#learning to love

[idleminds]

[gummybearjello]

Until You Choose Me Again

War taught Mydei many things. How to kill. How to survive. But immortality taught him something crueller - everyone leaves eventually. Kingdoms fall. Names vanished with time. Entire generations fading away into dust. Only he would remain and that was how it was supposed to be till the end of time. Until you.

👑Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Warrior

The first time that Mydei met you, you had blood splattered across your face and someone else's sword in your hand.

The battlefield burned around him in violent shades of orange and gold, smoke thick enough to choke ordinary soldiers. Screams echoed across the valley while steel clashed endlessly beneath a darkening sky.

And there you stood in the middle of it all, laughing hysterically.

Not because war amused you but because you were running high on the adrenaline of being alive.

Mydei watched as you drove a blade through an enemy soldier with frightening precision before wrenching the weapon free smoothly.

You turned then and caught him staring.

"What?" you called breathlessly, brow raised. "Never seen a woman fight before?"

He hadn't. Not like this. Not like you.

You moved recklessly through the battlefield. As though death itself should fear you instead.

It intrigued him immediately and that intrigue forged a bond between the two of you. A bond that he hadn't expected to form with anyone, not in a million lifetimes.

The two of you fought side by side often after that. Soldiers began whispering your names together across campsites and battlefields alike in awe and wonder. For the two of you worked so well together, there wasn't a single battle lost while under both of your leadership.

Where Mydei was precise, you were relentless. Where he remained cold, you burned.

And somehow the both of you understood each other perfectly in combat.

"You charged ahead alone" you complained one evening while cleaning the blood from your blade.

"And yet you still followed me." His lips twitched. A quiet small movement that you would have missed if you hadn't known him the way that you did.

It was never spoken out loud but you knew that you'd always be there for each other.

The next few months passed by in a blur. War by day. Campfires by night. Shared victories soaked in blood and exhaustion.

Over time, something dangerous began growing between the two of you.

It happened slowly. The lingering glances while discussing battle strategies. Hands brushing while passing weapons. The unbearable awareness of each other's presence during sleepless nights.

Then came the celebration after a particularly tough battle that stretched out for days.

The army drank until dawn after their hard won victory. Music echoed across the campsite while soldiers stumbled through drunken songs around massive bonfires.

You found Mydei sitting alone near his tent away from the noise.

"Gods," you sighed dramatically while plopping down beside him, "you really are terrible at pretending to be social."

"I wasn't even trying."

You barked out a laugh at that.

The sound curled warm beneath his ribs, awakening something within him that he had spent months trying not to name.

Inch by inch, you closed the distance between you till you were close enough to rest your head against his shoulder. He stayed completely still, hands clenched tightly around his jug of wine.

You stole his drink moments later.

"That's mine."

"You weren't drinking it."

"You're drunk."

"And you're staring again."

His gaze flicked away from your lips instantly.

You noticed.

Of course you did.

"You know," you murmured softer now, leaning even closer into him, "for someone impossible to kill, you're strangely tense all the time."

Mydei looked toward the firelight in silence.

You studied him openly for a moment before your expression shifted into something gentler.

"Tired?"

"Yes."

"Of the war?"

His answer came too quickly.

"No."

Your eyes softened with sudden understanding.

Not the war then.

Something else.

Something lonelier.

The realization that he had almost kissed you unsettled him enough that he reached for the jug again.

You grabbed his wrist before he could and neither of you moved afterward.

The air between you changed.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

Your thumb brushed lightly against the inside of his wrist.

Mydei's breath caught. His eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips.

Then you kissed him like you already knew he would let you.

The world blurred after that.

He remembered your laughter muffled against his mouth as he pulled you in closer. Remembered rough hands against soft skin. Remember how fiercely alive you felt beneath him.

For the first time in centuries Mydei forgot what loneliness felt like and that terrified him.

Because afterward, lying beside you beneath the dim candlelight of his tent, he realized something irreversible had happened.

He wanted you to be his. He wanted you to stay. But forever with a mere mortal was impossible.

So naturally he started pulling away but not entirely.

Never entirely, for he could never resist your smile, your touch, the feeling of your lips on his.

Instead, the two of you slipped into something dangerous and undefined.

Whenever battles ended, you somehow found your way back to each other.

Some nights it was desperate. Clothes being ripped the moment you stepped through his tent. Mouths clashing and teeth biting hard enough to bruise. Both in desperate need to feel, to be reassured that the other had survived another battle.

