“no one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? no one.”
the sheer aggressiveness in keigo’s tone is a rare sight to see. usually, he’s a laidback and optimistic guy. maybe it’s because of his past hero status, walking through crowds of fans and facing interviews with his trademark all-white shining grin, appealing to the public with his golden glow. half of that might be fabricated after years of grooming (all thanks to the HPSC) and the other half of that might have become natural personality. that’s one of the things that drew you towards him in the first place.
so, of course you’re surprised at the seriousness shrouding over his face and how tight he’s holding his drink. his feathered brows are smoothed out to look so placatory but the yellow in his eyes is hard enough to cut rocks. his teeth bite the inside of his right cheek, as if he’s trying to keep himself level-headed. all of his demeanor screams ready to beat a bitch up. that’s not the mood that you want him to be in.
all you wanted was to have a nice lunch with him. maybe having a conversation about pesky coworkers was not the way to go.
the incident happened a mere few hours ago, involving you and another coworker who flaunted his trust fund perks around as if everyone needed to care. you were organizing some field notes from a marine biology research project that were due at the end of the work day. just a few minutes until the end of your shift and the last packet of notes was ready to be put into the pile until you stood up to leave your desk and there was a clatter of plastic—
iced coffee splashing all over the pile. ruined ink dripping down the printed papers—papers that you spent missing a whole class period getting done. you startled from feeling the ice cubes and cold liquid seeping into your outfit, turning your head towards the culprit.
a loud aggravated groan filled the workspace, “why the fuck would you cause a walking hazard? i was waiting all morning for that coffee! you have to be fucking kidding me.”
at first, all you could do was blink at the man. this was supposed to be your fault? you weren't anywhere close to being in his way. the soaked papers you had were enough to say that this was his fault. people could know how to be socially aware of their surroundings; a lot more of them should be these days, honestly.
even worse, where was the i’m sorry?
it never came. instead, you got shot with a death glare and the cup being left right where it was. it was one of the stupidest cleanups you ever had to do and tears of frustration burned behind your eyelids, but thankfully your supervisor understood your side. you weren’t fired or reprimanded. you still managed to turn in a new set of notes on time and then leave.
and now you’re here, relieved at being able to take an opening in your busy boyfriend’s schedule.
you’ve told him the situation with less dramatics and straight to the point details but it doesn’t seem to dilute his anger. you feel stupid because it’s such a small thing compared to what he needs to worry about being the president of one of the biggest institutions in japan. it’s work drama. why did you even bring it up?
as if he can read your mind, keigo moves his head to catch his eyes with yours. perceptive. all-knowing. he repeats himself, more sternly, “something botherin’ you is not stupid. and again, you don’t deserve that from anybody.”
“yeah, i know,” you say, though the words feel flat in your mouth. “it’s not the first time that we’ve had conflicts with each other but he has a lot of money and i’d rather not make a big issue—"
“ohh,” keigo chuckles suddenly, the noise almost jarring. one of his hands slants against his cheek to hold the smile quirked on his mouth. it’s taut; instigating. “so the bastard’s a consistent one, yeah?”
something inside of your stomach squirms at the sudden change in his expression. the sensation switches between warm and cold at the same time. you feel like admitting that was a bad move. keigo’s going to want to be fully involved now. he has the gall to back himself up if he needs to.
you gesture at his chicken sandwich, trying to steer the conversation. your smile feigns carefree. “don’t worry about it, i can hold my own. anyways, babe, your sandwich is getting cold.”
keigo’s free hand pushes the plate to the side as if it’s a piece of dust and not a whole ready and paid meal. well, that was a mission failed. his sparked eyes only linger on your face, his stare suffocating enough to have cold sweat dripping down your side. you know exactly what this is. it’s the face he makes when a conversation isn’t finished; when he doesn’t want it to be. the face that he makes when he used to be live on the field stopping villains.
a flicker of hawks appears behind the molt of gold in his eyes. you haven’t seen that in two years, haven’t seen that since his stepping down of being a hero. somehow this is much scarier than if he was going to pull a red blade out of nowhere.
you shift in your seat, knowing that the subtle animosity isn’t directed at you but still breaking under it. your mouth opens to try another attempt at deflecting and ignoring the situation but he’s already at the finish line before you.
“baby, you know who i am, right?” he asks, a softness attached to his words but only because of the term of endearment. you can weave out the edge in his tone. something that feels like a knife just before the cut. “i’m one of the top people in japan, under the pro-heroes.”
you nod your head slowly. the ice cubes in your drink clink together when you pick it up just so you don’t have to feel frozen in your spot. you wish he could break the eye contact, but you know that once he starts, he won't stop.
“besides that, i’m also your boyfriend. so what hurts you hurts me. what bothers you is gonna bother me.”
keigo leans closer to you across the table, grabs one of your hands with his. his fingers graze against the underside of your palm with a touch so faint that it feels like fresh vapor after a rainy day. his stare is still holding its ground. gentle, but not too much. still having a reflection of hawks.
“i don’t care how much money that guy has,” he starts, his tone shifting to one that’s strict and clear. there's no hint of a smile anymore. you can sense his authority coming out. you fight the heat that wants to crawl over your face. “you don’t get away with hurting what’s mine.”
a shiver runs down your spine at hearing his words. you know that keigo isn’t going to do anything drastic—he still has a diplomatic reputation to uphold, after all—but that doesn't mean he’s going to be aimless and stand by. he’ll think of an entire plan to enact in order to find this coworker and handle him accordingly. you know he’s a workaholic and always has been.
but when it's about you? that’s all his vision narrows down to.
you don’t know whether you should find that hot or not. the stutter in your chest from that idea says otherwise.
after one more second of silence, keigo’s expression returns to his boyish grin, wide and warm. he presses a quick kiss against your fingers and then leans back with sunny light in his eyes. his food is back in front of him but he doesn’t make any rush to eat it. you take a bite of your own food in hopes that he follows, which eventually he does.
the rest of the lunch dwindles with him telling you about his work day and other random topics that he happened to find during the week. but you both know that situation is far from over.
your boyfriend doesn’t like to leave anything unfinished when it comes to you.
“well technically, it is. cause you’re laughing and i’m winning. laughs mean something is funny and games have winners.”
“you’re such—!” you struggle to get your words out, hands wrapping around his wrists as they dive to get your weak points. another chuckle chokes out from your throat. “such an ass!”
“pin me down if you want me to stop, then.” his grin is coy and you hate it.
you scoff, “right, as if i can pin down a highly-trained pro-hero.”
“only a fair chance, yeah? i’ll be nice about it.”
he’s provoking you and you’re fully aware of that. you end up taking the bait regardless. in what feels like mere seconds, you’re pushing him down onto the sofa with enough force to have him huff out a chuckle, his eyelashes fluttering in surprise. his smile is slow, bright.
