You’re tired. You want to go home. You want to sleep.

The walls are white. The questions uncountable. Fabric sticks to your skin, a layer of grime that won’t leave no matter how much you rub. Eyes. Watching. Judging—sentencing. 

It’s probably late afternoon. To think it’s been a day—half a day. A night, then again—

“That’s it.”

You blink.

The officer stands, and makes a gesture that you vaguely register as get up. You jolt to your feet, knocking your knee harshly against the metal leg of the chair.

“Do you have anyone who can take you home?” the officer steadies you, leading you gently by the elbow. 

You nod—then shake your head. 

“Okay. We’ll—”

By the time you stumble into your apartment, the sun has started to set. Your bag thuds to the ground, phone thrown after it. The clothes follow, shower blasting at a temperature so scorching it instantly reddens your skin.

You breathe, the steam stinging your lungs. 

You exhale, and stare at the patch on the wall. The shadow twists, mocking.

Twisting the handle, the water cuts off. A lone breeze sweeps past—prickling. You watch, absently, as a rivulet slides down.

Towel.

You need a towel. Otherwise, you might catch a cold. You can’t catch a cold. You have work. Oh, but you’ve been laid off.  So you don’t have work.

You take the towel. 

It wraps loosely around you, worn and thin. 

It’s cold…

Yes, it’s cold.  

You freeze. 

“You look like you saw a ghost.” the white-haired man leans forward, towering over you, “Oh right,” he ahs, “T—”

You scream.

[shanellet9]

In this World and the Next—You are all I have

Prompt! April Fools' (yeah real late but oops-), it's not that big in Asia... at least... I don't think so? I've never experienced it... maybe it's just that region...? Anyways- the extra chapter to a story not even written so... voila and enjoy! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Shuyue popped up from behind the couch, two limpid pools of boba pearls tilted inquisitively. The coast was clear. No one—the one other person in the room—was paying her any mind, eyes glued instead to the shining blue screen. Seeing this, a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. 

Soft leather dipped beneath her weight, protesting under the abuse, as she inched forward. A couple quick glances thrown at the other person revealed no detection. And just like that, she closed the distance—a few metres turning into two, and then one. Just behind him, she stilled, pausing, arms half-out, testing. 

Nothing. 

Emboldened, her hand snaked down to the satchel by her side, and out whipped a smooth, cylindrical object. With a bang! confetti exploded, drenching them both in glitter and pastel paper. “Happy first day of the month!” 

Natsumi didn’t blink. His fingers glid across the keyboard—unfaltering. 

“Haaaa?” Shuyue dragged out. “Seriously? Not even a fidget?”

Silence. 

Just the rhythmic clicking of fingers against keyboard. 

Boring daggers into the back of his skull, petulance grew with every second she went ignored. She shuffled, leaned over, crowding his space. She squinted, sneering at the screen. She blew a raspberry, one digit coming up to poke his cheek. 

Nothing.

Finally, with a huff, she stomped off. Mid-stomp, she turned her head back, and yeah nope. Still nothing.

Well, she thought, staring at the haphazardly unearthed box. Time for plan C.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Guess what?” she sang, both hands hidden behind her back. She twirled before him, smiling brightly as she shoved the laptop away with a guileless bloop! It landed, lightly, on the carpeted floors—coffee table now free of those distracting elements. 

Natsumi raised his gaze. Barely, an exhale. 

“Soooo~” 

“Hm?” 

A blink. 

“Voila!” her arms unfurled, prompting a tiny “meow.” Natsumi paused, eyes dropping down to the—clearly fake—robotic pet. 

Without another word, he picked up his laptop, and continued working.

Working.

Shuyue’s eye twitched.

How was math more interesting than her—and Tuanzi?!

Fine. It was time to bring out the big guns. The really, really big guns.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Driven by boredom—and pettiness—, Shuyue bounded through the apartment, sniffing at every nook and cranny. The plastic bag of fake insects dangled from her fingertips, swinging in sync with the cheerful whistles. 

“And you will go here,” she hummed, sliding one under his pillow. “And you in here,” she giggled, ebullience swelling at the thought of his horror, that split-second when his pupils would widen and the realisation clicks. He’d probably still take a second shower. Maybe even a third. 

