Hildebrand huffed. “Enough with wasting time and let’s go, if Ingerid catches us outside she can-”
“Why would she catch us? She never checks on what we’re doing,” Everard commented. “It wouldn’t make sense for her to check on us today of all days. She won’t, don’t worry.”
“We’re still her responsibility. Actually, she could and should check on us.”
“Yeah, but not really, right? I mean, you’re not exactly her responsibility, you just happen to live with her. You’re not kids anymore, are you?”
Hildebrand frowned. “How old do you think we are, exactly?”
Sigga and Frederick exchanged a worried look, Everard hesitated. Druids were so different from humans that it was hard to tell their age. The fact they were so short and with those big eyes didn’t help at all.
“Well, I don’t know. Dameta is probably around eighteen and you are a bit older, I guess.”
Hildebrand snorted.
“Oh, no hayati,” said Solomon. “Dameta is sixteen. And Hildebrand is even younger, he’s fifteen.”
“You are fifteen years old?” Frederick asked, looking at the druid with wide eyes. He kept staring at him trying to figure out how he could have just not noticed.
“We’re ruining literal kids,” Sigga muttered. “We won’t give you any more alcohol now.”
“You already drank at fifteen, Sigga,” said Clarice.
“Yes, but I lived on the street. And my caretaker was a walking disaster,” she said, referring to her brother. “It’s a very different thing.”
But her brother didn’t hear her, because he wasn’t listening. He was looking at Solomon now, leaning on the wall, almost passed out. He looked like someone had just told him it was his last day on earth.
“Oh no, please, don’t tell me. Or just tell me, but quickly… wait, no, I changed my mind, just don’t tell me. I really don’t want to know.”
“Oh yes,” said Hildebrand, with a big grin on his face. “Solomon is even younger than me. He’s thirteen and-”
Everard turned green and Dameta slapped Hildebrand’s shoulder lightly.
“He’s lying! He’s making fun of you,” said Solomon, glaring at his brother. “I am nineteen, I’m the eldest.”
“Really?” asked Everard, who still looked disturbingly pale. “Please, tell me it’s true. I beg you.”
“It is, I swear! I’m nineteen, I really am.”
“Humans really don’t have a sense of humour…” Hildebrand muttered.
“Oh thank the gods,” Everard sighed, as relief washed all over him. Frederick patted him on his shoulder to show comfort. “I really thought I was going to faint.”
“You know, you should ask your crush how old he is before you two start dating, not after,” said Sigga, half amused.
I made the moodboards for the OCs of my new story, so since you’re the OC expert I thought I could show you u.u
Originally the protagonist was supposed to be the girl, the first one, but since I’m changing pov I think the next main character will be the blondie, the third moodboard 🙊
Idk if I’d call me the OC expert 😂🙈 but you are certainly a moodboard expert! 😍 I still love mine so much!!! I’m about to give you my other two stories so you can make me more ☺️
THESE ARE STUNNING!!!! 😍😍😍😍😍😍
I am loving blondies pov switch!! “Magic comes with a price” the fire, the cigarettes?! I SMELL ANGST!!!! I LOVE IT!!!
And the soft dark haired “you are made of magic” boy 🥺 mmm yes yes
a/n: a cultivators au bc I'm currently suffering from shizun brainrot!! please look at the tags before reading!!!
[part 1 of HMDWTFM!]
summary: Kazuya counts to twenty-one barley grains, and then he meets him.
pairing: Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun
"I promise to follow and guard Shishou with my life for as long as he'd have me," Kazuya would say, lifting his head so his dark eyes are fixed on Sawamura's. The teasing smile would falter from Sawamura's lips, a curious red rising to his cheeks. "And every lifetime after, if I could ever choose."
a/n: my wip since forever, i started on it months ago and it’s been at 8k since forever and im sure it’ll be well over 10k by the time it’s finished lol
nobody asked for a miyusawa hanahaki but hEHE
"You managed to buy your usual shampoo?" He asks, huddling a bit closer to peer at the question along with Miyuki, pressing their shoulders together. He takes another whiff.
Miyuki offers a half-assed sound of agreement, obviously distracted. He's pressing down his notebook on his knee and scribbling some workings. It takes another moment before he elaborates, "Yeah, got it just today. I borrowed the shampoo from the common baths for the past few days, and I didn't really like the smell."
