#chishiya

[thecheshireprincess]

Quiet

Chishiya x F!Reader

Summary: You and Chishiya play a game together; you just have to be quiet 🤫

Content Warning: NSFW (18+), quite literally porn with plot; smutty smut, slight breeding kink, Chishiya and Reader are drugged, but they chose it for themselves

I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️

AO3 Link Here

A/N: Not related to any of my other stories but I hope you enjoy nonetheless 😝 The idea for this game is absolutely ridiculous but made me laugh too hard not to include it

The bright light from your phone illuminates the perplexed look painting your features. The task seemed, simple? Suspiciously simple for a Five of Hearts. Your eyes narrow into slits, deperately trying to see the perspective of the game master; what was the catch?

[Game: Quiet]

[Rules: Gain entry to and remain locked in your cell with your partner for the duration of the game; if the noise level in the cell exceeds 70 decibels, you and your partner will be shocked at increasing levels of intensity.]

[Game Clear: Survive in your cell for entirety of the time limit.]

[Game Over: Failure to gain entry to your cell with your partner will result in a game over for both players. Exceeding the sound limit three times will result in a game over for both players.]

[Time Limit: 2:00:00]

A brief glance to your left puts Chishiya in your line of vision. The blonde stands waiting patiently, unperturbed beside you with hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Though you were admittedly a little creeped out by the dingy and dimly lit prison you found yourself occupying, you knew you wouldn't mind being locked in a jail cell with him for two hours. In fact, the thought alone made carnal heat bloom in your core.

A door buzzes open to your right, revealing a hallway filled with solitary confinement cells. Six of the rooms have a small table sitting in front of them, adorned with a sign and some other things you can't see yet. The task that will gain you entry to the cell. Chishiya quirks an eyebrow, grabbing onto your hand and leading you through the narrow hallway. The warmth of his hand against yours sends an electrical current through your body and short circuits your mind.

You'd been somewhat friends with the blonde for, well, long enough. You were best friends with Kuina, and he always just seemed to be somewhere in the background; static noise to your combined exhuberant energies. You didn't mind that either, his presence was enjoyable and calming. Plus, it allowed you to study him enough to at least fantasize what he might do to you if he wasn't such a cold and distant prick. If only you could feel his surprisingly warm hands elsewhere, one holding you down and the other sinking lower and lower until -

Get it together, you mentally slap yourself. You can't be getting all worked up when you have to be stuck in a cell with the man for two hours. Save it for later, when you can actually do something about it.

Coming back to reality, you see Chishiya is staring at you expectantly, offering something to you. You blink dumbly, "What?"

"I said, are you gonna take the pill or not? I want to know if I'm dying by laser in the hallway or if we can get this over with." He blinks slowly, face completely devoid of emotion, as usual. You look skeptically at the pill, then at Chishiya, and back at the pill.

Ah, so this was the catch. You'd have to consume an unknown substance to even get inside your cell, and who knew what it would do to you once you did? But if you didn't, you'd be greeted by the warm kiss of a laser to the head.

The man smirks when you snatch the pill out of his fingertips, gulping it down and chugging some water before you can lose your nerve. He'd clearly already taken his while you were busy fantasizing about his hands roaming your body. You watch with bated breath as he clips the shock bracelet around his wrist, then does the same for you. How romantic, matching jewelry.

When the cell door buzzes open, the two of you enter. You immediately separate yourself from him, allowing your body to slide slowly against the rusty metal wall down to the dirty tiled floor. Chishiya quietly settles himself down across from you, taking the hint about wanting space.

The first fifteen minutes or so go by easily, neither of you saying a word. You start to wonder if the pill was just a way to mess with your mind, and it wouldn't have any effect. You almost burst into laughter at the sheer audacity.

But then, you feel heat beginning to prickle underneath your skin, a cool sheen of sweat appearing on your chest and arms. You quickly rip your sweatshirt off, leaving you in just your bikini top, thinking you must just be overheating in the small space. No good. Your internal temperature continues to skyrocket, making your entire body feel weak and sore.

Your water! You just need a cool drink of water. When that does nothing to quell the sandpapery feeling in your mouth, you lay your head back on the cool metal wall and shut your eyes. You just need to breathe through this. It's all in your head.

No, your pulse is racing, and you find your body unconsciously squeezing your thighs together to find just a little bit of friction. Fuck.

It's then that you realize, and your eyes shoot open in panic to look at your counterpart sitting against the wall across from you. He looks relatively composed still, but you can see sweat forming on his brow and the vice-like grip he has on his own water bottle is causing his knuckles to turn white.

"C-chishiya . . ." You moan out brokenly, not intending to sound so desperate already. He looks at you knowingly, head still leaned back on the wall behind him, "I know, it was an aphrodisiac."

He smirks lightly at you, you who are starting to drip in sweat and pant. "What are we gonna do?" You mewl, pain starting to flood your senses. You didn't know that you could get so aroused that it would physically hurt your entire body, but here you were.

The man smirks, raising an eyebrow at you, as if to say what do you think?

You shake your head slightly, embarrassed. It isn't that you don't want Chishiya like that. Of course you do; you're aching for him. It's that you don't want him like this. Because you're forced onto each other by a cruel twist of fate in Borderland.

"No?" He clicks his tongue, "A shame," he mocks. "And I was so interested in helping you, too." You choke back a sob, his teasing words doing nothing but stoking the fire burning inside you.

He grins a Cheshire grin now, whispering your name in a raspy tone that floods your panties with arousal, "Beg for it." You could have came right there hearing that, fuck.

"Please, Chishiya!" You cry out, frantically, before clapping your hands over your mouth. Quiet. Chishiya's eyes glitter in amusement now, this was certainly one of the more exciting games he'd played. And with you? With you, this was a gift. He'd always wanted you, but would never show it, not unless he was forced to. Oh, fate.

"Please what, angel?" He grins, staring wide-eyed at you as though he was confused about what you could possibly want from him.

"Please come over here and help me! I'll do anything, please please please." Your desperation is at an all time high, you can't and don't want to withstand Chishiya's teasing right now.

The blonde coos mockingly at you as he stands smoothly, crossing the floor to close the distance between you. He kneels down, gripping your jaw and brushing his lips very lightly against yours, "I thought you'd last longer than that before giving in." Your breath catches in your throat as one hand softly cradles the back of your head and the other travels down to find the waistband of your fleece sweatpants.

Chishiya looks into your eyes, allowing you to see the deep desire you feel for him reflected back in his, he wants you too. He studies your face for a moment, before asking, "May I?" You groan, because who isn't turned on by a polite king?

"Please Chishiya, I want it. More than anything." You see a flicker of excited anticipation in his face, it looks gorgeous painted on his usually stoic features. Long, dexterous fingers at long last slip into your panties, collecting the wetness that was pooled there and rubbing a few tentative circles on your clit. When you throw your head back against his hand in total bliss, the man lets out a groan of his own, "You're so wet, and I've barely touched you. You won't last long like this will you, baby?" The sound you let out is a dangerous one, and Chishiya pulls his hand away to cover your mouth. The loss of his intimate touch is devastating and you look at him with tears welling up in your eyes. You physically cannot wait anymore.

"Gotta keep quiet for me, angel. Don't forget we're playing a game," he whispers, not moving his hand away until you finally nod in agreement.

He smirks at you, shifting to lean himself up against the wall, and pulling your body to sit between his spread legs. With both hands, he quickly undresses your bottom half, tossing your sweatpants and panties somewhere across the room. He moves your hair carefully out of the way, bringing his plush lips to suck and bite at the sweet spot on your neck, simultaneously using his hands to spread your legs for him.

Your head falls back on his shoulder, mind completely spinning just from his assault on your neck. You are so in trouble. His left hand comes up to cover your mouth, preemptively knowing that you won't be quiet for him as he'd asked. You were grateful for that, because when he plunges two long digits inside you without warning, you squeal in pleasure and surprise.

You turn to see the sparkle in his eyes as he curls his fingers deliciously in just the right way to make your toes curl. His thumb circles your swollen clit, fingers finding a steady pace that makes you pant and whine. You know you won't last long like this, hips already grinding down into his hand, begging for relief from the intoxicating effects of the drug pumping through your veins. Chishiya knows it too, smirking against the soft skin of your neck.

The blonde works you on his fingers, still pumping in and out at a rapid pace, your body starting to squirm against him. You can feel his cock straining against his sweatpants, and it gives you some joy to tease him like this. Chishiya pulls his hand away from your mouth, using it instead to hold your hips in place. "Quit teasing, little minx," he growls dangerously in your ear.

Breathlessly you whine, "Let me touch you too, Shiya, please." When Chishiya looks down at you, half cradled in his arms, you see two deep pools of darkness gazing back at you, ready to drown you in his lust.

You clumsily push yourself up off of him, turning around to pull his sweatpants off, the dark patch of pre-cum gracing his boxers catching your attention. He was loving playing this game with you. Your breath catches in your throat again. You run your hand lustfully along his member still hidden by his boxers, but the man is rock hard and he is big. Heat pools in your core, your head swimming with desire.

You look up at Chishiya through your eyelashes, nearly cumming when you see the blissed out look on his face. He is stunning when he doesn't look so serious - like a perfectly chiseled statue. You hope you'll get to see this look on his face more often. You finally pull the boxers off of his body, allowing his cock to spring free and bounce a little against his abdomen. Perfect.

You run your thumb over his slit, collecting some of the slick and distributing it all over. You moved slowly with him, watching curiously at what would make Chishiya moan, what would make him growl, and what made his balls tighten. His hand wanders back to your clit, rubbing quick circles to match your pace. His other hand grabs onto your jaw, pulling your face to his and kissing you desperately. You moan lowly into his mouth, giving him the opportunity to sneak his tongue in and tangle it with yours.

You are in heaven with Chishiya's fingers pressed against your wet heat, your own hand wrapped around his cock bringing each other closer and closer to the promised land. But you want more, you want to taste him badly. Just as you are about to lean down to take him in your mouth, he interrupts you.

"Fuck this," Chishiya whispers, clearly at his breaking point too. He lifts you with ease, tossing you gently onto the dusty bed at the far end of the cell. One hand shoots out to grab one of your ankles, dragging you to the edge of the bed as he gracefully falls to his knees between your legs.

You lean up on your elbows to stare down at him breathlessly, brushing your fingers into his shockingly soft hair. Chishiya grins a Cheshire grin at you, licking his lips slightly like a predator about to devour his dinner.

Both hands hook underneath your legs, spreading you apart for him and lifting your hips a bit, his lips coming to lick an experimental strip up your slit. The moans you let out for him go straight to his cock, only making him want to devour you more. Chishiya suddenly brings two of his fingers to your lips, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. Suck. You do, taking his fingers lustfully into your mouth and coating them in saliva before he pulls them out with a wet pop.

He brings those fingers to dive into your fluttering core, immediately curling them forward to find your spongey spot while his lips suck gloriously on your clit. You see stars, knowing that this man is about to give you the best orgasm of your life. Your body involuntarily squirms underneath Chishiya as you get closer and closer to those aforementioned stars. The fingers of his free hand intertwine with the fingers of the hand you'd had in his hair, letting you ground yourself in his touch.

His pace does not falter, fingers driving in and out of your pussy, causing obscene squelching sounds to bounce off the walls in the small cell. Hopefully that sound isn't higher than 70 decibels. His tongue collects everything you give him, alternating between licking and sucking you as you writhe beneath him. His watchful eyes take in every second of you like this, you are gorgeous underneath him. The man sees how your eyebrows furrow in just such a way, your tight hole clamping impossibly around his fingers. And your arousal hitting his tongue - God, he would do this all day if you'd let him.

"Let go for me, baby," Chishiya moans against your clit, the vibrations sending you to the moon. For the first time in your life, you squirt as you orgasm, soaking the dusty white sheets beneath you. You're certain you've died. The sound that leaves you is animalistic, loud, and completely against the rules. You feel your body and Chishiya's stiffen and jolt as you're shocked for exceeding the sound limit, but honestly it kind of extends the high that you're riding. Maybe you could get into that kind of thing during intimacy.

When the shock finally subsides, your entire body collapses back onto the bed, completely spent and nerve endings still on fire from the charge. When you finally open your eyes and start to feel yourself relaxing back into your body, you see Chishiya looking up at you in what can only be described as awe.

"That was so worth getting shocked for," he laughs, licking his lips clean of your arousal. Just the vision of him between your legs has your pussy throbbing again, that was the best orgasm of your life, but you desperately wanted more from him.

You grab onto the front of his white jacket, pulling him up to press your lips against his. You whimper, tasting yourself on him and let him deepen the kiss. You've waited for what feels like forever to finally kiss him like this, and you'll be damned if you miss out on a second. You glance down at his red, angry looking cock and feel your mouth water. You want to feel him fill you more than anything.

He presses your body down into the mattress, leaning over you as you stare like an angel up at him, hair spread on the sheets around you like a halo. "Do you know how long I've waited to have you under me like this?" He leans down, peppering your jaw and neck with kisses, sinking his teeth into you and marking you for everyone to see later. Your heart hammers against your ribcage at his admission, Chishiya wanted you too.

He shrugs his jacket off, leaving himself completely bare in front of you. Heat pools once again in your belly, you hoped desperately he was about to give you exactly what you need.

He pulls the flimsy strings holding your bikini top to your body, helping to pull it off of you. "You frustrate me so much, you know? Waltzing around in these tiny bikinis, not even realizing that I want to bend you over and fuck you in front of everyone just so they know who you belong to," he growls in that sexy raspy voice again. Your pussy clenches around nothing, arousal dripping down onto the bed and he absolutely notices.

He raises an eyebrow at you, teasingly running his fingers through your soaked slit again, "You like that, baby? You want everyone to know that this pussy is mine, don't you?" You whine, head falling back against the bed and growing increasingly needy, "Please Chishiya, t-take me."

He wastes no more time, letting a growl escape his chest, and in one swift motion he sheathes his throbbing cock inside you. "Fuck," he whimpers, "You're so fucking tight, perfect for me baby." His praise causes your cunt to tighten around him, panting as he lowers himself to attack your swollen lips once more. You whimper and whine pathetically into his mouth, feeling so delightfully full for once in your life as he stretches your core.

His arms wrap securely around you, cradling you to him as if you were the most precious thing in the world. To him, you are. Rocking into you at a slow pace at first, Chishiya whispers absolute filth in your ear between sloppy kisses. You whine just from the sound of his voice, but also because you need more to make the pain of the drug dissipate. "Shiya please! I need you to f-fuck me!" Oh, how he wants to hear you scream that loud enough for his neighbors to hear.

The man emits another low rumble in his chest, yanking your legs up onto his shoulders and crossing your ankles behind his neck. He quickly finds a steady pace, hips rolling against you with one hand grabbing the skin at your hip for purchase and the other coming up to pinch a hardened nipple between two fingers. Chishiya can feel how the muscles in his abdomen are already tensing up; he knows that HE won't last long like this, you're soaking wet and so fucking tight, his cock feeling at home inside you like he'd always been meant to be there.

The aphrodisiac clouds his mind and yours, he's so desperate for you. You look up at him through half-lidded eyes, lips bruised and puffy from the heat of your kisses. Electricity goes straight to his core, fuck, you're so perfect.

"M'gonna cum soon, baby," he whispers, causing your pussy to flutter around him again. You loved that you were making him feel as good as he was making you feel. You pull your legs off of his shoulders to wrap around his hips instead, a silent plea for him to cum inside. You needed to feel him fill you up.

And oh, how he couldn't wait to fill you up. Whether the drug or just some sick part of his mind he'd kept locked away until now, he wanted to keep you filled with his cum until it took. That thought made his nerve endings light on fire.

You whimper in desperation when Chishiya presses his body weight back on top of you, lips joining yours once more in a passionate but tender kiss. As his tongue locks with yours, he brings two fingers to circle your clit, trying to get your next orgasm to come before he does.

With so many sensations flooding you all at once, you do find yourself on the edge again, you need just a little bit more.

"Shiya . . . I'm -" you start, but the man is desperately trying not to cum too soon and cuts you off with a low growl, "Cum for me baby, please." His hips snap into yours now, setting a blazing pace as his movements get sloppy.

That's all you need to be thrown over the edge of your orgasm, cunt squeezing tightly around Chishiya's hardened member as you wail loudly, forgetting yourself once more. It's just so good.

Your orgasm triggers his, and you whine even more as rope after rope of his hot cum paints your walls white, his lips pressing hard against yours as he fills you completely. The warm sensation of his cum filling you nearly gives you a third orgasm, until you're shocked by the collar. Neither of you care, just hanging onto each other tightly as the current rushes through you.

You grimace when Chishiya pulls out, missing the feeling of being filled to the brim by him almost immediately. He lowers himself to the side of you, leaning against one elbow. His free hand comes up to caress your cheek, pulling your soft lips back against his again. Where before it was frantic, now it felt romantic, slow, intentional.

His hand travels, featherlight touch dancing down your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. Overstimulated, you whine a bit as your nerve endings feel about to explode. He pulls his face away from yours, eager to study his long fingers as they push his cum back into your pussy. Your body shivers, and he admires the way you react.

"No more, Shiya, s'too much," you whine as his fingers begin circling your clit again. He hums in response, not stopping, but not increasing his speed either.

"Just a little more, angel. I told you I've waited forever for this." You mewl in overstimulation as he picks up the pace, your hips lifting off the bed and you squirm underneath him.

[Game Clear - Congratulations] The cheerful robot chimes. You'd cleared the game, and gained so much more than Visa days.

You collapse, letting out an exhausted sigh as the man pulls his hand away from your sensitive core. "Think you can wait a little longer, then?" You ask tiredly, seriously needing a shower and a tiny bit of rest before continuing these activities with Chishiya.

He smirks, grasping your jaw to bring your face towards him again. "Let's get back to The Beach. I want to make sure everyone can hear you scream for me," he announces, making your insides go up in flames once more.

It would be a long night.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Masterlist

[yuzurukun]

Alice in Borderland | s 3

What do you do that gives you a sense of meaning in life?

[shiryusdragon]

They woke up with their face on your breasts

Summary: You were best friends and were sleeping in the same bed. As you slept, you unconsciously turned and hugged them, placing their face between your breasts. characters: Aguni, Ann, Arisu, Banda, Chishiya, Karube, Kuina, Kuzuryu, Kyuma, Mira, Niragi, Takeru Danma, Usagi Warnings: Best friends, fem!reader, nsfw but nothing too explicit

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Aguni:

Aguni opened his eyes slowly, feeling something pressed against his face, and soon realized that it was your breasts and that your arms were holding his face between them.

"Seriously, look at the things you put me through," he thought, chuckling softly. He knew he should leave, but he decided he could use your comfort a little longer. "You know what? Fuck it, I'm fine here." He buried his head deeper into your breasts and smirked

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Ann:

Ann woke slowly, her body freezing when she realized where she was lying. Her face was trapped between your breasts, breath hitting against your skin. She stood still, unsure of what to do. She wondered if she should pull away and how she'd gotten into this position, but it was too comfortable for her to pull away.