Well, cockroaches were filthy. 

But these were fake, so all was good.

“Natsu!” she called, skidding out into the living room. The floor, polished and smooth as it was, couldn’t shake off all of friction’s law. Though that took a backseat to her grumbling stomach, an indignant complaint, demanding immediate rectification. “I’m hungry.” 

Natsumi lifted his head, dark gaze clashing with her tearful, pleading ones. A flick of his hand switched the device off—finally! She was starting to think he was addicted to the thing—and he pushed himself up from the ground, tracking a path to the kitchen—a response that earned him a cheer from the happy, excited ‘puppy,’ practically vibrating in anticipation.

Shuyue rushed after him, a spring in her step. “Pork? Chicken? Tonkatsu? Congee?” she listed hopefully.

“Patience,” he said, a spark of amusement lining his features. 

“Whaaat? Nooo—tell me!”

He did not tell her. 

“Okonomiyaki? Unagi? Mala fried rice? Kimchi fried rice?!” 

Natsumi reached for the box of eggs—“You’ve had too much fried rice.”

Shuyue reared back, clutching her chest. “One can never have too much fried rice!” she gasped, absolutely horrified. “In fact- If I had to pick one food to eat for the rest of my life, it would be that!”

“There is a reason I’m in charge of your diet.”

“No you’re not!”

Her protests drifted in one ear, and out the next, the soft sound of wood closing against wood, stove stirring to life. With a clink, Natsumi cracked an egg open, Shuyue squinting dubiously at the yellowish liquid. 

“No eggshells.”

Her head shot up. “...I didn’t say anything.”

“En.”

Eggs on the frying pan, wok out- “Are you making fried rice?”

“No.”

“It looks like fried rice.”

The look he levelled screamed ‘this is cooking equipment.’  She couldn’t help it though. It really did look like the beginning stages of fried rice. Which was: take out the wok, and have eggs. Well technically, one needed rice. Preferably day-old rice. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

Natsumi unlatched the fridge, cool air oozing out, dyeing the surroundings a lower temperature. Shuyue’s eyes narrowed, a spark flaring within their depths. Perching her chin against her palm, she waited eagerly, full attention trained on his movements. 

Jars pushed aside, a carton of milk moved, and—

Natsumi froze. Visibly, obviously. The muscles of his back stiffened, shoulders drawn taut. A beat of pure suspension, like time itself stopped in dread, he withdrew, each step, bending of the elbow, so mechanical he could pass as a robot. “A’Yue.”

“Hm? Yeah?”

“Get a paper towel, trash bag, and sanitiser.”

“Haaaa?” she tilted her head, leg kicking casually beneath her. “Why?”

Slinking off the kitchen counter, she meandered over to him—or well, tried to. Natsumi held out an arm, blocking her path. “Shuyue. Paper towel.”

“Hmmm?”

She nodded, a halted up and down motion. “Ohhhh~ are you talking about Xiao Zhang?”

Natsumi didn’t shift, but his eyes did. They slid over—side-eye, filled with a tinkling suspicion. In response, Shuyue grinned. Teeth catching the light, dazzling in their innocence. He returned his gaze to the cockroach. 

“Did you plant it there?” The accusation landed harshly. She was hurt. Truly.

“Ehhhh– no. I don’t remember planting anything.”

She could practically hear the expletive go off in his mind as he weighed his options. Gingerly, he extended his arm out, index and thumb hovering over the brown thing. The hesitation was strong. The debate. The what if it’s real. The whispered prayer.

“Oh eeeeeewwww, it looks so gross. Right next to the chicken too. Wonder if it munched on it.”

Natsumi blanched. He shrank back, a reflex muffled not in time.

That was the last straw. Giggles burst free from her throat, a pitched keening sound that had her lungs shuddering. “O-oh my gosh, you should see your face!”

And just like that, the tension dissipated.

Natsumi sighed, inaudible and exasperated, before drawing himself up to his full height once again. He crossed his arms over his chest, arching a single eyebrow—an expression that spoke volumes over how deeply unimpressed he was. He did not take previous time out of his oh beloved math just to come play entertainment for her. Or something like that anyway. Not that she knew what was going through his mind. It was probably empty half the time—filled only with code. A string of one and zeros. Technically, didn’t that mean that it would be full?

