#semi x reader

[mysterystarz]

university!bandboy! semi eita

do i need to say more

[kyryllslight]

瀬見 英太 ✦ regain repose

the night semi eita is kicked off the starting lineup, he needs to let everything out somewhere. so he does, with earbuds, a music player, and guitar in tow.

tags 一 semi e. x gn. reader, pre-canon, strangers, light angst, musician semi, mentioned shiratorizawa, washijo's a bitch sometimes

Semi Eita can’t play any instruments after lights-out, but on nights like these, he needs to expel his energy somehow. He brings a pair of earphones, his guitar, and his MP3 player to a solitary corner near Shiratorizawa’s dorms and hopes nothing follows. 

Though he’s right up against one of the dorm buildings, not many know this corner’s lacked residents in all three years he’s been here. Roaches, ghosts, whatever—he doesn’t care about the rumors that have made it the way it is. He sits by the wall and gives his routine thanks to whatever’s allowed him this momentary peace. To the roaches or to the ghosts. If he never finds out, it means the rumors have been put to sleep by his skilled playing. You’re welcome, abandoned Shiratorizawa dorm rooms, and whichever RA’s been assigned to this building. (Clearly, not a good one.)

The song he chooses off his MP3 is louder, just enough to drown out his thoughts as he usually does these nights. But Eita always picks something for the mood, something that clears his mind but melds with the midnight sky. It’s an oldie, but a goodie, he hums to himself. Eita places the guitar on his lap, resting his fingers on steel after hours of his palms running red against synthetic leather. 

Eita closes his eyes, and he doesn’t think of Coach Washijo, wrinkles written in his face of fury that Semi dared talk back. As if he didn’t know what he was getting into by letting him on the team. He doesn’t think about Shirabu. Wakatoshi does enter his mind, only for a second, like the rare softness he saw earlier that washed over his usually dull, stoic demeanor. Then gone, as the notes pass through his ears, and the melody lifts the weights off his shoulders.

He doesn’t know how he found out about his hobbies; he didn’t think the old man paid enough attention to care, but Washijo scolded him earlier, saying if he wanted to show off, he’d join the music club with his racket. 

Eita considered that a while ago, but he’s already come to his own terms. His callouses aren’t soft enough for volleyball, and his skin is too bruised for the spotlight. So, he chose the team, but he plays here. For himself. For the wind. For the ghosts and the rumors.

A rustle comes forth from the wind. He opens his eyes and stops playing. A figure emerges from the dark. You. 

He recognizes you, and you seem to do the same, staring and blinking. He’s seen the back of your head a couple of desks across. Your interactions have never gone much further than that. 

Eita looks around, as if to ask the cicadas and flickering lights why another soul would be here. 

Silently, you read his mind and answer his question before he says it aloud.

You hold up a black bag, tilt your head to the dumpster lying farther into the alleyway, and shrug. Eita’s face feels warm, and he hopes the light from your face is your own radiance, for if it were the stars, it’d mean you’d see his embarrassed expression clear as glass. 

He stops his playing to watch you tread further into the night. Safety, of course, especially at this hour. When you return, no trash bag in tow, you don’t turn back to the building; instead, you sit across from him, hands on your knees and looking expectantly. 

Eita adjusts his guitar right back up on his lap. “Any requests?”

“You came out here for yourself.” That’s the first thing you say tonight, and you seem so sure, even though Eita can’t recall any other time you two have spoken.

“Play what you want.” You say, simply. Maybe that’s all it is.

He picks up the player, skips a couple of songs until he reaches something he loves and hopes is your taste as well. You seem pleased. However, he thinks of your words as well. He came here for himself. So, he plays for himself first and just lets you listen.

note. semi deserved a lot more. i love you mr. "would rather perfect his serve and the one play he gets the court to himself because he can't help the need to show off than conform to the team philosophy," and then becomes a musician post-timeskip

[remmishy]

does anyone even write semi stuff?

pls if yall have good semi x reader fanfics pls send them to me, I really wanna read more of my girl

[oikyawa]