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Arisu:

Arisu woke suddenly with the feeling of suffocation, but when he realized his face was between your breasts, he froze. His eyes widened; he couldn't believe what had happened.

He couldn't believe what was happening. His heart raced, and first came a feeling of embarrassment, but it was followed by a sense of comfort, making him close his eyes. He knew he should leave, but he didn't want to. He was loving this too much. Arisu then just rested his forehead against your breasts and stayed there.

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Banda:

Banda woke up in a bad mood, but something made him stop right away. His face was crushed against your breasts. This must be some kind of joke, he thought, and he couldn't help the smirk that appeared on his face. Banda didn't hesitate, leaning his face even closer to you, breathing deeply.

"And then you say you don't provoke me." He murmured even though you weren't awake to hear. His hand went to your waist and squeezed. Banda wouldn't leave, not for fuck's sake.

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Chishiya:

Chishiya woke slowly, confused by the soft, warm sensation of the place where he was lying. It was then that he realized his face was between your breasts, almost trapped by your unconscious embrace. He looked away and blushed a little, unable to believe this was happening.

Chishiya knew he should pull away, but it seemed like lying his head on your chest made everything okay. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, burying his face a little deeper against you.

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Karube:

Karube woke up, feeling a bit sleepy, and noticed something different. His breathing was more muffled, and the place where his head rested felt softer than the pillow. When he opened his eyes, he realized his face was between your breasts.

"Shit," he muttered, his eyes widening and he slowly pulled away, but suddenly stopped. It was too comfortable to lie there. He then began to debate in his head. Well, he wasn't the one who laid his head there, was he? You were the one who fell asleep next to him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, giving in to the comfort. Karube laid her head on his chest again and smiled a little.

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Kuina:

Kuina groaned when she woke up. She always hated the feeling of waking up from a good dream, but the first thing she noticed was that her head was lying on a warm, soft spot. When she opened her eyes, she realized her face was between your breasts, and your arms were holding her there. Maybe the dream wasn't over yet.

A big smile appeared on her lips, and instead of pulling away, she hugged you back with all her strength, burying her head even deeper in your breasts, nuzzling against them.

"If this is a dream, I never want to wake up." She murmured softly, wrapping one of her legs around yours, and closing her eyes again, enjoying the comfort your body gave her.

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Kuzuryu:

Kuzuryu woke up feeling breathless, probably because his nose was pressed against a pillow or something. Well, that was just what he thought, because when he opened his eyes, he realized his nose was indeed pressed against something, but instead of the pillow, it was your breasts.

His mind told him to move away, but his body wouldn't listen. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He just stood there, not moving. He knew if you woke up and saw him like this, you'd never let him hear the end of it, but he promised himself he'd only stay there for a few more minutes.

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Kyuma:

Kyuma opened his eyes slowly, feeling strange about where he was lying. It took him a moment to realize that his body was pressed against yours, his face between your breasts. He froze in place, unable to believe what was happening. Kyuma felt embarrassed and could have sworn he was blushing a little. He tried to think of what he should do.

If he pulled away, you'd probably wake up instantly, but if he stayed, you'd realize what had happened when you did. His eyes scanned your face. You looked so calm and peaceful, each breath making your chest rise and fall. Kyuma smiled and sighed in defeat, leaning his forehead against your chest. When you woke up, he might even beg you to forgive him, but he felt unable to move now.

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Mira:

Mira woke slowly, feeling strangely at the warm, soft spot she was lying on. When she opened her eyes and realized it was your breasts, she smiled, hardly able to believe her luck. One of her hands went to the arm that was hugging her and gently caressed it. Mira didn't want to pull away; it was the best pillow she'd ever had, so she decided to just pretend she was still asleep and hadn't noticed it.

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Niragi:

Niragi woke up suddenly, feeling as if someone were suffocating him, but when he opened his eyes, he found his face buried only in your breasts. He blinked several times before laughing. This was too good to be an accident, his mind told him. His heart raced, and he bit his lip, watching you sleep.

How could he possibly move away from there? It was impossible. You're too comfortable. Niragi shifted, getting into a more comfortable position, closer to you, and closed his eyes. He decided he'd stay there quietly, just enjoying himself.

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Takeuru:

Takeru woke up with a bad hangover, a reminder of last night. Just as he was about to open his mouth to mumble something, he realized his face was between your breasts, trapped by your unconscious embrace.

"You're crazy to sleep with me like that." He said mockingly, and instead of leaving, he nuzzled his face against your breasts without a hint of shame. Takeru would never miss this opportunity. He smirked, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, inhaling your scent.

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Usagi:

Usagi blinked in confusion until she realized her face was buried in your chest. A blush rose to her cheeks, but she didn't move.

"Oh, God..." she murmured, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Her eyes opened again, and she looked at you, who was still sleeping calmly. Her lips turned into a shy smile, and she nuzzled her face into your breasts, whispering, "I like it..."

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[imaginechishiya]

Anatomy of Control

Pairing: doctor! chishiya x f!resident! reader

Summary: you start working as a resident doctor at the sakurazawa university hospital. a certain paediatrician is not very fond of residents, but something about you catches him off guard

Warnings: mentions of hospitals and diseases, chishiya being a smug bastard, there are no explicit details, but some parts are highly suggestive (so I recommend not to read this if you're under 18!)

Word count: ~6.6k

Requested (multiple times)

You had never felt the hallways of a hospital stretch so endlessly before. The bright lights bounced off the spotlessly white walls and polished floors that clicked softly under the rubber soles of your shoes. This was it: your first day as a resident. Years of late-night studying, endless exams, and practicum rotations had led you here, to the paediatric wing of Sakurazawa University Hospital in Tokyo.

You tried to steady your breathing as you clutched your clipboard a little too tightly. The smell of disinfectant and the distant sounds of crying children reminded you where you were and that now, you weren’t just observing anymore. You were here to work.

Your supervising physician, Dr. Kato, greeted you with a warm smile when you found him at the nurses’ station. His kind eyes instantly eased some of the tension in your shoulders. He welcomed you, introducing you to a few nurses and orderlies before starting you on your first round of patients. Dr. Kato's presence was reassuring, like the calm in the storm, and you silently thanked the universe for assigning you to him.

It wasn’t long before you noticed the nurses teasing each other, all while sneaking quick glances towards a man who approached from the other end of the hallway. He didn’t walk so much as glide with effortless confidence, his lab coat swinging slightly with each step. His hair was tied back in a low ponytail and though his expression was impossible for you to read, his gaze was sharp enough to cut through glass.

“Dr. Shuntarō Chishiya,” Dr. Kato explained quietly, noticing your eyes follow him. “One of the best in the department. Brilliant, but… difficult.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened as the man drew closer. You had heard the name before. In fact, everyone had. He was young for his position, a paediatrician already respected for his diagnostic skills, though whispered stories always mentioned his coldness.

When Dr. Kato greeted him politely, Dr. Chishiya’s response was no more than a curt nod. His eyes flicked over you briefly, somewhat impassively, before he continued on his way. That look alone left your stomach twisting. It wasn’t even hostile, just… indifferent. Like you hadn’t even registered as worth his time.

Your first patient was a cheerful five-year-old boy with asthma. You knelt by his bedside, introducing yourself softly, your voice steadier with him than it had been with any of the adults. He grinned at you, asking if you were a “real doctor.” You assured him you were, and the ease with which he laughed warmed you. The nurses smiled at the way you handled him.

But the moment Dr. Chishiya’s voice rang out across the hall, unimpressed as he discussed lab results with a group of doctors, your confidence faltered again.

Later, while recording vitals at the nurses’ station, one of the nurses, a tall woman with a neat bun and warm smile, leaned over. “Don’t let him scare you,” she whispered, nodding subtly towards Chishiya’s retreating figure. “He’s like that with everyone. But you’ll do fine.” You smiled back, grateful for her kindness, even if your chest still ached with nerves.

By the time your first day ended, your legs ached and your head swam with details. But one thing stood out among the blur: Dr. Chishiya’s sharp eyes, that single disinterested glance that made you feel like you were already failing some test you didn’t even know you were taking.

And deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.

When you were finally ready to go home, you already felt a little lighter than you expected. It wasn’t easy, your head was crammed with patient charts and treatment notes, but you hadn’t been swallowed whole.

To your surprise, the nurses had taken to you almost immediately. The younger ones giggled at your clumsy attempts to keep pace with them and the older ones teased you gently, giving advice without condescension. Even the head nurse, a stern woman with decades of experience who was infamous for scowling at new doctors, softened when she watched you crouch down to comfort a crying toddler. Later, she muttered under her breath that you “might turn out all right after all.” Coming from her, you knew it was as good as a compliment.

You hadn’t hesitated to help either, fetching supplies, holding a child steady during a blood draw, even carrying a tray of used syringes back to the disposal room. Most doctors acted as though that work was beneath them, but to you, it just felt natural.

By the time you left, exhausted but buoyed, the nurses gave you small waves and promises of coffee together soon. And finally, you felt welcome and accepted.

The next morning, however, reality came crashing back.

Morning rounds were different from the rhythm of the day before. Instead of the warmth of the nurses or the reassurance of Dr. Kato, you were now among a group of residents clustered nervously in a hallway, waiting. The air was taut with dread.

And then he appeared. Dr. Chishiya moved with the same detached calm as yesterday, clipboard in hand. His presence alone silenced the hallway. Without preamble, he began quizzing the residents as you went from room to room. You quickly realised how much he disliked you all. It was in every clipped question, every sigh of irritation, every unimpressed glance. No answer seemed to satisfy him.

A resident beside you stammered through a diagnosis, her answers all wrong. Another tried to compensate with confidence, but Dr. Chishiya’s flat “No” cut him down instantly. The air grew heavier with each exchange.

When his eyes landed on you, your heart nearly stopped. “Your turn,” he said coolly. You scrambled to recall the case file in your hand, but the words caught in your throat. “I- I think-"

“Speak up,” Dr. Chishiya cut in, his voice sharp but quiet, each syllable laced with disdain. His gaze never wavered and you felt your face heat under its weight.

Embarrassment churned in your stomach, but you forced yourself to breathe. One deep inhale, and you pushed the answer out before you could overthink it. You listed the key symptoms, tied them together, and offered the diagnosis you were sure of.

For a moment, silence stretched between you.

Then Chishiya’s eyes narrowed slightly. He tilted his head, the smallest movement, but unmistakable. His lips didn’t curve, no words of approval passed, but he gave a single nod. His gaze lingered on you half a beat too long before flicking away.

It wasn’t praise. Not even close.

But it was something. And apparently, that something was enough.

You caught the envious glance of the resident beside you, who clenched his jaw. From behind, one of the younger nurses leaned in close and whispered just loud enough for you to hear:

“I think you might have actually impressed him.”

Your chest fluttered with both pride and dread. You weren’t sure which feeling was stronger, only that Chishiya’s nod replayed in your mind long after rounds had moved on.

Your second full day in paediatrics began with relief, you weren’t under Chishiya’s eye again just yet. Instead, Dr. Kato guided you through rounds with a gentleness that made everything feel less suffocating. He asked you questions, but never in the cutting tone Dr. Chishiya used. If you hesitated, he gave you time. If you made a mistake, he corrected you without belittling.

“You’ll get there,” he said more than once, patting your shoulder as though to steady you. “You see things others overlook. I don’t want you to lose that because someone makes you afraid to speak.” You didn’t need him to name the “someone.” You both knew.

For the most part, he shielded you from Dr. Chishiya, intercepting his questions during joint rounds, offering you tasks Chishiya might have dismissed. It was clear he wanted to nurture your potential before it could be crushed under that man’s cold stare.

Still, Dr. Chishiya’s presence lingered. You caught sight of him often, walking briskly down corridors, conferring with department heads, leaning casually at the nurses’ station while flipping through charts. He was impossible to ignore.

One of the nurses tried very hard to get his attention whenever possible. She was always there, hovering at his elbow whenever she could. You noticed the way she leaned forward just slightly when she spoke to him, the brightness in her smile whenever she handed him something, a chart, a pen, even a cup of coffee she had gone out of her way to fetch.

“Dr. Chishiya, I thought you might want this. Extra strong, just how you like it,” she said one morning, setting the cup beside his papers with a hopeful look. Chishiya didn’t so much as glance at her. He pushed the cup aside, eyes still on the chart in his hand. “I don’t drink coffee during rounds,” he said flatly, his tone making it clear the conversation was over before it began. Her smile faltered. You looked away, pretending you hadn’t seen the flicker of hurt on her face.

The real clash came during a staff meeting later that day. Residents, attendings, and nurses crowded into the conference room. A case was presented and the floor opened for discussion.

Dr. Chishiya’s gaze swept the room before settling on you. “You,” he said coolly. “Your thoughts.” Your pulse jumped. Dozens of eyes turned in your direction. You stumbled over your first few words, your voice quieter than intended. “I- I believe the symptoms suggest-"

“Louder,” Dr. Chishiya cut in, his tone icy. “If you want to be a doctor, you’ll need to learn to speak like one. Otherwise, no one will listen to you.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, but you forced yourself to continue. The diagnosis you gave was cautious but correct, and though Chishiya gave no praise, you saw the smallest flicker in his eyes. Recognition, maybe even approval. Still, his words stung. You couldn’t keep hiding behind hesitation forever.

The afternoon rounds, however, weren’t about you. They became the stage for a different kind of spectacle.

Dr. Chishiya's own resident, the same overly confident young man from the day before, had been strutting around all morning, convinced he could win Dr. Chishiya over with his bravado. He spoke loudly, answered quickly, and threw medical jargon around as though volume could disguise inaccuracy.

By the third wrong answer, Dr. Chishiya’s patience snapped. “Wrong again,” he said, his voice calm but sharp enough to silence the corridor. “Do you ever stop to think before you speak?”

The resident’s jaw tightened. His voice rose. “At least I’m not afraid to answer. You can’t just humiliate people like this every day. It isn’t teaching, it’s abuse.”

The hallway went deathly quiet. Nurses at their stations stilled, pretending to busy themselves while leaning just close enough to hear. Other residents froze in place, eyes darting between the two.

Dr. Chishiya didn’t so much as blink. “Are you finished?” His resident didn't say a word but nodded firmly. Chishiya crossed his arms, "Good. You're fired."

The resident’s chest heaved. “You can’t just fire me for disagreeing with you.” A smirk tugged coldly at Chishiya’s lips. “I can. And I did.”

Gasps rippled through the corridor. The resident’s face drained of colour as he realised the weight of those words. Chishiya turned away, already moving on, as though dismissing him was no more significant than flipping a page in a chart.

No one dared to speak. Not even the nurses.

You felt your stomach twist, both horrified and oddly in awe. In that moment, it became clear just how much influence Chishiya wielded in this hospital. He was untouchable and he was completely merciless.

And though you tried not to meet his eyes when they flicked over the group again, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of them, sharper than ever.

The day after Chishiya fired his resident, the corridors of the paediatric ward was still charged with whispers. No one said his name aloud, but the story passed quickly, repeated in hushed voices behind clipboards and at the nurses’ station: "He really dismissed him on the spot… in front of everyone."

When morning rounds came, it wasn’t Dr. Chishiya at the front. He had withdrawn completely, leaving the responsibility to Dr. Kato. You almost sighed in relief.

Dr. Kato led with his usual warmth, his voice carrying more patience and encouragement than authority. He asked each resident questions, not to shame them, but to make them think. When you gave your answer, firm this time, remembering the sting of Dr. Chishiya’s last remark, he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Correct,” he said, pride in his tone. “That’s exactly what I want to hear. See? You know more than you think.”

The praise drew a few envious looks from your peers. It was so different from Chishiya’s cold nods and it steadied you in a way his approval never could.

Still, you noticed things about Dr. Kato you hadn’t before. The way he paused a moment longer than usual between questions. The faint sheen of sweat at his temple though the air was cool. A cough that lingered too long before he cleared his throat and moved on, pretending nothing was wrong.

The next morning came far too early. You were still rubbing the sleep from your eyes when a nurse intercepted you outside the ward. “The Medical Director wants to see you,” she said, lowering her voice as if the message carried weight. Your stomach dropped.

The director's office smelled faintly of leather and old books, the blinds half-closed against the rising sun. He gestured for you to sit.

“Dr. Kato has fallen ill,” he said, his tone even but firm. “He will need to take a leave of absence for several weeks. It’s nothing life-threatening, but he cannot continue working with his current state.”

The words sank like stones in your chest. Your mentor, the one person who believed in you, who protected you, was gone, at least for now.

“You will, of course, need a supervising physician in the meantime.” He leaned back, folding his hands together. “I’ve already made arrangements-"

The door opened without a knock. Chishiya stepped in, his coat unbuttoned, his expression irritated as though he had been dragged here against his will. He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe with a sigh. “What is this?” he asked flatly, his eyes cutting between you and the director.

“Dr. Kato is on leave,” the Chief of Medicine repeated, unruffled. “You’ll be taking over his resident.” He nodded in your direction. “For the next few weeks, she will be under your supervision.”

Your heart plummeted. You looked at Chishiya, waiting for some reaction, some sign that he might protest and you weren’t disappointed. He scoffed, pushing a hand through his blonde hair with exasperation. “Wonderful,” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Another babysitting job.”

Your throat tightened. Horror flooded you as the weight of the decision settled. Out of all the doctors in the hospital, out of anyone you could have been assigned to… it had to be him.

And when his eyes flicked to you, you knew these next few weeks would feel like a lifetime.

The first day under Dr. Chishiya’s supervision felt less like training and more like a trial.

He was cold from the moment rounds began, his tone sharper than the crisp shuffle of charts in his hands. Every question he asked was designed to cut. He didn’t just want answers, he wanted you to stumble, to falter, to break.

At first, you nearly did. Your throat tightened when he fixed his gaze on you. Your palms dampened as he fired the first question. “Patient in room 302,” he said without looking up. “Four-year-old. Fever, rash, conjunctivitis. Diagnosis?”

You forced yourself to breathe. Remember Dr. Kato’s words. You know more than you think. “Measles,” you said, a little too softly. Chishiya’s head tilted, eyes narrowing. “And the complication you should be worried about?”

“Pneumonia,” you replied, this time firmer. He gave no nod, no sign of approval. Only moved on.

The questions kept coming, each one fired like a bullet: “Three-year-old, persistent cough, night sweats?”

“Tuberculosis,” you answered.

“Six-year-old, joint pain, malar rash?”

“Systemic lupus erythematosus.”

“Ten-year-old, swelling around the eyes, cola-coloured urine?”

“Post-streptococcal glomerulonephritis.”