Code otherwise, Natsumi’s software necessitated intervention. Which meant the toy was promptly snatched and dropped into the nearest trashcan.

“Hey!” she protested, lilt tinging her tone. “Xiao Zhang wasn’t cheap!”

She would have said more. Maybe pushed it in further, let it steep—had the incessant beeping not chosen this time to ring.

Shuyue pivoted, a curious swerve, craning her neck forward—to… the stove. And the sad little forgotten… to say the eggs were inedible would be to draw a too hurried conclusion. In fact, some people preferred darker, charred bits in their meals, a lovely charcoal of carbon-something-hybrid’s nest. 

“I heard that carcinogens are on the hots right now.”

This time, he did curse. A cross between a grunt and a murmur. 

Natsumi stalked up to the stove, turned it shut, flicked the tap open and shoved the pan in. The water bloomed an opaque grey, blackish flickers floating around. Opening the trashcan once again, he dumped the entire thing in, pan and all.

“....Bye bye pan?”

Grabbing another pan, he repeated his initial steps all over again. Eggs out, chopsticks whipping it into a fine pastel banana shade, oil crackling as yellow bloomed a golden amber. (Shuyue did not dare bring up the question of egg shells. He wouldn’t… put them in.. out of spite… right??! Nah. That wasn’t Natsu. Actually—it might be. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past-)

“Eggshells…?” she asked weakly.

“Yes,” he replied flatly.

She recoiled–

“Sit.”

Shuyue sat. 

Seeing her horrified, half-frightened expression, Natsumi sighed. “No eggshells.”

She peered at him. The eggs fizzled on the pan, oil crackling, a background symphony to her scepticism. Taking out the chicken, Natsumi set it on the counter, disappearing into a cupboard to rummage for… something else. 

Cooking was a long process. One too long for humans. Really, a simple sandwich would suffice. But tragically, apparently, that wasn’t ‘nutritious’ or whatever. 

It was.

It had cucumber slices, avocado, eggs and ham. That was… fibre, plus carbs, and protein! So really, she couldn’t possibly imagine what he had to complain about. 

She blew out a breath. “Watcha making?”

Natsumi retrieved whatever it was he needed to create his masterpiece, dipped to the wok, did something with the chicken, and vanished to the fridge again.

“Natsuuuu!”

He came out with a… bottle of coke? Set it on the counter, reached over and rubbed her head and then… whirlwinded out of there again. 

“Gee thanks,” she muttered, throwing a resentful glance his way. Not that he cared. 

Sighing dramatically, she slouched against the nearest flat surface. A little stray piece of something catapulted itself off the ledge, a soft float through the air. 

The eggs grumbled, shivering in fright. They curled in on themselves, turning a bitter coffee brown, the golden yolk a dazzling centerpiece. The wok shimmered beside it, water evaporating into vapour. 

After all the residuals dissipated, Natsumi finally deigned the poor neglected kitchen thing with his attention. Oil splashed onto the black surface with a hiss of finality, minced garlic joining it a barest second later. 

Shuyue eyeballed the coke. 

“Is this a special… Experiment? Coke chicken? I don't think chickens like coke very much.” 

“I’m sure these ones will,” the dryness echoed, almost—almost—detracting from his statement.

“Sorry—what?”

Shuyue watched, eyes wide, as Natsumi tipped the coke in. the fizzy soda drink. The thing meant to go with burgers, as a drink. Kind of like dessert water. Milkshake. Bubble tea. The whole unhealthy drink category. 

Not soy sauce category.

“Is this some… elaborate prank?”

It wasn’t. 

Well, it wasn’t like Natsumi was online enough to grasp Western concepts. 

An eternity later, beckoned by Shuyue’s lessening patience and the eggs that were now grinning up at her like the cursed munchkins they were—

“Itadakimasu!” she clasped her hands together, a brief second, then swooped upon the food, diabolical combination be damned. Her stomach growled, grumbling anew as the scent curled in the air—too much for her to resist. Her gaze instantly snapped to the white, tender flesh, her carnivorous instincts rising to the front, a natural inclination Natsumi was determined to erase.

