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Through the Blur

༄𖦹 SYNOPSIS: A routine night in Munich after class spirals into chaos, when you unknowingly stumble into one of Johan's secretive plans. Captured and drugged by a dangerous stranger (Roberto), you drift in and out of consciousness—until Johan appears. Calm and precise, rescuing you in his inimitable way. The two of you share quiet, moments in the back of a car, where his cold, controlled presence offers both safety and a disquieting closeness.

༄𖦹 INFO: Johan Liebert/Reader | 5.6k words | Oneshot

༄𖦹Warnings: None, just Roberto.

Orange and amber-tinted leaves drifted lazily from the trees, spinning in the cool air before landing softly on the pavement below. The scene carrying an almost movie-like essence, fitting for the kind of cozy fall evening—one that felt both peaceful and lonely.

The soft tap of the heel of your shoes echoed down the empty walkway, each step accompanied by the faint rustle of fallen leaves. Your fingers, nearly frozen, clutched the strap of your school bag in a halfhearted attempt at warmth.

Munich University, once bursting with chatter and movement, was now silent. Emptied of its usual life. You had stayed after class for help on a project, something that was supposed to take only an hour or two. But the time, as always, had slipped away.

The sun that once painted the sky in golds and reds had now long sunk beneath the horizon, leaving behind a wash of cool gray and violet tones. The streetlamps flickered to life one by one, halos of light against the encroaching dark.

With no buses left running this late, much to your dismay, you were left to walk the long way back to your small apartment. To pass the time, your mind began to wander...

to the half-finished assignments waiting on your desk, to the comforting hum of streetlights that filled the emptiness of the night, and inevitably, to him.

Johan.

You wondered if he, in this same moment, was tucked away somewhere. Quietly reading or working on an almost due assignment with that same measured calm he always carried.

Johan Liebert—seemingly flawless in almost every way. Probably perfect grades, polite words, that faintly distant smile that seemed to know too much. His light golden hair always fell effortlessly into place, his deep melancholic carrying blue eyes-

You stopped mid-step, horrified by the turn your thoughts had taken. A flush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks as you gave your head a quick shake, muttering to yourself under your breath.

You weren't supposed to think about him like that—not someone like him. Not only was he far out of your league, or anyone's for that matter.

But as well, you were friends... or something like it. Close enough, perhaps, though Johan always seemed to keep a quiet, invisible distance between himself and everyone around him.

But you would like to think that you've managed to leave a small crack in his invisible cold outer shell.

Above, the darkening clouds gathered thickly, veiling the moon. The air turned heavy with the scent of upcoming rain. Usually, you might've welcomed it; the soft patter, the fresh smell of earth. But not tonight. Not with your bag full of important papers and books. The idea of a sudden downpour was enough to quicken your steps.

You glanced around, frowning at the empty street. The sound of your own footsteps was unnervingly loud now. You'd need to take a shortcut if you wanted to make it home before the rain began.

Your eyes flitted from one street sign to another, trying to remember the layout of this part of town. Then, a small recollection surfaced—a conversation over lunch with Karl and Lotte. They'd been in the midst of their endless search for information about Hans Georg Schuwald, endlessly ranting to you about their theories and advents and more importantly, about an alley they'd taken one night that led almost directly toward your neighborhood.

You exhaled slowly, scanning the street until your gaze landed on a narrow opening between two buildings. The alley was dimly lit, its entrance framed by overgrown ivy and crumbling brick. It had to be the same one they mentioned.

"Perfect," you muttered, mostly to convince yourself.

Pulling your bag's strap tighter against your shoulder, you stepped into the dark alleyway, leaving behind the familiar glow of the main road.

But the farther you had walked, the more uneasy you became. Every turn led to another narrow passage, another dim corridor that looked almost near identical to the last.

Karl and Lotte never mentioned which exact route they'd taken that night, and it was only now, as the shadows grew thicker and the silence heavier, that you realized just how foolish it had been to mindlessly follow their vague directions.