Your confidence grew with each reply. The hesitation that had once choked your voice began to fade. You stood straighter, your tone steadier, your answers faster. The residents around you shifted, some stealing glances, some scowling at how quickly you responded. And though Chishiya’s expression never changed, his eyes lingered a fraction longer each time you spoke.

When the group entered the next patient’s room, the little girl there shrank back against her pillows. Her IV tugged at her small hand and her eyes welled with tears at the sight of the swarm of white coats surrounding her.

You crouched down, softening your voice. “Hey,” you said gently, smiling. “I like your bunny. Does she have a name?” The child blinked, her fear faltering just enough to whisper, “Momo.”

“Momo,” you repeated warmly. “That’s perfect. Can Momo help us check your heartbeat today?” The girl nodded, still timid but calmer now.

Chishiya watched from the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, eyes impassive. When you rose again, he spoke quietly, just loud enough for you to hear: “There's no need for irrelevant bedside fluff.” Your brows knit. “She was scared,” you said, keeping your voice low. “It doesn’t hurt to be gentle every now and then.”

The corridor outside the room went silent. Nurses, residents, even orderlies passing by, all froze at your audacity. No one spoke to Dr. Chishiya like that.

His gaze cut to yours, as though he hadn’t expected resistance. He stayed silent a moment too long, then exhaled slowly, crossing his arms tighter.

Without acknowledging your words, he continued, “Nine-year-old, high fever, sore throat, strawberry tongue. Diagnosis?”

“Scarlet fever,” you replied instantly.

“Possible complication?”

“Rheumatic fever.”

He didn’t nod, didn’t praise, didn’t scold. Just kept going. But something about the rhythm had changed. You answered steadily, without falter, as though every word built a shield around you. You thought of Dr. Kato’s smile, his steady voice reminding you not to let fear silence what you already knew.

By the time rounds ended, your throat was dry and your legs ached, but you hadn’t crumbled. Not once. And when Chishiya closed the last chart with a snap, you swore his eyes lingered on you again, not in disdain this time, but in calculation.

The patient who arrived this afternoon was eight years old. A boy with wide, tired eyes and skin that seemed too pale for his age. He had been admitted with a fever, fatigue, joint pain, and a faint rash across his torso. At first glance, it could have been any number of childhood illnesses, but something about the combination didn’t sit right.

Chishiya flipped through the chart at the foot of the bed, his expression flat as ever. “Symptoms don’t line up,” he muttered under his breath. “Not clearly, anyway.”

Tentatively, you spoke. “It could be juvenile idiopathic arthritis. The joint pain and rash-" He cut you off with a glance sharp enough to silence you. “It doesn’t fit.” His tone was clipped. He set the chart down and pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off irritation. For a moment, you thought he would say it, that cruel phrase he had thrown at the other resident before: observe and learn. But the words never came.

Instead, his eyes returned to the chart, scanning line after line. His brows furrowed slightly, the first visible crack in his otherwise unreadable mask.

“…None of this makes sense,” he said finally. His voice was quieter now, almost reluctant. The admission shocked you more than anything. If Dr. Chishiya didn’t have an answer, then the case was truly unusual.

“Order blood work,” he instructed curtly, scribbling on a slip. “Full panel. Autoimmune markers, inflammatory levels, kidney function. And schedule an echocardiogram. I want everything.”

As he handed the slip to a nurse, you crouched at the bedside. The boy looked anxious, clinging to a toy car in his hands. You smiled softly, adjusting his blanket. “They’re just going to run a few tests, okay? Nothing scary. And I’ll be here to make sure you’re not bored.”

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small notepad. With a pen, you began sketching a silly cartoon, the boy’s toy car racing along a crooked road with stick-figure drivers waving their arms wildly. He let out a weak giggle, some of the tension easing from his face.

When you glanced up, you caught Dr. Chishiya watching silently. His gaze flicked away as soon as your eyes met, as though he hadn’t been staring at all.

Later that afternoon, work carried on as usual. Charts, patients, rapid-fire questions. Except this time, there was something different in the way he looked at you.

You weren’t stammering anymore. You answered questions with a calm confidence that surprised even you. The nerves were still there, bubbling under the surface, but you held them down and spoke with conviction.

Chishiya noticed. He told himself he didn’t care. That you were just another resident, barely competent, another burden added to his day. But as you stood by the bedside of a toddler with pneumonia, explaining the treatment plan with quiet clarity, his gaze lingered too long on the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips as you spoke.

He caught himself imagining what it might feel like to lean closer than professionalism allowed. The thought irritated him, his jaw tightening as he forced his eyes back to the chart in his hands.

Ridiculous, he told himself. He didn’t like you at all. In fact, he didn’t like anyone. You were a resident, inexperienced, naive, frustratingly earnest. And yet, when you leaned forward to comfort the coughing toddler, your hand resting lightly on the child’s blanket, his eyes drifted where they shouldn't. He felt something coil in his stomach that had nothing to do with irritation.

It wasn’t liking. But it was something else entirely. Something physical and intrusive. Something dangerous. And for the first time in a very long while, Chishiya found himself distracted.

You should have gone home. Your shift had ended nearly an hour ago, your locker already waiting with your clothes neatly folded inside. But when the head nurse pressed a sealed envelope into your hand, the boy’s test results, you couldn’t resist.

“Take these to Dr. Chishiya tomorrow morning,” she said briskly. “Of course. Thank you,” you replied.

But instead of heading to the changing room, you carried the envelope into the empty break room. The faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. You made yourself a cup of black tea, sat at the table, and spread the papers out before you.

You told yourself it was just curiosity. Just a quick glance before bed. But minutes stretched into an hour as you scribbled notes on a pad, cross-referenced symptoms with your textbooks, and muttered possibilities under your breath. Fever, joint pain, rash, cardiac involvement… Kawasaki disease. It fit almost perfectly, yet you hesitated, digging deeper, refining, testing each hypothesis against the evidence.

The rest of the hospital quieted, footsteps fading down the hall. You didn’t notice when someone stopped outside the doorway.

Chishiya had been on his way out, his white coat long discarded, his hair loose. He hadn’t expected to see anyone still around, least of all you.

But there you were, bent over the boy’s chart, brows furrowed in concentration, your pen tapping against the table before you absently slipped the cap between your lips.

He froze in the hallway. Something twisted low in his abdomen as he watched you, a sensation he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He told himself it was nothing, just biology, a simple, physical reaction to a somewhat attractive woman doing something entirely mundane. Still, his eyes lingered, refusing to move. The sight of you tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear, the way your lips pressed together as you scribbled across the page, every small gesture tugged at him in ways he shouldn’t allow.

For a fleeting moment, an image crossed his mind: you looking up at him like that, brows knit in focus, except not over a chart… He clenched his jaw, banishing the thought as quickly as it came. You’re a resident. Nothing more. This is just… relief his body needed. Nothing else.

Finally, he stepped into the doorway. “You should go home,” he said. His voice carried its usual chill, though it came out softer than he intended.

You didn’t react. Pen scratching, tea forgotten, you were too wrapped up in the case.

He sighed, stepping closer until he stood just behind you. He glanced down at your notebook and stilled. Line after line of sharp, deliberate handwriting filled the page: differential diagnoses, cross-checked symptoms, and finally, underlined twice in your neat script: Kawasaki disease.

He blinked. Slowly. You had already pieced it together. Everything he had overlooked in his rush, you had seen it, written it, connected it. A resident, the one he had written off as timid and inexperienced, had essentially solved the puzzle before he had. Chishiya found himself at a loss for the first time. And though his face betrayed nothing, his pulse betrayed everything.

You didn’t even notice him at first. Not until he spoke your name.

Your pen froze mid-stroke. Slowly, you turned in your chair, your gaze rising to meet his. He stood close, too close, one hand resting on the back of your chair, the other gesturing towards your notes. His finger tapped lightly, against the faint words you had underlined: Kawasaki disease. “You solved the case.”

Your breath caught. “I… did?” you whispered, still half-expecting him to dismiss it as coincidence, or luck. But instead of scoffing, his eyes stayed locked on yours.

The tension in your shoulders spilled out in a quiet huff of relief. You looked down at the page again, then back up at him, lips parting slightly as though the weight of the day had finally broken.

Something in that look unsettled him. His grip on the chair tightened until his knuckles whitened. He had seen countless expressions across patients, residents, and colleagues, but the way you looked at him now, equal parts vulnerable and luminous with relief, carved deep into him.

His mind betrayed him with an image, unbidden and dangerous: you on your knees, gazing up at him with those same wide, trusting eyes. Heat coiled low in his abdomen, and his jaw clenched as he forced the thought away, disgusted with himself for even entertaining it.

Still, his gaze burned into you, refusing to let go. “Well done,” he said finally. The words were short, flat as always, but they carried a weight you hadn’t heard from him before. “We’ll talk about the treatment plan tomorrow. Now get some rest.”

Before you could respond, he straightened and stepped back, leaving the break room in sharp, purposeful strides.

You sat there, heart pounding, replaying the two words over and over. Well done. From Dr. Chishiya, that was more than praise, it was a victory.

And while you savoured that tiny spark of validation, down the hall, Chishiya shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw set hard. He kept his face composed, every step as controlled as ever, but it took everything in him not to curse his own body as he adjusted his pace, determined to keep the evidence of his reaction hidden until he was gone from sight.

And when he finally stepped into his apartment, the bulge was still visible in his trousers. But even as he granted his body the pleasure and relief it so desperately seemed to need, he couldn't stop thinking about you, cursing himself for it.

Morning rounds started as they always did: a cluster of white coats and tired faces moving down the paediatric wing like a slow tide. Charts shuffled, pens clicked, children’s cries echoed down the corridors.

But this time, when Chishiya’s eyes landed on you, his question cut sharper than usual. “Treatment plan for the boy,” he said simply, offering no hint, no leading prompt. “You made the diagnosis. What comes next?”

Dozens of eyes shifted to you. The residents, the nurses, all waiting for you to stumble. Your heart pounded, but you steadied yourself, recalling the hours you had spent scribbling notes in the break room. “High-dose intravenous immunoglobulin, administered within the first ten days of illness,” you said clearly. “And aspirin, starting with an anti-inflammatory dose, then tapering to an antiplatelet dose to reduce the risk of coronary artery complications.”

The corridor fell into silence. For a moment, you thought he might dismiss it, or tear into you for forgetting some minor detail. But instead, Chishiya’s eyes narrowed and he gave the faintest nod. "Correct.”

That single word carried more weight than a page of praise from anyone else. The nurses standing near the station exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“You heard that, right?” one whispered, barely containing her grin.

“He actually agreed with her.”

“Maybe she’s the one to finally tame him.” A ripple of laughter moved through the group. But not everyone joined in. The nurse who always lingered near Chishiya, the one who had seemed so friendly at first, grew quiet, her smile slipping as she looked at you.

When the head nurse appeared, sharp-eyed and formidable, the gossip died instantly. Everyone scattered back to their work, files shuffling, keyboards clicking.

Inside the boy’s room, the parents sat anxiously at the foot of the bed. Chishiya gestured to you with a small tilt of his head. “Explain it.”

You froze for half a second, then straightened. Turning to the parents, you repeated the plan calmly, adjusting your tone to be gentle but firm. You explained the IV, the purpose of the aspirin, and the reason for regular monitoring. The boy clutched his toy car, eyes wide, but relaxed as you crouched to meet him at his level, promising the medicine would help him feel better soon. When you finished, the mother’s eyes filled with tears of relief. She thanked you, her voice trembling.

You stepped back, glancing at Chishiya. He said nothing, his expression unchanged, though his gaze flicked briefly to you before moving on.

As you left the room together, you whispered, “Thank you… for letting me present it.”

You hadn’t expected a reply, and you didn’t get one. But as you walked, you could feel his presence beside you, somewhat tense and so very far from indifferent.

Because while his demeanour remained cold, his mind was anything but.

The faint smell of your shampoo when you had turned in the room still lingered in his senses, dragging unwanted thoughts back to the surface. Finding release last night hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. His body reacted as though on edge, highly alert, every nerve attuned to you. The sound of your voice, the curve of your lips when you thanked him, the warmth of your shoulder brushing close as you walked side by side. And for a man who prided himself on control, that realisation was more dangerous than any difficult case.

The gossip didn’t fade, it grew. At the nurses’ station, it had become its own current, whispering through every shift change and coffee break. Nurses teased each other with knowing smiles whenever you and Dr. Chishiya walked past. The residents, too, had begun trading snide comments, though mostly behind your back.

“Did you see how he looked at her?”

“Dr. Chishiya never listens to anyone. Except her.”

“Bet she’s the one to break the ice king.”

Most laughed. But not everyone. One nurse, in particular, rolled her eyes every time your name and his were paired together. She had been friendly once, welcoming you on your first day, but lately her smiles had thinned into something sharp. And when the others teased, she said nothing, only pressed her lips tight, her silence louder than words.

It started small with a misplaced file.

You had just handed it over, placing it neatly on the counter with the others before moving to check vitals. But when Chishiya asked for it later, brows drawn tight in irritation, the nurse casually said, “Your resident had it last. Maybe she misplaced it.”

His gaze snapped towards you, sharp and unyielding. You straightened, heat prickling your neck. “I dropped it off here earlier,” you said carefully. “But… I’ll help look.”

Together, you began rifling through the scattered stacks of paperwork on the desk. Charts overlapped, half-signed forms clung together, and somewhere underneath, the missing file waited.

Your hand brushed against his as you both reached for the same folder. You froze. Surely he would pull away, recoil even. But he didn’t. His hand lingered against yours for a beat too long, his skin cool, his presence heavier than the paper between you. The air thickened, neither of you speaking. Across the station, the nurse watched, eyes narrowing.

The moment broke when you pulled your hand back quickly, cheeks warm. A second later, you found the file. Relief rushed through you as you held it up. “Here it is.”

Chishiya took it wordlessly. But when he turned away, his jaw tightened, as though something about that brief contact had unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

And for the nurse watching from the corner, her plan had failed. Not only had you found the file, but Chishiya hadn’t reacted the way she had expected.

If anything, he had let the touch stay.

Chishiya had always prided himself on control. Control of his time, his patients, his diagnoses, his emotions. Especially his emotions. But with you, control was slipping.

He tried to stay away, tried to keep you at arm’s length, but you were his resident. Wherever he turned, you were there. In the wards, in the rounds, in the break room with your stupid tea. He told himself it was nothing, that the restless coil in his chest was irritation. But the truth gnawed at him: it wasn’t irritation anymore. And the worst part was, you had no idea.

Lunch break found you both in the cafeteria. He sat alone at first, scrolling through his phone, picking halfheartedly at his food. He had no intention of acknowledging you when you sat down across from him.

But then, you cracked the faintest joke. Something dry, almost hidden in your soft voice, a comment about how the hospital served rice so bland it could be used as a neutral control in a lab experiment.

He should have ignored it. He really should have. Instead, without looking up, he muttered back, “Maybe it’s to test who’s already dead inside.”

The corner of your mouth curved upwards. To your own surprise, it was the closest thing to a casual conversation you had ever had with him. And to his surprise, it wasn’t unpleasant.

“You don’t mind if I ask you something, do you?” you said after a moment, setting your chopsticks down. “Medically, I mean.” His brows lifted, intrigued despite himself. “Go ahead.”

You leaned forward slightly, your tone sharper now. “A twelve-year-old with prolonged fever, hepatosplenomegaly, and pancytopenia. What do you suspect?”

“Haemophagocytic lymphohistiocytosis,” he answered smoothly, as though it were a reflex. Your eyes lit up. “And the gold standard for confirmation?”

“Bone marrow biopsy.”

The questions continued, rare conditions, subtle presentations, management plans that weren’t obvious. You asked with a hunger he hadn’t seen in many residents, your pen flicking across your napkin as you scribbled notes, your eyes never leaving his.

Slowly, he slid his tray and chair closer, the space between you shrinking until it felt like you were cocooned in your own little world. He leaned back casually, studying you, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards at the fire behind your questions.

Finally, he switched roles. “My turn.” Your pulse jumped. He leaned forward, voice low. “Seven-year-old with a history of congenital heart disease comes in with sudden onset fever and a new heart murmur. Diagnosis?”

“Bacterial endocarditis,” you said after a beat, biting your lip as you thought through the details.

His eyes dropped immediately to the movement, the faint press of your teeth against your lower lip, and his own lips parted without him realising. Heat pooled low in his abdomen, his body reacting before his mind could stop it. He stared at you too long, far too long, until the air between you felt charged. And then, without a word, he pushed his chair back and stood.

You blinked, startled. “Did I say something wrong?”

But he didn’t answer. His feet carried him out of the cafeteria, his steps purposeful.

Minutes later, he was outside the director's office, hand clenched into a fist at his side. He didn’t even fully understand what he was about to do, only that he couldn’t keep going like this. He could no longer have you as a resident.

Chishiya didn’t bother knocking. He pushed open the door to the director’s office, not even closing it behind him.

“When will Dr. Kato be back?” he demanded flatly, arms crossed. The older man looked up from his papers, surprised by the sharpness in his tone. “Not for some time, I’m afraid. Pneumonia. A severe case.”

“Perfect,” Chishiya muttered with a scoff. “Because I want to get rid of her as quickly as possible.” The superior leaned back in his chair, brows knitting. “Get rid of her? Why? All I’ve heard are glowing reports.” Chishiya’s jaw flexed. He exhaled slowly, as though the words pained him. “Yes. She’s brilliant.”For a second, the admission seemed to hang heavy in the air. “But I’m not a babysitter,” he continued, voice colder now. “I want to focus on my work, not hold some resident’s hand.”

The chief of medicine sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Dr. Chishiya. You’ll manage. You’re more than capable of supervising one resident a little longer.”

“Capable isn’t the issue,” Chishiya muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned on his heel. He left the office without another word, his irritation sharp enough to slice through the quiet corridor. But when he stepped out into the hallway, he froze. You were there.

Arms crossed tightly against your chest, your face pale and stricken. Your eyes, usually so cautious, so soft, burned with hurt. Chishiya cursed under his breath. You are just like a lost puppy. Always there, always listening.

Your voice wavered as you spoke, but the sting in your words was clear. “Why do you want to get rid of me so badly? Why don’t you think I’m worth your time?”

He should have brushed past you. He should have said something dismissive, something that would end this right here. But instead, he sighed sharply, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into an empty office.

The door clicked shut behind you, the air inside stifling. He pressed you back against the wall, his face far too close to yours, the heat of his breath brushing your cheek. His hand braced beside your head, caging you in, his chest rising and falling faster than usual.

And then it broke out of him, the words he had been swallowing down for days. “I can’t deny it anymore,” he hissed, his voice low but trembling with tension. “I want you. Every second I spend with you is torture because it’s all I can think about. Every damn moment.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, the nearness of him overwhelming. His eyes burned into yours, pupils dark and wide, his presence suffocating in its intensity. And though his words were raw, his body spoke louder, leaning in, heat radiating, every inch of space between you charged with danger.