Shuyue blinked, staring at the soggy spinach leaves on the plate before her. 

“Eat,” Natsumi smiled, pretending not to see her resistance. He moved the chicken away, the little steaming wisps trailing after it—

Shuyue’s chopsticks snapped out, one gulp, the greens disappeared and she eagerly reached for her prize.

Chicken now acquired, she appraised it curiously. Its flavour seeped into the rice beneath it—fluffy, white no longer. She opened her mouth, a tentative press of her teeth tearing through the meat. 

“Mh!”

It was good.

“Eat slower,” the admonishment came swiftly, along with a glass of water.

“Mh-hm!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Shuyue.”

Natsumi’s voice echoed through the apartment—flat as a pancake, a ruffled owl’s deadpan.

Now… remember how she spent… well, hours, planning her systematic revenge? An idea born from an ad she happened to chance upon somewhere while doomscrolling, a not-very-fun hobby that did not, in fact, do much to cure her of her awful infliction of eternal boredom—something she blamed on Natsumi by the way, for the ears of any omnipresent beings around that she might or might not sense—, but rather heightened the misery of her situation, because she was, after all, not alone.

So take that! This was the result of neglecting her!

“Yes?” she beamed.

Natsumi strolled towards her, one brow arched, expression set. The moon outside hummed, witness to the moment, as he—graciosuly—lifted his arm, showing the little black thing he had… stumbled into, dangling from the tips of his finger. 

He didn’t touch the body. Just the very ends of the stick-like legs. His nails held more contact with it than his skin did. 

“Oh hey! Xiao Zhang’s cousin!” 

Natsumi stared.

“Better collect them all before tomorrow,” Shuyue ever-so-kindly hinted. “I heard somewhere that having the pranks stick around until the next day brought bad luck. Hm…” 

The tick of a clock hanging right at the top right corner of the wall caught her eye, a glittering silver hand pointed at an equally silver ten. 

“Welp! That’s less than two hours. Good lu— hey!”

The sad part was, Natsumi refused to participate. And by that, it meant that she was dragged around the house like a misbehaving kitten, forced to pick up sticks and dead rats, which in this case, were fake cockroaches. 

“Ehh- you think I can reach that far?” she perched a hand against her hip, craning her neck back to stare at the top of a shelf. 

The sleek polished wood sprawled upwards, climbing up the wall, until the nearest sliver of space was left between it and the ceiling. Come on– no giant was that tall.

(Xiao Zhang number something was hiding there.)

Natsumi’s eyes flitted down to hers. Then back up. With a sigh, he went to fetch the ladder.

[shanellet9]

Echoes of a Voice

呪術廻戦

Geto Suguru

The first time you met Geto Suguru, it was the antonym to an ordinary evening. First curse, first sorcerer. and then you got attached Who called you a good judge of character?

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

The first time Geto Suguru met you, it was a completely normal evening. 

Curse, deep in the mountains, seaside villa. It was supposed to be a quick stop, Grade 1 at most, exorcise, return back in time to meet up with Satoru and Shoko for a midnight snack. 

It was Grade 1.

A sort of possession. Easy to take care of.

But—

Suguru’s eyes widened, balance faltering, wind whistling, rushing over skin. Your hand, cold and wet, clamped around his wrist, tugged him into the pool with a deafening splash! 

He whirled, air bubbling, a sharp gasp, gaze clashing with your own dark ones.

Disbelief. Annoyance. Emotions flashed, too fast, your lips parting to finally spit out a—“What the hell- how did you get- you know what, nevermind.”

Suguru blinked. Once. Slow as a cat caught off guard.

“That thing is afraid of water. Just—stay here, don’t get out, the last person who refused to listen ended up a chewbone so hopefully, you’ll have more sense than that nincompoop.” 

Harsh. 

Bitter. 

Glare so scorching, it burned.

“It’s… fine,” Suguru felt the words leave his mouth. “I was called in to deal with it.”

A truthful statement, one awarded with a sharp, dare he say it, scornful, appraisal, a drag of the eyes up and down his figure, brimming with so much judgement it was impressive, considering the fact that you, toes barely brushing against the bottom of the pool, was clinging onto him, who stood easily in the pool.