TEXTS WITH EITA SEMI ♡

a/n: this draft keeps disappearing on me 🫩

tags: @akaashiit, @blythmourning, @bakugosgrenade, @bookworm-center, @levisotakugf, @wellitseugi, @badtzmai, @returntothefae, @noyamlv, @charukii, @amisuh, @z9mbo, @showhay, @wowbyselene, @heavybit3rr, @kotarosangel, @kpopmultistans, @girlwithanattitude, @eclipsedivan, @imgonnashartmyself, @listentothemelody00, @dearestelsie, @superswagboi05, @shookykookie30, @kagstobioisthelightofmylife, @https-kasley, @katsukisser, @a2m-saranghae, @miismelater, @sunnysideupx5, @thebrokeperson101

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[showhay]

semi eita x f!reader | fluff

cw: suggestive content, read at your own risk.

;; ​boyfriend!semi has a habit of checking your temperature with the back of his hand just because he likes the excuse to feel your skin. his hands are usually calloused from the guitar strings, a rough texture that contrasts against your cheek when he tilts your face up for a lingering, slow-motion kiss that tastes like his morning espresso.

​;; boyfriend!semi lets you pick his outfits for shows, standing perfectly still while you button up his shirt. he’ll watch your back through the mirror with a lazy, lopsided smirk, his fingers hooking into your belt loops to pull you flush against him. “focus,” he’ll murmur against your ear, even though he's the one making it impossible.

;; ​boyfriend!semi loves back hugs while you’re trying to do literally anything else. he’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck, his nose cold but his breath hot, leaving soft, damp trails along your collarbone. he doesn’t say much, just tightens his hold until you melt into him, forgetting the dishes or the laptop entirely.

​;; boyfriend!semi is incredibly attentive to the way you look in his clothes. he’ll intentionally leave his favorite oversized sweater on the edge of the bed before he leaves for a session, knowing you’ll be wearing it (and nothing else) by the time he gets home. the look he gives you when he walks through the door is enough to make your knees weak.

;; ​boyfriend!semi writes songs about the way you look when you're asleep, but he'll never admit it. instead, he’ll just play a certain melody on his acoustic guitar while you’re reading—a slow, rhythmic progression that feels like a physical caress. when you look up, he’s already watching you, his thumb tracing the bridge of his guitar like he’s imagining it’s your jawline.

​;; boyfriend!semi has a very specific way of claiming your space. if you’re out with friends, his hand is constantly on the small of your back or draped over your shoulder, his thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of your shirt. it’s not possessive in a loud way—it’s just a constant, grounding reminder that he’s right there, and you’re his favorite person in the room.

;; ​boyfriend!semi loves the moments right after you shower. he’ll sit you down between his knees and take over the blow-dryer, his long fingers massaging your scalp with a focus that’s almost intimate. the steam, the scent of your shampoo, and the way he looks down at you with those heavy, dark eyes—it’s enough to give you butterflies that don't go away for hours.

;; boyfriend!semi has a thing for the way you look when you’re flustered. he’ll catch your wrist while you’re walking past him, pulling you onto his lap so you’re straddling him. he doesn't say a word, just rests his hands on your thighs—fingers digging in just deep enough to leave a ghost of a mark—while he continues his conversation or looks at his phone, letting you feel the tent in his pants.

;; ​boyfriend!semi has a thing for the friction of his jewelry against your skin. he’ll let his rings graze the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while he’s leaning over you, his voice dropping an octave as he tells you exactly what he’s been thinking about during the drive home. the vibration of his chest against yours is a low hum.

​;; boyfriend!semi likes to test your composure in public. he’ll slide a hand under the table at dinner, his fingers tracing the hem of your skirt, shorts or the seam of your jeans with agonizing slowness. he’ll keep a perfectly calm conversation with your friends, but the way his knuckles occasionally press a little too firmly against you tells a completely different story.

;; ​boyfriend!semi is addicted to the sound you make when he bites. he’s found every sweet spot on your body—the dip of your waist, the back of your knee, that specific patch of skin behind your ear. he’ll mark you right where your clothes hide it, a secret bruise that throbs every time you move, reminding you who you belong to.