“shit,” he breathes out, dumbfounded. you have no idea why that is. he feels too lean and warm under you to think about it. “someone’s been working out without me, i see.”
your cheeks flush. “it’s nothing crazy. i just… get bored sometimes. plus, it helps waste time when you're not here.”
his hands smooth up your thighs, hold onto your hips. the pads of his thumbs softly dent into your skin and you have half a mind to let your hitched breath slip. but he seems to get the message anyway. he’s too attentive.
“i’d never get bored of this view,” keigo teases, sultry and quiet. something in you burns white-hot. “so soft for me."
you want to kiss him and see if he shuts up. but there’s the thought of the damp heat of his mouth, how gentle his lips are now that he’s not flying anymore, his hands that are still wandering. he knows how to drive you to your edge.
what a big mistake you've managed to make.
you try to push the image of him using the nape of your neck to bring you down for a kiss out of your mind. your hands are planted firm on his chest. “i pinned you down, so that’s it. i win,” you say, giving him your own version of a coy smile.
when you move to push off of him, his hands keep you where they are. the warmth of his legs seep into your own; comforting and weighted. his fingers go back down to squeeze the shape of your thighs with a touch that's light but also slow and steady.
keigo’s head tilts to the side, his stare slanted through the brush of his golden lashes. he’s peering at you. you want to turn your face away. “wanna leave me that bad already? and after i was being so nice.”
you can’t decipher the tone in his voice. there's a rasp to his words that makes him sound both condescending and mockingly pitiful. you don't know why he's speaking to you this way, like he's being the authority here. it makes your stomach feel like it’s gonna melt; something nervous and mushy.
“like you said,” you start, suddenly feeling like you’re standing in a match that you have a slim chance at winning. “if i pinned you down, then you’d stop tickling me. that's all.”
“wearin’ my clothes too…” he doesn’t hear your answer. it's as if he's in a daze, one of his thumbs circling up until it’s resting under the rim of the black crewneck sweatshirt you’re wearing—his sweatshirt—and pressing into your hip once again. you feel his nail dig a soft crease above your hipbone. one thing about him is that he touches too much.
watching him, you swallow to get your bearings. another exhale shakes from your mouth. he drinks in your reaction with a hum, rather pleased. it's subtle but he knows. you've lost.
“sensitive, huh? if i knew that was the case, i could've just kept my attention here. then i wouldn't feel like a sore loser."
a disbelieved huff leaves your nose, tone careless. you try to stay inside of your body while his touch continues to feel you out. "you don't really look that way to me."
"hm... yeah, maybe not. i don't really show my competitive side that much."
keigo's lips pull up into another grin, too satisfied and disarming. his hand drags itself up under the fabric of the crewneck and his palm splays against the space of your rib. for a moment, the grin falters when his eyes drop to your stomach. then he's bringing his gaze back up to your face.
his voice spins into silk, "now you can tell me what you want as a reward."
keigo’s face is searing with anger and disbelief when the tears fall down your face. he tries to keep it calm—he doesn’t want you to see anything rabid—but the twitch in his feathered brows are another thing. his hold on your face is the complete opposite of how he feels. his gloves were bared off the second that he saw you here with trembles wracking your body, thick and warm hands cradling your cheeks.
your face leans—no, more like rests—in his touch. he watches your lashes flutter as you cave into him, into his aura of safety. like it’s a natural piece of you. his heart jumps in his throat.
your head sinks a little too low, weak with emotion. he instantly makes work to keep your focus on him. “hey, hey,” he coos softly, thumb pressing tender on your cheek. “nowhere else i need to run to. ‘m right here to stay, yeah? let me take care of you tonight.”
you nod, a silent answer. your head turns and you brush your lips against his palm. keigo swears that he’ll die in this moment. his heart stutters at witnessing a sight so fragile. he loves watching you for reasons like this; documenting to memory how much trust you have in him.
“god, baby…” he murmurs, quiet and a little sad. his brain says protect protect protect. he can’t think of anything else. that’s his duty—his life goal. even in minuscule situations similar to now.
he’ll never think you’re minuscule. you take up more space than you think and he’ll always let you.
“hm?” is your noise of acknowledgement and it's full of hurt. hatred flushes through his whole body before he forces logic to cool down the heat. he can’t be selfish, you come first.
he rubs at your cheeks, leans close enough to your face for his mouth to rest against your ear. his chest rumbles when he talks low. right now, he needs to provide comfort for you.
“i’m taking you to bed, okay? you look like you've had a long day,” he says, his tone sounding as though there’s no reason for you to object.
of course, he doesn't expect you to say no, yet a little wave of relief flows through him when you give him a hoarse "m'kay" against the spot of his jaw. his head pulls away from yours so he can get a full view of your face, eyes scanning over. your eyes are slightly swollen from crying but there's no physical damage. you're just mentally and emotionally distant.
keigo grabs one of your hands with his and stands up from where he's kneeling, guiding you to follow him. he gives your hand three careful and reassuring squeezes; just to let you know that he's there and vice versa. he heads to your closet to grab a change of clothes for you while you're seated on the bed. you've probably been in the same ones for god knows how long.
when he goes back to standing in front of you, his eyes soften at the watery shine in your eyes. you were focused on looking at some random corner of the room—dissociation—but then immediately glued to him. it's as if you know his presence and he knows yours, anytime, anywhere.
he smiles, half-hearted. "you eat yet? i can get you something before helpin' you settle down."
you nod your head yes. relief travels through him a second time.
"good." he holds the clothes out towards you, "i'll let you change into these. i forgot to go check something."
right when he's turning around, he feels your hand latch onto his wrist and the gesture makes him freeze in confusion. he looks back at you with one brow raised up but he doesn't expect the words "can you help?" to leave your mouth. in all the years that you've been dating, he's never really helped you change clothes because you've always preferred to do it yourself. not that he's ever minded that.
blush colors keigo's cheeks and for a split second, he feels timid before he shoos the feeling away to recenter himself. "of course," he says, sweetness encased in his voice. he places the clothes on the mattress and reaches towards you.
like a plant gravitating towards the sun, he watches your body slightly curve over while his hands pull your shirt over your head. his fingertips graze the skin of your back and it's slow and delicate at the touch. he's touched your body before, but not enough times to be used to it. blood rushes through his heart and it feels so pressuring that it makes him keep his eyes on the clean shirt while he's putting it on you. though his stare catches a slip of your chest, his face warming again.
you pull off your bottoms and he kneels down holding the new ones in his hands. one leg inserts one hole and the other follows, smooth and silent. when the clothing reaches your thighs, he mumbles a calm command of "lift up for me" and secures them over your hips after you comply. your stare down on him burns with sincerity to match with your thank you.