Suguru didn’t force you off.

With a flick of his fingers, a shadow rocketed, carrying his command of exorcise. 

You didn’t see it.  

Normie.

But as time slipped, gold slithering over black, melting into a lighter navy, then blue, dazzling orange and yellows—

Sirens rang, hours too late, non-Jujutsu Sorcerers rushing to the scene.

Your eyes stayed on him, slight tilt of your head following his leaving figure. 

Suguru was late. 

Very late.

He sighed, raising his head to stare up at the morning sky.

Satoru was never going to let him hear the end of it.

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

The second time he saw you, it was a completely normal afternoon.

The sun shone, sparkling high above, baking the entirety of Japan in a sauna of hot. Pedestrians ambled along, oblivious, enclosed in their own world, as usual. 

Except for you.

A moment of static, dissonance between chase or not, you stumbled before him, hand closing around his wrist—again.

And there it was again. 

Cold, calculating logic. The trait that had kept you alive, while your friends’ guts littered the grounds. 

Without courtesy, preamble, or a simple notice, you tugged him—yet again—-towards a nearby… cafe. 

The bell jingled softly, the door swinging shut with a muffled thump, and before he knew it, Suguru was seated at a round table, off the side of the room, enclosed by the rounded walls of the booth. A coffee, and tea, was set in front of him, your eyes, one raised brow, set on him. 

“Tea, or coffee?” 

Suguru’s gaze flicked over the options. 

“Tea.”

The murmur of the masses, while still loud, was shielded somewhat by the private corner you had found. 

Convenient. 

Maybe fate. 

“What was that.”

Well, you certainly did not beat around the bush. 

Suguru leaned back, sinking into the cushions. His hand closed around the cup, tapping, once twice, against the ceramic. It resounded, resonating, the tea trembled, little ripples blooming at each micro disturbance.

You did not twitch. Did not move. Just stayed, a solemn statue, waiting—expectant.

One tap, another—he stilled. 

“What was what?” he feigned, legs unwinding, back straightening as he placed his elbows against the table’s surface. It dipped, slightly, droplets of coffee spilling over its rim.

Nothing. Not even a flicker crossed your features. Pure granite, weathered stone.

Impassive. 

Possibly traumatised, that day hadn’t been easy for you. 

“That wasn’t rabies.” You paused, gaze locked stubbornly, head on, on his. “That- thing, was intelligent.” 

Nowhere in the world did rabies create intelligence. Nowhere in the world did it create an apex predator. Nowhere in the world did an infected animal stalk, bait, watch, and reap. No infected animal would hold up a pair of car keys, challenging, mocking.

So why was that lie told?

Believe and forget. Over and done. Never again.

And lies were so much easier than the truth.

But that wasn’t what you wanted. 

“The full truth, or the simplified one?” 

You stared.

And the truth, it slipped out so easily. Too easily.

The skies darkened. The tea cooled. Around, chairs screeched, pushed in, back out, one batch gone, another to replace them. Bell jingling, orders flowing. 

Your face—blank. A pure white canvas, hallowed space, as vast as the universe, just as undecipherable. His fingers resumed their pattern, tracing the swirls of the cup, sending vibrations through its surface. 

“Thank you.” You stood up, “For your time.”

Suguru inclined his head. His gaze dropped, a strand of hair falling into his face, the tea’s surface reflecting his own distorted image back at him. His gaze shot up, catching on you, in front of the counte—

In one fluid motion, the table fell from view. Distance closed, drawing nearer, his fingers closed over your arm. 

You didn’t blink. One hand reaching into your bag, you slid the bank card in.

“Consider it as thanks,” you hummed. “You did, after all, save my life.”

Suguru’s grip loosened. 

The bell chimed, fading sunlight casting a rich honey halo. It hovered, clung, warm as you were cold, your shadow vanishing behind the door’s echo.

Suguru stood. 

The crowd parted, muttered apologies, wandering glances. 

“Excuse me…?”

Light washed away entirely, ink seeping in from the horizon. Dyeing clouds, creeping along the edge of buildings. His footsteps landed, firm, certain, moving with a sense of purpose he didn’t quite registered. Blipping in his periphery. Crisp air mirroring your frost.