"This has to be the thirtieth alley I've turned down," you muttered to yourself, clutching your bag closer. A nervous laugh escaped your lips, thin and brittle "Great job. Really smart"

Your shoes clicked against the now uneven cobblestone, the sound echoing off damp brick walls. The air smelled faintly of smoke and wet concrete. Every instinct told you that this wasn't the right place—not even close.

Up ahead, the alley opened slightly into a small stretch of road. A woman stood beneath a flickering streetlight, her silhouette shifting in the dim glow. Relief flickered in your chest at the sight of another person, maybe someone who could point you toward the main road. But as you drew closer, that hope faded fast.

She wasn't the sort of person you could easily ask for directions. Her outfit was revealing, her posture languid and confident, her smile sharp enough to draw blood.

You dropped your gaze to the ground, hoping to slip past unnoticed. But the tap of your shoes betrayed you.

"Hey, sweetheart," she called out, her voice husky with smoke and amusement. "You look a little lost." She took a slow drag from her cigarette, exhaling a thin stream of smoke that curled in the cold air "How about you spend the night with me instead? I promise it'll be an experience you'll never forget."

Your words stumbled out in a rush, polite but firm refusals as you tried to step away. The woman's grin faltered, twisting into irritation.

"Oh, come on. If you're not gonna play, at least spare a little cash. I'm running low tonight." Her tone turned rough, her hand suddenly gripping your shoulder with surprising strength.

That was all the warning you needed. You yanked yourself free and bolted, the sound of her angry shout chasing after you "Hey! Come back here!" until it faded into the maze of echoing streets.

You then burst out of the alleyway, breath heaving, heart pounding in your chest. But what greeted you wasn't anything much better. The street before you was lined with bright flickering neon lights and crowded with people; mostly women like the one before, their laughter sharp, their eyes dull. Men lingered around them, hands exchanging bills, whispers traded for something darker.

Panic flushed through you as you realized exactly where you'd ended up. The red-light district.

You tried to walk faster, eyes locked ahead, ignoring the calls that followed you. The teasing offers, the jeers, the low laughter that made your skin crawl. A few men stepped too close, their colon and alcohol-scented breath clinging to the air. Every refusal you gave only seemed to amuse them more.

You just needed to find a map. A main road. Anything familiar.

You turned another corner, your pulse racing in your ears. The world around you blurred into color and noise--until, suddenly, one sound cut through it all.

A voice. Calm. Smooth. Familiar.

"Do you perhaps know where I could find the Red Heidelberg?"

You froze mid-step. That voice... you'd know it anywhere.

You turned toward the sound, scanning the crowd until your eyes caught a flash of blond under a flickering neon light.

A man, tall and composed as ever, walked near the edge of the sidewalk, speaking quietly to another women who clung tightly onto his arm. To which was seemingly unimportant to him.

"Geez," the stranger replied, heavily unimpressed, quickly letting go of her once tight grip on his arm "That's what you're into? Suit yourself kid. She's right down that alleyway there, up the stairs."

The boys response was polite, almost warm "Thank you."

Now getting a full glimpse of the boy, there he was.

Johan Liebert.

The crowd seemed to blur around him, the world narrowing to the sight of his calm expression and pale hair glinting faintly in the sickly neon glow.

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. For the first time that night, relief surged through you. Someone familiar, someone safe. Johan of all people could certainly help you out of this mess.

You quickened your pace, almost breaking into a light sprint after him, but your steps faltered halfway there.

You froze, warmth spreading to your face, not from the chill in the air, but from embarrassment and disbelief.

Johan? Here? Looking for... a woman?

No. That couldn't be right...

You wanted to laugh it off, to tell yourself it was a misunderstanding, but your mind spiraled regardless. Maybe... maybe even he had a side you didn't know about. Everyone at the university always saw him as untouchable, perfect, maybe this was the type of things that he did when no one was looking.

You took a hesitant step forward. He didn't look lost the way you did. His movements were too sure, too deliberate. If anything, he looked intentional—like he knew exactly where he was going. And he hadn't been asking for directions home, he'd been asking for someone. Someone called 'The Red Heidelberg?'