Yeah, me neither. But Eijun realizes it wouldn't seem quite right for him to say that, so he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he lays his head on Miyuki's shoulder, watching quietly as he writes line after line of equations he sure as hell doesn't understand but he's sure Miyuki would explain till he gets it later. His eyelids grow heavy, sliding close half-lidded, as he buries his face in the crook of Miyuki's neck. Morning practice was especially brutal today, and as much as Eijun likes to think he's an endless bundle of energy, the exhaustion really gets to him when he's relaxing in Miyuki's room. The familiar smell of Miyuki washes over his nose and a muffled pleased noise stumbles from between his lips as he nestles contently there.
He isn't sure how much time has passed, but when his eyes flutter open again, it's to someone tapping the side of his face.
"Sawamura."
Eijun blinks awake, head still heavy. He groans, squinting against the brightness of Miyuki's room, and quickly returns to press his forehead to the edge of Miyuki's shoulder. "Ugh."
"Are you helping me, or am I helping you," he says, and Eijun picks up on the amused lilt in his voice. Eijun feels a gentle tug at his hair before Miyuki drops his hand back to his side.
He tilts his head and looks up, meeting Miyuki's eyes. There's a softness carefully tucked behind his lenses that has Eijun's ribs squeezing and squeezing, and all of a sudden the scratchiness is back, clawing persistently up his throat. He slaps a hand over his mouth and turns away as he coughs into his hand. Eijun counts to nine before it thankfully stops, because as he recovers, he absently notes Miyuki patting on his back and, shit, Miyuki's definitely going to get on his case now.
a/n: extended to a 3-chapter kuraryou, in which kuramochi is so gay for ryousuke but has zero idea he is, bless his soul
summary: Someone needs to give Kuramochi the memo, pronto, before any lives are lost.
Youichi found himself stuttering to a stop. Instead, he stared at the pale soft skin that stretched over Ryousuke's high cheekbones, the high arch of Ryousuke's nose, and was oddly fixated by the tiny gap between Ryousuke's pale lips, which opened and closed with every inhale. From this distance, he could still catch a whiff of Ryousuke's shampoo, and damn, he smelled so good and looked so soft.
Youichi caught his hand hovering mere inches from the side of Ryousuke's cheek, dangerously close to cradling his face.
Youichi flushed hotly when he realized what he was doing and snatched his hand back. What the fuck, Youichi? He gave himself a tight slap to his face to snap out of whatever dumb trance he was in.
With his face still stinging from his self-inflicted punishment, he prodded Ryousuke's shoulder carelessly. "Oi, Ryou-san. Wake up."
Youichi hoped his voice didn't give away the fact that he had tried to molest Ryousuke's stupidly pretty face in his sleep.
a/n: my v possibly biased take on miyuki kazuya’s thoughts from the end of dna act ii chapter 42; spoilers if you haven’t read the manga!!!
With the bases loaded and Ichidai’s clean-up coming up at the next at-bat, Kazuya’s thoughts come stumbling one after another: if Sawamura’s gutsy tenacity and headstrong will are enough to pull them through, if Sawamura is enough to plug in the gaping holes in defense left by Furuya’s unstable pitching – Can he really shoulder the weight of this pressure? He wouldn’t blame Sawamura if he crumbled; this scenario is pretty damned fucked, and he’s mentally prepared to give up at least one run but if Sawamura can overcome this…
As Furuya jogs back to the dug-out, Kazuya turns to Sawamura. “We all know this is one hell of a situation to be thrusted into all of a sudden, but – ”
“I’m fully aware of my duty, believe me,” Sawamura interrupts, surprising Kazuya, his gaze focused straight ahead on something else. Sawamura’s voice is loud as usual, but it possesses a firm, unshakable quality in them that makes Kazuya’s eyes linger on him for a moment longer before he follows his line of sight. This boy, eyes dark gold and jaw clenched tight, has his gaze set firmly on Ichidai’s fourth batter.
An odd mix of unease and anticipation ripples through Kazuya. He lets the words slide back down his throat, unsure if they would do more harm than good. The rest of the team jogs back to their respective positions, and the atmosphere around them hangs heavy, tight around his throat, and if this isn’t an exciting bind to get out of Kazuya doesn’t know what is.
Now, Sawamura, will you be able to deliver?