Ah, he blinked. The rotten taste in his mouth has lessened.

Crickets chirped, song vibrating along the beat of the wind’s susurration. Moonlight, drifting above, eclipsed the trees’ silhouettes. The stairs rose, each stone block by block, weathered moss lining every crack and indent, torii gates bracketing the entrance. 

For the first time in quite some time, his burden does not feel quite as heavy. Jujutsu High the same as it was before, before everything happened, before—

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

The third time he met you, it wasn’t a coincidence. 

Not really. 

He’d felt you, in his orbit, an alarm sounded. And- followed. 

You were in the library. Books out, pen out, notebooks sprawled, a mess over the round wooden tables, completely dominated by your frazzled energy. Hair tossed half-heartedly up into a mimicry of a bun, half of it ghosting over the skin of your shoulder, glasses, large and rectangular, sat pressed into your face. 

Studying.

Right. You were his age. 

Which meant—national exams. University admission examinations. 

Could you really focus on that, after knowing what you know now?

You were a normie. This was yet another example of the lapse in worlds. A brief blurring of boundaries, distance that snaps right back after the sun rises again. 

Two dimensions. Completely separate.

Pivoting on his heel, Suguru vanished.

Not forever. 

Like an itch, he—didn’t get it.

“Hello.”

You lifted your head, rubbing your eyes dazedly. “Hello,” you replied, voice drenched in fatigue. 

“That looks like hell.” Suguru motioned to the mess, ink blots dotting your palms, formula sheets, math equations that made him glad he specialised in Jujutsu Sorcery. 

“It is.”

Flat. Monotone. But laced with disgust, a scathing glare boiling with so much wrath, thrown at a textbook, sporting a cute caricature of a character. However, looks were deceiving, and Suguru had heard the saying repeated time and time: do not judge a book by its cover.

Somehow, it became routine.

Suguru didn’t need to learn math. Or English. Or chemistry, physics, or the other subjects normie schools so loved to preach.

Suguru was a Special Grade Sorcerer.

Yaga will be happy.

You were relaxed. Muscles uncoiled, shoulders slumped naturally, no longer drawn taut. Explanations trickled, then poured, spark flickering in your eyes. Your fingers flitted, moving from one diagram to the next, a page flipped to the human body. When, Suguru didn’t know. Sometime between ten minutes ago, and a couple sentences into your rant.

Suguru was learning things.

He—academics was something he excelled at. But he had never, before, understood its usefulness. Somehow, even in your grudge against the system, a burning desire to tear it down, managed to do something even Yaga had never managed to before. 

Maybe he should introduce you to Satoru. 

The thought was pushed away as fast as it came. 

Suguru found himself here. Again, and again. 

You were alone.

Always.

Your friends were dead.

Perhaps—

“Does anyone blame you?”

You tilted your head, cheek lolling flat onto your palm, half-opened eyes peering at him. “Hm?”

“For...”

Surviving.

“Mn.”

Monkeys.

Why was he surprised?

The skies dimmed, people flocking out of the library in droves, chairs pushed in, bags slung over shoulders. 

You reached out, gathering loose papers and pens, folding them neatly into binders, pencil cases. Textbooks slid in, the strap of your bag, worn and soft, the only thing that made the weight bearable. 

You refused his offer.

Of course you did.

The weight wouldn’t be anywhere near as harsh on him. You were so small, the bag was half your size! One bad breeze away from a snapped spine, honestly, it would be—

“I can carry it,” you bit out, staring daggers at his fingers. 

Suguru sighed. He settled for holding the library door open, and escorting you home. 

It wasn’t safe. 

Not at this hour, not in this city, not as a lone girl.

Didn’t you have family looking out for you? Who would let their daughter stay out after dark, knowing the predators roaming the streets?

“I’m not helpless,” you rolled your eyes the next day, his concern slamming straight into an obstinate, arrogant wall. “It might seem like it, oh so powerful Jujutsu Sorcerer, however-” you held up a finger. “I’ve survived months, years, without a self-appointed protector so hush it.”

݁A frown creased Suguru’s brow.

“Really, I’m fine. Our first meeting? Totally a once-in-a-lifetime jackpot. If that happens again, well, I’ll admit my fate.”