leaving from the floor, he takes your mouth with his, simple but deep enough for you to feel how much love he has. your lips are warm and he allows himself to melt into the sensation for three seconds, five, ten. eventually, he breaks away to notice a little bit of light come back inside your eyes. his heart sings.
the covers are cool when he pulls them back and he pats the empty spot. "want me to tuck you in?" he asks, lighthearted. there's a tiny break of a smile that shows on your face before you go over to him. after you're laying down, he flattens the blanket over your body with leisured strokes and makes sure to wrap the edge of it across the column of your neck.
seeing your now blissful expression makes him hurry to change out of his work clothes and join you in the bed. he fits himself at your side, opens the thick space of his arms to welcome your body. his hand places on the line of your hip and he rubs over to soothe. your forehead presses against the front of his chest, soft huffs of breath wafting over the cotton of his shirt. his mouth lingers against the top of your head.
you never tell him what's wrong but to him, that's alright. tonight isn't a night to ask. he's made you feel safe. he's protecting you, just like time and time again.
Bodyguards aren't supposed to care. But the woman on Keigo's arm makes you reconsider.
warnings: none
a\n: first post of 2026 and of course it's about imagining myself as keigo's bodyguard... sigh the obsession with this man has to be studied fr. anyways enjoy!
as a professional bodyguard, keigo takami—the president of the HPSC and former number two pro-hero in Japan—has to be one of the hardest clients that you've ever been assigned to. you've had the prissy CEO'S daughter and the shy son of a world-renowned actress on top of hundreds of others. but there's something about keigo that's glaringly obvious and somehow puzzling. you've taken note of his little quirks over the past month or so. he has a motormouth during interviews. he likes to touch fluffy objects when he's under stress. his smile is a large shining sea of pearls, absorbing and drenched in confidence.
he's open to the public and yet you know nothing about him. not anything real, anyway. what a baffling contradiction.
tonight, you're accompanying him to the annual hero billboard charts after party. another new year of celebration for the people who go out and risk themselves on the field, the ones who come back with more pride then before, the ones who garner a platform to stand on if they've spent months in the shadows. personally, you think that the rankings are a load of bullshit to only serve the purpose of placing a hierarchy among strangers' worth but they're still running in the system. keigo used to be a part of that system, so why didn't he remove it? maybe it didn't matter to him.
your eyes flick to the clock on the wall of the hotel room, catching where the black hands are placed. 8:30pm. three more minutes until the scheduled time to leave. his driver will be waiting downstairs any second and he's been cooped up in the bathroom doing god knows what.
"mr. president," you call out, waiting by the entrance. the light from the bathroom shines out from the crack under the door in a white sheen over dark green carpet. clattering echoes inside of the bathroom and the sound of running water stops. "the driver will be here in three minutes."
"hear you loud and clear! just need to add some finishing touches," answers keigo. he hums some quiet tune that you don't recognize. after a silent beat or two, the door opens and he steps out.
it's strange, actually. the sudden twist that happens in your stomach at his appearance as though you haven't seen him in formal dress thousands of times before. it's basically the only outfit he wears now. although tonight, there's a difference with him wearing a white and red suit, both of the colors complimenting the bronze tan of his skin. the ruby red dress shirt matching his usual pair of red earrings with a tangy richness. the crisp white blazer steamed and ironed over his lean frame, full of prestige. his black dress shoes shining under the soft yellow lamplight. light chapstick and gloss on his lips ("just cause i don't fly anymore doesn't mean i stop my self-care," he said once). two thick gold rings adorning his pointer and ring finger on one of his hands, joined with a small leather watch.
glitter dusts along the length of his neck and his collarbone. his eyes look sharper tonight but that might be the extra eyeliner. why does it feel like too much for you? you've always been able to handle enough and more.
he's the main event—a jewel under the spotlight. you have to protect that, not afford to get distracted.
keigo brushes the knot of his tie, regarding you with a large quirked brow. "why are you looking at me like that? should i fix something?" he sighs, a sound that holds a little bit of agony. "ugh, don't tell me that i got glitter on my suit. maybe i should have let my stylist handle the look for tonight."
reality snaps back into place once you blink. you zoned out. what the hell? "no, mr. president, you look perfect," you say, the words sounding flat but only because you want to sound professional. it sounds enough like vague kindness and you hope that he takes it that way.
"aw, how nice of you. i never thought that white was my color, personally, but you just made me feel better about it. thanks a lot, sweetness."
the nickname slips from his tongue in such a casual manner that it catches up to you once you both are in the car heading to the event. he's never called you by endearments, but you remember that even if it's strange, it's his public persona. he's used the same pet name with his makeup artists and other staff. more often than not, you've watched the rosy tints of blush that cover their cheeks and the giggles that they let out. you've also heard a lot of conversation during your lunch breaks.
women truly can't get enough of the "president takami package." a package that's highly unattainable and forbidden by status.
"oh, by the way," keigo suddenly says, cameras flashing behind him through the window as the car pulls up in front of the venue. his sugar-white grin is plastered on his lips. "you look perfect, too."
there's no time to comment because his chauffer opens his door and as he steps out, you're following him inside like a solider under command. there's no time to waste when the media hungry dogs are out and biting.
the hard plastic of your thigh holster grazes against your fingers as you fix the fabric of your dress. for some reason, keigo's stylist loves to create outfits for both you and him. you've tried to decline countless times, not because you aren't grateful but because it feels rather odd, but she's more stubborn than a bull. "what reason is there for you to not look fantastic as well?" she had said, a tiny frown settled on her lips. "you can't let that man take all the credit when you have your own beauty."
your job is to protect him, though, isn't it? there's no need for you to be getting fancy because you don't participate much. you only need to step in when there's a call for emergency.
loitering by the long table of appetizers and charcuterie plates, you keep your hands folded behind your back and run your eyes over the heroes. there's a couple familiar faces from news broadcasts (and multiple gossip sessions that keigo would have with you during his commute after breakfast) and some of them even stop to converse with you. you give a nod of greeting to rock lock and his wife as they pass by for the food. red riot offers you a wave while dynamight offers a simple, "hello." you notice their entwined hands; shoulder the image to the back of your mind for later. sometimes, keigo's thrill for gossip rubs off on you.
mirko stops in front of you, tailored in a sleek black dress with a v-neck. her short hair is pinned up with a black moon clip. she looks healthier than ever after her recovery. you heard little details through the grapevine (keigo's concern for her). "nice to see you around here! watching the big boss again?"
you nod, taking a glimpse at him. his smile hasn't left his face for the past five minutes and he hasn't put down his glass of wine, either. the conversation he's holding with stardom magazine must be a lengthy one—probably an interview. he's safe and dandy. "yup, my usual."