You were trapped, not by force, but by the pull between you, impossible to escape.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as your mind scrambled to process the words he had just thrown at you. Heat rose to your cheeks, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.

“So…” your voice came out unsteady, “…you want to have sex with me? Is that it?” Chishiya scoffed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. He leaned back just enough to give you air, but not nearly enough distance to feel safe. His eyes burned into you. He shook his head once, deliberate. “No.” His voice dropped lower. “I want to fuck you.”

The bluntness of it sent your pulse hammering in your ears. The air felt too thin, your head dizzy from the sheer intensity of his stare. You tried to regain focus, tried to claw your way back to solid ground.

So you huffed, crossing your arms tighter against yourself. “You could have asked me out on a date first.”

For a split second, his lips curved into something that almost resembled a smile, but it was too sharp. A breathy sound escaped him, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s the point,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, studying you like he always did. “I don’t do dating. And you-" his gaze swept over you deliberately, “you don’t exactly strike me as someone who’s into casual things. Not to mention…” His voice dipped steadier. “…it’s highly inappropriate. You’re my resident.”

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself, then leaned forward just slightly, close enough that he could feel the defiance radiating off you.

“Then get your shit together, Dr. Chishiya.”

And with that, you brushed past him, pulling open the door and stepping back into the corridor, leaving him alone in the suffocating silence of the office.

Chishiya stood frozen for a moment, jaw tight, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Then, with a frustrated growl, he slammed his open palm against the wall, not hard enough to hurt himself, but enough to feel the sting.

His breath came shallow, his teeth gritted. Because as badly as he wanted to keep control, all he could think about was dragging you back into the room and silencing that sharp mouth of yours in the most inappropriate way possible.

Continue to: Anatomy of Desire

A/N: I lost count of how many spicy doctor chishiya requests are waiting in my inbox. I got you! This was one of my favourite things to write. And yes, there will be a part 2 (and yes, it will have dominant! chishiya)

Taglist (18+): @mypsychoticlove @rurujm @butterishjam @stilltrynafuckingtumble

[carnalcrows]

TOO EASY

pairing: chishiya x male reader

synopsis: You’re just trying to mind your business at The Beach, failing miserably at not staring at Chishiya. He notices—of course, he does—and corners you about it. One smart comment turns into his hands on you, and suddenly you’re on your back with him acting like he’s been waiting for this the whole time. It’s messy, rough, and way better than someone like you should be handling, but he doesn’t seem in a rush to let go.

content warnings: 18+, smut, rough sex, hair pulling, power play, mild degradation/embarrassment kink, bottom male reader, creampie, messy oral (reader receiving), biting, size/experience difference, semi-public risk (beach), light manhandling, violence implied.

word count: 1.4k words [req]

You should’ve known he’d catch you staring.

It started stupidly. You were sitting on that crappy mattress in The Beach, wiping sweat off your face after another game you barely survived, heart still pounding against your ribs. Chishiya walked past, quiet as always, hair tied back, hands in his pockets like death didn’t even bother to look his way.

You looked for one second too long.

He noticed.

He always notices.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, voice flat in that way that somehow made you want him more.

You froze. Because what were you going to say—yeah, I want you to ruin me so bad my legs don’t work?

He stepped closer before you could answer, eyes flicking from your mouth to your throat. You felt cornered without him even touching you.

“You blush fast,” he said. “Cute.”

Your stomach flipped so hard you almost groaned.

And that was enough for him.

He walked you backwards until your knees hit the bed. You landed on it clumsily, palms digging into the thin sheets. Chishiya didn’t give you time to catch up. He climbed over you, slow and calm, like this wasn’t insane, like you weren’t seconds away from begging.

His fingers slid into your hair, tugging your head back just a little.

“Look at me.”

You met his eyes right away, way quicker than you meant to, and he caught the whole pathetic eagerness of it. His mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“You really want this, don’t you?”

Your voice came out thin. “Yeah.”

He kissed you before you could embarrass yourself further. His mouth pressed hard against yours, pushing you deeper into the mattress, stealing whatever air you had left. His tongue brushed yours, and your whole body jerked like he’d hit a switch.

You kissed back without thinking, grabbing at his shirt, trying to pull him closer. That only made him tighten his grip on your jaw.

“Slow down,” he muttered against your mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That alone almost finished you.

He dragged his mouth down your neck, open-mouthed kisses turning into small, sharp bites. You gasped every time his teeth caught skin. He didn’t stop. He liked the way you sounded—he didn't hide it very well.

When his hand slid under your shirt, your breath stuttered. His fingers were cold. He brushed them across your stomach, tracing the soft parts of you that you hated people seeing.

He didn’t comment. Didn’t slow down. Just kept touching you like none of it bothered him.

Like he liked it.

You swallowed hard. “C-Chishiya…”

He looked up at you through his lashes. “Take your shirt off.”

You didn’t even think. You stripped so fast that the shirt got caught on your elbow, and you almost punched yourself. He snorted quietly.

“Hopeless,” he said. “Come here.”

He pulled you in by the waistband of your pants and kissed you again, deeper, messier this time. His hand slid between your legs, cupping you through your clothes. The pressure alone made your hips jerk.

He raised an eyebrow. “Already hard?”

Heat crawled up your neck. “Shut up.”

“No,” he said simply, squeezing harder. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

You nearly choked.

Then he pushed you onto your back fully and tugged your pants down. You lifted your hips without being told. Pathetic. He loved it.

He wrapped his hand around you, firm and slow. Your head dropped back instantly, a choked noise slipping out before you could stop it. He stroked you like he had all the time in the world, thumb brushing over the tip, watching your thighs shake like you were some toy he’d found lying around.

“Relax,” he murmured, leaning closer. “I’m not going to break you.”

He paused.

“Not yet.”

Your whole body shivered.

Chishiya pushed your legs apart and moved down between them, dragging his mouth up your inner thigh before taking you into his mouth without warning. The warm, wet heat of it made you grab at his hair on instinct. He sucked slowly at first, almost lazily, letting you feel every inch of him.

You moaned loudly. Too loud. He hummed around you like he was amused, the vibration going straight to your spine.

You were shaking so hard your knees kept trying to close. He held them open with his hands, fingers digging into your skin.

“D-Don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

If anything, he got meaner. He took you deeper, sucking harder, tongue teasing the underside in a way that made your hips jump.

“Chishiya— fuck— I’m gonna—”

He pulled off with a wet pop.

“No,” he said calmly. “Not yet.”

You almost cried.

He flipped you onto your stomach before you could even think. Your mind lagged behind your body. You felt him pull your hips up, positioning you on your knees, chest pressed into the mattress.

“Stay like that.”

You obeyed instantly.

He dragged his hand down your back, stopping at the dip of your spine, thumb brushing over a sensitive spot that made your breath hitch. You could hear him behind you—unzipping, shifting, low breaths that you’d never heard from him before.

Then his fingers slid between your thighs and pressed against you, slow circles that made your elbows buckle.

“Relax,” he murmured. “Or it’ll hurt.”

You tried. You really tried. But every touch made your body twitch uncontrollably. He pushed two fingers inside you, steady and unhurried. You moaned into the sheets, gripping them so tight they creased under your fingers.

“You’re tight,” he said quietly, voice thicker than before. “You’re going to feel everything.”

Your head dropped.

“Please,” you whispered. “Just— I need you. Please.”

Chishiya paused.

Then you heard him breathe out, soft, almost like you’d gotten under his skin without meaning to.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you what you want.”

You felt him line up behind you. The head of his cock pressed against you, hot and firm. You sucked in a breath, nails digging into the mattress.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah— please—”

He pushed in slowly.

Your mouth fell open around a sound you didn’t even recognise. The stretch made your eyes roll back, your whole body tightening around him.

“Relax,” he said again, one hand slipping under your stomach, holding you steady while he sank deeper. “Breathe.”

You tried. You really did. But he filled you too much, too deep, too steady.

When he bottomed out, you felt like your brain was spasming.

He leaned over you, chest brushing your back, breath ghosting your ear.

“Good,” he whispered. “You take me so well.”

Then he pulled back and thrust in— hard.

Your whole body jerked forward. You moaned loud enough for people outside the area to definitely hear, but you didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

He set a rhythm, sharp and deep, each thrust pushing a broken sound out of you. His hips slapped against yours, quick, controlled, like he was holding back something rougher on purpose.

“Chishiya— god—”

“Louder,” he said, gripping your hips tighter. “Let them all hear you.”

Your stomach clenched.

He grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled your head back, forcing your back into an arch. You almost collapsed, but his hand on your stomach kept you upright as he fucked into you harder.

“I told you,” he said, breath hot against your neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your knees finally gave out, and he followed you down, keeping himself inside you even as you shook. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Just kept thrusting into you, deeper, rougher, until you were gasping into the sheets.

“Come for me,” he said, voice low. “Do it.”

You didn’t even touch yourself. Didn’t need to. One more thrust and your whole body snapped tight, release hitting you so hard you nearly sobbed. You clenched around him, shaking, legs gone.

He groaned—quiet, strained—and thrust into you once, twice, before finishing inside you with his forehead pressed to your shoulder.

Neither of you moved for a moment.

Then he pulled out slowly, watching the mess drip down your thighs. His fingers brushed your lower back in a way that felt almost… gentle.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he said, tone lazy now. “Another game might start soon.”

You groaned into the pillow.

“For once,” you muttered weakly, “I hope it doesn’t.”

Chishiya laughed under his breath.

“Then stay close. I might keep you busy until it does, pretty boy.”

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev @s1llygo0s3 @crazydirectioner2000-blog @thestarsallowed @honey-valentin3 @academiq @gaozorous-rex-blog @idkmissgurl @sa1ki-deactivated20250510@sooniebby @seomn

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[littlepumpky]

Caught in the Fall (Chishiya x Reader)

Summary: “You shouldn’t have come back to my room.” - “You didn’t stop me.”

In the deadly chaos of Borderlands, trust is a luxury no one can afford—especially not with someone like Chishiya.

After barely escaping a brutal game, you find yourselves trapped in a crumbling building, forced to share a single threadbare blanket to survive the cold night.

What starts as necessity soon sparks something unexpected—secret kisses, quiet moments, and small acts of care breaking through the walls you’ve both built to survive

Part 2 here / Part 3 here

Words: 5925

You don’t even know how you ended up in this situation.

One moment you were both buried under a collapsing building, the next you’re cuddling with a person you swore never to be close with.

It wasn’t part of the plan.

Then again, nothing ever is in the Borderland.

The air inside the ruined structure is still thick with dust. Every breath feels like inhaling static—dry and bitter. Outside, the wind howls through the fractured walls, echoing against broken concrete and twisted rebar. The sky’s gone dark, not from nightfall but from the smoke and ash kicked up by the chaos.

And here you are—pressed shoulder to shoulder with him, under a scratchy emergency blanket salvaged from what’s left of a supply box. You’re both bruised and scraped up, the sharp sting of minor injuries flaring with every twitch. Blood crusts on your temple. You’re fairly sure something in your ankle isn’t right. But none of that compares to the surreal reality of being this close to Chishiya.

Shuntaro Chishiya, the infuriatingly brilliant man who rarely speaks unless he’s dissecting your every move. The man who plays games with people’s lives like he’s playing chess in his head. The one who always made it clear—he doesn’t do attachments. Doesn’t trust anyone. Certainly not you.

And yet... here he is. Lying beside you. Sharing body heat. Letting the silence stretch without breaking it.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

He’s on his side, facing the ceiling—or what's left of it. His silver hair is dusted with debris, and a thin trail of dried blood runs from the edge of his brow into his hairline. His arms are pulled close to his chest beneath the blanket, and you notice the way his fingers flex every so often, like he's testing for pain without making it obvious.

He’s trying to stay composed. Of course he is.

You shift slightly to ease the pressure on your side, and the movement draws his attention. His eyes slide toward you—calm, analytical, and yet... softer than usual.

He says nothing.

Neither do you.

For a moment, the world is just your breathing, his breathing, and the way the thin blanket does barely anything to keep out the cold seeping in from the broken floor beneath you.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen," you mutter, more to yourself than him.

He’s quiet for a second, then replies, voice low and even: "Neither was surviving that game."

A flicker of something passes through his expression—dry humor, maybe. Or fatigue. Or something he won’t name.

You huff a tired laugh through your nose. “That’s comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” He shrugs slightly, and you feel the movement through the blanket. “You’re the one who insisted we go back for the injured players.”

You glance down. “And you didn’t stop me.”

“I was curious how far your altruism would get you.” A pause. “Apparently, buried.”

You shoot him a look. “And cuddled.”

He doesn’t smirk—doesn’t even blink. But the faintest crease touches the corner of his mouth. “Unavoidable,” he murmurs. “Unless you’d rather freeze to death.”

You want to say something sharp, something that puts distance between you again. But you don’t. Because the truth is, it is freezing. Your fingers are already numb, and the warmth of his body against yours is the only thing keeping your teeth from chattering.

Still, it’s not just the cold that’s getting to you anymore.

It’s this… strange comfort. This closeness. His heartbeat, steady and human beneath all the armor he wears.

You’ve never seen Chishiya like this—silent, still, not calculating his next move like everyone else is a pawn. Just… being.

And you can’t help but ask, quietly, “Why haven’t you moved away?”

Another beat of silence.

Then, without looking at you, he replies, almost too soft to hear:

"Because... you're warm."

It’s the kind of answer you expect from him. Evasive. Simplified. But underneath it—layered between every carefully chosen word—is something else.

Something real.

And for once, you don’t question it.

You just let the silence stretch again, this time not uncomfortable, not heavy. Just there.

Like him.

Beside you.

You shift slightly under the blanket, feeling the dull ache in your shoulder and the weight of exhaustion finally settling in your limbs. Chishiya is quiet beside you, not asleep but still. Calm in the way only he can manage after everything collapses—literally and otherwise.

The silence brings memories with it, uninvited but not unwelcome.

And before you know it, you’re remembering the first time you saw him.

___________________________________________________________________________

It started simple. Almost forgettable.

A Diamonds game in a dimly lit tower where trust and logic were pitted against each other in equal measure. You worked in silence, scanning patterns on the wall, sorting false clues from real ones. Most players panicked. Some shouted. A few cried.

He didn’t.

You spotted him across the room—silver hair like a slash of moonlight, hands casually tucked into his hoodie pocket as if this whole life-and-death puzzle was mildly annoying rather than terrifying.

He didn’t try to lead. Didn’t bark orders.

He just watched.

Not the game.

The people.

And then he looked at you.

Only for a second. But it was enough. His eyes flicked to where you’d already solved one of the riddles before he had, and for a moment—just a flicker—his mouth quirked upward in the smallest, subtlest twitch of recognition.

You didn’t smile back.

But you didn’t look away either.

___________________________________________________________________________

Days later, you were sitting alone on the floor of an abandoned metro station, legs stretched out, the sting of shrapnel embedded in your calf making your breath catch. You’d just barely escaped a Hearts game that left more bodies than survivors.

He walked in from the far end of the platform, dragging a half-empty backpack, silent as ever. He looked around once, then spotted you. Paused.

No words.

He pulled out a medical kit—clearly from a previous win—and tossed a roll of gauze toward you with a lazy flick of his fingers.

You caught it midair, confused.

Before you could ask, he just said, “I had extras.” Then walked past you like it meant nothing.

You almost let him go. But something inside you—something stubborn—made you dig into your pack the next day and leave a water bottle in his usual spot on the upper balcony of the observatory. You didn’t wait to see if he took it.

But the next time you were out of supplies, you found a protein bar on your bag when you returned from the restroom.

No note.

But you knew.

___________________________________________________________________________

The shift came in a Hearts game.

You were both unlucky enough to get pulled into it. The rules were convoluted—classic psychological manipulation. One player could sabotage the rest, and the only way to win was to figure out who before time ran out.

Everything went sideways.

A panicked player pulled a concealed knife after being accused. Everyone scattered. The room became chaos.

You saw it before Chishiya did—he was focused on decoding something on the wall, the glint of the blade catching your eye just in time. Without thinking, you lunged. Your hand hit his shoulder, and the two of you went down hard.

The blade caught your back. Not deep, but enough to burn.

The pain didn’t register until you saw blood soaking through your shirt. Chishiya blinked up at you, stunned—more by your action than the fall.

You remember the look on his face.

For once, the usual calm calculation was replaced by something else.

Something like disbelief.

He didn't say thank you. Didn't joke. Just tore a piece of his hoodie sleeve and pressed it to the wound, his hands steady even as his jaw clenched.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said eventually, voice low.

You laughed bitterly. “Neither did you—when you tossed me that gauze.”

He said nothing else.

But when the game ended, and the smoke cleared, he walked beside you the entire way back to the safe zone.

Didn’t ask. Didn’t offer.

He just did.

After that, you never questioned why he kept showing up.

Or why you didn’t mind.

___________________________________________________________________________

Now, lying beside him again, that memory feels closer than it should. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally speaks.

“You remember that game?” he asks, like it’s an afterthought. But you can feel the tension in his voice, the careful way he phrases it—as if asking means something.

“The 7 of Hearts?” you ask, keeping your own tone neutral.

A slow nod. “Why did you push me?”

The question hangs in the air.

You swallow, heart ticking just a little faster, surprised he’s asking after all this time.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Instinct, maybe. Or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with this place without at least one familiar face left in it.”

He hums softly, thoughtful.

Then, a beat later, his voice quieter:

“You could’ve died.”

You let out a breath. “So could you.”

There’s a pause.

Then you feel it—a small shift. His hand, resting between you both under the blanket, brushes against yours. Not intentional. Not overt.

But not accidental either.

You don’t say anything.

And he doesn’t move away.

___________________________________________________________________________

The hours stretch on. You're not sure how long you lie there, pressed against Chishiya beneath the thin blanket, but your body aches less from injury now and more from stillness. Your limbs are stiff. The air has only gotten colder, and you can see your breath in the pale morning light sneaking through the cracks of the broken ceiling.

Neither of you has spoken in a while.

But that’s never made you uncomfortable with him.

Eventually, Chishiya shifts beside you, slow and quiet. His breath hitches, like the movement strains something. You glance over and see him clench his jaw, eyes flicking down to his ribs.

He’s hurt. Worse than he let on.

“You’ve been hiding that,” you say gently.

He doesn’t deny it. “Didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

You sit up slightly, brushing off dust and broken drywall. “It’s relevant now if we’re going to get out of here.”

Chishiya doesn’t argue. Just nods once and watches you with that sharp, observant gaze of his—calculating even in silence.

You crawl to one of the fallen slabs of concrete blocking the doorway. It’s shifted a little since the collapse, probably unstable. You test the edge of it carefully with your fingers. It’s heavier than you expected, but movable. Maybe.