Some nights it was soft. You would trace the battle scars and red tattoos scattered across his skin while Mydei watched you quietly beneath dim candlelight. Then his hands would find you in return — slow, careful, patient enough to leave you breathless by the end of it.

You would remain tangled together beneath blankets hiding away from the chaos happening outside the tent, speaking quietly about meaningless things until exhaustion dragged you both toward sleep.

And every single time when you thought that his walls had lowered enough to ask for more Mydei retreated.

One night, you lay naked against his chest, fingers lazily tracing the defined lines of his stomach. Mydei held a grape up to your lips. You bit down on it, its juice trickling slowly down your chin. He groaned at the sight and leaned down instinctively, tongue brushing against your skin. Pressing your palm against his chest, you pushed him back slightly.

"You know," you murmured softly, almost afraid to break the intimate moment, "most people who keep ending up in each other's beds would eventually want something more."

Mydei went completely still and you felt it instantly.

The shift in his expression, the way his body tensed under your palm and his arm loosening around your waist. He was pulling back from you physically and emotionally.

So you smiled faintly instead, trying to soften the ache blooming quietly in your chest with a laugh.

"Relax," you whispered. "I'm not asking for much, just that new sword that you've forged?"

Mydei could survive battlefields, kingdom politics, losing soldiers to war, but not this.

Because immortality had taught him one undeniable truth - everyone left eventually. And he could already feel himself wanting you too much. So he deflected.

"You should sleep. Take the sword with you in the morning" he said quietly.

Your expression dimmed just slightly but you said nothing, just held on tighter to him. Hoping that your warmth could chase away his fears.

Because some part of you already understood him better than he understood himself. He was afraid of loss and in these uncertain times you couldn't blame him.

The war dragged on for years after that and despite everything, you remained beside him through every battle.

Then came that one battle that changed everything.

Chaos consumed the battlefield completely. Fire rained from collapsing towers while soldiers screamed beneath the wreckage.

Mydei barely noticed the enemy spear aimed for his back until it was too late but you did.

Without hesitation, you threw yourself between him and the spear.

The spear pierced straight through you.

In that moment time stopped for Mydei, he saw everything through slow-motion. The spear flying towards you, his fingers missing it by an inch, you getting impaled right before his very eyes.

For one horrible second, the word stilled, battle raged on around Mydei but he could only stare horrified.

Not you. It shouldn't be you. It can't be you.

The enemy soldier barely had time to react before Mydei tore through him with enough violence to make nearby warriors recoil in fear.

He caught you before you hit the ground. Blood soaked through his hands impossibly fast.

"No," he said sharply, as though refusal alone could undo reality.

Your lips trembled into the faintest smile.

"You're alive," you whispered weakly.

He pressed shaking hands against the wound instinctively even though both of you already knew that it was too late.

The wound was too deep and you were losing too much blood.

"You idiot," he rasped. "You know I would've healed!"

"I know."

"Then why?"

Your gaze softened then in a way that ruined him completely.

"Because," you breathed carefully, the light slowly fading from your eyes, "I couldn't bear watching you get hurt either."

Something inside Mydei shattered.

For centuries he had convinced himself distance was mercy. He believed that by refusing to love you properly it would somehow spare both of you the pain of loss.

And yet here you were, dying for him anyway. You were still leaving him even if it wasn't in the way that he had thought you would.

Your trembling fingers reached for his hand.

"Promise that you'll find me again?" you whispered softly.

Tears burned unexpectedly behind his eyes.

Then you smiled at him one last time—

Warmly.

Lovingly.

Like you had never once regretted choosing him.

𝑊𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑦 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝐴𝑚𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑠 🥹 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑. 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 😊💖

[respectthepetty]

Things that are driving me crazy about Learning to Love:

The visuals presenting one as the devil and one as an angel.

By showing one who works in the dark at a host club.

And the other who works in the light at a Catholic school.

Kaoru states that everything is a joke to him which is why he works at a host club called The Joker since it is all about fun and entertainment.

But Manami states that she takes things too seriously, which is why it's best for her to work at a religious school that is all about rule and order.

However, just like Manami's mom who seems aloof, Kaoru is far more perceptive than he acts.

He noticed Manami was hurt, even when her fiancé didn't.

He was upset that Sakura took Manami's seat so much that he moved the umbrella to cover Manami.

He picks up Manami's purse and wipes it after she drops it when she gets scared.

He quickly pulls out a cloth for Manami to sit on the beach.

And he tells her he is dirty compared to her even though he is better than every man who claims to love Manami.

But Kaoru, no matter how happy, is trapped by the life he lives to survive.

So they met at an underground club at night.

But they meet on a roof during the day.