The thought stung more than it should have.

You stopped, torn between wanting to call out to him and wanting to pretend you hadn't seen any of this at all. Because what would you even say? 'Hey Johan, funny seeing you in the red-light district. What 'cha doing in a place like this so late?'

As if the answer wasn't obvious itself.

You let out a shaky breath, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Still, something about him seemed off. It wasn't the kind of nervousness you'd expect from someone sneaking around for pleasure. It was too measured. Too quiet. The way he glanced down the alley before walking—not out of shame, but perhaps calculation.

You stood there, caught between disbelief and dread. Maybe you'd misunderstood. Maybe he had his reasons. Maybe this was some secret sexual part of his life you were never meant to see. But it was Johan. He wasn't like that. He couldn't be..!

Your mind twisted itself in circles as his figure grew smaller, swallowed by the narrow alleyway ahead.

Then, footsteps behind you. Heavy. Too heavy to be someone friendly.

Instinct kicked in before logic had the chance. You bolted.

You darted into the same alley Johan where had disappeared down moments before, your shoes striking against the damp pavement. The flickering light overhead turned his departing figure into a blur of motion, the pale shape of him ascending a flight of metal stairs that led to a single closed door.

"Johan—!"

You barely got the first syllable of his name out before the door shut behind him with a sharp metallic click.

Panting, you reached the bottom of the stairs, fingers brushing the cold railing as you hesitated going up with each new step you took. Your hand lifted toward the door handle, then froze midair.

You couldn't.

Whatever he was doing here, whoever he was meeting... this wasn't a place you belonged. And maybe, for the first time, you weren't sure you wanted to know what he was capable of.

Your hand fell back to your side. A sigh escaped you, small and shaky. You stared at the door for a moment longer, your chest tight with confusion. You'd never imagined Johan as the type to wander into places like this, and the thought left something bitter in your throat. Not pure disappointment, exactly. Something more complicated. Something heavier.

You turned away, descending the stairs slowly, each step echoing hollowly against the brick walls. "I'll just... find a phone booth," you muttered, mostly to convince yourself you still had some control over the night.

The alley stretched ahead, long and dim, the end lost to shadow. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and started forward again, trying not to think about the questions swirling in your mind.

That was when you heard it—footsteps behind you.

Not light like Johan's. These were firm, dragging slightly with each step. Male.

"Hey," a voice called from behind you, deep and slutry. "What's a cute thing like you doing all alone in a place like this?"

You didn't even look back. You were too tired, too done with this night. "I've had a long day," you said flatly, exhaustion bleeding into your tone. "I don't want anything from you—even if you think it's worth my while." The sarcasm cracked in your throat. "Just... leave me alone."

A low chuckle rolled through the air behind you. Not the drunken kind—something darker. Deliberate.

You froze mid-step.

"I said, I don't want-"

Before you could finish, something heavy landed on your shoulder. A hand, one that was large and unyielding. You turned your head just enough to see the man. Broad build. Suit jacket. Brown hair receding at the temples.

"Well, aren't you polite," he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. He stepped closer. "You shouldn't be here, sweetheart. Not tonight."

You tried to steady your breathing, "I—I just got lost. I was just leaving."

"Oh, I don't think so."

His grip tightened. Panic flared through you. You tried to wrench free, but he slammed you against the nearest wall. Pain exploded across your back. Before you could process anything, a rough cloth was pressed over your mouth before you could scream—the sharp, chemical sting hit your nose, burning your lungs.

You thrashed, muffled protests swallowed by the fabric. The alley spun around you, the bricks twisting and blurring like melting wax.

Through in the dizzy haze, you caught a glimpse of movement.

A shadow, a flash of pale hair under the dim red light.

For a second, you thought you saw him.

Your mind tried to make sense of it—Johan, the Red Heidelberg, the man holding you.

but the world was fading too fast.

Your knees buckled, and darkness rose up to meet you.

The world came back in fragments.

The hum of an engine.

The faint vibration of the car beneath you.