​;; boyfriend!semi isn’t afraid to use his hands to keep you in place. if you try to pull away during a kiss, he’ll lace his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back and expose your throat. he likes the vulnerability of it, the way your breath hitches when he hovers his lips over your pulse point without quite touching it, making you ache for him to just finish what he started.

​;; boyfriend!semi gets incredibly tactile after a show. the adrenaline hasn’t faded, and he’ll pin you against the dressing room door the second it’s locked. he’s sweaty, his hair is a mess, and he’s pulling your clothes aside with a frantic kind of need that usually ends with your legs wrapped around his waist and his name being gasped into the quiet of the room.

​;; boyfriend!semi loves a lazy morning that isn’t lazy at all. he’ll trap you under the weight of his body, his hands wandering under your shirt to find the heat of your skin. he’s patient, teasing you with slow, shallow movements or dragging his tongue along your collarbone until you’re whining for more, only for him to smirk and whisper, “patience, baby,” against your lips.

;; ​boyfriend!semi has a gaze that feels like a physical touch. sometimes he’ll just stop what he’s doing and watch you—really watch you—as you get dressed or move around the kitchen. when you catch him, he doesn’t look away. he just lets his eyes roam over your curves with a dark, liquid intensity that makes you feel completely exposed and utterly wanted all at once.

;; boyfriend!semi loves to bend you over in his studio after everyone had left, making your eyes roll back, and your legs shake. he’ll make sure to put his fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet just in case someone returns. he’d clean you up after, and carry you back since he went too hard on you.

n: one of my freaky ahh twins @toorubae

© showhay — don’t copy or translate without my permission. don’t feed my works to ai.

iloveu

[oikyawa]

ONE TIME

eita semi x reader

SYNOPSIS a midnight serenade preformed by the one and only eita semi, along with his teammates.

you finally have two weeks off from school, no homework, tests, spontaneous assignments, and anything else related to school.

that also means you went home to your parents for those two weeks, you haven’t seen them in ages, so why not spend these well deserved two weeks getting pampered by your parents.

you’re about three days into the fourteen day break, so you’re still getting used to sleeping in your bed at home, not the one on campus.

so naturally, you’re still awake.

you glance up at the time on your phone, and it’s 11:58 p.m. not the most unusual time to still be awake.

you’ve cleaned your room already, watched a few episodes of a new show you’d found, checked your friends’ stories on instagram, just the usual nighttime routine you’ve followed for the past three days.

although you’ve strayed a little away from the ‘routine’ today.

usually you’d be facetiming with your boyfriend, semi. until either of you fell asleep.

he’d play his guitar a little, maybe you’d play a game on roblox together, or simply talk, about everything and anything.

but today he told you he couldn’t call today, telling you he was going to hang out with his teammates for the evening.

obviously he’d asked you if you wanted to come by, you and semi are practically attached by the hip, so it’s normal for you to also come by whenever they hung out.

but you told him no, saying you wanted to try and sleep early today. get in a better rhythm than you’ve been in these past three days.

he told you okay, and left you on delivered ever since.

it’s not something to worry about, since it’s normal to abandon your phone when you’re busy with friends, would also be pretty rude if you were on your phone constantly.

but whatever, it’s fine, you’ll go to sleep later and wake up in the morning to probably five goodmorning texts from him.

they’re probably hanging out at either taichi’s place or goshiki’s, since their parents are the most easily convinced to let a bunch of teenage boys hang around with a promise of not causing any ruckus.

it’s not really relevant to the situation right now, it just happened to cross your mind.

but unknown to you, they’re actually closer than you think.

and by closer, i mean right down the street to your house.

by now, five minutes later, you’re starting to slowly doze off, your eyelids fighting to stay open.

and in the span of a minute, you magically fall asleep. not stirring at the sounds outside, that keep getting louder with every second passing.

‘dude, this is gonna be so sick!’ taichi cheered, giving semi a very harsh slap on his back.

‘she’s gonna love this! we have to record it.’ tendō exclaims, resting his head on semi’s shoulder who pushes him off immediately.

‘i’m innocent if we get questioned about this.’ shirabu states blanky, not wanting to have come along in the first place, and participate.

‘you idiots convinced me to do this, so you better have my back.’ semi said seriously, hanging his head back and staring at the stars, thinking why the fuck he agreed to this.