Suguru stared. “That isn’t funny.”

“You’re right. It was hilarious.”

Talking to you was useless. 

You didn’t understand the horrors of the world. Sure, that night, you had glimpsed it. But true monsters didn’t bare teeth at you, didn’t growl, didn’t drool, didn’t stroll right up to you, announcing their presence. 

True monsters hid. Camouflaged under the skins of prey, lingering behind the loud beasts. 

It was good.

Suguru didn’t want you to learn this truth. No, it was far too harsh. 

He’ll take on that burden, like all others.

Exorcise, consume. 

A never-ending cycle. 

“Geto-san?”

Suguru blinked, lifting his gaze to meet your own. “I’m fine.”

You nodded. 

You held out a thin, geometric bar. Glossy black. 

Chocolate. 

“One chocolate a day chases sorrow away,” you said, the shyest flash of a grin.

Some days he couldn’t make it. You never asked. On the days he did, you handed him a thermos. Hot chocolate. Less sugar. Bitter, dark, enough to render taste buds ineffective.

Exactly how he liked it.

“I have a mission.”

“Again?” you tutted, shaking your head. “You should sue them for child labour.”

“Maybe I will.”

No he won’t.

Instead, he’ll do one better.

He’ll burn Jujutsu Society to the ground, and remake it anew.

Monkeys.

All of them.

Twin eyes. Huge, shining, stared up at him. Kids. Children. 

Younger than Riko.

Consume.

All.

 ˖Ი𐑼⋆

Water ran through his hair, down his back, past his legs. Bubbles floated, popped, the rest circling down the drain. With a twist of the knob, the water sputtered to a halt. 

He slung the towel over his hair, dragging on a pair of sweatpants, before exiting. The twins, Mimiko and Nanako, gazed soulfully at him.

His responsibility. 

“Let’s get you something to eat.”

You were there. At the library. Like clockwork. You didn’t realise anything. No doubletake, nothing. Of course not. 

What was he thinking?

“Chocolate?”

Suguru smiled. 

You were the same. 

He was—no, he was still the same. 

“What subject today?”

You slouched, grimace twisting your features. “Math.”

“Ah,” Suguru nodded solemnly. “Well,” he held out an arm. “Ladies first.”

The days settled into monotony. Blurring into the passing of time, your examination finals drawing nearer and nearer, initial panic soon drowned under the weight of get this over with.

“You know, I think I’ll pick bullying non-human entities over this-” you grumpily poked the chemistry textbook, “-anyday.”

“Oh?” Suguru laughed. “I’ll do one better. How about you drop out and I raise you?”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Sounds great! No take backs!”

You would be great with Mimiko and Nanako. The girls needed another female influence in their life. 

Suguru froze. The plastic bag slipped, cookies crashed onto pavement. His vision whited, breath hitching, fury soaring like a tsunami’s rage. His eyes locked, the familiar white mop, sunglasses perched high, shielding icy blue eyes. 

Satoru.

Satoru laughed, half sprawled over you, far too close, nose nudging into your business. 

Suguru’s jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened, fists curling. His foot moved, one—stiffened. 

This was a trap. 

Satoru.

Sometimes, Suguru really hated him.

Gritting his teeth, Suguru spun around, and disappeared around the corner.

No longer safe.

Suguru was an idiot.

How did he ever think—

He was a wanted man.

He needed– 

The girls needed you. 

You didn’t deserve to rot amongst the monkeys. You didn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess, this cesspit of filth, it was corrupting. 

“Girls,” Suguru smiled. “We’ll have an honoured guest with us soon. An addition to this family. Let’s be on our best behaviour, yes?”

 ˖Ი𐑼⋆

When Geto didn’t show up, you didn’t think anything of it.

When a random stranger popped up, louder than life, obnoxious and shiny—yeah, you took notice.

“Good morning! I’m Gojo Satoru! What a pleasure to meet you!”

You would have ignored him. Dialed the music up to max, turned back to your books, if it wasn’t for the presence he carried.

The weight.

Like Suguru’s.

But colder. Less clingy. The weight didn’t undulate like thousands of hissing snakes, it lingered, undisturbed, silent as a lake’s surface. 

And just as deadly.