Leather pressing cold against your cheek.

Everything felt fuzzy and slow. You blinked sluggishly, the world still swimming out of focus. Shapes blurred together—light, shadow, movement—but nothing made sense yet. All you could make out was the faint smell of leather and something faintly clean, like soap and cold air.

You were in the backseat of a car.

The realization barely registered. The first thing any sane person would do would be to panic, to scream for help, to claw at the door handles until they opened. But your body refused to do any of that. Your limbs felt heavy, your head filled with fog. The only thing you had strength for was to stare ahead at the dim interior and try to remember how you got here in the first place.

'Did that man from earlier... drug and kidnap me?'

The thought came and went without weight. Normally, panic would've come next, but you still couldn't muster it. Everything felt distant, like you were watching from outside your own body.

You weren't sure how long you'd been drifting like that, caught somewhere between conscious and unconscious. But then, two voices reached you faintly from outside the car, broken by the wind.

"Ah, I see," a gruff voice said, probably the one from before, low and unpleasant "So they're one of your university... "friends"?"

A quiet pause followed, then the man spoke again. "Found them wandering near. So I assumed—"

The rest was muffled, lost to the sound of the engine and your sluggish mind.

Your eyelids grew heavier. Reality began to unravel at the edges, your thoughts slipping into nonsense. Maybe this wasn't real at all. Maybe you were dreaming, or trapped in some elaborate dream, or maybe your name wasn't even your real name. You let out a soft, drowsy laugh at the absurdity of it, the sound fragile and half-delirious.

Then, the click of a car door.

Cold air brushed your skin as the seat beside you shifted. Someone slid in next to you, as their side faintly brushed your own. With the air in the car itself changing quieter--less lonely almost. Whoever it was that entered didn't speak at first. Just staring, as if the world itself, expect the two of you, had frozen in time.

Through half-lidded eyes, you caught glimpses of the person seated next to you: dark shoes, beige pants, the faint outline of a brown suit jacket. And then... pale blond hair, falling just slightly into a pair of clear, yet distant, blue eyes.

Eyes that were watching you this whole interaction.

You slowly blinked a few times, confusion mixing with faint recognition. You knew those eyes. You were sure of it. Those were the one things you were certain were real in this car, or even the world itself.

"[y/n]," the voice came, soft and even. Catching your, once again, wandering attention.

You mumbled a quiet hum, your head fulling turning toward him instead of your previous quick side glance. The small motion made your vision spin, but when it steadied after a moment, you found yourself staring right at him.

"...Ah..." you breathed, blinking slowly. "...it's you... Johan."

The name felt strange on your tongue—both foreign and familiar. You managed a small, sleepy smile "Wha...cha doin' here?"

Something faint flickered across his face, amusement, perhaps. His studious expression softened in a way, lips curving just slightly.

"I should be asking you that," he murmured, voice steady and low "You've had quite the night."

His tone wasn't mocking. Or detached like it sometimes was—it was soft, quiet, almost tender. The sound of it seemed to reach through the fog in your head, settling somewhere deep, somewhere warm. Your halflided eyes blinked up at him slowly, your mind sluggish but aware enough to catch the faint trace of what one might call, concern in his eyes.

The edges of everything—his face, the car, even the sound of the engine—blurred together. The world felt distant, muffled, and he was the only thing that stayed in focus.

Then, as your muddled thoughts tangled together, a breathy sound escaped you, almost a gasp "Per... pervert..." you muttered, words slurred and broken, "you... shouldn't've known that I... saw you..."

Your voice was so soft that you could barely tell if it even made it past your lips, but Johan caught every syllable. His brows drew together ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of confusion crossing his expression.

"Pervert?" he echoed, his tone curious rather than offended, as though he were dissecting the word over in his mind. His gaze drifted away for a brief moment before returning to you, eyes sharp but unreadable.

Realizing what you'd said, your stomach twisted with embarrassment. You turned your head in the opposite direction, causing your body to sway, while weakly lifting your hands as if to shield yourself from your own mortification. "Mmh... forget it..." you mumbled, voice barely audible.