"pretend that i never asked, but does he talk your ear off? from his interviews, he seems to never run out of conversation. it's a striking difference from diane, honestly. that woman never said shit."
"he's definitely a… people person." you go quiet for a moment, trying to make your answer sound respectful and not bashing in any sort of way. the words leave your mouth easily with little thought. "most days, it's more bearable than you think. he speaks like everything he says has meaning to it. that's nice to the public, so it makes sense."
mirko's ear twitches, curious. "hmm, interesting. i mean, you're around the guy all the time, so you probably know stuff about him, right? not that i'm gonna be snitching or anything, don't worry. he could literally fire me."
she laughs and a smile lifts the corner of your mouth. the question really settles in your mind, even though it's a simple one. do you know any deeper things about him? you've tried to not invade on his privacy because there's a line that can't be crossed. all you are is his bodyguard. he'll show you what he chooses to show you. but then there's days where he treats you like a close friend… or something along those lines.
before you can answer, a spark of urgency prickles at the nape of your neck. your sight immediately returns to him getting crowded by a flock of women. all of them wear the same shy smiles like the makeup artists but their eyes all carry a different tone. some of them have a piece of mind to keep their hands to themselves and be modest—all except one. she stands out like the wisp of a flame, wearing an orange dress and tall and raven-haired. a diamond bracelet wraps around one of her wrists, connected to the hand that's currently on keigo's elbow. his smile is still there, polite but cracking.
"excuse me, mirko," you say, quicker than a gust of air before you're walking over to the commotion. you know that your steps don't look rushed but the way that your heartbeat trips in your ears and the tight snag in your stomach makes you feel like you're walking faster than necessary. your attention zeroes in on getting him out of that situation as soon as possible.
the woman's eyes glance at you at the same time that keigo acknowledges your presence. the other women flee with quick greetings like a flock of birds. a flicker of surprise flashes over his face, hiding in the amber of his eyes, before he takes a glass from a passing waiter and hands it to you. "feeling thirsty? i felt bad leaving you standing over there. hopefully you weren't on the verge of passing out cause it tends to get hot in here after a while."
you take the glass and give a quiet "thank you, mr president." your eyes stay on her lingering hand, manicured nails slowly inching up. it looks like a friendly touch but the tightening crease in the arm of keigo's suit says otherwise. the woman clears her throat and throws another smile on her face, continuing her conversation with him.
"you know, president takami, i think it's incredibly admirable how you've stepped up from being a hero to becoming the one who runs it all. i can't imagine all of the struggles you've had to endure to get here, me being the daughter of a simple politician and all," the woman chuckles, a noise that feels full of roses to the point where it makes you feel sick. or maybe that's her cloud of overpowering perfume.
keigo shakes his head, gently patting her forearm. please get off is what you read it as. his laugh is warm and humble as though there's a camera pointed right as his face. "well, yes, it was hard but i don't regret any of it. honestly? i was surprised that i was given the position, but i promise to do my best. it's a good start to the dream i've been stating since my hero days, you know?"
the tilt of the woman's head and the brush of her hair away from her neck makes that tight snag in your stomach turn into a disgusting bubbling eruption. standing there watching her makes you feel like the color green is crawling up the space of your throat, hot and sticky. her voice lilts up while she asks, "and what could that dream be, president?" she's treating you like you're a ghost. like you don't exist in the room. her eyes are purely on the prize.
that prize, unfortunately, she won't be winning.
your hand that holds the wine glass nudges against keigo's arm. your feet slide you closer to him, the side of your body without the holster near sidled up to his hip. his head turns towards you in astonishment but you don't acknowledge him. your focus is on the lady who's being invasive.
he says your name in a question, quiet and confused. something about it sounds cute to you. why is it cute? "you're standing pretty close. everything alright?"
your answer is immediate, "i'm your bodyguard. it's in the job description to protect you at all times."
the woman's smile strains slightly, her hand switching to a dainty touch on his shoulder. her free hand moves to touch the necklace at her neck, tracing across the blinding row of more diamonds like she's trying to show off on purpose. her accessories clash with the already bright lights in the room. it's honestly ridiculous; how rich people feel the need to flaunt their wealth.
you really can't give two shits.
another laugh leaves her lipstick lined mouth, a belittling sound. "oh, sweetie, no one here is trying to harm him. there's no need to be dramatic, plus i'm sure he can take amazing care of himself."
keigo looks over at the woman and his chuckle is weaker this time around. his fingers tighten around his glass. "i don't think that was the impression that she was trying to give. rest assured, she's only looking out for me."
"how endearing. you know, i have a bodyguard of my own, but he isn't as…" the woman forces a long pause. her gaze sizes you up, a micro-sized squint of her eyes. "… personal when i'm meeting new people. that tends to cause a scandal and we wouldn't want that."
in your mind, her words immediately register as a threat. you keep your posture straight, tilt your head the slightest bit down under the disguise of showing respect but your eyes are locked with hers. your mouth curves up into a civil smile to keep a calm face. "actually, i'm very confident in the fact that president takami can take care of himself. but like he said, this is my job."
your eyes snap to her hand and then back to her face. you notice the tight but subtle shift of keigo's arm. "out of the two of us, i don't think i'd be the one causing a scandal. now if you don't mind taking your hand off, please. he seems uncomfortable."
hearing you, keigo tries to deflect with an awkward and wan smile but the woman finally slips her hand away from him. she returns your smile but you can see the irritated edge hidden inside of it. how it rises a little too high on her cheeks. how her eyeshadow flattens from the drop of her eyes. "of course, my apologies. i only wanted to be a friendly face and make conversation."
she doesn't make any other moves to touch him but she takes him in with a quick roam of her eyes. it reeks of subtle seduction; a poisonous fume. "it was wonderful to speak with you, president. do let me know if you'd ever like to get in contact again, i'm sure you know where to find me. have a nice night."
with a dramatic flourish of her hair and a bow that's slow enough to showcase the cut of her neckline, the woman soon leaves into the crowd of guests. keigo watches her walk away with a stuck expression. his arm loosens at his side and a small sigh leaves his chest. he clears his throat, the curl of his mouth faltering.
"that was… a treat, huh?" he says, not looking for an actual answer. when his eyes meet yours, you suddenly want to take a sip of your drink because it's the most interesting thing in the world.
"your personality is a lot more welcoming than you believe, mr. president. even towards unfavorable audiences."
"unfavorable? i mean, i didn't expect her to grab my arm, but i'm used to people touching me unwarranted. the fans i had during my hero days? way worse. i think that woman was just trying to be cordial and i didn't want to be rude."
you're not entirely sure what it is about his words that bothers you, but an ache spreads through your chest. "being cordial doesn't mean getting the right to touch you without your consent. she was being inconsiderate of your personal space."
keigo takes a long sip of his drink, giving a half-hearted shrug. "i never said that i was uncomfortable, so she wouldn't have been able to know. i just wanted the conversation to be quick."