You glance over your shoulder.

He’s already beside you.

“I’ll lift,” he says. “You wedge something under.”

You pause. “You sure?”

He nods, already rolling his sleeves up, teeth grit against the pain. You don’t waste time arguing.

You move in sync—wordless, efficient.

It’s not easy. The slab grinds against the floor with a low groan, and dust rains down from above. Your muscles scream from the strain, and you hear Chishiya suppress a quiet grunt of pain.

But he doesn’t stop.

Not until the slab tips enough for you to wedge a twisted metal pole beneath it. It holds, barely.

There’s just enough space now for the two of you to squeeze through.

“You first,” he says.

You raise a brow. “You're injured. You should go.”

He eyes you, unreadable. “And let you stay behind and do something reckless again? No thanks.”

It’s… the closest thing to concern you’ve heard from him.

You don’t argue. Just crawl through the gap, careful of the jagged edges, until the rubble gives way to open air and biting wind.

Freedom.

You turn to offer your hand—and to your surprise, he takes it.

His grip is warm despite everything. Solid.

You pull him through slowly, his teeth clenched as he drags his body past the debris. He winces when he’s fully out, but the tension in his shoulders loosens once he’s free.

You both sit there for a moment in the grey light of morning. Exhausted. Filthy. Alive.

He exhales, leaning back against a broken concrete pillar, and closes his eyes for a beat. “Well,” he mutters, “that wasn’t ideal.”

You huff out a breath. “And yet, we survived.”

He glances sideways at you, something unreadable in his expression again. “We always do.”

The way he says we doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s not gratitude. Not affection. Not even a confession.

It’s… acceptance.

Of your presence. Of your place beside him. Of the fact that, somewhere along the way, you stopped being someone he just noticed—and became someone he trusted.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a crushed energy bar, snapped in half. Without looking at you, he holds one half out.

You blink. “Is this your idea of breakfast?”

“Unless you want to fight a tiger next,” he replies flatly. “Take it or leave it.”

You take it.

Your fingers brush again—just briefly—and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

And neither do you.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sun begins to dip below the skyline, setting the shattered city in hues of gold and rust.

You’ve both walked for hours, navigating broken roads and hollow buildings. By the time you stumble across the half-collapsed hotel, your body aches in places you didn’t know could ache. Chishiya walks beside you, a little slower than usual—his side must still be bothering him, though he won’t admit it.

The hotel looks unstable, but familiar enough in its decay to be worth the risk.

Inside, the air is stale but dry. The lower floors are ruined, the lobby reduced to cracked tile and broken glass. But upstairs—after climbing past crumbled staircases and stepping over a dead vending machine—you find the jackpot.

Beds. Real ones.

Dusty. Lopsided. But beds nonetheless.

The rooms are mostly intact. There’s even a functioning door that clicks softly shut when you try it. Two rooms side by side. No threats. No other signs of life.

It almost feels like peace.

You spend the next hour scavenging. Chishiya finds a half-full medical box in what used to be a spa room. You dig through supply closets and snag a few protein bars and two bottles of mostly-clear water. One is slightly expired, but Chishiya just shrugs when you point it out.

“We’ve had worse,” he says.

Which is true.

You both return to the room you picked—the one with a window that still opens—and divide the supplies without speaking much. There's no debate over who gets what. No bargaining. Just an easy, automatic understanding.

As the last of the sunlight filters through the dust-streaked glass, you glance over at him.

He’s seated on the edge of the bed now, arms loosely folded, head tilted toward the window. There’s a faint orange glow along his cheekbone, catching in his pale hair, making him look unreal. Like he doesn’t belong in this world.

But somehow, you’ve never felt more grounded.

You break the silence after a long moment. “Do you miss it?”

He turns toward you slowly. “Miss what?”

“Before.” You motion vaguely toward the city. “The real world. Whatever your life was.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “Not really.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“There’s nothing to miss,” he says simply. “Most people just survive pretending they’re alive. Here, at least, there’s no illusion.”

You stare at him, unsure what to say to that. The cynicism is pure Chishiya—but something about the way he says it makes your chest ache. Like maybe, despite the indifference in his voice, there's a quiet thread of loss buried under it.

After a pause, he turns the question back at you.

“You?”

You exhale slowly. “Yeah. I miss… having music in the background. Late trains. Stupid things. The smell of clean laundry. Having somewhere to go that wasn’t life or death.”

Chishiya watches you, eyes narrowed slightly. Not mocking. Not judging. Just… listening.

You offer a tired smile. “And I miss sleeping in a bed that doesn’t try to kill me.”

At that, the corner of his mouth twitches.

Progress.

___________________________________________________________________________

Eventually, night settles fully over the ruins.

Chishiya stands up and stretches, moving toward the door to the room next to yours.

“There are two beds this time,” he says lightly, one hand on the doorknob.

You nod, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah. Guess we don’t have to cuddle tonight.”

He pauses—not long, just for a breath. “Guess not.”

The door clicks softly shut behind him.

You lie down in your bed, adjusting the blanket around you. It's not bad. The mattress sinks in just enough to feel something like comfort. The room is quiet, still.

But it's cold.

And it’s worse, somehow, than last night.

You turn onto your side. Then your back. Then your stomach. Nothing helps. Your thoughts churn restlessly.

Last night… was warm. Peaceful, in a way nothing has been for a long time.

You hadn’t planned to fall asleep next to him, but once you were there—wrapped in that makeshift blanket, with the heat of his body close—you’d slept deeper than you had in weeks.

And now?

Now you're just cold and annoyed at your own neediness.

You stare at the cracked ceiling.

You wait ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

And then, finally—quietly—you rise.

You don’t bother putting on shoes. Just cross the hallway in your socks, listening for any sound from inside his room. You pause with your hand on the doorknob, nerves fluttering in your chest.

Then you turn it.

The door creaks slightly as you open it. The room is dark, lit only by the city glow bleeding through the window. The bed creaks faintly as Chishiya shifts. You can see him clearly enough—propped on one elbow, watching you enter like he expected it.

Maybe he did.

You close the door behind you, slowly, and move toward the bed.

Chishiya doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask what you’re doing.

He just watches as you lift the blanket and crawl in next to him.

You settle in beside him again, careful not to touch too much. The mattress is smaller than the floor had been. Your shoulders brush. Your legs bump under the blanket.

It’s quiet.

Then, finally, he lifts one eyebrow, dry amusement in his voice.

“Couldn’t resist my charm, huh?”

You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He hums, then lies back down fully, arm folding behind his head.

You lie beside him in silence. The warmth starts to spread again. Not just from his body—but from the stillness. The peace.

A beat passes.

Then another.

Chishiya speaks again—so softly you almost miss it.

“…You sleep better this way?”

You turn your head, surprised.

His face is turned toward the ceiling. He’s not looking at you.

You hesitate.

Then nod once. “Yeah. I do.”

He doesn’t respond right away. But then his arm shifts. Not touching you—just moving a little closer beneath the blanket.

The space between you shrinks again. Just enough.

You let your eyes drift closed, heart still pounding.

And then, in the dark, you hear him say—so quietly it might’ve been a thought rather than a voice:

“Me too.”

___________________________________________________________________________

You don’t remember falling asleep.

Only the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The warmth that slowly seeped through your skin.

The feeling of being held by silence, not alone in it.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the quiet.

Not the panicked kind. Not the empty kind, either.

Just… peaceful.

Then you notice the second thing: you’re not where you started.

You’re closer to him now.

Somewhere in the night—whether by choice or instinct—you must’ve shifted in your sleep. One of your legs is draped over his, and your head has ended up on his shoulder, nose buried slightly into the soft fabric of his hoodie. One of his hands rests loosely at your back. Not tight. Not holding you there.

But not letting you go, either.

The sunlight filters softly through the broken blinds, casting pale gold lines across the wall, the bed, the sharp line of Chishiya’s jaw.

He’s still asleep.

And that alone surprises you. You didn’t think he could sleep like this. So open. So exposed. But he does — his features slack and unguarded, lips parted slightly in rest. The ever-present edge in him has softened.

For a long, suspended moment, you just watch him.

You don’t want to move. Not because of the comfort — though that’s part of it — but because if you shift too loudly, if you break the spell of morning stillness, you might have to face it.

Face what this has become.

Because this is not nothing anymore.

You close your eyes again. Let yourself stay there. Just for a little longer.

But, as if he can hear the thoughts rattling inside your skull, Chishiya stirs beneath you.

His breath catches lightly, then evens again.

A slow blink. Then two.

He opens his eyes, turns his head slightly toward you, and you feel him go still.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push you away.

Instead, his fingers flex just slightly against your back — the only sign he’s even registered the intimacy of the position.

And then, of course, in classic Chishiya fashion, he breaks the silence with dry irony.

“…You drooled on me.”

You gasp and lift your head instinctively, already about to deny it—before catching the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You scowl. “I did not.”

“Mm. Must’ve been rain, then,” he deadpans, one eyebrow lifting. “From inside the building.”

You groan and shove his shoulder lightly. He allows the push, shifting under you with a soft exhale that’s almost—almost—a laugh.

You move to sit up, but his hand lingers just briefly at your back.

Not to stop you. Just… stays.

And that hesitation—that small, unconscious tether—makes your chest tighten.

When you finally sit upright, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, he follows a beat later, dragging a hand through his hair, still disheveled from sleep. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first.

Neither do you.

But the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Not like before. It’s thicker now, weighted with everything you didn’t say.

After a long moment, Chishiya stands and moves toward the window, peeking through the blinds.

“Still clear,” he says. “We should move soon if we want to get to the Beach by sundown.”

You nod and rise, stretching your sore limbs, still feeling the ghost of where your body had pressed against his.

You glance at him again before leaving the room.

He’s looking out the window, but his voice follows you as you step toward the door.

“…If we find another place like this,” he says, quiet but even, “and there’s only one bed again…”

You turn your head, waiting.

He still doesn’t look at you.

“…I wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Your breath catches.

But you don’t tease him. Don’t ruin it with a joke. Instead, you nod once — small, sincere — and step into the hallway.

He follows after a moment.

And neither of you say another word about it.

But you both know:

It won’t be the last time.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Beach is louder than you remember.

You walk through the gates with aching legs and dirt on your face, but it’s the noise that hits you hardest: laughter, splashing water, music from someone’s half-broken speaker. It feels wrong, somehow—this joy in the middle of hell. But you suppose survival breeds strange coping mechanisms.

Chishiya walks beside you, his hoodie pulled up to shade his face. He doesn’t speak as you pass through the clusters of half-naked strangers. He doesn’t have to. His posture tells you enough: tense, alert, calculating.

As always.

Still, you notice how his shoulder stays just close enough to yours to be deliberate.

A few heads turn as you both pass. Some recognize him. A few glance at you, eyes lingering—noticing the proximity, the silence between you that's less awkward and more… familiar.

Hatter’s not around, but Kuina spots you almost immediately and jogs over, her usual smirk widening as she takes you both in.

“Well well,” she says, sweeping her eyes over you with a grin. “I didn’t think I’d see both of you again. Figured one of you would have murdered the other by now.”

You glance at Chishiya. “Tempting.”

He hums. “You sleep too deeply to be worth the effort.”

Kuina laughs, but her gaze sharpens slightly as she looks between you. She picks up on it. Of course she does. The small shifts. The softer edges.

“So…” she drawls, eyes twinkling. “You two close now, or just sharing body heat to conserve resources?”

You open your mouth to deflect, but Chishiya cuts in first:

“Both.”

Your head whips toward him in shock. His face is unreadable—but his lips twitch ever so slightly, betraying that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Kuina raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but lets it go. For now.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Beach is quiet at night.

Too quiet.

You lie on the stiff cot in your assigned room, blankets pulled up to your chin. You stare at the ceiling and pretend the bed feels fine, the air feels warm, and the space beside you doesn’t feel… empty.

You last about fifteen minutes.

Then you're up.

Quiet steps across the hallway.

No shoes. No excuses. No hesitation.

The door to his room creaks slightly as you push it open. He doesn’t turn — doesn’t even flinch — just watches you with that unreadable expression as you pad across the room and crawl into his bed.

You don’t speak. Neither does he.

You slip under the blanket. He shifts slightly, just enough to make space for you without making it obvious that he was waiting.

His shoulder brushes yours again.

It's familiar now — that quiet warmth. That silence that doesn't ask for permission.

You rest your cheek against the curve of his upper arm and exhale softly. “Separate beds are overrated.”

He hums. “So is pretending this means nothing.”

You don’t answer.

Neither does he.

But you both fall asleep faster than you have in days.

__________________________________________________________________________

The next game is a 8 of Diamone — logic, psychology, trust.

And, of course, betrayal.

The room is a maze of mirrors and timers, each choice leading to a countdown, a riddle, or a trap. You and Chishiya are separated halfway through. You can still hear his voice sometimes through the walls — clipped commands, calm assessments, telling others where not to go.

You hold your own. Until you don't.

One wrong answer. One misstep.

You're cornered in a dead-end hallway with a pressure floor and no visible way out. The timer above your head flashes red — 00:09, 00:08 — and you're too far to run.

You freeze.

Then the door behind you bursts open.

Chishiya is there.

His hoodie is soaked with sweat, chest rising with sharp breaths. “Move!” he yells.

You do — not because your body listens, but because his voice cuts through the panic.

He grabs you roughly by the wrist and yanks you into the corridor just as the trap triggers. The door slams shut. There's a thunderous BOOM behind you, and the force knocks you both forward.

Your knees hit the ground hard. He lands beside you, his arm thrown around your back to brace your fall.

The silence after is deafening.

You're alive.

You turn your head, eyes wide. “How did you—?”

“I heard the timer.”

“You were three zones over—”

“I heard it,” he snaps, sharper than you’ve ever heard from him. His voice trembles at the edges.

You stare at him.

His jaw is clenched. His fingers dig into your wrist, too tight to be casual. His breath shakes. Just once.

And that’s when it hits you.

He was scared.

You’ve never seen it before — not like this. Not from him.

His walls don’t crack. They shatter, just for a second, and you see the truth behind them.

You weren’t just another player to him anymore. You were something else. Something dangerous.

Something that could be lost.

__________________________________________________________________________

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, but it’s already too late for silence.

Without a word, your bodies slam together.

Your lips crash hard and hungry against his, urgent and desperate—like you’re trying to make up for all the time lost, the dangers faced, and the unspoken truths hanging between you.

His hands move fast, rough and possessive, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him with fierce intensity. The fabric of his jacket wrinkles under your fingers as you dig in, anchoring yourself to something solid in the chaos of your racing heart.

His breath is ragged, hot and trembling against your skin, and your own gasps mingle with his in a frantic rhythm.

You’re not gentle. You don’t want gentle. You want raw. Real.

His fingers thread into your hair, tugging you closer, tilting your head with an insistence that makes your pulse spike.

Your arms wrap tight around his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape, as if holding on is the only thing that might keep you both from falling apart.

There’s no hesitation, no delicate testing — just pure need, spilling out all at once in the rough brush of lips and the sharp bite of teeth.

Your teeth graze his bottom lip, a spark igniting low in his throat as he groans—a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through your chest.

He opens for you, tongue slipping in, claiming and tasting, a silent confession in every movement.

Your body melts into his, the heat between you a sharp contrast to the cool night air drifting through the cracked window. The faint scent of saltwater and sweat and something uniquely him clings to your skin, making the world outside this room vanish completely.

Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it, but his hands never loosen their grip, never let you forget that you’re here, real, and not alone.

You push closer, body pressed tight against his, and feel him respond — a low hum of something fierce and guarded.

His jaw is tense under your fingertips, but his hold never falters.

When you break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads press together, breaths mingling, hearts beating out a wild, shaky rhythm.

His dark eyes hold yours — fierce, unreadable, raw with something unspoken.

Neither of you speaks.

Neither needs to.

You just stay there — caught in the fragile, burning silence of a moment that says more than words ever could.

___________________________________________________________________________

The morning light slips through the cracked blinds, casting thin stripes of gold across the floor.

You’re still there, pressed close against Chishiya, the warmth of his body the only shield against the chill in the air.

Neither of you moves for a long time — just breaths, soft and uneven, the silence heavier than the night before.

His hand finds yours, fingers curling around yours almost instinctively, but his gaze stays fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

You squeeze his hand gently, waiting for him to say something — anything — but he doesn’t.

Instead, he shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around you both, anchoring you in the moment without a single word.

When he finally speaks, it’s quiet, rough at the edges.

“Don’t expect this to change anything.”

You meet his eyes, steady now, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

“I don’t.”

But you know it already has.

The unspoken promises, the guarded glances, the way his hand lingers a little longer when he thinks you’re not looking—

It’s all there, under the surface, quietly reshaping everything.

And maybe that’s enough.

For now.

___________________________________________________________________________

Even when he said nothing changed, everything had.

He let you into his heart in the smallest ways — the ones no one else could see.

You understood how you two kissed when nobody was looking — quick, secret touches of lips that spoke more than words ever could.

How he let you borrow his hoodie before the harsh games, the fabric hanging oversized on you but carrying his scent like a shield.

How, without a word, he took care of you in quiet ways — a bandage wrapped a little tighter, a glance that said stay close, a hand resting lightly on your back when you didn’t even realize you needed it.

He wasn’t one for grand declarations or easy emotions, but you saw it all in the way he stood a little closer, in the moments he didn’t pull away.

The diamond game had changed something — not in what he said, but in what he showed.

And you knew, no matter how much he tried to hide it, that you’d become something he couldn’t let go.

___________________________________________________________________________

The night is cold and unforgiving, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones no matter how tightly you cling to a threadbare blanket.

The echoes of the King of Spades’ attack still ring in your ears — shouts, frantic footsteps, the sharp crack of gunfire, and the heavy weight of dread pressing down on your chest.

Somehow, you and Chishiya have been separated from the others, finding refuge in a crumbling building that smells of dust and rust.

You don’t speak. Words feel unnecessary.

Instead, you huddle together beneath the single, thin blanket, the chill forcing your bodies closer.

His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you flush against his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear is a fragile anchor in the chaos.

You close your eyes, letting yourself be held, the warmth slowly replacing the cold that had settled deep inside.

After a long silence, your voice breaks the quiet — a whisper trembling with something more than fear.

“I… love you.”

Chishiya doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers tighten gently around your shoulder, a silent promise.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost reluctant, but laced with something unmistakably real:

“After this… after Borderlands… meet me.”

His words are simple, but they carry a weight heavier than any confession.

It’s a quiet hope, a promise of something beyond the endless games and death.

You look up, searching his eyes — dark, guarded, but shining with a fragile vulnerability.

He doesn’t say ‘me too,’ but you know what he means.

His quiet invitation says it all: he cares.

He wants more.

And for the first time in this cruel game, you feel a flicker of something that feels like hope.