And when it's just the two of them, they are boxed in together, but the second the world touches them, giant barriers start to appear between them as Manami locks herself away and that he states he will willingly climb to be with her!!!!

But the fact that Kaoru is the one rewriting the title each episode as Manami teaches him to write gives me hope that these two will find a way for their love to survive because with each episode, his writing (and their love) gets stronger.

Like in episode six, they took a red and white train to the beach, a place neither had been in a long time, and both had painful memories of.

Manami told her fiancé she hadn't been on a trip in a long time, yet the first trip she went on was with Kaoru, and as she struggles to even touch her fiancé, she initiates the kiss with Kaoru.

But there are barriers throughout the trip until Mamani admits that her past is just as messy as Kaoru's.

And in the end, they switch hats.

And use the hats to cover their eyes instead of watching the other person walk away from them and out of their lives.

But both of them looked back, and both sniffed the hats to remember the person who they love.

So although it's been awhile since I was this stressed out about a man and a woman falling in love, I love everything about the visuals, like all the ways Kaoru has confessed to Mamani (like picking the book that's titled "I like teacher")

In fact, I love the visuals so much that I hate them.

THAT WAS AN ELITE CONFESSION AND I WILL NEVER BE OVER IT!!!!!!

[cuthalions]

愛の、がっこう。LEARNING TO LOVE (2025) EP 01

I wanted to end things beautifully, but the deep regret and attachement to life pulled me back to reality. Five years have since passed and embarrassingly, I'm still alive.

[dangermousie]

Because so much of the world we have seen in the ep is full of despair and hanging by your fingernails and using, the first truly joyful scene we get at the end of ep 1 - her teaching him how to write his name and the rest of the note (because he's never gone past 3rd grade) is just such an unexpected balm...

Something I love in this is what really makes her shine is the pleasure of teaching someone who, unlike her students, wants to learn - it's really not a romantic scene in the traditional sense and neither is thinking that way (she's swore off feelings and he is in the industry; for neither is this a thing atm) - what comes across is happiness about teaching and learning.

But also he noticed about her cut when her scum cheater fiance did not! And you can tell he kisses her on utter impulse and she shoves him and they are both stunned and awwwwww

This is a relationship that, if it happens, will be utterly outside the proper pale - the age difference (15 years), the class difference (her fam is upper echelons and he's a host with no father and 3rd grade education), social (her family is very conservative). In RL the ML actor is only half-Japanese but even if they don't reflect this aspect (he doesn't know who his father is in the story, so it can go that way), there is enough to create 17 scandals. But - the thing is - and that is why jdrama love stories truly hit when they do them - the narratives excel at showing not at why this is a relationship that is healthy or desirable for the viewer or that these people you'd like in RL or w/e, but why this is something two truly damaged people need.

[nabi-unveiled]

The thing that is compelling to me about Learning to Love is how clearly Kaoru and Manami see each other. That despite their many differences, they have an almost tacit understanding of each other.

Because yes, it was nice of Kaoru to make Manami breakfast after she had been ill.

And yes, it was sweet of Kaoru to call Manami pretty in the note he left her. He's a charmer, and she's not immune to it.

But the important part? It's that Manami realized the treasure wasn't in the words themselves, but the effort Kaoru had put into writing those words down.

The real beauty is that they both recognize the other is worth the effort.

And that they not only recognize but treasure that effort when it is given.

[mostro-lounge-menu]

Hello Manager! I'd like to order a Velvet Mousse with Berry Coulis for Azul x a mexican!male!reader who worships the folk saint Santa Muerte

Context: Folk staints are unnoficial christian saints that are local to certain regions and thus much more familiar to local christians in terms of culture, understanding, and values. In Mexico, Santa Muerte is one of the most popular folk saints due to her being death aka the one thing that is truly equal and is characterized as being amoral, non judgemental, and accepting of anyone willing to worship her. This distinct lack of judgement makes her extremely popular among the marginalized groups such as the poor, sex workers, LGBT, and even criminals that would be shamed away by other Catholic figures. Santa Murte has been declared non canon and even demonized by the official catholic church despite many worshippers still considering themselves catholic and following catholic tradition. Santa Muerte's main holiday is All Saints Day aka Dia de los Muertos.