"your body language said enough," you state, voice clipped and heat rolling off your tongue. "she's not an idiot. if she could flirt with you with all of those dazzling diamonds choking her neck, then she could know how to identify boundaries."
after the words rush out of you, you can feel the pressure of keigo's stare burning into the side of your head. it stretches on for years and the weight of it becomes more heavy with every minute. he's probably grinning from ear to ear with that stupid impish but illuminating smile designated only for the talk shows. you don't want to bear the embarrassment of that right now. you don't understand one bit of why you're acting like this—or where this attitude is even coming from.
his shoulder angles towards yours, the heat of his body emanating through his suit. his voice falls to a whisper to not be overheard by any secret mics or cameras. your name rolls too easy off his tongue before he asks his question. "don't mean to reach here, but… were you jealous?"
he's baiting you. no way are you going to fall into his trap. what a ridiculous question to ask. jealous? of what, your boss being hit on by a woman? you have no business feeling that way, even if you did. you can't have him and neither can anyone else. that would go against the contract. your relationship is purely work-based.
dear god, you don't own him.
despite your train of thought, your answer isn't as quick to leave your mouth as you like. your throat has a sudden dry spell when you clear it with a quiet cough. "it would be more like concern, mr. president. i didn't like how much she was in your space."
the silence that wafts from next to you feels unnatural. you wonder if your words are enough to convince him. you don't think that you've said anything wrong. did you make him uncomfortable? does he think you're hiding something?
when you turn to look at keigo, you think you're hallucinating the tint of pastel pink that highlights his face. he drinks from his glass and his eyes are averted to another part of the room. he's watching people walk around, but you can tell that his mind is elsewhere. you don't know what to make of that.
"that's…" he lowers his glass from his lips, still keeping his sight away from you. the shade of pink paints down the sculpt of his neck. "thanks, sweetness."
that's the second time that he's called you that. it carries a different feeling with the supposedly bashful expression that he has on his face. against your better judgment, maybe it's starting to become personal. a forbidden inkling inside of you wants to know. the you in reality doesn't.
heat rushes into your own face as you stand there holding your glass of wine. you take another tiny sip to focus on something other than the quiet boundary between you and him. "you're welcome," you murmur, the phrase hidden under your breath.
a group of reporters whisks past to drag keigo into another interview, giving you an opening to find somewhere to stand. you don't stray too far from him but you're able to be near without being in the way. the blush on his face has cooled down and his commercial-ready smile switches back on, no trace of the moment that happened a few minutes before to be found. that's better for you because it gives you more time to think.
you press the back of your hand against your cheek to feel faint warmth brimming under your skin. your swallow is hard.
a\n: just found two prompts while listening to brockhampton and came up with this. i love this man horribly.
Quiet bird calls echo from outside of the house. Sunlight sheens inside with a golden hue. Today’s a lazy day, the middle of the summer season. You’re grateful for the recent sunny weather but the hot temperatures are something that you’re less grateful for.
You stalk through the front door, your keys jingling in one hand while the other closes it. You set your bag down on the nearby dining table and walk towards the kitchen to see where Keigo is. His name calls from your mouth in a casual, loving lilt. It’s quite strange when you don’t get an answer back.
Your eyes trail to the calendar on the wall next to the fridge. When you first moved in together, you both thought it was a good idea to get a calendar in order to align your schedules. An easy solution for planning date nights, anniversaries, etcetera. Today isn’t a blank slate for you but it is for him.
Thoughts start to wander. Where could he be?
Going from the kitchen to the living room, the scratch of a record catches your ears. The sound grates as if it’s been skipping on the needle for a while now. You go over to the record player and see the disc for Summer by Brockhampton placed inside. A classic summer tune from your collection. You’ll have to ask Keigo about his thievery once you find him.
The search for him doesn’t last long. You turn around after taking the needle off the disc and your sight falls onto the long lump slouched against the sofa. A blanket covers Keigo’s face and body, snores filling the room now that the record player is off. Your mouth lifts at the corner from the sight. A while ago, you made a joke that birds fall asleep after being covered so you wanted to test the theory with him. All you got was a mocking eyeroll and resolute “Nope” for an answer.
So much for his refusal.
You stay mindful to not wake him, sock-covered feet carefully moving across the floor. Your hand gently pulls the blanket down from his face and you whisper his name. Press one kiss to the side of his head before pressing another to his lips.
Him waking up is almost instant. A soft groan and slanted golden eyes. “Thought I was dreamin’ about angels for a second,” he murmurs tiredly, leaning closer. His mouth touches yours for a second kiss and his words sink into you. “Welcome home.”
“You left the record player on again,” you say, making a light nod towards its direction with your head once you’re out of his grasp. “Brockhampton, huh?”
The mention of the band name seems to make his eyes get wider. You don’t know why a color of pink suddenly flushes at the bottom of his neck but you don’t mind it; it’s cute. He clears his throat, shifts on the couch to make space and pulls you into it. “One of the songs was called Summer or something like that? I wanted to know what the hype was about.”
You carefully balance yourself on him, entangling your legs with his. Your cheek smudges against his chest and it’s sturdy like his heartbeat. He smells like the lightest hint of lemon and musk. Another smile lines your mouth.
“Well, what’s the verdict then, pretty judge?”
Keigo’s laugh comes out as a snort. It rumbles in his chest and under the fabric of his shirt. One of his arms wound tighter around your waistline while his other hand drags up your back, sneaks under your shirt to touch your bare skin.
“That’s a new one. But my final verdict is pretty impressed. ‘S got nice instrumentals.”
“Yeah,” you agree, another tease right on the tip of your tongue, “Nice enough to make you drift off like it’s a lullaby.”
There’s a quick pinch from his fingers on your back and you swat at his shoulder, a short “Hey, excuse you!” leaving you. He laughs again, amused, and follows with a mocking aw, so sorry before the two of you fall into silence. Lately you’ve noticed that Keigo seems a lot more relaxed and relieved after his retirement. His job as HPSC President is still demanding on him at times, sure (with all the paperwork he groans about finishing), but in favor of that he’s at way less of a risk than being a hero.
He still protects people—it’s just through policies instead of his own life on the line. He can speak what he wants and build through that dream that he’s always had.
His fingers squeeze at your cheek, then slope to brush your lower lip. Warmth tingles throughout your chest. You had no idea you were staring until he pointed it out. Shades of amber stare into your soul, flecked with natural light. “You’re thinking hard with heart eyes. Mind lettin’ me in, gorgeous?” he says, his words shaped with a soft timbre.