Blinding grin. And as fake as a disco ball. 

“What do you want?”

Gojo, the second Jujutsu Sorcerer she had ever met—and were they all so tall?—smiled even brighter. 

“Oh nothing much,” he chirped, “Just, you know a Geto Suguru?”

You stared.

“Of course you do! He’s been coming ‘round here quite often,” Gojo continued. “You know, technically speaking, you're like, a criminal by association. You watch TV shows? Yeah, I’m the good cop, and I’m here to-”

You plugged the earphone back in. You had a trigonometric equation to solve, and finals were not slowing down for anyone.

“Hey! Y-”

Gojo’s voice dipped in and out of focus.

In hindsight, maybe you should have paid more attention.

“Geto?” you blinked, rubbing your eyes blearily, squinting in absolute confusion at the figure chilling on your bed, in your bedroom. “How’d you get- nevermind. Why are you here?”

“Evening,” he greeted, voice curling softly, warmly. Light as a feather, soothing and melodic. 

Wrong.

Something was wrong.

“Whatever you want, it can wait till morning. Shoo.” 

You flicked your fingers outwards, a universal movement for scram.

Suguru didn’t move. 

“Ah,” he frowned, “Satoru said something, didn’t he?”

“Said what?” 

The skin between his brows furrowed, each flutter of his lashes, mournful in tone. 

Sad.

Why the fuck was he sad?! No—why the fuck did he look like a victim?!

“Geto, whatever it is, I’d really appreciate not doing it in my bedroom.”

His gaze, flickering purple, locked onto you. Pinning you in place. The rest of his features were gentle. Faint smile an invitation, faint lines suggesting harmlessness. But his eyes—they told a completely different story.

You backed away. One step at a time. Geto mirrored you, tracking every minute movement. Your hands reached behind you, scanning, searching.

Nothing in here was a threat to him.

You posed no threat.

Your heel brushed against the wall. 

Tension thickened, dispersing, spreading. It hung, cloaked so heavy it near choked you. At last, Geto shifted.

“You wound me,” he uttered. Sliding off your bed in one smooth motion, Geto stalked towards you. Body angled slightly forwards, legs about one and a half of yours, arms thick—muscular—enough to constrict a grown man to death. 

You weren’t beating him in any fight.

Your eyes flicked to the door. 

Neither in flight.

He knew it. You knew it. 

But he was a man. Male. And if there was anything you knew, it was how to take one down.

You bent your knees, heel pressing further into the wall, sole flat against it. 

“Come on,” Geto sighed. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

Oh no, we’re totally doing this.

“You can’t beat me. Even if you were to slip past, you would never make it out of this house.”

“Geto-san,” you said flatly. “Please stop talking.”

The more you do, the more you sound like a second rate villain.

You liked to think that you were a good judge of character. But this, you never saw coming.

Betrayal comes from those closest to you.

You thought Geto was different.

But at the end of the day, he was male. Even worse, an overpowered one. Fuck. You really wish you hadn’t ignored Gojo earlier in the day.

Instant karma.

Hilarious.

This was fine. 

Just fine.

You blinked. 

Nevermind—not fine.

You pressed your lips together, eyes widening.

The air tasted different. 

Sweet.

You hadn’t noticed it.

Hadn’t clocked it.

Until it was too late.

“You play—dirty.”

Blood rushed to your brain—dizzying, nauseating. 

Your legs weakened. The muscles of your back tensed, twitching, feebly, body sliding down, flat against the wall. The weight of your head pressed down on your neck, gravity’s pull stronger, force exerted—you opened your mouth, wheezing in a rattling breath.

Really dirty.

Geto stepped closer. His hand came up, palm reaching up to cradle your face. Your breathing, shallow, rapid rise and fall of your chest, strained against his embrace. Your eyes moved, sluggish, gazing into dark indigo abysses. 

The curtains fluttered, breeze wisping through the air. 

The smile that tinged Geto’s face was soft.

Adoring.

“Sleep,” he hummed, hand smoothing over your hair. “I’ll take care of everything.”

The worst part was, this was his truth. All you could see, past the heavy haze of your closing eyelids, was his unwavering conviction. He truly, utterly believed—

Geto

You’re wrong.