‘we got your back,’ was said four times, each in a different vocal tone.

they sneak into your backyard, with the assistance of semi, who has snuck in here too many times to count.

it’s going to be a preformance with every little equipment, just someone’s phone and a portable speaker. the rest bring pure raw vocals delivered mainly by semi, but the rest for all the adlibs.

semi knows your probably half asleep, or atleast not too asleep that you can still hear what’s about to come.

he gulps once, prays to the gods above your mom won’t kill him, along with everyone in the neighborhood. and he yells out your name at the top of his lungs.

the next minute after is filled with an anxious silence, save for the wind breezing through the leaves once in a while.

and like he hoped, the blinds of your room started to open, showing your silhouette just barely in the dim lighting.

you sigh loudly, already getting irritated at the complete nut case that decided to yell your name past midnight, pulling you from your fresh slumber immediately.

you open your window, and gaze down to the idiot standing in your backyard, well, idiots.

‘eita, what the fuck!’ you whisper yell as loud as you can, giving him a look that makes him visibly wince.

‘hi, y/n!’ goshiki says too loudly, making shirabu kick his shin to shut him up, successfully.

you give the future ace a small wave, before returning your eyes to the man of the hour.

‘why are you in my backyard at twelve am, you idiot?!’ you groan, really unamused at his actions right now.

‘one really bad decision, now could you please get down here?’ he asks, giving you his most apologetic look to convince you to come down.

you drastically roll your eyes one more time, before closing your window and rolling back down your blinds.

he thinks you’ve gone back to bed, and left him and his teammates standing there, in your backyard like a bunch of junkies.

so he makes the move to the backdoor, he happens to know where the spare key to it is located.

but you didn’t go back to sleep and completely ignored them, you couldn’t leave your window, nor your blinds open like that.

you put on a sweater, one that’s big enough to cover your pajamas decorated with hearts and cats, and to not make you freeze to death outside.

you already know he’s coming to get you, even if you have no single reason to know, you just do.

as you tiptoe down the hallway and the stairs, you obviously walk right against his chest, which you did anticipate, but also didn’t see coming yet.

he’s going to say something, you can tell from his expression, so you shush him by slapping a hand over his mouth, gently.

you give him another real nasty look, showing him just how unamused you are at your peaceful slumber being interrupted by your boyfriend and his teammates.

you turn him around and push him back outside, obviously coming along with him and closing the door behind you.

as fast as he can, he kisses your cheek. knowing that you’ll pull your face away out of spite. ‘hi, baby,’ he whispers, and you reply with a blank ‘hi’, no nickname, not even the use of his name.

‘i’m sorry,’ he mutters after, maybe an apology’ll do the trick.

‘yeah, you better be.’ you say, now a hand on your hip like an annoyed mother with too many bills to pay and no money.

‘ouch!’ tendō physically recoiled at your painful remark, making you and a certain starting setter both roll your eyes.

semi quickly gets over trying to apologize, but make a start to what they came here for in the first place.

they all gather round in a circle, murmuring some words you can’t understand, and finishing off with a quadruple fist bump.

you can’t lie and say you aren’t a little bit curious to what’s about to happen, even if you are still mildly annoyed.

taichi sets up his speaker and connects his phone to it, and then the music starts to play.

and you recognize the song immediately.

hey, hey, hey, hey hey, hey, hey, hey

it starts off with tendō and goshiki in the front, making handsigns that point to you.

then, the real act starts.

me, plus you (i’ma tell you one time) me, plus you (one time, i’ma tell you one time)

it looks really awkward, no mics nor any props. just a handful of teenage boys singing their hearts out with the adlibs (save for one of them, you know who.)

me, plus you (one time, i’ma tell you one time) one time (one time, i’ma tell you one time) when i met you, girl, my heart went knock, knock (knock) now them butterflies in my stomach won’t stop, stop (stop)

now it’s time for the solo act, just purely semi. no adlibs.

and even though it’s a struggle, love is all we got so we gon’ keep, keep climbin’ til the mountain top your world, is my world and my fight, is your fight my breath, is your breath

they look like they’re really into this.

semi’s giving it his all, activating his inner belieber self for this, embracing how embarrassed he feels, partly for you, to give you the best midnight performance possible, if you can even call it that.

when you’re hurt (i got my) and girl, you’re my one love my one heart, my one life for sure let me tell you one time (girl, i love, girl, i love you)

and right as it gets really good, the inevitable happens.

someone, one of your neighbors, starts to yell, even louder than the boys’ preformance.