You both know how much his simple charm gets to you. Your face heats up at the endearment and you focus your eyes to somewhere else on his face. A tiny scratch on his lower cheek; healed over in pale pink. In your peripheral vision, his eyes are straight on you.
It leaves you gentle at first, molasses slipping through your teeth. “I’m just proud of you, is all. How far you made it because it was never easy.”
Now he looks like he has heart eyes. His pupils swallow dark and whole like circles of stars, the color of snuffed candlelight. Red blush blooms across his tanned face, similar to a bed of roses. His breath sighs from his throat. His reaction makes your stare leave the scratch on his face.
“Do you mind if I take you to bed? Like, right now?” Keigo asks, his voice rushed but so genuine that it’s almost comical. His tone strangely doesn’t match the seriousness on his face.
“Keigo,” you say, a laugh slipping out. You know he’s being serious. His boldness (rather endearing) makes your body alight with more warmth. “I wasn’t done. I was also going to tell you that I booked a wine and food tour for us next month. You know, to celebrate, if that was okay.”
Maybe there isn’t any reason for you to add the last part because his expression only gets more intense and his eyes shutter at the same time that he’s bringing your face towards his, solid grip still on the swipe of your cheek, and he gives you a kiss that makes you lightheaded. The hand on your back slides down to round itself under you and the touch hitches your body up into a sitting position, his own body changing to follow. He’s slow about it—always has been since he doesn’t see a need to rush anymore, especially with how he treats you—but the reality of that has yet to fully sink in.
When you break away from him to catch your breath, sweet taste tripping over the surface of your lips, his gaze is on the rise of your chest and then returns to watching the set of your face. He’s not listening anymore. You still try to say one more thing.
“Just so you know ahead of time, it’s for July—Oh, babe.”
Your gasp is involuntary as his mouth works at the pulse point on your neck. His hands keep you where he wants you, on his lap with soft soft soft grasping. Your hipbone. The center of your back. Another round of your ass.
He moves his head back the slightest bit to speak, voice low and heady like cooled wine in a glass. “Tell me the rest when I’m done. Need to focus on you first.”
fem!wrestler keigo and summer love... ooh okay Yeah. blame the wwe edits for this.
taking one of the most popular wrestlers in the country to a farmer's market wasn't part of your saturday plans. your weekend was supposed to be normal. when you woke up this morning, the tiny mental to-do list was tidying up the bathroom in your apartment and going to the local farmer's market to pick up raspberries. none of those tasks required company.
unwanted company, to be exact.
so, you don't know why keina takami—also known as hawks, the second best in the ring—is walking next to you with crossed arms and her eyes glancing over the products in each of the stalls as though they're gems in a treasure chest. her text from this morning that read hey, hope you're doing well. any plans today? that's supposed to be oh so casual was anything but. you swore that you blocked her number last year—a couple weeks after the bittersweet breakup. you didn't want to read her message as desperate (it'd be your ego talking). maybe she got your number from someone else or was crazy enough to use a burner phone.
what an attention-seeking idiot. you're not going to let her get to you because you don't do reruns on things. all your life, to be stable, you've stuck to giving one chance and then scrapping and moving on if it goes sour.
now that her presence is around you again, everything feels off-kilter. you stop to stand in front of a stall displaying pears that shine with healthy shades of red, green, and yellow. your nose wrinkles in thought while you stare at a ripe red one. maybe you can grab some for edgeshot's birthday that's coming up. you try to ignore the sweet smell that wafts over the curve of your shoulder from right behind you. of course she's wearing that perfume—which your brain stupidly notes the fact that she hasn't gotten rid of it—and its tropical flowery scent is mixing with the fruit.
to your dismay, the smell isn't just from the pears.
"those yellow ones look scrumptious," keina says, her voice close to your ear. it's soothing under the summery heat of the sun and you hate it. she's never been the best with personal space once she knows someone.
(and she knows you too much).
a short sigh leaves your nose and you scuff past her to keep walking. "not what i'm looking for," you say, trying to make your voice unbothered but holding a certain tone.
you hope that she takes the hint to leave you alone and let you focus, but her footsteps continue trailing behind you. you forgot how clingy she is—like a golden puppy. it was amusing when times were better. now, it feels like the puppy's been replaced by a ball and chain.
you give the slightest turn of your head to call back to her. "you have the freedom to look around, you know. no need to hover around me."
keina's quick huff of a laugh doesn't miss your ears before she's right next to you. the ylang ylang perfume trespasses your senses again, the lightest tickle against the inside of your nose. "didn't think you were trying to get rid of me so fast. i was betting another ten minutes at most."
her next words come out simple, but a heavy meaning lies underneath. "you know that i like to stick to what's familiar."
silence freezes your tongue and you don't know what else to do but stew in it. your eyes flick to her face only to see her side profile. her head is turned away from you, one of her hands palming the nape of her neck. her hair has gotten longer since the last time you saw her. the wild blonde strands that used to be a short bob haircut framing the sharpness of her face now grows down the length of her neck, neatly combed and styled in a mullet. a long red diamond earring dangles from her ear and the silver piercings along her earlobe glint in the natural daylight.
she still wears her signature color, even if it's outside the wrestling ring. maybe she hasn't had that many changes since the breakup. for some reason, both relief and doubt flood your gut. you're ogling at her longer than you need to be.
a raspberry stand appears straight ahead and your steps quicken at the sight, breaking you out of your trance from staring at her. it's like a blessing sent straight from God. you'll just grab two baskets that look the freshest and then you can go home. the bus is still running at this time, so transportation isn't an issue. you won't have to think about this—or her—anymore.
the vendor greets you with a kind smile and you return the greeting before bringing your focus to the display. the fruit looks plump and juicy, the magenta pink color popping out against the dark green containers. you ask the vendor if you can try a sample of them and she hands you a small pile. you throw one into your mouth and chew through the delicious tartness that coats over your tongue.
you almost forgot that keina was still here.
"can i try some too, ma'am?" she asks, her eyebrows twitching up with curiosity and her head tilted to the side when her gaze leaves the fruit. the vendor stares at her with a surprised expression, recognition in her eyes, before she hands keina her own pile. if keina notices the shock, she doesn't comment on it. "thanks so much."
you're still finishing up your share of raspberries until you hear keina's high satisfied hum. looking at her, you watch how her eyes shut with joy and her cheeks puff up, like it's the most delicious thing she's ever tasted. you showed her raspberries before when you two were together and she told you that she didn't really like them. now you wonder what caused the switch-up.