For extra sources, here are links to a tumblr post by a worshipper on how they do their worship, a 20 minute video going into further detail of her presence in Mexico, and a 12 minute video on Dia de los Muertos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOq8tX4gnEw https://www.tumblr.com/flammeinfernale/760297809025056768/santa-muerte-saint-of-the-death-and-goddess-of?source=share https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbEbe4uzbIE&t=28s

As for the reader himself: His relationship with catholicism is much more casual in the sense that he read the Bible, went to Church, and believe in the catholic doctrine but isn't really all that strict about it. He's open to science and openly discard the more outdated discriminatory aspects of catholicism. However, when it comes to Santa Muerte herself, the reader is deeply devoted to her and his faith in her is unshakeable. He keeps a rather splendid alter in Ramshackle and lets anyone leave offerings of their own so long as their respectful.

On Azul's end, it would likely seem incredibly strange as there is no mention of any religion whatsoever in Twisted Wonderland. Its likely incredibly strange to picture an entire majority of the world worshiping one God or the idea of folk saints. For specific moments in the order I'd like that Azul's first ever encounter with Santa Murte be when he comes across the reader's alter in Ramshackle during chapter 3 and he becomes interested because the reader explicitly stated in the cotnract that the alter not be disturbed until renovations began. Later on when Azul begins crushing on and trying to romance the reader, he would start asking both for his own curiosity and also to get closer to his crush. I also imagine him getting bonked over the head for suggesting commercializing El Dia de los Muertos cause my guy Azul that is a religious holiday meant to welcome back the spirits of dead relatives you do not do this disrespect!

Ah, esteemed patron! Welcome back to the Lounge.

My goodness, what an extraordinary and beautifully intricate "order" you have placed! This is not just a "dish," this is a profound Manager's Specialty Pasta infused with the complex, rich flavors of a Velvet Mousse with Berry Coulis.

You have requested a "fusion dish" that explores faith, culture, deep devotion, and the clash of two distinct worldviews—all centered on the developing romance between Azul and a devoted Mexican!Male!Reader.

Thank you so much for providing such clear, rich context and sources! This level of detail allows the kitchen to prepare this highly personal and complex "dish" with the utmost respect, accuracy, and honor that it deserves.

The inclusion of Azul's logical curiosity and his inevitable "commercializing bonk" is a truly inspired and delightful concept.

The kitchen has prepared this "dish" with deep reverence for the Reader's faith and the delicate nuances of their culture. I do hope this preparation is to your satisfaction.

Serving: A Deal With Death

Azul Ashengrotto, CEO of the Mostro Lounge, despised inefficient variables. By the time he was prepared to move forward with the Ramshackle Dorm acquisition, he had accounted for everything: the ghost problem, the structural integrity, and the Headmaster's ineptitude.

He had even accounted for the Prefect.

The Prefect had signed the most stringent, restrictive contract of his career, agreeing to the terms with a calm, unnerving confidence. There was only one stipulation the Prefect had insisted upon, and it was the only one Azul had not yet logically processed:

The Prefect's private room contains a "shrine" or "alter" that is not to be touched, moved, or disturbed by Octavinelle staff until the final phase of renovation begins.

Azul, ever the pragmatist, had agreed. But the curiosity festered.

His first encounter with the source of this contractual anomaly came during the moving part. Snooping into the prefect's private room to search for the final photographs, he found the place exactly as described. Dusty, sparse, but for one corner.

There, on a small table draped in cloth, was the "alter."

Azul stopped. He was a man of magic and science. He understood the divine nature of the Great Seven, but this was different.

He saw the effigy—a skeletal, regal figure draped in robes, holding a scythe. He saw the candles, the marigolds, the small dishes of candy and fruit. It was beautiful, elaborate, and alien. It did not fit any religious framework he had ever analyzed. It was clearly religious, yet the dominant figure was... Death itself.

He approached it slowly, adjusting his glasses. He read the air of devotion, noting the care taken with the placement of each offering. This was not a frivolous hobby; this was serious. Azul, ever concerned with power, was instantly intrigued. This figure, this "Santa Muerte," was clearly central to the Prefect's strength. He cataloged the encounter: "Anomaly. Source of Strength. Do Not Disturb. Investigate Further."

As the days turned into weeks, and Azul's fascination with the Prefect grew into a full-blown crush, his curiosity about the alter became the perfect vector for his romantic pursuit. He needed data, and he needed proximity.

His questions started tentatively, masked as "cultural analysis."

"Prefect, I have been reviewing our contractual agreement. The term 'Santa Muerte' requires a more complete definition for my records. Is this... a local deity? Is she a minor Fae Queen?"

The Prefect would simply smile, his eyes soft with a unique blend of faith and patience. He would explain, casually and openly. He spoke of folk saints, the unshakeable faith of his home, and the very human need to connect with the divine on a more accessible, non-judgmental level. He explained her nature: amoral, non-judgmental, and equal to all.