‘real romantic alright, but can you little shits shut up! i’m trying to sleep!’ of course, it’s your grumpy old neighbor two houses away.

this ‘announcement’ causes more people to open their window and shout incoherent stuff, some actually applauding the preformace, but most telling them to cut it out.

this naturally, causes your parents to wake up, well only your mom.

the light turns on in the hallway, you’re able to steal a glance of it as you stare at the door to the backyard, and are already preparing to take the blame on yourself.

everyone holds their breath, standing as still as they possibly can, maybe if it looks like they’re doing the mannequin challenge, that your mom won’t say anything and go back to sleep like nothing happened.

she opens the door, looks around to everyone standing like a deer caught in headlights, and sighs.

‘boys, go back home, i wouldn’t want to call your mothers. and eita, you can stay, i have a few words i want to say to you.’ he gulps, loudly.

everyone besides semi makes the move to leave, all waving you and semi a goodbye, wishing him the best of luck with what’s about to come, and quickly scramble away.

‘y/n, eita. come inside please.’ your mother says, sounding just as unamused as you were previously.

you take his hand as you both come back inside, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

you all go upstairs, to your bedroom, as you and semi both sit down on your bed, your mom stands infront of you with an unreadable expression.

as you prepare to get harshly scolded and reprimanded, or something even worse, the complete opposite happens.

‘that was adorable, you sing so well!’ your mom exclaims, grabbing semi by the shoulders and looking at him with pure adoration.

you sigh in relief, but also in pure, utter surprise. and so does semi.

‘—uh, yeah, thanks!’ he’s scrambling for the right words to say, having prepared for the absolute worst, but not the best that could’ve happend.

‘i’m not mad, but don’t do it at twelve am again, got it?’ she walks out of your room, only standing still by the door to tell you that last bit.

‘yes ma’am!’ he salutes, keeping his posture as straight as a door.

then when she finally leaves, and closes the door behind her, he falls back on your bed with a groan, running his hands down his face in relief.

‘oh my god,’ are all the words he lets out as he still recovers from earlier.

you laugh, and lay down on your stomach beside him, propping yourself up with your arms.

‘you’re so stupid, babe.’ you giggle, poking his cheek, and kissing the spot after.

‘i’m stupid for you.’ he sighs, laying down on his side and sliding his arms around your waist, effectively rolling you on your side also.

you chuckle at his words, carding your hands through his soft hair.

you lay there together for a minute, then notice that he’s on the verge of falling asleep already.

‘hey, don’t fall asleep! you still have your outside clothes on.’ you slap his cheek to wake him up a little more, grabbing his chin with one hand to make him look at you.

‘so?’ he murmurs, ‘singing to the love of your life is exhausting y’know.’ his tight hold on your waist doesn’t budge, even if he’s practically asleep.

‘yeah yeah, but you’re not sleeping in my bed with your clothes on, so take them off,’ he looks up at you with a grin, ‘and i’m not doing it, so sleep on the floor if you will.’ he rolls his eyes at you, playfully, before releasing his hold on you to stand up.

you get comfy in your bed, for the second time today, and wait for him to join you, which he does in less than thirty seconds, haphazardly throwing his clothes across your room.

he pulls you against him as soon as he’s under the covers, strong arms having found it’s place around your waist again, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

‘goodnight, i love you.’ he murmurs, kissing the exposed skin of your neck.