(you try to ignore how cute she looks when she's enjoying something. the flutter in your stomach says you failed).
shaking your head, you grab two baskets and pay before wishing the vendor a good rest of the afternoon. keina strolls beside you, still eating her fill of raspberries, not stopping the happy sounds leaving her mouth. the sunset arrives, blending the sky in dusky pink and tangerine orange. you bask in the cool breeze that runs over your body as a way to ground yourself.
you break the silence without thinking. "i thought you hated raspberries."
"well, yeah, but those were from the store and—oh shit," keina suddenly stops, her fingers clumsily squishing a raspberry against the corner of her lips instead of landing it inside of her mouth. the rest of her pile falls to the ground. her face turns crestfallen, a pout curling the shape of her mouth. she wipes the smear of raspberry juice off her skin with her finger. "i guess i just changed my mind."
no, you don't fully hear what she says because you're too busy watching how she cleans the juice from her lip and licks it off her finger. she's never been a wasteful person, even as a child. you remember lots of other scenarios that hold that same sentiment. warmth blazes over your cheeks and you turn away with a breath, embarrassment and shame spinning in your stomach.
"i see" is all you offer. you need to get on the bus soon.
the two of you reach the parking lot and then there's this awkward... pressure that you don't know how to talk around. keina stands there in her tall glory, her red fitted tank top stretching against her chest while she lifts her arms and lets them fall back down. is she waiting for something? maybe you should bite the bullet first (again).
you clear your throat, holding your phone up and showing her the screen with bus times. "i can take the bus home. there's one arriving in about five minutes. thanks for offering to drive me here and i hope you have a nice rest of your life—"
keina interrupts you by saying your name. your chest pounds from how quiet it sounds curling over her tongue. she sends you a gaze that's stern but also careful. you don't want to call it fear because you don't think she's ever felt that. she's always held a brave face, both as a wrestler and a person.
"i can drive you back home. if it was a little while to get here by car, i can't imagine how much longer the bus is gonna take," she suggests, brushing some of her bangs out of her eyes. there's a tension in her body that you can't name.
here she goes offering service to you again. so generous and stupid. you don't know why she's asking; you wish she didn't ask. scrap and move on.
you look at the bus times on your phone. lucky you, the bus you were planning to take just left. the next one doesn't come in thirty minutes. you've missed your only chance at freedom. uber and lyft prices have sky-rocketed, along with the gas. you've had enough of a hassle today.
your fingers curl around the handle of the plastic bag holding your raspberries. the shape of the containers press into the side of your leg while you hold them against you. it acts as a tether; the only thing that you can have to keep you docile instead of resistant. "okay, fine. thanks... again."
keina tries on a smile, a reflection of an unbothered gesture. it barely reaches the tilted shape of her eyes. you wonder why that small shift on her face makes a seed of guilt bud inside of you. "it's no problem."
a large silence encompasses the entire space of the car during the drive back. at least keina is nice enough to have some noise with the low buzzes coming from the car radio. it's tuned into a random channel—pop instrumentals and sabrina carpenter's voice flowing through the speaker. the song has a catchy melody, but you can't really focus on it from the anxiety that skitters in your chest. your gaze stays on the traffic lights, switching from green to red.
you thought that keina would have more things to say because she's one of the biggest chatterboxes you know. when she was introduced as your girlfriend to your family, she talked to all of your family members. yes, every single one. she laid down her foundation of charm and they asked for her every holiday after that. you thought that it was the sweetest thing. now, the more bitter part of you thinks it wasn't all genuine. one of the many masks she puts on.
there isn't a peep from her for the whole twenty-five minutes. it's so damn strange. it makes you feel uncomfortable.
the gps tells her to take a left turn and right when sabrina's sweet voice singing about a man's best friend ends, the car stops right in front of your apartment. wheels crunch over the gravel of the road in a slow crawl. keina shifts the car into park, taps the steering wheel with her first two pointer fingers. the gem on one of her rings scrapes against the leather of her steering wheel. the radio changes to kehlani's hushed vocals and you swear that your heart leaps into your throat.
it's time to get inside before memories that you don't want come back to the surface. you grab the door handle to leave, but your body doesn't put any force to open the door. something keeps you stuck in the seat. can the universe stop messing with you?
"you still got your seatbelt on," keina says, her words shaded with a hint of amusement. that's embarrassing. you don't know why you keep appearing like a fool in front of her today.
a huff blows from your lips while you try to unbuckle the seatbelt, your brows furrowing in frustration from how stubborn it's being. why does nothing want you to leave the damn car? you have a life that you need to get back to. you don't have time for childish games, or overthinking, much less with her of all people.
you feel the seatbelt loosen over your lap before keina leans away from your body. her perfume leaves a trail and you feel it cling to the fabric of your shirt, like a stray flower petal. great, you're finally released from this trap. now you just say thanks and leave.
your throat moves as you swallow. you lock your eyes onto the black dashboard in front of you to avoid looking at her face. "why did you text me, keina?"
it takes a few beats of silence until she responds. she rubs her hands back and forth over the curve of the steering wheel, rests her head against the headrest. her fingers flex against the leather in a tight grip then relax. she has an answer but she's holding back—all those smart cogs turning inside of her head.
"i still wanted to be a decent person," she settles on saying, her answer low. fragile. "and i thought i should give you an apology for last year."
turning your head in her direction, you take in her words. that was not what you were expecting. back then, time wasn't aligning well with either of you and your relationship. her wrestling career was making her slip away from you and you didn't like that she was letting it happen. it made you frustrated; there was frustration on her part, too. the big blow-up between you two were fighting words and too much distance apart. you called her narcissistic and greedy; she stabbed at your avoidant insecurity. it was two weeks before she asked to meet with you and you both called it quits. it was respectful. it was fine.
the sound that leaves you is more of a dry laugh than a sigh. "you felt forced to say sorry to save your pride? or did you actually want to."
"wanted to," keina fires back, a grit in her teeth. she lifts one of her hands to her face, covering her eyes with her palm. you can't see her expression but the rest of her body slouches with exhaustion. you wonder how long this has been eating at her. you shouldn't care, really.
"i hated everything that i said to you back then because instead of being self-controlled like i usually am, i let my frustration put the blame on you. i didn't listen to your concerns. my work was first priority over you and that wasn't right of me. i'm sorry for doing that to you." keina takes a deep breath, her mouth opening then closing again.
you think that her speech is over, but her last words make your breath hitch.
"it was the biggest mistake i could have ever made," she finishes. her hand drags down her face and she straightens herself in the seat. apology bleeds all over the tan shade of her face. your throat closes up.
kehlani is still singing through the crackled speaker, her voice full of a longing that's an unfortunate fit for the moment. you swear that you're going to go insane. her apology sounds dramatic, but the problem with keina is how honest she is when she wants to make her point known. it doesn't feel like an act or a mask. she's being real right now.
unfortunately, you can't do the same. you have to keep throwing away your scraps.