Wrapped in his arms, with the night pressing close around you, you let yourself believe that maybe — just maybe — there’s a future waiting beyond the Borderlands.

___________________________________________________________________________

The first light of dawn creeps through the cracked windows, softening the shadows in the room.

You’re still nestled against Chishiya, the thin blanket now a fragile shield between you and the cold world outside.

Neither of you speaks—there’s no need.

His quiet invitation to meet after Borderlands lingers in the air, a fragile thread of hope woven between the two of you.

You squeeze his hand gently, a silent vow passing between you — that no matter what the games throw at you, you’ll face it together.

Because in this brutal, unforgiving world, you’ve found something rare.

Something real.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

[zeraxes]

Treasonous Hearts.

Masterlist.

Chishiya x Reader.

You realise with heartbreaking clarity that Chishiya Shuntaro plans to sacrifice you to steal the cards. You rightfully distance yourself from him. After all, it was all manipulation, wasn't it?

Chishiya, having no intention of losing you, follows you into the Jack of Hearts anyway.

Hurt/comfort.

10895 words. (oops)

Lovely people who wanted to be tagged: @9jloo @kimsri @s0ffelip0ffeli

Comments genuinely make my day <3

Enjoy!

Chishiya likes to test you.

You don’t usually mind, although you cursed at him after the first time he did during a game.

It started small. Which boardgame would you like to play? Which executive will go with which group? Which group should you join for your next game? He would make you explain it, and you feel like he’s more interested in your thought process than the answer itself. It annoys you that when he considers your answer wrong, he’ll correct mercilessly, often with a sarcastic comment. Never does he hold back in explaining your mistakes.

But then, one day, during a game, you’d needed just one more token to survive and time had been running out. He, already having his tokens, just pushed two of the available boxes at you, and shrugged.

It’d been a third box. You had been thankful for his correction then. You still cursed at him. He could’ve just told you.

But then he wouldn’t be Chishiya Shuntaro, would he?

And honestly, even if you would never admit to it, you like it. You’ve actually gotten better at the games thanks to it. It forces you to stop and think instead of going with your gut. 

The problem is that it has made you more paranoid. He likes making you check for an option not freely given. So you do. And you found something you’re not sure is another one of his tests.

You like Chishiya. You really, really, like him. He knows it, and while he doesn’t reciprocate the way most people do, he does treat you different than anyone else.

Proven by the way his eyes soften the slightest whenever they land on you, the way he actively searches you out, the way he puts energy into making sure you don’t die during the games.

But what if that was all just manipulation?

The thought hurts. But Chishiya’s tests have had the likely unintended effect of not only showing him how you think, but also showing you how he thinks.

And he does not mind using bait. You’ve seen him manipulate people into becoming a sacrifice. Bait.

You can’t help but think about his plan to steal the cards.

Chishiya’s plan sounds easy. Simple. Once, inevitably, Hatter dies and the militants take over, Chishiya will use the black envelope ceremony to learn the code after which you’ll use the chaos to sneak into Hatter’s quarters and steal the cards from the safe while he and Kuina will stand guard.

The flaw came to you when listening to one of Hatter’s speeches.

The man is paranoid. Maybe he hides it, but he is paranoid. Just like Chishiya has taught you to be. So the safe would be hidden well, right? You bet he would even have a dummy safe.

And you, using the chaos, would likely not have enough time to search Hatter’s entire quarters for a well-hidden safe while avoiding a dummy one.

This is Chishiya’s plan. Chishiya, who has tinkered on it for ages. Chishiya, who you’re pretty sure joined the Beach for the sole purpose of stealing the cards.

Chishiya, who has no problem using others as bait.

You hope you’re wrong. You really do. Because being right hurts. You thought…

You thought he liked you. That that’s why he spends so much time on you. That that’s why his eyes soften whenever they land on you, however miniscule.

But that’s naive, no? When it comes to someone like Chishiya Shuntaro?

Please just let it be another test.

You do the probably stupid thing: You confront him.

At least, you were planning on it. But sitting in your room across from him as he lazily shuffles a deck of cards, you find yourself lacking the strength.

You’re afraid of what will happen next. You want to be wrong. You don’t want things to change. You don’t want to lose him. What you thought you had.

“You’re distracted.” He sounds disapproving, as if he likes when your attention is on him solely. The way it always is.

You can’t. So instead of your carefully planned words, you blurt out. “Am I your bait for stealing the cards?”

He stills. The slight softening of his eyes is gone, leaving you to stare into his cold, devoid, eyes.

A shiver runs over your back at the sight.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His tone is too nonchalant as he deals the cards in his hands. “The plan doesn’t require a sacrifice.”

He doesn’t ask for your thought process. That alone tells you all you need to know.

Your can feel your heart churn painfully in your chest as your vision gets blurry.

Chishiya stops dealing the cards immediately, cocking his head, deciding analysing you is the priority right now. He says your name softly, lowly. 

“You were actually planning on sacrificing me.”

There’s a pleading undertone in your words. You need him to deny it.

He doesn’t move for a moment, then lays the deck down on the table, his eyes finally off of yours. “Clever girl.” Your heart sinks into your stomach. “You know I enjoy testing you.”

You dig your nails into your knees. That’s a lie. If this was a test, his eyes would have had that satisfied glint in them. Instead, they’re so cold. So… empty.

“You would’ve actually let them get to me.” You whisper. You refuse to cry in front of him, but you’re close. Your chest has never ached so badly.

“The militants. Niragi. You would’ve let them…”

His gaze sharpens at that name. Then he sighs and stands up. “This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. You know how I work. How I am. Did you think you were special?” His words are intentionally cutting. 

You take a deep, shaky, breath. “Get out!” Because yes, that was exactly what you’d thought. You’d thought someone like him could grow a soft spot for you.

Stupid.

“Don’t be irrational.” You’re not looking at him, trying (and failing) to hide your blurry eyes and your shaky breath, which causes you to miss how he’s frowning. How he’s more tense than he’d be usually. “We’ll get someone else for the role of bait. Arisu-” 

“Get out!” 

There’s a silence. Then: “We’ll talk when you can think clearly.” You can hear his footsteps receding.

Once you hear the door close behind him, you finally stop holding yourself together and cry.

Does he even care that he broke your heart?

You don’t let yourself answer that question. 

That talk doesn’t come, as you very much do not want to talk to him. Instead, you make sure to go to the places he dislikes, for once indulging in the beverages the Beach has to offer. Sometimes, you can feel his eyes on you. You move out of his view as soon as that happens.

It leaves you with headaches in the morning and sessions of hanging over the toilet, but at least you can pretend you’re not thinking about him.

You’re avoiding him. You should tell Hatter that he’s planning on stealing the cards, but you can’t. If they believe you, he’d be executed. Not willing to admit that you still care, you instead excuse it using Kuina. She didn’t do anything to you. She just wants to return to her mother. You can’t sell her out.

He tries to talk to you. But he uses his languid ways of hinting you to come to him, so they’re easily ignored.

You wish he’d just leave you alone.

You wish it’d go back to how it was before, except with it being real. With him actually caring.

You take another gulp each time you find yourself thinking that thought.

At least, you do until the day before you have to play a game. You refuse to let yourself die because of a boy.

However clever and infuriating that boy might be.

He’s not on the roster when the groups are made. But he is leaning against the car your group is assigned.

You can’t do much about it, with his status as an executive. You try to not sit next to him, but like often, Chishiya gets his way.

The forced skin contact in the filled car burns. You still want him, but you can’t get the image of his cold eyes out of your head. You still hear him asking you mockingly if you thought you were special.

At least he doesn’t try to talk to you with others here. 

What he does do is offer you one of the earbuds connected to his walkman that doubles as a taser, but you ignore him. He lays it on your leg instead, a silent offer you refuse to let yourself take.

The game is brutal. So brutal that you have to swallow your pride and team up with Chishiya, who has a satisfied glint in his eyes when you do so.

For the first game in a while, he doesn’t try to test you. He simply works on getting both of you out alive.

You momentarily wonder if it’s on him that the three other Beach members don’t make it. But he wouldn’t go that far just to talk in private when he could just corner you in your room at the Beach, would he?

He sits into the driver’s seat, but makes no move to actually start the car.

Damn it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” His head moves to look at you. That softening of his eyes is there.

You want him to stop that. It causes your chest to constrict painfully. “I am.” Your answer is purposefully curt, not trusting your own voice.

“I thought you didn’t mind my tests.”

…Does he really not get it?

“Don’t act like that was a test, Chishiya.” You snap back. “You didn’t mean for me to find that one out. It was your plan for me from the start.”

He tilts his head, considering. “You’re upset because you believe I’d sacrifice you for the cards.” He says. “That I’d easily leave you to the likes of Niragi. Perhaps you also believe all of our interactions have been pure manipulation?”

“That’s who you are, isn’t it?” You repeat his own words bitterly.

The softening of his eyes is gone again, replaced by that carefully curated coldness. “I see.”

He abruptly looks away from you and starts the car.

“That’s all you have to say?” You immediately demand. You don’t want to talk to him. You do want him to say more than that.

“You’d simply assume anything I say is more manipulation.” He says, too calmly for your liking.

You scoff. He’s right, of course. But that’s only because you wouldn’t be wrong. How could you believe otherwise?

“Don’t join any more games with me.” You tell him. You imagine him tensing for a moment.

“You’re being irrational.” His tone is still maddeningly unaffected. “Your chances of survival increase with my presence. Don’t let emotions get in the way of that.”

“Do they? Or will you just use me for bait in a game now that I’m not in your plan anymore?”

You don’t think you imagine his jaw clenching. But instead of saying more, he starts driving. The ride is spent in silence. Fine by you. You keep your eyes on the surroundings so you don’t have to face him.

It’s only after he parks the car, when you’ve stepped out of the car to beeline for your room (and the shower you desperately need) that you hear him say: “I do not consider your death inconsequential.” It’s said slowly, like it’s difficult for him to admit even that much. 

But you cared about him. Care, even, however much you hate him. Inconsequential is below the bare minimum you’d hope he’d think of your death. So you walk to your room without looking back.

“Chishiya’s been moody.” Kuina tells you as she sits down on the beach chair next to the one you’ve been enjoying your cocktail on. 

You snort. “He’s heartless, Kuina. He doesn’t get moody.” 

“He is.” She counters. “He’s been having less patience with me or others. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“So? He’s not my problem anymore.” You take a big swig of your drink.

“I think it’s because he misses you.” Kuina keeps needling. “What happened between the two of you? He just tells me you won’t be part of the plan anymore.”

“He doesn’t miss me, Kuina. That would require him to care.” It surely is the alcohol that makes your bitterness clear. “I just had a wake up call about what he is. That’s all.” You wonder why he chose you for the sacrifice instead of Kuina. Is she more useful to him? Does he like her more? Gods, you shouldn’t feel jealous over him.

Kuina frowns. “Look, I know I’ve teased you in the past about your horrible taste in men. Or one man in particular. But he looks at you in a way he does at no one else. You must have noticed.”

“That’s all manipulation, Kuina.” You have had enough of this subject. “He was planning on sacrificing me.”

Kuina’s eyes widen in surprise. “How can a genius be such an idiot?” She wonders. “He’s definitely an asshole. Want me to get you another drink?”

The subject of Chishiya Shuntaro doesn’t come up again.

Hatter dies two days before your VISA is due, so you don’t get to know whether Chishiya would’ve complied to you telling him to stop joining your games. 

Not having an in with the executives anymore, you only learn of his death during Aguni’s so-called speech.

You immediately go for a supply run. You’re well aware that Chishiya’s plan will be executed now, and you have no interest in being caught in the crossfire.

Has he found new bait? He’d mentioned Arisu. As you sift through food that might or might not be rotten, you can’t help but keep thinking about whatever is currently happening at the Beach.

You know Chishiya’s plans. Surely he’ll be fine. What are you thinking? It’s Kuina you care about making it out. Not him. 

You stand up abruptly, taking your gathered food with you in a bag as you make for the car.

Stop thinking about him.

You drive faster than quickly necessary. Only to slow down as, instead of the yellow light of the Beach, there is a red glow coming from its direction. The red glow of a fire.

Cautiously, you park the car, walking the last bit. 

Oh.

You’d imagined Aguni’s leadership would lead to ruin. You hadn’t imagined this.

You’ve played enough games to recognise the aftermath of one.

The, what you assume, survivors are staring at the fire. There are so few of them.

You spot Arisu, beaten but alive. You spot Kuina, sitting at the side of the pool. You’re relieved to see that she made it.

You spot Chishiya as well. His head shifts as he looks over the crowd, as if searching.

You have no interest in being spotted. You have no interest in a post-game Beach. So instead of learning about what happened, you make your way back to the car.

The interlude terrifies you. When there are no games to be found the first evening, only screens pronouncing said interlude, you worry about your VISA. You only have tomorrow left. 

Your fear eases a bit when at midnight no lasers are to be seen. Is this actually a break?

You don’t trust the gamemakers to be that generous. So you search to no avail for a game again the day after. It’s ironic, you think bitterly. How desperate you are for one considering how much you hate them.

There is no game to be found.

You go to sleep before midnight, aided by sleeping pills you’ve scavenged. If the laser comes for you, you don’t want to be awake to feel it. Still, fear tinges the edges of consciousness as you slip away.

You wake up. It’s late in a day, sunlight slipping past your curtains as they lit up the room.

You’re alive.

Alive, and alone. 

You shake that feeling off.

An interlude. You have no idea what that means. Maybe all the games have been completed? What else could it mean? Was the game at the Beach the Ten of Hearts? What comes next?

Did Chishiya have his complete deck?

Not for the first time, you miss him. His intelligence, you correct yourself. 

He’d have theories. He’d want to hear yours first, find the flaws in your thinking progress, and then ruthlessly dissect them before finally telling you his.

But he wanted to betray you. That’s not something you should be willing to forgive.

With no supervision, you don’t take the risk of intoxication again. Instead, you bury yourself in books. The smart thing would be to find some medical books. Survival ones, mayhaps. But instead you’re reading novels. It’s easier to lose yourself in them.

It’s the third evening that your TV turns on. You jump up at the scare, already halfway to the kitchen where a block of knives lies, when you realise there’s no danger.

It’s not even a game. You watch silently as the reporter, clearly scared for her life, introduces the King of Clubs. 

It doesn’t surprise you to learn of the existence of dealers. What does surprise you is that, unknowingly, you’ve been competing against them.

And now you’ll compete against the citizens.

The face cards. Likely harder than any game you’ve played before.

You watch on the roof the next noon as the zeppelins each stop above a different location one by one. The King of Spades doesn’t stop moving, but you have no interest in competing against a king, so you’ve got no interest in where that particular venue will be. 

No, you’ll choose a jack.

You’d rather not compete alone in a game more difficult than any you’ve played before. But you’ve got no choice, have you? After the interlude, you’re not sure what the situation with your VISA is. Better be safe than dead, and play today.

But which one?

Not diamonds. Chishiya will choose diamonds. What then?

The closest jack is the Jack of Hearts. Why not? You’re not bad at reading people, as proven by you catching your role in Chishiya’s plan. And it’s not like you’ve got anyone to lose, going in alone.

Your heart is already broken. It can’t be made worse.

Chishiya won’t be there. He finds heart games tedious.

You second guess your decision as you realise the venue is a prison. But you ignore the ominous setting, and walk in. You don’t hesitate as you put the collar around your neck.

There are twenty people needed. You are only the fourth. You avoid eye contact with the three people already there.

This is a hearts game. You’re not here to make friends.

A blond man is analysing you, as you’d bet he did with everyone. Even though his eyes are kinder, you avoid him specifically. The calculating look reminds you of Chishiya. 

Slowly people tickle in as you wait for the full twenty. It was noon when you entered, and now it’s almost evening. It’s boring, but you use it to observe people. One of the men starts to chat up others, like a salesman. Another has the robes of a priest. There’s a brute that’s already threatened someone before the game has even begun, so you make sure to stay clear of him.

You definitely stay clear of the man you overlooked when you walked in. While you’ve forgotten his name, you recognise him from the newspapers. He’d killed people. In the real world. Woman, specifically. Given your gender? Staying clear is definitely the best move.

The most excitement while waiting is when suddenly a loud moaning fills the rows of cells. You watch as a few people rush to help, led by a man with an afro. You don’t. After a stay at the Beach, the sound of sex doesn’t confuse you with the sound of someone hurting anymore.

Due to the distraction, you almost miss him walking in. His footsteps are slow as always as he walks through the entrance.

Lead courses through your veins when you spot him.

Your first thought is that the collar looks good on Chishiya. The second is a string of curses.

Why is he here? He shouldn’t be. He loathes the concept of a human heart. 

He cocks his head as he takes in all the participants, his eyes sliding over you as easily as they slide over the others. Still, for a brief moment, there is eye contact. For a brief moment, you can see his smirk. Do you imagine the relief?

There’s no way he’s here for you. There’s just not. He might know the days on your VISA. He might know how you think. He can’t be there for you. Why would he be?

Yet he isn’t in some diamonds game like you predicted he would be. He is here.

And currently pretending he doesn’t know you as he finds a corner to lean against.

Smart.

Annoying.

You force yourself to look away from him, at the man in a suit who gets looks from the people around him. Behind him is the woman he was just with, slowly paling as she realises what she’s done. Where she’s done it.

There’s rattling as another woman enters the venue. She’s wearing a hoodie with soft looking ears attached. The gate behind her closes with a clang.

Finally, the game will start.

The announcer cheerily tells them the name of the game. Solitary confinement. A door, with a timer of an hour above it, opens, showing a row of solitary cells, for exactly twenty people, as the emo guy helpfully notes. 

You should’ve chosen a different game.

That feeling worsens when the rules are explained. Guess the suit on the back of your collar in your solitary cell at the end of the hour. It will change each round after that. The Jack of Hearts is hiding amongst you. To win, he has to die.

There is an obvious, smart strategy here. There is someone who you know for sure isn’t the Jack of Hearts. And Chishiya is smart. He’d never lie about your suit to you, as he knows you’d never lie about his suit to him.

You don’t actually want him death, betrayal or not.

The game is about how much you can trust each other, the announcer said. You don’t trust Chishiya, not anymore. But you hate that you know you can, at least, trust him in this game.

There’s some discussion before the salesman suggests to work together. Afro immediately agrees. suggesting to form a group. His reasoning is sound: With group confirmation, no one can lie. 

“Yeah! Super idea! I’m in!” The woman with the hoodie is clearly enthusiastic about the idea. Two men join as well. Chishiya just watches, so, perhaps unwisely, you step forward. A group sounds like a better idea than pairing up with some stranger. “I’m in.”

Afro, Ippei you learn his name, seems surprised by the few people that join. When a young boy suggests that whoever entered the game first or last has a higher chance of being the Jack, both people who immediately joined the group, most people walk off. In the end, there are only six of you.