Before your fingers could reach your face, a cool touch stopped you. Johan's hand closed gently around your fingers, steady but careful, his grip featherlight compared to the older man who had dragged you here earlier.

You froze.

His skin was cold, almost startlingly so, but his touch wasn't harsh. He guided your trembling hands down, his fingers brushing the inside of your palm before resting against your side.

"Easy," he said softly, as though speaking to someone half-asleep "You'll hurt yourself."

Your head tilted toward him, eyes unfocused but trying to meet his. "You don't... have to do that," you murmured, voice small and uneven. The words slurred together, not quite a protest, more like a thought you accidentally said aloud.

Johan's thumb brushed idle circles against your fingers before he let go. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing the distance between kindness and something else entirely.

"You shouldn't look so fragile, then," he said after a moment, his voice low but steady. There was no edge to it. no mockery, no reprimand. Just something quiet, almost weary, like he wished the words didn't have to exist at all.

For a few seconds, the hum of the car filled the silence between you. You stared at the space where his hand had once been, still feeling the cold imprint of his touch. You couldn't tell if he was comforting you or reminding you that he could break you just as easily.

The thought drifted through your hazy mind, but It didn't feel threatening—not from him.

"Anyway, It's all just a simple misunderstanding," Johan said softly, his voice calm, low, and almost hypnotic. "I'm here for business. That's all. Nothing for... pleasure of the sort."

He guided your gaze toward his, and your drugged mind obediently followed.

"Oh... I see," you mumbled, your voice sluggish, foggy, but tinged with relief.

Anything Johan could have said might have been a lie, and part of your rational mind screamed at you to be suspicious. But right now, rational thoughts didn't stick. They didn't have the energy to fight against the pull of his presence, the softness in his tone, the careful way he held himself beside you.

You blinked slowly, trying to focus, and only then realized he'd moved. His hand rested against your cheek, cool but steady, thumb tracing over your skin in a motion so light it almost didn't feel real. The touch wasn't demanding. It was quiet, deliberate—like he was grounding you, or maybe grounding himself.

"You... found me?" you mumbled, words soft and uneven. It was hard to tell if you were actually speaking or just thinking aloud.

Johan's deep gaze stayed locked on yours, calm and unreadable. "Something like that" he said after a moment, voice low, like he was answering a question you hadn't meant to ask.

Your breath hitched when his hand moved again, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. There was something careful about the way he did it, so careful it look as if it almost hurt.

"You shouldn't have been there," he said quietly, eyes dropping for just a moment before finding yours again. "Places like that... they're not meant for people like you."

There was no accusation in his tone, only a strange mix of weariness and certainty. You wanted to ask what kind of person he thought you were. But your tongue felt heavy, and your head leaned slightly toward his touch before you could think better of it.

A faint click echoed from the front of the car. The man who had drugged you, Roberto, slid into the driver's seat. You caught his gaze and accompanied grin in the rearview mirror, a sly, dangerous smirk that made your stomach twist.

"Sorry back there," Roberto said, his voice rough and mocking. "Just... a little misunderstanding." He dragged out the word misunderstanding, twisting it in a way that made your skin crawl.

You looked back at Johan, only to find him seated calmly next to you, as if the confrontation had never happened at all.

"Roberto," Johan said, his tone soft, steady... but there was an edge to it, razor-sharp even through the calm.

Roberto let out a low chuckle, the sound awkward against the tension in the car. "Right, right. Message received," he said, glancing at Johan through the rearview mirror. "Didn't know you had... attachments that weren't just part of the game."

Johan didn't respond. Not a word. Not even a glance toward him.

Your consciousness wavered as the car rolled forward into the night, streetlights stretching into sluggish streaks against the glass. The world felt dreamlike, distant, unreal.

Without thinking, your head shifted, turning slightly. The next thing you knew, it had settled ever so slightly against Johan's shoulder. An action you wouldn't have even dared to do in a more sober state.