‘i love you too, idiot.’ and with that, you fall asleep again, this time for longer than five minutes.

a/n: this is my last semi draft for now, and yes i cut the lyrics short cause i couldn't be bothered to write more

tag: @akaashiit, @blythmourning, @bakugosgrenade, @bookworm-center, @levisotakugf, @wellitseugi, @badtzmai, @returntothefae, @noyamlv, @charukii, @amisuh, @z9mbo, @showhay, @selenewowww, @heavybit3rr, @kotarosangel, @kpopmultistans, @girlwithanattitude, @eclipsedivan, @superswagboi05, @shookykookie30, @kagstobioisthelightofmylife, @https-kasley, @katsukisser

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[saebyeoksfreckles]

And the Truth Shall Set You Free

Semi x catholic!fem!reader

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • this is Part 4

synopsis: What almost happened with Semi refuses to stay buried beneath prayer and confession. You try to return to who you were, but the distance only makes everything louder. Someone finally listens without telling you who to be, and you stop translating your feelings into sin. The truth surfaces, and it’s not something you can pray away…

genre: catholic school au, religious angst, romantic tension, slow burn, forbidden love

warnings: religious guilt, Catholic repression, confronting internalized homophobia

word count: 5.4k

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

Your fingers stayed wrapped around her wrist.

You could feel her pulse under your skin, thumping rapid but steady. The small crucifix rested between you, caught where her fingers had traced it, the chain faintly tangled against your collar. For a moment, neither of you moved.

The room had gone impossibly quiet.

Even the distant sounds of the academy - the muffled footsteps in the corridor, the soft shifting of chairs somewhere far away - seemed to fade into nothing. All that remained was the space between you. The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The way Semi was looking at you.

Your grip tightened slightly.

You had meant to stop her. That had been the intention. To take her hand away, to reestablish the boundary before it blurred any further.

But you hadn’t let go.

And now… you still weren’t.

Your gaze dropped to her mouth before you could stop yourself. The faint glint of silver caught the lamplight, subtle but distracting, and you wondered briefly, helplessly, what it would feel like to be close enough to notice the details you’d only imagined until now.

Your breath hitched. This was wrong. You knew it was wrong. The thought rose automatically, the way it always had.

But it didn’t land the way it used to. Because beneath it, quiet but strong, something else pressed forward.

Then why aren’t you stopping?

Your thumb shifted against her wrist slightly, not to pull away, but to feel her more clearly.

Semi didn’t move, but there was a small change in her expression. Her focus sharpened, her breath slowing like she didn’t want to disturb whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“You can still stop.” She murmured, voice low, careful.

The words should have grounded you, given you an out. Instead, they did the opposite. Because she wasn’t pulling away. She was letting you choose.

You swallowed, grip loosening just enough that you could let go.

But instead, your hand shifted. Not away. Forward.

It was barely anything; a small movement, almost nothing at all. But it changed everything.

Your fingers slid from her wrist to her hand, hesitant and uncertain, before settling there. Not gripping or holding tight, just resting.

Entirely deliberate.

Your first real choice.

Semi inhaled softly. You felt it more than heard it. Her hand turned slightly beneath yours, slow enough to give you time to stop her, to pull back, to pretend it hadn’t happened.

You had no intentions to.

Then her fingers curled, just enough to meet yours. The contact sent a quiet, steady warmth up your arm, settling somewhere deep in your chest where it didn’t belong.

You should have pulled away. Instead, your gaze lifted again. She was closer now, you hadn’t seen her move. Or maybe you had and you just hadn’t stopped it, but your breaths now mingled in the small space between you, warm and uneven. You could see the fine details now, the faint crease between her brows, the way her lips parted slightly like she was about to say something and thought better of it.

The room felt smaller. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could hear it.

“Tell me to stop.” She said quietly.

Your throat tightened, because you couldn’t. You tried. The word should have come easily, it always bad before, even if only in your head. But now there was nothing, and your silence said enough.

Something shifted in her expression. Not triumph or surprise, but understanding. Her free hand lifted slowly, hovering near your face for a moment as she hesitated. Then her fingers brushed lightly against your cheek.

Soft.

Warm.

Real.

You closed your eyes before you meant to.

The touch was gentle, almost adoring, her thumb tracing just beneath your cheekbone, slow and deliberate. The kind of touch that asked without forcing, that waited instead of taking.

Your breath stuttered. Everything in you felt suspended, balanced on something fragile and irreversible.