"it was mutual. it's not like you cheated on me or anything. there's no need for dramatics, so it's okay, keina," you answer, giving her a neutral shrug. your heart batters against your throat when her face shifts into a dumbfounded expression.
"yeah, i didn't cheat, but i still hurt you. i'm not being dramatic. i want to apologize because that's what you actually deserve—" keina's words cut off from your outburst.
"i don't need your apology. we both talked about it, so it's over now." your words are coming out a little too rushed because you're starting to panic and you don't want to handle her honesty anymore and that's the one thing that made you fall in love with her in the first place so that's why it's hard to throw away, even a year later. "if you found someone else, i'm happy for you, but please—"
you finally find the strength to get that damn door open, but the firm hand that she wraps around your arm holds you in place. your eyes meet and the moonlight sparks the gold inside of hers with a brightness that rivals tendrils of flame. in that flame swims desperation. you see a truth that you don't want to see.
"did you not hear anything that i said? i haven't found anyone else!" keina admits, her chest heaving, eyes wide. her voice folds into a cadence that's too delicate and vulnerable. "there could never be someone after you, whether you accept my apology or not."
at that moment, everything inside of your body becomes as weightless as a cloud before settling back into solidity. you can feel her fingers loosen around the shape of your bicep and pull away. her hand lingers on the console; it's the only protective boundary separating you two. her face lingers close to yours, searching. she's always looking in you and this time you have something that you don't want her to see. because if she sees, then you'll be fighting against the main defense that you've built your entire life.
your mouth parts with a soft breath. one of your hands twitches in your lap. "i..." you trail off, seeing keina's beautiful and perceptive eyes drop to your mouth and then lift back up. it hits you right then—the numerous nights that you spent with the thought of her flittering in and out of your head. you have regrets, too. you want to try again.
you decide to not finish what you're going to say and lean closer to her instead, closing enough distance for her nose to brush against yours. her warm breath ghosts across your face before she presses her lips to yours with a weight that you're all too familiar with. she's easygoing at first, almost as if she's scared and kissing you for the first time, until you feel her gradually become more loose the longer she stays there. one of her hands reaches up to grab the side of your face and her fingers slide to the back of your head, lightly tangling themselves into the strands of your hair. you don't know who whines, but the noise prompts her to sneak her tongue into the space of your mouth and her warmth makes light explode behind your eyes.
one of your hands curls over her shoulder and squeezes the muscle with a greed that you've been repressing, pulling her body more over the console. this is what you remember—the tender fire of her that melts you from the inside out. it's as addicting as when you first found it. no one else can have this. it has to be yours.
keina pulls away with a short gasp, long thread-spun eyelashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks. she whispers your name with a hoarse shakiness as if she can't find any breath without it. she looks unsteady. you're sure that you're just as messy.
you blink in a trance and wipe away the tiny wet spot on the edge of her mouth. like it's natural, the pretty pink shape of her lips further opens at the touch of your finger. her breath trembles hot against your skin.
"i don't..." she pauses, tries to collect herself. her swallow is hard and you want to press your thumb against the roundness of her adam's apple. "i don't want to do this in the car. i want to take you to bed. make sure my apology rings true. will... will you let me do that?"
her voice wavers at the end of her question and you feel your heart throbbing against your ribcage, pressing the bones with an ache. white-bleached warmth pinpoints every part of your body to set it alight. you nod your head, slow but honest.
with Keigo, he’s complicated. romantic relationships don’t commonly fall upon him, especially not the chances of finding a partner in the first place. when he meets you and a few months pass where you both get familiar with each other, then he gets scared. he didn’t think that time would stretch on for this long. you knowing him from the inside out—as much as his pride scorns against it—and you who listens to him word for word. it’s patient; it’s slow.
he wants to know what he looks like in your eyes, in your vision. do you put him on a pedestal like everybody else? do you only want him for wealth and his jaded status? he doesn’t like to think in such a way but it can’t be helped.
trust doesn’t come easy.
so he watches as you take in the slow brushes of his knuckles against your cheek on the nights that he comes home, just to be a greeting; how you squeeze his hand with a healing vice that he didn’t have when he was younger as he remembers his parents’ birthdays and becomes guilty; how you have a beaming smile while he tries to get comfortable with being honest. he watches your expression sour when he falls off track with telling you things, but not because of him, but because of his job. he watches the fluster in your cheeks from him saying something simple but hard, “i can love you.” when you rest your head between his bare shoulder blades and kiss the downy feathers there with a mutter of “you’re really beautiful, keigo.”
and now he thinks he knows. even with his tainted sense of self, the world being too fast with giving him everything at once, the blood on his hands, the souls that haunt him, the crack of gold in his eyes when he gets vicious—he maybe knows. yet he still wants to figure more of it out and you’ll let him.
with Gojo, he’s complex. an enigma of everything. to be so strong, to be a higher being above the planes of Earth itself—to match God? he can be higher than God. but he doesn’t like it. he has all of this power and his sight is expandable to mere nothings that humans can see or try to gain an understanding of. he can’t copy other people and people can’t copy him; it’s cruel. the loneliest thing.
feelings are incredibly valuable to others, from his countless observations, but he can’t ever experience that. his intelligence isn’t able to define reassurance or empathy because all he can do with the abilities he was given is watch and watch and watch. watch others express what he can’t. watch others have the things that he worships to have.
then he has you. you’re a granted wish to him, although he doesn’t remember asking. it knocks him down, makes him puzzled. he doesn’t get it. he doesn’t get your behaviors; he doesn’t get you.
when you’re upset, he feels rage. his blood crackles with thunder that could rival Mother Nature herself and he becomes an embodiment of scorching blue that transcends the entire universe with only the intent of murder; of bringing the cause back to its place. you always notice when that happens and just shake your head, asking him to stay where he is which is right next to you.
you don’t care when he’s prying or telling you about his students. when some days he closes himself off and covers up the sign that there’s something wrong with a laugh because he’s strong enough to deal with it on his own. he can’t need help. beings like him don’t involve themselves with that. despite that, you still offer just to stay at his side, hold his hand, watch him when he’s talking about it.
when he takes the blindfold off to let himself see, he feels those six eyes and infinity staring back and it makes him sick; ugly. it’s too much pressure on you to deal with something like him and what he wants, even if it hurts, is for you to leave it because he doesn’t want to put you in a prison. yet you still stay where you are, in his space, closing that void. your hands pull the blindfold back over his head in a gentle manner as you mutter to him, “rest your eyes, satoru.” he doesn’t understand it or why he likes it, but he takes it.
you’ve told him that trying to understand his unknown may be scary, but what he already knows is beautiful enough. what you don’t realize is that his unknown is you and he wants to unravel it all until the day he ever dies.