As Sawamura tosses the rosin bag in his hands, Kazuya watches, keen-eyed, trying to study and predict Sawamura’s current condition. Despite himself, Kazuya can feel his sweat trickling under his catcher gear, his thighs burning with all the squatting he did the past few innings, and he has no idea what he can expect from this Sawamura right now. It’s a little unsettling how hard it is to read him. He can’t say he’s close to Sawamura in any way, but as the main catcher for Seidou, he’s at least attuned to the little quirks Sawamura does that would at least clue him in on Sawamura’s current mental state – but at present he can’t get anything off Sawamura at all.
Kazuya can’t help the rising shadow of a doubt that nags at him, because he has seen pitchers self-destruct on this very spot because of the self-imposed enormous pressure that eventually caves and buries them under. As bold as Sawamura is, he has no idea if he is ready for this.
The circumstances can’t be described with a mere unfavorable, Ichidai poised to score the moment any weak pitches are thrown. In a more optimistic scenario, he would ask for a ball to check for Sawamura’s condition but he knows that that’s not Sawamura’s style – and that’s not his style, either. He doesn’t want to call for a ball that might set Sawamura off the wrong way, and ramping up on counts here isn’t going to do them any favors.
As much as he has control over the field, he’s well aware that a pitcher’s condition hinges very much on their mental fortitude. Kazuya prides himself on his widely-acclaimed nasty personality that extends beyond his daily life and seeps into the very essence of his playing: he lives to provoke the shit out of batters, to make them swing at pitches they usually don’t – to warp their sense of judgement and bend it to his. Underneath Sawamura’s loud-mouthed and stupidly brash facade, Kazuya knows that a similar perverseness resides underneath his skin. That, was what attracted him to catch for Sawamura even when he was just a fifteen-year-old brat who knew nothing at all.
He just has to believe that’s enough.
What they need to do most now is stop Ichidai’s momentum and he’s sure that Sawamura knows that too. They need to do a head-on battle with the fourth batter, and he hopes that Sawamura’s up for the task. Their gazes lock; Kazuya has settled on their strategy, and Sawamura seems to sense it as well. Sawamura takes in deep, measured breaths, waits for Kazuya’s sign with his eyes bright and fiery, determination rolling off him in caged, silent waves. It’s unlike any Sawamura he has seen before, and Kazuya is willing to throw in all his chips on that look on Sawamura’s face.
Sawamura nods and tugs down the rim of his baseball cap, exhaling behind his glove. Then he winds up his leg and his arm whips out from behind him, startling sharp, before his feet slams down on the mound in front of him. The ball spins, blazes a white furious path towards Kazuya, and even though it hasn’t yet reached him, Kazuya’s round wide in surprise and can tell the trajectory is perfect.
A chill zaps down the spine of his back, the burn from exhaustion long forgotten, as the powerful pitch slams right where he wanted it to. The fourth batter doesn’t – couldn’t – even swing, and Kazuya absently notes the stuttering surprise by his opponent hunched over the batter’s box. The ball rests snugly in his mitt as Kazuya’s heart thumps furiously against his ribs, shell-shocked stare on Sawamura who defied his expectations, who exceeded his expectations, above and beyond. The stadium is the quietest it has ever been, the audience and the dug-out holding their breaths simultaneously before the umpire announces the result Kazuya already knows:
“STRIKE!”
Right now, Sawamura is golden fire and sharp edges, mouth set in a firm determined line. He does not seem to be fazed by how he has practically just threw a perfect pitch, as he winds up for his next pitch that Kazuya signals for. His next pitch is as perfect as the first, breaking right into his mitt.
As the third pitch – obviously right in the zone – slams squarely in his catcher mitt, cracking loud and clear, the stadium doesn’t even wait for the umpire’s announcement, drowned by the entire stadium erupting to an uproar of amazed shouts and hysterical cheers, the audience overwhelmed by the unexpected turnover of momentum that was regained by the second-year pitcher that is Sawamura Eijun.
Kazuya’s skin keeps fucking rising, goosebumps prickling all over, muted by how every single one of Sawamura’s throws are right where he wants them to be. Kazuya can’t stop looking at him, Sawamura’s leg still half in his release position as a loud “Osu!” comes spilling from between his lips, eyes dark and ravenous, like he’s not satisfied, a predator hungry for more. An unwitting smirk unfurls across the length of Kazuya’s mouth, showing teeth.