Ippei wants to get you to know each other, and you suppose building trust is important, so you introduce yourself. 

The group explores the venue. It’s quickly clear that there is nothing that could give a reflection, to the point of tomato juice coming out of the tap instead of water. While foreboding, the months worth of food in the storage room is a bright point in this bleak game. You’re enjoying your favourite candy as the woman in the hoodie, Urumi, smiles at the lot of you.

You don’t trust that smile. It’s meant to portray innocence, but her eyes are anything but. 

Still, she suggests to start sharing suits. “We trust each other, right?”

“Hearts.” You tell her with the rest of the group.

You’re a clubs.

You’ve been observing the others. Currently, the players are divideable in three groups: Those on their own, those with a partner, and those in your group.

It surprises you that Chishiya is alone. He surely knows that that’s stupid, right?

If it is because of you, he hasn’t approached you. And you sure as hell won’t approach him.

You watch as, in the first round, the first lie is told. You don’t blame the man: The brute had been beating him up to the point of blood running down his chin. Unfortunately for him, the brute knows he’s lying. You glance at Chishiya, unperturbed as ever, when you look away.

You don’t want to see this.

The beaten up man tells the truth after that. Ippei, kind as before, immediately helps him up as the brute walks away. Offers to let him join the group, and oh, some of the others aren’t happy with that, Urumi on forefront. They, understandably selfishly, don’t want the attention of the brute on themselves.

You stay silent. It doesn’t really matter, does it? There are already cracks forming in your group. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, teaming up with scared strangers. Maybe you should-

No. You won’t approach him. He’ll have to make the first step if he wants to team up.

You deserve that much if you’re forced to play with him.

The first round ends with not a single death.

For a bright minute, people are happy. The rich woman thanks your group profusely for telling her her suit, and joins up. But the mood dies when the brute finds his victim, Seto, again.

Ippei, who you’ve started to like, steps in this time. Unfortunately, it only means he gets beaten up too.

You stay silent as Urumi declares Seto has to leave the group, seeing Ippei’s bruises as proof his presence is a danger. “If you won’t cast him out, I’m leaving the group!”

She’s not alone in that sentiment, as others agree.

How selfish. A group against a single man, brutish or not, would prevail. Yet you don’t say a word either, do you?

At least you have a reason, you try and convince yourself. It wouldn’t be smart to let someone who’s shown to be willing to lie in the group.

Circumstances or not, if you lie once it’ll be easier to lie again.

No one dies this round either. But the third round?

There is a furious scream, pulling the attention of everyone. It’s the brute. From his back, there’s a knife sticking out. It seems like his victim fought back.

But he has no chance against the brute. The man stops pulling his punches, throwing Seto on the ground as he bashes his face in gruesomely.

You wince as a loud boom reverberates through the building.

It’s against the rules to kill someone. 

Ippei doesn’t take Seto’s death well. He isn’t the only one, as suddenly people are reminded of the stakes of the games. People whisper that someone, likely the Jack, had to have told Seto to fight back, and so distrust is sewn. 

At the end of the third round, three people give the wrong suit. All loners, leaving Chishiya, the priest and the salesman as the only ones left without a group or partner.

You don’t worry for him. He doesn’t approach you. The priest does, desperate to join your group now that his disciple has fallen. But then one man almost tells another the wrong suit. “S-sorry, we couldn’t bring in any metal, so I don’t have my glasses.”

You don’t like the calculating look in Urumi’s eyes.

It doesn’t surprise you when  she goes around the group, convincing everyone to lie. This time you do protest. “Once the trust is broken, it’s only a matter of time before the group falls apart and we all die.” You argue. 

Urumi, with that bright, faux-innocent smile, lies anyway. Ippei, surprised and shocked, can’t react in time before she moves on to the next person.

You, hopefully subtly, walk after the man without his glasses. “You’re hearts.” You tell him, very aware of Chishiya’s eyes on you. “Urumi lied. She wants to get the game moving.” There are visible drops of sweat on his forehead and his eyes widen, but the announcer goads you to your cells before he can react.

A loud boom announces his death.

That round, Urumi smiles at you as she claims “Hearts!”

Ippei is trembling. The priest seems nervous and some of the others refuse to meet your eyes.

Is she lying?

They’re all eager to move to the next person. Too eager.

Fuck.

You distance yourself from the group. They’re lying to you because you refused to lie. How could they all be so… idiotic?

What are you supposed to do now? The round is almost over. Maybe you should try and isolate Ippei. He wouldn’t lie, even if he’s a pushover. Maybe you should get over yourself and-

Fingers brush away your hair from your neck, leaving a smouldering track in their wake. “Diamonds.” Chishiya’s voice is much closer than needed, the feeling of his breath against your neck causing you to shiver.

“Or did you truly think they told the truth?” His fingers linger longer than necessary. Is he doing that on purpose or is it his usual slow movements?

You turn around. He truly is close, but you refuse to back away. It maddens you that his eyes still do that thing where it looks like they soften. “I noticed that much.” He’s smirking. As if nothing happened between the two of you. Did he wait for this? An opportunity to tell you the truth after others lied?

Clever asshole.

“Then, if you don’t mind?” He turns around. You brush the hair that’s covering his suit aside. He is your surest way out of this game. Now that he’s approached you first, you’ll allow him to team up with you.

Even if your chest still hurts.

“Spades.” You keep your eyes on his, trying your hardest to remain a poker face.

You wouldn’t lie. It’d be stupid. 

But that doesn’t mean you don’t want to see him hesitate.

He doesn’t grant you that gratification. You’d forgotten this was Chishiya you’re dealing with. He simply puts his hands in his pockets, nods, and makes for the solitary cells.

“I could’ve lied.” You try. “You know I have all the reasons to want you dead.”

He glances over his shoulder. “Then I suppose I’ll die.” He doesn’t seem all that bothered by the thought.

Is he trying to prove something to you?

Or is it just his normal level of not caring about his own life?

You’d scolded him for that once before. He hadn’t shown it again around you.

Is he trying to get you to scold him again?

You don’t get him. You thought you did. But why hasn’t he left you alone after you realised the truth of your relationship? Surely it’s easier to manipulate someone new for whatever he wants.

That round only the rich girl dies. The group told her the truth, so she must’ve figured if they were willing to lie to you, they’re willing to lie to her.

You would’ve told her the truth if she asked.

You can feel Chishiya’s presence behind you after you step from your cell. Urumi is frowning, the rest of the group nervously glancing at each other. 

They’d expected you to die. They’d wanted you to die.

You ignore them as you walk past them. As far as you’re concerned, they’re just ghosts. Still lingering, but dead already in practice.

They wanted you dead. You won’t bother helping them stay alive.

“It was so stupid.” You grumble at Chishiya as you walk, trying to divert your feelings. “Surely they realise they’re just killing each other off. Including themselves.” It’s better than acknowledging the spare time this game grants you with him.

“They’re playing the numbers game.” Chishiya dryly explains. He’s not pushing you to figure it out yourself. Is that his way of being careful with you? “Kill as many people as they can and hope the Jack is one of the victims before they die themselves. Besides, they’re scared of protesting. You proved that it would paint a target on their back.”

“Sheep mentality.” You’re still pissed.

“Yes.” Chishiya takes a seat in the cafetaria. “But you’re not a sheep. And you’re smart enough to know that, in spite of your feelings, I’m your greatest chance at survival.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Because you believed him without question when he told you your suit. He doesn’t have to tell you that. You add, a bit smugly: “I am your best chance of survival as well.”

“That you are.” He doesn’t bother denying.

It does bother you a bit. He’s smart, manipulative, enough to have had a partner he could trust from the start. Yet he took a gamble and risked his first rounds, even when the players got paranoid, to wait for a moment you would have to accept him.

While you’re certain he won’t lie, the same can’t be said the other way around from his point of view. You’ve made clear you’re furious with him. So he took a risk to team up with someone who might kill him anyway.

You can’t think of a plausible reason he would do so except…

He’s manipulating you. You remind yourself. He doesn’t care. Not the way you do. You’re not sure he can.

But what could he be manipulating you for?

Ugh.

“I’m going to get some snacks.” You announce, leaving him behind.

Only to almost immediately bump into someone as you round the corner. It’s the emo guy.

“Sorry!” He stammers. Huh, the killer isn’t with him. Those two seemed to stay close most of the time.

“Don’t worry about it.” You say, starting to walk past him.

He looks at you for a moment. “I’m Matsushita.” He introduces himself. “Um... Could I ask you my suit?” 

Oh? You glance back at him. “Don’t you trust your partner?”

“I’m scared of him.” He admits with a wry smile. “He’s the one who gave Seto the knife.” Interesting. That was what started the paranoia. “You’re spades.” You tell him. There’s no reason not to tell him, is there? 

You still as he reaches to brush your hair aside. Unlike Chishiya, he’s careful to not touch your skin. “You’re hearts.” He says. 

“Thanks.” You continue towards the storage room. There was no need for him to tell you, but you take it anyway. 

Maybe it isn’t the smartest to interact with someone else now that you have Chishiya. But unlike your blond, you do want people to live. If they ask you for their suit, you’ll tell them honestly.

When you return to Chishiya with chocolate chip cookies, which you know he dislikes, he confirms that you’re hearts. 

That round, four people die. The group's paranoia got most of them killed, including Urumi, leaving only Ippei and the priest. Chishiya smirks as he walks with you to the cafeteria.

You feel conflicted. They’d lied to you, but they’re still people.

The salesman was amongst the dead. Now there are only duos left.

“Ippei doesn’t seem to be holding up well.” You are slightly concerned. He seemed like a good man, but one who took on too much. “You think the psychological strain of the game will get to him?”

“He should’ve expected it from a hearts game.” Chishiya mocks. “He could’ve prevented deaths if he’d stood up when the group lied instead of being shocked to silence.” He glances at you as if to remind you that if it wasn’t for him, you’d have had trouble finding your true suit that round. 

It’s almost like everyone if the group genuinely irritates him. 

“I suppose.” 

You find yourself yawning. “Just a few more rounds.” Chishiya says nonchalantly as if he isn’t reassuring you. 

“It’s dawn. I haven’t slept since last night.” You hope he is right about the game lasting just a few more hours. You are getting tired. “You don’t seem that tired.”

That seems to amuse him. “I’ve had longer shifts at the hospital. Sitting around and observing is less taxing than dealing with patients or surgery.”

“So you are a doctor.” He never admitted to that before, even when he’d masterfully stitched up a cut you’d received during a spades game.

“Medical student.” He corrects you. “There are energy drinks amongst the supplies. You could use them.”

You down a can at the spot when you find them. 

“You’re clubs.” You look up to see Matsushita next to you. Huh, you hadn’t heard him get close. He is quiet. 

You didn’t agree to an alliance. But you resolved you’d tell people who asked. “Clubs as well.” You say.

Chishiya’s leaning against the wall when you come back, his eyes thoughtful on you. He still touches your skin as he brushes your hair away. Your skin still traitorously burns. “Clubs.” 

When you make your way back to the solitary cells, the blond who reminded you of Chishiya is waiting, together with his partner, the priest and Ippei. 

“I have an announcement to make.” He says when everyone has returned. “The four of us will make a new group.”

The man in the suit, Yaba, snorts. “Another group, huh? Didn’t you see how the last one ended?”

“That group was lacking a mission.” The blond retorts. He goes on to explain his plan. 

They want to stay here. For months. No lying, no treason. No killing. Even if the Jack of Hearts is in their group. Until the food runs out.

Months of living without worrying about your life in the Borderlands? That might as well be eternity.

But… “You think sleep deprivation won’t be a factor?” Chishiya seems amused at what he perceives to be idioticy. 

“I always assumed you three would never agree to join. But your hangers-on can join anytime.”

You bristle. “Chishiya does not control me. But your plan seems unrealistic.”

You’re right.

While this round, no one dies, the next round all four in the new group do.

Yaba uses his physical strength to keep the blond’s cell door closed once the round starts. If he can’t leave his cell, he can’t receive his suit.

You only watch to see the blond’s partner threatening violence, but being stopped by Yaba’s woman’s knife. He does point out that it’s against the rules to obstruct someone’s entrance into a solitary cell, so Yaba lets him in. Fool.

You’re gone by the time he gets locked in as well. The rules don’t say anything about preventing others from leaving their cell. The rules also state that, at the end of the hour, when there are two or more players in a single cell they’ll receive a game over.

This time, Matsushita comes to find you when Chishiya is away for food.

“You say you’re not his hanger-on.” He asks you after exchanging suits. “But you look at him like he hurt you. Deeply. Yet you’re still partnering with him.”

“That’s none of your business.” You snap back, perhaps a bit too harshly. But you’re running on fumes at this point, and you’re not interested in explaining Chishiya.

“I didn’t mean to insult.” He holds his hands up placatingly. “I just… It seems like we’re both partnered up with people we’d rather not, aren’t we?” He walks away before you can answer.

You can understand how it looks from the outside. It’s just… Chishiya’s complicated. You know he won’t lie to you.

About your suit, at least.

Unfortunately for you, the priest decides to pay you a visit as well. His movements are frantic, clearly betraying his desperation. “You’ve shown mercy on others.” He begs you. “By telling the poor soul the group condemned what his true suit was. Have mercy on me too.” Doesn’t he have Ippei to trade suits with?

“Ask Ippei.” You say curtly.

“He has wandered away from the light.” His voice is trembling. You shift awkwardly. This man tried to kill you. It might’ve been a group decision, but he very much was part of the group.

“So you ask the one person alive you tried to kill?” You remind him.

“Even men of God can sin.” He’s begging you. “Let me atone for what I’ve done.”

“Pathetic.” Chishiya’s leaning against the entryway. He pushes himself away from the wall, walking up to the man as if the priest isn’t much larger than him. “Does your God allow harassing a woman you attempted to murder?” He places himself next to you. 

“I was weak.” The man begs, now directed at Chishiya. “The spirit of the game tested me, and I failed.”

“You haven’t even apologised.” You look away, but you do catch Chishiya glancing at you. He hasn’t apologised either.

“Damn it all.” The priest drops his mask. “I don’t want to die here. Don’t let me die here.”

You have no interest in killing someone. But you won’t help someone live when they tried to kill you. So you stay silent.

“Sure.” The cruelty in Chishiya’s voice is evident. “You’re spades ~♪”

The priest, breathing heavily, takes a few steps back as if hit, realising he won’t get his answers here. He all but runs out of the room. In doing so, his back is turned to you, unintentionally showing off his suit.

Spades.

“You told the truth?” For a moment, you’re surprised. Then you realise. “Oh. He will think you lied.” His guess will be any suit but the right one. “Are you not scared that getting a priest killed is bad karma, Chishiya?” You present it like a tease, but you want to know his answer.

He doesn’t normally bother to actively get someone killed.

He scoffs. “A priest? He strikes me as more of a cult leader. There was no belief there. It’s the only way he knew to manipulate anyone.”

The priest dies with the rest of his group. You never even knew his name.

The next round, you’re back in the storage room in search of more caffeine. Matsushita is waiting for you.

“I’m scared Banda will lie to me.” He admits to you. “How do you know Chishiya won’t hurt you again?” You don’t. “He won’t. Not in this game. He’s smarter than that.”

“But he’s arrogant as well.” Matsushita pushes. “Why should we be stuck with people like them any longer? We could get free.” Whoa. You hadn’t minded the suit-exchange you’ve been doing, but what he’s insinuating?

“We have very different situations. Chishiya isn’t a serial killer, to start with.” You say frostily. 

“Think about it.” He tries. “He’s heartless. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re special.” You freeze at that, the unintentional repeat of Chishiya’s question feels like a stab through your heart. “You’re hearts. I’ll ask you again next turn.” 

“You’re hearts as well.” You murmur, the word special ringing in your ears.

Chishiya has started to slowly stroke his thumb against the nape of your neck as he tells you your suit. You haven’t commented on it, not willing to admit you like it. You blame the sleep deprivation.

His breath ghosts your ear as he tells you, shamelessly leaning in. “Clubs.”

You freeze immediately, the icy feeling like lead flowing through your veins.

He notices, of course, stepping in front of you, his hand moving to your chin to make you look into his eyes as he considers you. “Did your friend tell you otherwise?”

He’d noticed? But that’s not the important thing right now.

Matsushita hadn’t seemed like he lied, had he? But you’d been distracted.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me again, Chishiya?” Your voice is vulnerable.

His hand moves back to his pocket. “You don’t. But that’s what this game is about. Trust.” He cocks his head. “And you do know me better than that.”

“Do I? Everything you do is confusing me. Why did you join this game? You were supposed to focus on the diamonds games.”

“You weren’t amongst the survivors of the Beach. I’d assumed you went out after I noticed you leave during Aguni’s speech. I wanted to confirm your survival.” There’s an unreadable tone in his voice that can’t be what you think it is.

“Why?” You press. You don’t get why. If you hadn’t uncovered his plans, surely you’d be dead or worse.

“I’m not apologising for my initial plans.” His face is so frustratingly emotionless. “It is only human to do anything to survive. But I do apologise for how I handled you finding out.” His eyes soften. “You are special. I never meant to imply otherwise. I’ve never had anyone else so insistingly stuck in my thoughts.”

Your breath quickens. That’s exactly what you want to hear, but how can you believe him? “You still tried to throw me to the wolves.” You repeat, your breath quickening.

“I was. At first.” He hesitates. “I had been searching for a replacement when you found out.”

Your head shoots up. “What?”

“I’m aware it sounds like a lie.” His eyes haven’t turned away from yours for even a moment. “But you affect me in a way no one else ever has. The cards weren’t worth sacrificing you.”

“Chishiya…”

“If you’d only waited a bit. Then you’d have seen that I officially replaced you with Arisu. But no, you had to be clever.” He sounds almost fond.

This is Chishiya. He doesn’t do fond.

“Don’t believe Matsushita over me. Inconsequential is the least of what I’d find your demise.” 

“Why would he lie?” You’re not sure whether you can believe Chishiya, but at least you know he wouldn’t lie about your suit. Still, you want to know.

“He’s the most likely candidate to be the Jack of Hearts.” He explains without a hint of his often used condescension. “He’s partnered with Kotoko as well. And it takes a certain type to partner with someone like Banda Sunato.”

Oh.

“…I was focused on surviving.” You admit. You haven’t really been looking for the Jack of Hearts, have you? You’d been more occupied by making sure you had someone tell you your true suit. And you’d been distracted by Chishiya.

“We’ll talk about that strategy when you’re not mad at me anymore.” When. Not if.

It maddens you how presumptuous he is.

It maddens you how it calms you a bit. It reminds you of before.

You can’t continue your conversation as you have to return to your cells. But before you step into yours, Chishiya meets your gaze. “Don’t be a moron.” As if he’s actually worried.