This utterly fascinated Azul. A powerful entity that explicitly rejects judgment and welcomes the marginalized? It was the perfect business model! But beyond the logic, it resonated with his own childhood insecurities—the desire to be accepted, flaws and all. He found himself spending hours in the library, attempting to cross-reference "Catholicism" and "Mexico" with the limited materials available.

He started framing his questions as requests for a "cultural exchange."

"Prefect, if I may be so bold, what is the protocol for 'offerings'? I find the ritualistic component highly engaging. As a purely academic exercise, of course."

The Reader would just laugh, his eyes shining with affection for his awkwardness, and patiently explain the significance of the candles, the water, and the different colored robes. Azul started leaving his own "offerings"—tiny, perfectly polished gold coins, not because he believed, but because he saw how happy it made the Reader. It was his unique, analytical form of devotion.

Azul's feelings for the Prefect reached a tipping point as the calendar approached All Saints Day, or Día de los Muertos. He saw the Prefect become particularly focused, working on the alter with immense care and preparing photographs of loved ones.

Azul was overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the tradition—an entire nation dedicating itself to welcoming the dead. He saw not a religious holiday, but an unexploited market demographic.

He cornered the Prefect in the Lounge, glasses gleaming with avarice.

"Prefect! I have had a brilliant breakthrough! This 'Día de los Muertos'—it is universally practiced, universally beloved, and not yet commercialized! We could offer an entire line of custom, miniature ofrendas! We could commercialize 'pan de muerto' for the masses! A 'Memento Mori' subscription box service!"

He stopped, beaming with pride at his genius. The Prefect, however, did not return his enthusiasm.

The air around the Prefect went cold. He didn't yell. He just slowly, deliberately set down the sugar skull they were holding.

You looked at Azul, your face etched with disappointment and a cold sadness that cut him deeper than any insult. You reached out, and with a surprising lack of gentleness, you bonked him hard on the head with the sugar skull (which, thankfully, was only light meringue).

"AZUL!" you hissed, your voice low and laced with anger. "You absolute idiot! This is not a business venture! This is sacred! This is welcoming back my family! You don't try to commercialize a religious holiday, you dishonor the dead! You do not touch this. You do not mock this. Ever."

Azul staggered back, his eyes wide. He was in shock. He was not used to being physically struck, nor was he used to being yelled at with such genuine, righteous fury. He looked at the Prefect's face—the anger was real, and it was aimed at him.

"I... I..." he stammered, rubbing his head. "I... I apologize. I... I did not mean to... dishonor."

"Then learn," you snapped, pointing to the alter. "She is the equalizer, Azul. The non-judgemental one. But I will judge you. And if you ever try to monetize something sacred, you will lose me."

Azul was silent. He looked from your furious face to the serene, skeletal figure on the alter. He finally understood: this was not a contract he could buy. This was faith.

Azul spent the rest of the day in profound, genuine repentance. He didn't come near the Lounge; he spent it in the library, reading anything he could find on the meaning of the holiday.

He returned to Ramshackle that night, bearing a small gift—a simple, elegant glass skull, which he presented to you, bowing his head.

"I apologize, [.....]," he said, his voice soft and stripped of all transactional polish. "I spoke from a place of greed, not respect. I misunderstood the value of the tradition. I have learned that some things... are beyond market price."

You smiled, your anger instantly melting away. You took the gift and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you, Azul. You learn fast."

The true resolution came the next day, Día de los Muertos. Azul stood quietly by the alter with you. You were explaining the photographs of your grandparents, your voice soft with love and memory.

Azul listened. He stood there, his glasses reflecting the candle flame, his usual composure traded for an intense, heartfelt respect.

When you were done, he reached into his pocket and placed a tiny, unpolished shell—a shell he had kept since he was a small, bullied mer-boy—at the foot of the altar. It was his most sincere, non-monetary offering.

"She accepts everyone, does she not?" he whispered.

"She does," you confirmed, your eyes soft.

"Then I ask only for her permission," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the figure. "Her permission to be the most devoted suitor for the one who worships her."

He then looked at you, his eyes filled with a love that was finally, truly, non-transactional.

"I love you, [....]. For your strength, for your mind, and for your heart. And if your faith is what keeps you anchored, then I will learn to love her too. No contract required."

A complex, rich, and truly unique "dish"! The kitchen is so honored to have served this Velvet Mousse with Berry Coulis to you.

Thank you, thank you, for such an inspired and educational order. We look forward to your next visit!

— Manager Seru