Always so… Kazuya doesn’t complete his train of thought as he flings the ball back to Sawamura.
Sawamura is still surprisingly calm, now, like he’s aware getting one out here doesn’t mean that he has completely turned the tides, and he slides his eyes close to inhale deeply, fingers gripping onto the seams of the ball behind his glove.
Right now, the seed for an eye-catching flower has flourished, way before Kazuya has expected him to. Sawamura has sprouted fiercely, determined and gold-eyed, and it sends shivers down Kazuya’s calves as he thinks about how he hasn’t even grown to his full potential yet.
Before Sawamura, Kazuya has never thought of not having to mold his game-calling to suit the personality of the pitcher. It’s hard to find a pitcher who has the ability and guts to deliver Kazuya’s brand of baseball, and catchers shoulder the responsibility of accommodating to their pitchers anyway.
Mei comes to mind, but he wasn’t a diamond in the rough; he grew into baseball like it was second skin, nestling into the position of a pitcher like a baby sapling planted in fertile soil. It was fun, catching for him – but not exhilarating. Sawamura didn’t come close to that image at all last year, lacking ball control and the arsenal of pitches that Kazuya would love exploiting to fuck up the batters the best he could. Realistically, Kazuya has expected Sawamura to reach that stage when Kazuya’s probably graduated; now, though…
Kazuya is born a challenger, not raised a king.
Sawamura’s rapid improvement lights a fire in Kazuya’s chest, making it go tight. Sawamura has grown from a bumbling, bratty, loud-mouthed first-year to this, all blazing bright and fiery on the mound, jaw clenched tight and mouth set in a determined line as he draws into position for the next batter.
The corner of his mouth curves. So this is the Ace I’ve been waiting for.
a/n: (dna act ii manga has spoiled SO MANY of my headcanons lol but IT’S OK BABY EIJUN’S TIME TO SHINE!!) hi guys it’s been a while but im here to revive my dead blog and if you have stuck with me all this while, i just wanna holler a SAWAMURA EIJUN THANK YOU!!!!!
if yall wanna yell about feelings, drop by my personal blog @fallibleflakes or hmu on twitter where i spazz about shit @sleepyflakes
halfway through my last chapter of thoroughly consumed, and i thought you guys might wanna read a tiny snippet!! ((unedited though so please pardon the mistakes)) im aiming to post it up before the first day of 2017 ends, and hopefully in time as a new year’s gift to all of you so!!! (≡^∇^≡) thank you for your patience thus far!
"But," Eijun's throat clamps up and he has to force the question out of his mouth, "what if he already has a partner?"
"It doesn't matter. It's nothing compared to a mate."
Eijun suddenly feels like an unwanted third party destroying Chris' happiness. But there's also a voice inside him that's heatedly snapping, Miyuki's rightfully mine. No one else should have him.
He can't differentiate whether that's what he truly feels towards Miyuki, or if it was just an effect of them being mates.
"I don't want this," Eijun spits out, angry tears blurring his vision.
There's a beat of silence before Kuramochi releases his hold on Eijun and turns Eijun so they are staring straight at each other. "I heard that it's possible for this bond to be broken if it's still in its preliminary stages. It's not a guaranteed method, but it at least holds some hope."
Eijun holds Kuramochi's gaze steadily. "What is it?"
"You have to be absolutely sure of your decision. If this really works, the bond will be permanently broken. There's no turning back. And because there're no documented cases of Omegas rebelling against this, we don't know if it has any side-effects either. It's all plain hearsay."
Kuramochi searches Eijun's expression for a moment, and whatever it is, he seems to have found it. "You have to let another Alpha place a claim on you."
12. A kiss that shouldn’t have happened + miyusawa
a/n: a sequel to this, but it can be read as a standalone too.
“So, back in Seidou, you have never liked anyone?”
Eijun can’t help but lift his eyes to look at Miyuki, a familiar heaviness weighing on his chest; it’s a feeling he’s growing increasingly accustomed to whenever he sees Miyuki — or even when he’s alone and wide-awake on his bed, and thoughts of Miyuki slip into his mind completely unbidden, the emotions that accompany them ramming so hard into him that he feels like his breath is knocked out of his body.