You leaned into it, barely, but enough. Enough that her hand stilled for half a second, like she was registering it. Then her thumb moved again, slower this time.

Your grip on her hand tightened instinctively.

This was happening.

You weren’t stopping it.

You weren’t praying, or running, you were just here. With her.

And for the first time, the thought of that didn’t feel like something you needed to escape. It felt like something you were choosing.

Your eyes opened.

She was closer now. So close.

You could feel the warmth of her breath, the slight hitch in it mirroring your own. Her gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes, giving you time.

Asking. Always asking.

Your pulse was roaring in your ears.

…You could still stop. All it would take was one step back. One word. One breath of distance.

But instead you leaned forward.

Semi didn’t move. She was letting you come to her.

Your breath caught halfway, your body going still just before the distance closed completely. You were close enough now that the world had narrowed to the space between your lips, to the heat and tension and the terrifying certainty that this, this moment, would change everything.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

But then…

The chapel bell tolled.

Loud.

The sound was sudden, shattering the moment.

You flinched.

The ringing cut through everything, echoing through the walls, through your chest, through the fragile moment you hadn’t realized how tightly you were holding. Reality rushed back in all at once and you pulled back like you’d been burned.

The room.

The school.

The rules.

God.

Your hand slipped from hers instantly, the loss of contact cold and immediate. You stood too quickly, chair scraping harshly against the floor, breath uneven and shallow.

“I-”

The word broke.

You couldn’t finish it. You couldn’t even name what had almost happened.

Semi stayed where she was for a second longer, like she hadn’t fully caught up yet. Then she exhaled slowly and leaned back, her hand falling to the table where yours had been.

Neither of you spoke. The silence felt louder than the bell.

Your chest ached. Not just with guilt, with something else. Something heavier.

Because it had stopped.

Because you had stopped it.

And somewhere deep in your chest, beneath the shame and the panic and everything you were supposed to feel, there was something dangerously close to disappointment.

You swallowed hard.

“I should go.” The voice didn’t sound like your own.

Semi nodded once. She didn’t bother arguing or reaching for you again.

“Yeah…” She just said quietly. Her eyes stayed on you.

You turned before you could think about it again, before you could undo the distance you’d just forced between the two of you.

The door felt heavier than it should have as you pulled it open, the cool air of the corridor hitting your face like something sobering when you stepped out.

The door clicked shut behind you, and just like that, the moment was gone.

But it didn’t feel erased. It felt unfinished. Like something had been interrupted, not ended. And as you walked down the empty hallway, heart still racing, one thought pressed in, quiet, persistent and impossible to ignore:

Not thank God it stopped.

but

I wanted it to happen…

The following morning, the confessional smelled like dust and old wood, the kind that settled into your lungs and stayed there. You sat behind the thin screen, hands clasped too tightly, pulse loud in your ears. The lattice blurred the priest into something indistinct, a shadow more than a person. Safer that way.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Your voice trembled despite your effort to steady it.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

You swallowed. “Too long.”

A pause.

“Go on.”

The words pressed against your throat, heavy and uncooperative.

You knew what to say. You had always known what to say. But now…?

“I’ve had… impure thoughts.” Your voice came out quieter than you intended.

“What kind of thoughts?”

Your breath caught. For a moment, you said nothing. And then they came anyway, not as words, but memory.

Her knee pressing gently against yours beneath the table, warm and steady, waiting to see if you would move. Her fingers brushing yours when she passed the pen, lingering just long enough to feel intentional. The slow, absent circles her thumb traced against your wrist, like she wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.

The way she looked at you.

Not like the others did. Not like you were something to be admired from a distance, but like you were something she was trying to understand. Something she wanted to understand,

Your grip tightened.

“About a person. And…” Your voice faltered. “I almost acted on them.”

Silence. The words hung there, heavier than anything you had said before.

“What do you mean?” The priest asked gently.

Your heart pounded harder.

You shouldn’t say it. You knew you shouldn’t. But the truth had already started to surface, and now it wouldn’t go back down.

“There’s someone.” You said, quieter now. “And I’ve been… meeting with them. Alone.”

Your chest tightened. “We were talking. And then-”

Your breath hitched. You could feel it again.