Your eyelids drooped, heavy and slow. You tried to focus, tried to come back to reality, but the drug in your system was too strong. You let yourself relax against him, the faint rise and fall of his chest beneath your head grounding you in the hazy blur.

Johan's eyes followed your every movement, his expression carefully unreadable. When your head finally rested fully on his shoulder, he stiffened just slightly, caught off guard by your sudden closeness. His eyebrows rose subtly, but he said nothing. Instead, he adjusted, ever so slightly, so that your head rested comfortably against him without pressure.

"You're... really out of it," he murmured softly, mostly to himself, the tiniest trace of something resembling amusement or tenderness in his voice.

You mumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly closer in your haze, and Johan's thumb brushed again across your cheek, a quiet, grounding gesture. The motion was slow, deliberate, and strangely intimate—as if he was tethering you to reality without saying a word.

A small, sleepy sigh escaped your lips, half-laughing, half-whining. "Feels... like a dream," you murmured.

"Maybe it is," he replied softly, voice low, careful "or maybe it's just... a quiet moment for you to rest."

The car continued its quiet hum through the streets, and in that suspended space, the two of you sat close, the world outside irrelevant. Your head heavy on his shoulder, his hands gentle, it was... comfortable. Safe. And strangely, tender.

Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes fluttering open and closed as the world outside blurred into streaks of streetlight. Your lips parted in a soft, sleepy sigh. "Johan... you're... warm," you mumbled, voice thick and slurred.

He didn't answer at first; he merely tilted his head, just enough for his cheek to brush lightly against your hair "Mm," he murmured back, not moving, just letting the words hang in the air.

Your thoughts drifted slowly, like they were wading through thick water. "Do... you... always... show up... like this?" you mumbled.

"Like what?" he asked softly, head tilting just slightly to meet yours.

"Calm... like... you know... everything," you mumbled, voice trailing off as you struggled to keep your words together. Your head shifted slightly, making his shoulder a little warmer "It's... unfair..."

A faint breath of amusement left him—so soft you might've missed it even if you were fully awake. "Unfair?" he echoed.

"Mhm..." Your fingers brushed lazily against his arm, barely aware of the motion. "You make... everything feel... safe... even when it shouldn't..."

He didn't laugh this time. His gaze dipped to you, lingering in a way that was both gentle and unreadable. "Is that something you dislike?" he asked, tone low.

You blinked slowly, letting the motion drift you further into the fog of your drugged haze. "...No..." you whispered, leaning into him without thinking. "Just... confusing."

Johan's hand shifted—slow, deliberate—until his fingers brushed against yours, holding them lightly, grounding you. His touch was cold... but steady. "Confusing," he repeated, almost to himself.

You blinked sluggishly, feeling your thoughts spill into the open before you could stop them. "You always... make me feel like I'm not just... wandering alone..."

Johan's gaze softened, the tiniest flicker of something tender passing across his normally unreadable features. He leaned slightly closer, careful not to crush you. There was a pause—soft, almost fragile—before he spoke. "You're not alone," he said, voice quieter than the engine beneath you. "Not tonight."

A sleepy giggle escaped your lips, muffled against his shoulder. "Funny... you... so... serious... Johan..."

"Maybe," he said quietly, the edge of a smile tugging at his lips. His thumb brushed over your knuckles "but I mean it."

You murmured something incoherent, one hand curling lazily over his forearm, the other resting limply on your lap. Every movement felt heavy and dreamlike, and yet you felt a strange comfort in the weight of his presence.

"Do... you... always... watch me... like this?" you asked, voice dipping with exhaustion.

His fingers stilled, just for a beat.

"Only when I need to," he said. It wasn't teasing. It wasn't dramatic. Just soft... honest in a way that made your heart tighten. "And right now... I need to."

Your breathing grew slower, deeper. A yawn slipped out before you could stop it. Instinctively, you curled a little closer, letting your forehead brush the seam of his jacket.

"Don't... go..." you mumbled.

His hand squeezed yours—light, steady, careful. "I'm here," he whispered, his breath brushing your hair. "I'm not leaving."