Even if it wasn’t strategically better to believe Chishiya, you want to believe in him.

So you don’t hesitate.

“Clubs.”

You close your eyes as you wait for the timer to hit zero. The sound of an explosion reverberates through the prison, but you’re aware of it. You’re alive.

Of course you are. There was no reason for Chishiya to lie about your suit.

Did he lie about the rest?

“Time’s up.” The announcer chimes. “Out of six participants, the number that has survived round ten is… Five.”

“Wh… What happened? There must be a mistake!” You hear from outside.

Matsushita.

You step aside, just to see him gaping at Banda and Yaba. “This can’t be! How are you still alive?”

“The next round begins.” The announcer interrupts. “Trust your partners, and good luck.”

“How sad.” Banda says. “I thought we could be friends. But you betrayed us. Did fear drive you to do it? Or… could it be that you’re the Jack of Hearts?”

“C’mon.” Chishiya nods towards the exit as Banda continues. “This won’t be pretty ~♪”

And he’s right. The two of you wait for the hour to tick down in the cafeteria, which has the most possible walls between the solitary cells. Still, Matsushita’s screams reach you.

“It’s a shame metal wasn’t allowed for this game.” Chishiya muses. “My walkman could’ve dampened that noise.” Because, while he’s calmly eating a bag of biscuits, you have your hands clamped over your ears.

Luckily, the torture only lasts one round. It’s been hours since dawn, and you eagerly leave the prison, only to walk right out into the rain.

“A typhoon.” Chishiya seems insistent on walking next to you. “Interesting timing.” You don’t deny him.

You do send him an irritated glare when he touches your arm, as if to correct your direction. “I suggest we avoid the King of Spades.” 

The blimp is indeed in the direction of the apartment you camped out in. “So? We just won’t enter the venue.”

“It’s still moving.” He points out. “I’d rather we avoid it. It’d be a shame if the King of Spades is a free roamer.”

“We?” You’re too tired and annoyed that he’s right again.

He simply raises his eyebrows.

“Fine. We. Your place should better be close.”

It is, relatively. The apartment he leads you to is white and barren. You don’t care. You go straight to opening doors until you’ve found the bedroom, where you dress down to your underwear, too exhausted to tell an amused Chishiya off but still refusing to sleep in drenched clothes, putting on the first shirt you can find in the wardrobe.

You fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow, only vaguely aware of the bed dipping beside you.

You sleep past the day, well into the night.

When you wake up, you’re hyper aware of warm skin that’s resting against your hand. The contact is small, just the side of his hand against yours, but it’s there.

Chishiya is sleeping next to you, on his back, his face unusually serene. 

That ache in your chest is still there, yet you don’t move away. 

You are special.

You want to believe that so badly.

Now that you’ve slept, you glance around the room. While barren, there is a hint to its previous owner. The medical books on a shelf.

This is Chishiya’s apartment. 

Chishiya’s room.

You’ve slept in Chishiya’s bed. Next to him.

You find yourself heating up as blood rushes to your cheeks.

You undressed in front of him in his room. And proceeded to put his shirt on.

You look back at his sleeping face.

His muscles are completely relaxed, his mole accentuating his features.

Was he affected by the sight?

Damn it. He’s still Chishiya Shuntaro.

Affection and hurt are warring in your chest.

A rumbling coming from your stomach gives you an excuse you readily take to get up.

As you’ve got no interest in wearing your dirty, still damp clothes from the day before, you begrudgingly take a pair of pants and a shirt from Chishiya’s wardrobe.

You glance back as you make for the door, only to be greeted by Chishiya’s open eyes. There’s an unreadable look in his usually empty eyes. It takes you a moment to recognise it as contentment.

“I don’t remember agreeing to sharing a bed.” The contentment makes place for his Cheshire smile. “I wasn’t about to sleep on the couch in my own home.” He drawls out your name. “And unfortunately I lack a guestroom.” He expectedly doesn’t seem sorry at all. “Do I need to ask compensation for letting you sleep in my bed and wear my clothes?”

You glare at him as you step out of the bedroom, glad to find canned food neatly stacked in a cupboard in the kitchen.

You’re not sure what you’re doing. Well, you know how to make yourself breakfast, that’s not the issue.

But Chishiya?

Logically, you should leave him behind. He, admitted by himself, tried to give you to the militants as a traitor. His words during the Jack of Hearts could very easily be lies.

But he’s Chishiya.

The same Chishiya who, back at the Beach, noticed when a game was too much and stayed in your room until you fell asleep (under the excuse of working on his plan). The same Chishiya who taught you to be better at the games.

The same Chishiya who you fell for. Who you, if you allow yourself to admit it for a moment, still have feelings for.

You don’t want to leave him.

He notices your conflicted feelings of course. But he doesn’t press. No, Chishiya is patient,

He lets you snark at him over minor things without responding in kind during the day. He doesn’t call out your staring.

He knows he’s on a thin line. But he also seems aware that you’ll forgive him if he behaves while time passes.

How irritating that he’s right.

You’re only vulnerable again that next evening. Laying in bed, your voice is barely audible. “…Did you lie during the Jack of Hearts?”

“No.” His reply is immediate, his hand brushes against yours, just the tiniest bit more touch than yesterday. “Truth was my best strategy there.” Then, more quiet, as if he’s talking to himself: “I’d have told it even if it wasn’t.”

You don’t pull your hand away. This night, you’re aware of his touch for every single moment.

The problem with him being passive, you realise, is that you want him to cover the first step. It’s really nice that he’s being overly careful not to press past your boundaries, but he hurt you. 

So when you find a deck of cards, you start playing solitaire on your own. But when Chishiya nudges you to join him at mahjong, perhaps recognising your need for him to reach out, you don’t make him work for it and simply agree.

He doesn’t subject you to even a single test.

Still, progress is slow. 

You feel like you’re going mad, one side of you wondering why you can’t just forgive him already, while the other still remembers how cold his eyes had looked when you called him out. How your heart broke.

“You are special.”

His eyes hadn’t looked cold then. No, there’d been fondness in them. 

You like when he looks at you like that.

You like the moments he seems content even in this awkward routine.

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You hope it’s the same you want from him.

It might be, right? He doesn’t let anyone else get close to touching him, yet his hand is resting on yours each night.

Until one morning, when you wake up to a cold hand.

Immediately, you sit up. The space next to you is empty.

He’s not elsewhere in the apartment either. Instead, on the counter, is a letter in perfect kanji.

He’s out. To play games. Even when his VISA is far from expiring.

The letter tells you he’ll be back before dinner.

You hate him. 

The way your heart pumps quicker in concern calls out that lie immediately.

You should’ve known, honestly. The Jack and King of Diamonds sat unbeaten, and Chishiya does appreciate an intellectual challenge.

Did he go to the Jack or the King?

You spent that day on the roof of the apartment complex, ignoring the rain that’s still pouring down. Few games are left. Just the Queen of Hearts, King of Spades and the Jack and King of Diamonds.

The Jack of Diamonds goes down during the afternoon. Each second feels like hours as you wait for him to return.

He doesn’t.

After an actual hour, you can’t take it anymore. You make your way in the direction where the blimp was before it crashed.

You find yourself in front of a mahjong parlor. Your hand is trembling as you open the door.

There’s a hole in the ground. Perfectly cut around a table where the remains of a game lay.

Chishiya is good at strategy games. He might not have played mahjong much, but he’s good at it. Please…

The corpse your flashlight first uncovers has long dark hair. The second has glasses.

It takes you painstaking long moments to find the third and last. Short, dark hair.

None are Chishiya.

Why didn’t he come back?

Oh. Of course.

The King of Diamonds hasn’t been beaten yet, and Chishiya can’t just let anyone else beat the king of intelligence, can he?

You can just spot the burning blimp between buildings when you step outside.

The King of Diamonds has been beaten.

No way it’s anyone other than him. Right?

The Chishiya Shuntaro you know is untouchable when it comes to intellect.

You hurry as you make your way.

The Supreme Court has four corpses. But unlike the Jack of Diamonds, these are unrecognisable, blackened by what you assume to be acid.

The winner must have left already. Chishiya must have left already.

He can’t have died like that. Not so painful, not without you being able to recognise his body.

Surely he wouldn’t take on the Queen of Hearts or the King of Spades, right?

He must’ve gone home.

You barely register your surroundings as you make it back, until you instinctively lurge behind a car when sudden gunshots ring out.

You force yourself to breathe as you take in the situation. 

The gunshots sound again. Not close, you realise. But right between your location and the apartment.

Chishiya wouldn’t, right?

Surely not?

You cautiously make your way there anyway, even if it goes against any instinct you have.

What once used to be Shibuya crossing is now overshadowed by another burning blimp stretched across the streets.

You don’t care for that.

You care for the speck of white sagged against one of the cars.

“Chishiya!” All caution is thrown to the wind as you rush towards him.

His usually impeccable jacket has two slowly growing red spots on it.

No.

You frantically cup his cheek in one hand as your other presses against one of his wounds in a faint attempt to limit the bleeding, causing him to slightly grunt.

“Ah. So you do care.” The affection in his eyes is the strongest it has ever been. “Don’t bother. The internal damage will do me in long before loss of blood will.”

“Of course I care!” You snarl back. “Tell me what to do.”

He says your name in the softest tone you’ve heard his voice. “There’s nothing you can do.” His hand takes yours off his wound and squeezes it. “I need professionals and working hospital equipment.”

“But you can’t die.” You beg him frantically. “I was supposed to have time. Time to forgive you. Time for… us. You’re a constant. You never get hurt. You can’t be hurt.”

“And you went after me anyway, didn’t you? So impatient.” He clicks his tongue, amused. As if he doesn’t care for his situation at all. “I’m human. Of course I can get hurt.”

“You said you’d be back by dinner.”

“It appears I was wrong.” He brings up his hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin. He’s wiping a tear away, you realise.

It’s too much. You don’t just care for this man, you fell for him. You loved him, and you know with time you’ll love him again. So you lean in closer and capture his lips with your own.

His lips are dry but it doesn’t take away from the moment in the slightest. He’s still for long moments quickly spent as you are kissing Chishiya before his lips start to move against your own. His hand moves to your shoulder, his thumb on your pulsepoint, while his other hand lies on your waist. His grip is loose, no squeezing, no pulling, as they simply rest there. 

It is enough. For a moment, you forget your drenched clothes. For a moment, you forget his blood-soaked jacket. For a moment, all that exists is him. His lips against your own.

Just for a moment.

Then he pulls away. Just enough to tease.

“I correct myself. You do more than just care. Could I assume this means you’ve forgiven me?”

You glare at him before you soften. Damn it. “…Yes. I’ve forgiven you. Just don’t die. Please.” The way your voice breaks proves how you mean it.

“Arisu and Usagi are taking on the Queen of Hearts. It should be our final game.” He tells you. “There’s a reasonable assumption to be made that we can go back to our former world after that. If so, I will make it to a hospital in time. With my parent’s positions in the hospital, my care will be top priority.” The hand resting on your waist slips beneath your jacket to find a sliver of skin. It doesn’t explore further, content to just feel.

“…You really think so?” You know it’s a stupid question. Chishiya doesn’t say needless things. But the hope slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

For once, he doesn’t mock you. “Yes.” He simply confirms. “Guarenteed proper treatment is one of the few perks I’ve received from my family.”

“I’m more worried about the going home part.”

He considers that a moment before answering. “Even if we don’t, it’s likely there’s a system in place for citizens. It’d be a shame to lose a king the night before stage two due to a heart attack.”

“I hope we’ll be able to go home.” You admit, calmed a bit by his conviction. “Before, I’d often imagined how it’d be like to be drifted into another world. But now that I have, I just want to go back.”

He’s silent after that. You sit there, just taking in his presence, taking in the realisation that you do in fact forgive him. That you kissed him, and he’d kissed you back.

He can’t die now.

“I’ve got not much to go back for.” He finally admits. “I’d like to stop wasting my life.”

“You’re a medical student.” You point out. “Objectively, that’s not a waste. Even if your motivations aren’t the reasons society prefers.”

His smiles wryly. “Ah. Society might think so. But my occupation is not what made my life a waste.” He tilts his head. “What is your living situation like?”

You blink at the, in your eyes, sudden change in subject. And then you immediately attempt to think of ways to divert it.

He’s a future doctor. His parents are implied to be doctors. You’ve seen his apartment, the neighbourhood he lives in.

You know what he’ll think of your meager place.

“Mine then.” Chishiya finds your moment of hesitation answer enough.

“Yours?” You ask.

“Yes. We’ll live at my place, since you don’t consider yours up to my standards.”

Hold on. “You want us to live together? In the real world?”

You imagine it. You’d continue to sleep in his, your, bed for the foreseeable future. You’d have his intelligent support for your daily struggles. More importantly, you’d have him. There’s nothing in the real world he could betray you for, so you’d truly have him.

You could trust him.

“Yes.” He confirms, again without mockery. “I’d be a fool to let you slip away twice. And I do so despise being foolish.”

You kiss him again. How could you not? He’s just admitted, in his own way, that he wants to have you too. That he intends on making sure your futures intertwine.

In his own way, he assured you that he won’t hurt you again. Never you.

You do worry during the next few hours. Chishiya’s poker face doesn’t let you get a good gauge on his condition. He’s a medical student, you remind yourself. And his personality doesn’t let him soften the truth.

He’d tell you if he wouldn’t make it.

Still, you anxiously await for whatever will happen once the Queen of Hearts is cleared (and it will be cleared. As soon as possible. There is no other option. Chishiya doesn’t have another option).

What you were waiting for turns out to be fireworks. You could’ve guessed: There were fireworks when you entered the Borderlands. There were when the second stage started. So there are now.

“Congratulations! The players successfully completed all card games.”

You grin. “We made it, ‘Shiya.”

“Shuntaro.” He corrects you mindlessly.

Your grin takes over your whole face.

The fireworks are beautiful.

“I deny citizenship.” You say confidently before the announcer has even finished their offer of more games. Denial means home, it has to be. And home means a future with Chishiya, Shuntaro.

“I don’t want it.” Shuntaro’s eyes are on you as he says it.

The fireworks get brighter. Bright enough to swallow your whole vision. 

Chishiya Shuntaro’s face is the last thing you see.

(You wake up in a hospital room with an arrogant yet familiar blond as your neighbour. For some reason, he doesn’t correct you when you slip up and call him his given name before even learning what it is. Nor do you object when he offers you his apartment on learning the meteorite destroyed yours. No, for the first time in what feels like a while, you feel carefree. Happy. You’ve found someone you trust wholeheartedly)

[luvluu]

Hello I hope you're having a good day I have a request for Chishiya, we visit him in the hospital after the whole Shibuya incident

Lillies… Shuntaro Chishiya

A/N: this is my first request and I’m so excited but scared omfg😭 so I hope you liked this because I rlly did! I feel like it has a lot of backstory but I hope you like it idk(I’m nervous ok?)

Please leave more request because they make me so happy idk why(love you all sm😭💕)

————

Shuntaro Chishiya x reader

Fluff❤️‍🩹

TW: insults.

WORDS: 900

REQUESTED: YES/NO

————

It had been months since you had a meal with your friends. You and Chishiya had been very busy lately agreeing on all the details of your wedding, which was to be held in December. Ever since you were very little, you had always dreamed of getting married at Christmas, with a white dress/suit to match the color of the surrounding snow.

Chishiya, on the other hand, had never had much interest in getting married, nor had he had much interest in love. His dreams were not related to having another person, but that changed when he met you. He knew how excited you were about getting married and although he had never thought about it, seeing himself together with you for the rest of your lives was something he didn't want to pass up.

It was during the spring festival. You and Chishiya went to a park, to a part a little out of the way of practically everyone. The pink petals were falling on your heads and you were looking around in delight, Chishiya knew that you always had a soft spot for that festival, you loved to see the city turn pink.

You were standing next to him, talking about how beautiful you found the scene when Chishiya knelt down in front of you and took a small box out of his pocket.

“Would you grant me the honor of spending the rest of my life with you?”

You were a tearful mess, not even bothering to try on the ring as you bent down and hugged him tighter than ever.

You were talking to one of your friends when a call came in. At first you didn't answer, it was probably the wedding ambassador asking for the seventh time in a week what kind of flowers you were going to want; but after persistence, you decided to answer.

“Are you the fiancée of Mr. Shuntaro Chishiya?” Someone asked behind the phone, you frowned quizzically.

“Yes, yes, it's me” you affirmed, moving a little away from your friends to speak more calmly.

“I'm calling from Tokyo hospital, your fiancé has been urgently admitted due to a meteorite that has affected the entire Shibuya neighborhood.”

No, it wasn't possible. You guys didn't even live near that neighborhood, what was Chishiya doing there, was he okay? Your mind clouded with negative thoughts. You weren't ready to lose the love of your life, no one was, but you... you just couldn't, not so few days before your wedding.

Without even saying anything to your group of friends, you got in your car and drove as fast as you could. The streets were in chaos. The road was full of cars, all on their way to the hospital while you could see smoke coming out of the Shibuya neighborhood.

It took you almost an hour to get to the hospital, an hour in which all you could think about was whether Chishiya was well. You were afraid that it was too late and that when you arrived you would be given the news that he had not held on long enough and had already died, but you refused to believe it.

You rushed into the hospital, more desperate than ever, and asked at the front desk about the room. Not bothering to wait for the elevator, you walked up seven floors and carefully opened the door.

Chishiya was in a shared room. There was a black-haired boy with half of his face covered lying on the bed next to Chishiya's. Your fiancé seemed relatively calm. He had that usual calm expression, as if he hadn't been on the verge of death.

“Shuntaro” you whispered with relief to see him safe and sound. “Shuntaro” you said now in a louder tone. Both men turned to look at you. You circled around another boy's bed until you reached Chishiya's and knelt beside the bed, hugging him tightly and shedding tears on his chest. “You scared me to death.” You felt his arms wrap around you and stroke your hair.

“You're overreacting...” he laughed lightly, you looked up to meet his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up...” you said, hugging him again. You clung to him as if he was the only thing that mattered to you. "What were you doing there? You asked in a broken voice, looking into his eyes, which were duller than normal.

“I think I want Lilies at our wedding...” he said, intertwining his hand with yours.

“You're an idiot.” You said and he wiped away your tears with his free hand. He moved to the side and you lay with him on the small hospital gurney.

Chishiya didn't remember why, but holding you in his arms again comforted him, as if he had been wanting to do it for months. He didn't remember, but if he won every game in Borderland he did it so he could go home to his fiancée.

“Chishi…” you whispered, feeling his hand stroking your hair.

“What?” He asked in a soft tone, keeping you as if you were made of glass.

“I love you.” He kissed you in the head as he heard your words.

“Love you more”

You couldn’t imagine a life without Chishiya, but he had to spend two months without even knowing if he would ever see you again. You would die without Chishiya, but he survived only because of you.