Miyuki’s long fingers wrap around the neck of the glass bottle and he takes a swig of beer, wipes his lips with the back of his hand before he passes the bottle on to the next person. Beside Eijun, Kuramochi jostles forward impatiently and presses on, “So, Miyuki, anyone on your mind back then? I mean, obviously you have your wife now, but surely you have liked someone back in Seidou.”
“… Yeah,” Miyuki says, and there’s raw honesty in his words that takes everyone aback. The scattered conversations taking place around the circle immediately drop in favor of more interesting things — like guessing who the person in question is. His gaze is stubbornly fixed on the surface of the glass table, and a smirk slants across the length of his mouth.
“I had someone I liked.”
The subtle undercurrent of bitterness in his voice does not escape Eijun, and he can’t help but sit a bit straighter as he focuses his attention on Miyuki. He had never noticed that Miyuki — a complete baseball fanatic (even now, frankly) — had someone he had special, romantic affections for.
“Do share,” Ryousuke says, still sounding very much like himself despite him probably chugging the most alcohol of them all, “I’m interested to know who had captured the heart of Mr. Popular.”
“Can’t say,” Miyuki murmurs. He flaps his hand to ask for the bottle of beer again, and no one says a word as they watch him gulp another mouthful down. An alcohol-induced blush unfurls across his cheeks, and he looks absolutely adorable and a little lost, and Eijun almost hates Miyuki for it.
Almost.
“Why? Did she break your heart when you confessed?” Kuramochi cackles, obviously entertained by the notion that Miyuki got rejected. “Even you have experienced rejection.”
“I didn’t confess to him.” Eijun’s heart nearly stops at the use of gender pronoun in Miyuki’s words. Then Miyuki lifts his head and fixes his dark eyes on Eijun’s, before he continues, cracking a self-deprecating smile, “He wouldn’t have wanted me anyway.”
The silence that follows is heavy and suffocating, and Eijun doesn’t know what to think. He takes in a shuddering breath, and is about to reach out for the alcohol again when Haruichi’s hand stops him, fingers gripped tightly but gently around his wrist. Eijun looks at him, silently pleading — I need it to get through this — but Haruichi’s adamant; instead his fingers bend around Eijun’s to give them a comforting, warm squeeze before he places Eijun’s hand on his lap, their fingers still tightly intertwined together.
Eijun allows himself to lean against Haruichi as a form of unwavering anchor: he has been there ever since Eijun has come to terms that he’s gay, that he’s actually still pathetically pining after his married catcher — his partner since forever.
“You will be okay,” Haruichi says softly so that only Eijun can catch his words.
Eijun isn’t so sure, but he thinks that maybe he will be okay if he isn’t alone and has someone else to provide him with some sort of support. The exchange doesn’t take more than a few seconds, but when Eijun averts his eyes back to Miyuki, a coldness grips his heart at how there’s a certain sharpness tucked behind the lens of Miyuki’s glasses, his gaze trained intensely on the interlinked hands on Haruichi’s lap.
“Oh.” Tetsu musters a response, the first one of them all. “Does he happen to be on first-string?”
The implication of, is he here too, goes unsaid, but everyone understands it anyway.
If anything, the edges of Miyuki’s smirk sharpened. “Yeah.” Then as if an afterthought, and probably because the alcohol had loosened his tongue, he adds, “He’s here too.”
Miyuki’s eyes are now steadfastly on Eijun’s, and there’s a moment when Eijun feels his nerves coil up so tightly in his abdomen that he feels like he’s about to heave.
Please. Not this. Not after you got married. No.
Somehow, some of the others doesn’t seem to have tact — not that Miyuki has much to say that explicitly anyway — and curious eyes flit over to Eijun like he’s the only possible candidate. He ducks his head, cheeks heating up hotly.
“I think everyone’s had enough,” Haruichi says, giving Eijun’s hand another squeeze. “Let’s all go home.”
xxx
Somehow the night ended with Miyuki conked out on his couch, and everyone streamed out of his house with cheery waves and alcohol-fueled, enthusiastic promises that they will have another gathering soon.
Haruichi had shot Eijun a worried look, but he had his arms filled with a drunk Furuya that he needed to bring back home safely. Eijun flapped his hands dismissively, reassuring Haruichi that he will be fine.
But he’s not so sure now. Having Miyuki sprawled out on his couch is an awfully sinful image, and Eijun can’t resist but shuffle closer to Miyuki, eyes utterly transfixed on Miyuki’s face.