The car rolled through the night, the world beyond the windows slipping by in muted streaks. But inside, there was only the steady rise and fall of your breath against him—and Johan's quiet stillness beside you, holding you in a way that felt far too gentle for the truth that waited beneath it.

Your eyes flickered open that morning to cold sunlight spilling through your open curtains. Everything ached faintly—your temples, your ribs, your thoughts. You told yourself it was nothing. A strange dream. A long night. A stress-induced hallucination.

You tried to believe it.

But the bruise on your side told a different story.

Hours later, when your last class ended, you found yourself standing outside the university with Johan—just as you always did. The sky was painted in a soft peach glow, the campus quiet except for the distant sound of bikes passing and leaves brushing along the pavement.

Johan stood beside you, leaning lightly against the railing near the old stone steps. The fading sunlight caught in his hair like something out of a half-remembered memory. He watched you the way he always did—softly, attentively, but with a depth you could never quite place.

"So that's it," you said, arms crossed loosely as you finished recounting your "dream." Even if you excluded some parts you deemed to be too embarrassing to admit. Your voice was careful, testing. "It felt... real. Too real. Like I could still feel parts of it when I woke up."

Johan hummed a little, barely audible, eyes drifting up to the branches swaying overhead. "Dreams do that sometimes," he said, almost thoughtfully. "The mind clings to fear more than anything else."

You looked at him—really looked. His profile calm, serene, unreal in the dying light. He shouldn't have looked so gentle when the memory of last night sat heavy in your ribs.

"It wasn't just fear," you murmured. "It felt like... someone was there with me."

Johan turned his head then, eyes meeting yours. They were soft, startlingly soft—and yet something behind them felt like a door you weren't supposed to open.

"A silly dream," he repeated, voice low, warm enough to wrap around you. "That's all. And you're safe now. Isn't that what matters?"

You swallowed. The wind brushed past you, cool against your neck.

"I guess so," you whispered.

He stepped a little closer—not enough to touch, but close enough that you felt the shift in the air around you. Close enough that your heartbeat stuttered.

"[y/n]," he said quietly, and there was something in the way he said your name—something that made the world around you feel suddenly small. "Your imagination is... vivid. But you don't have to be afraid of shadows. They disappear when you look at them long enough."

Your breath hitched. "Is that your way of saying it really was just a dream?"

His smile was small—gentle, almost affectionate. But it didn't reach his eyes.

"If you believe it was," he murmured, "then it was."

He said it like a reassurance.

It felt like a verdict.

You held his gaze. For a moment, the evening quieted around you—the birds, the distant chatter, the wind—everything softened until it was only him.

And in that moment, he faintly looked at you like you were something fragile he wanted to keep around. Something he didn't intend to let slip away in the hands of someone else--Roberto.

Your heart warmed and chilled at the same time, tangled somewhere between trust and unease.

Because even as Johan reached out to gently brush a stray leaf from your shoulder—his touch feather-light, lingering just a little too long—you could still feel the faint bruise under your shirt.

The one he pretended not to notice.

The one that told you the truth you weren't supposed to remember.

And when he smiled at you again—soft, warm, impossibly tender—the kind your gut told you not to fully trust, that there was something hidden beneath the sweet gestures and words. You had realized something unsettling:

You didn't know whether you wanted to pull away... or fall into him.

Roberto driving in the front of the car: Damn Johan got some game (LOL)

Storytime!: Where I got the inspiration for this oneshot. Was when I recently was hanging out with some new acquaintances, they got me to be high for the first time ever by giving me some crazy high dosage stuff (idk w33d? I was pressured, but I'm safe now!), which not pleasant and wouldn't do again.

I was out of it so much that I deadass thought the homeless man on the road was doctor Tenma and Johan was chilling next to me in the car the whole time???

So afterwards I thought 'yk I wonder how Johan would really react to someone drugged' lolol.

#johan liebert #johan liebert x reader #naoki urasawa’s monster #roberto #monster anime #x reader #monster #cross posted on ao3 #angst #fluff #johan liebert x y/n