The dim lighting of Eijun’s living room casts over Miyuki’s face, softening his features and making him look even more alluring than he already is.
He’s so, so beautiful, and Eijun aches for what he can’t have.
“Are you and Haruichi together?”
The question stops Eijun’s hovering hand in the air, and he snatches it back to his side swiftly. Heart thudding madly in his chest, he nearly heaves a sigh of relief when he’s sure that Miyuki’s eyes are still closed.
Was he pretending to be asleep? Or did he just wake up?
“No,” Eijun answers evenly. “We aren’t.”
Miyuki hums softly. “Just now I thought you might actually—”
“Yeah,” Eijun confesses impulsively, “I’m gay. But there’s nothing between Haruichi and me.”
“… Doesn’t seem so.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway, does it?” Eijun snaps, suddenly fed up with Miyuki’s uncharacteristic inquisitiveness: he doesn’t even have the right to interrogate him like that, they don’t — never — have any kind of special relationship that gives Miyuki the entitlement to.
Miyuki’s eyes slid open, and they are breathlessly electrifying and molten and dark, and Eijun’s heart squeezes and squeezes painfully in his ribs, mouth going cotton-dry under his stare.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” Miyuki says softly.
Eijun doesn’t move, face still only inches away from Miyuki’s, and they stare at each other wordlessly for a long, quiet moment.
Eijun doesn’t know who moved first; but Miyuki’s mouth is suddenly slanted over his, hot and urgent and wanting, warm hands grasping the sides of Eijun’s face almost possessively, like he has been waiting for this moment his entire life, like he has been pining after Eijun since forever, which is completely a ridiculous notion to have because that’s what Eijun has been feeling all this while. The alcohol fogs Eijun's rationality, and he just can't be bothered with how there's something nagging at the back of his mind.
He kisses back with equal urgency and desire, melting under Miyuki’s hands and moving lips like he’s touch-starved, and Eijun’s hands bury themselves in Miyuki’s hair, frantically tugging and pulling, heart slamming fast and furious against his ribs.
It elicits a moan from Miyuki’s throat, and it goes straight down to Eijun’s groin as he groans back in response and tries to press closer to Miyuki, letting Miyuki’s tongue sweep into his mouth and letting him, take, take and take willingly, because there’s so much of him to give if it’s Miyuki — if it’s Miyuki, Eijun would do anything.
Eijun is pushed down on the couch the next moment as Miyuki presses open-mouthed kisses across the pale length of Eijun’s neck. Eijun whines as he arches up against Miyuki, name falling from his parted lips as his hands reaches for Miyuki to put his lips back on his again.
“Sawamura…” Miyuki says his name like it’s something delicate, something to be held close, and Eijun is sure this is why he would give everything up for Miyuki in a heartbeat, if it means that Miyuki will be happy — then the harsh reality breaks into the hazy fog in his mind with startling clarity and Eijun nearly lets out a sob —
Miyuki is married.
“Miyuki,” Eijun manages to choke out between tears and frenzied kisses, “stop.”
Miyuki stills, and he glances up, taking in Eijun’s swollen, thoroughly-ravaged lips, his shirt ridden up to expose his flat, toned mid-riff, and the tears that cling on his long lashes. He suddenly looks stricken by what he just did, scrambling off to the other end of the couch and staring at Eijun like he’s been abruptly slapped awake.
“Sawamura,” Miyuki starts, then falls short, clearly trying to come up with something right to say, but there really isn’t anything right about this situation.
Eijun swallows the hard lump at his throat and uses all of his willpower to hold back the tears burning at his eyes. “I think you should leave.”
His voice is shaking and weak and Eijun hates it.
“Sawamura, I — ”
Miyuki stops talking, sounding like something got stuck in his throat. Seemingly resigned, he bends over and collects his coat from the floor, before he slowly makes his way to the door. Eijun can feel Miyuki’s gaze boring at the back of his head as he hesitates at the door, and the clock ticks loudly in his ears.
Just leave already. Please.
He refuses to turn; he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold onto what’s left of his composure if he does so, and he isn’t sure if he would be able to handle that.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology leaves a bitter taste on Eijun’s tongue as the door clicks shut behind Miyuki.
xxx
The tears doesn’t stop for a long, long time after Miyuki leaves.