The warmth of her hand turning beneath yours, fingers curling just enough to meet you. The soft brush of her thumb against your cheek, careful, like she was waiting for you to pull away.

You hadn’t. You had leaned into it.

You swallowed hard.

“I didn’t stop it.” The admission came out in a rush. “I didn’t want to stop it.”

The words felt dangerous. Irreversible.

“I let it keep going. And I-” Your voice dropped. “I leaned in.”

Your hand tightened against itself.

“We didn’t…” You stopped, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “Nothing actually happened. It didn’t go that far.”

The bell. You could still hear it. Still feel the way it had shattered everything.

“But it was going to…” You finished, barely whispering. “If it hadn’t been interrupted.”

“And how did you feel in that moment?” The priest asked. That question hit harder than anything else, because the answer wasn’t simple.

You closed your eyes.

“I should have been afraid.” You said. “Or ashamed. I should have wanted to stop.”

Your voice wavered.

“But I didn’t. I felt… certain.” The word came slowly, like you didn’t fully trust it. “Like I was choosing it.”

Your fingers trembled.

“And when it stopped…” You hesitated. Because this part felt worse. “I wasn’t relieved.”

The truth settled, quiet and devastating.

“I felt like something had been taken from me.”

The confession hung there, raw and exposed. On the other side of the screen, the priest shifted slightly.

“Temptation can feel powerful.” He said, measured and calm. “Especially when it is tied to emotional attachment.”

Attachment. The word felt too small.

“Your task is not to dwell on the feeling, but to turn away from it. To recognize that what feels right is not always what is good.”

You listened. You really did.

But something inside you resisted.

Because it hadn’t just felt right, it had felt honest.

“And how do I do that?” You asked quietly.

“Distance.” He said simply. “Clarity. Prayer. You must remove yourself from the situation before it leads you further into sin.”

Remove yourself.

The words echoed.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“I understand.”

“For your penance, say three Hail Marys and reflect on the purity of intention. God’s grace will guide you.”

Grace.

Guidance.

You bowed your head.

“Thank you, Father.”

The chapel was dim when you stepped out, lit only by flickering candles and the fading glow of evening light through stained glass. You didn’t leave right away. You knelt in the nearest pew, hands clasped again, the familiar posture settling over you like a habit your body remembered even if your heart did not.

Hail Mary, full of grace…

The prayer came automatically, but your focus didn’t follow. Instead, your mind drifted.

To her.

The way her thumb had traced slow circles over your hand. The way her voice softened when she spoke to you, like you were something fragile she didn’t want to break.

You inhaled sharply.

…blessed art thou among women…

The words faltered on your tongue.

You tried again, forcing them through clenched teeth, but they felt thinner now, stretched over something that refused to be contained.

Because the truth lingered beneath them, quiet and immovable:

You didn’t want to be guided away from her. You wanted…

Your eyes snapped open.

No.

You pressed your hands together harder, knuckles whitening.

Forgive me.

The prayer shifted again, instinctively.

Not take this away.

Just

forgive me for it.

“You went to confession.”

The voice came from behind you, low and certain.

For a moment, you didn’t turn. You didn’t have to. You knew.

Then sowly, you stood and faced her.

Semi leaned against one of the stone pillars near the back of the chapel, arms loosely crossed. The dim light caught the silver of her piercings, her expression unreadable but steady.

“How did you-”

“You weren’t in study hall.” She shrugged slightly. “And you’ve had that look all day.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re trying to get away from something that’s already caught you.”

Silence stretched between you. The chapel felt smaller now, the air heavier.

“Did it help?” She asked finally.

The question landed softly, but it cut deeper than anything else she could have said.

You opened your mouth and closed it again, because you didn’t really know how to answer. The priest had given you words, structure, a clear path. But none of it had touched the part of you that mattered.

“I don’t know.” You admitted quietly.

Semi studied you for a long moment. Then she pushed off the pillar, taking a slow step closer.

“Did you tell him about us?”

Us.

That word hit harder than anything else she could have said.

“There is no us.” Your response came too quickly, sharp enough to cut through the quiet chapel air. You shook your head, stepping back before you realized you were doing it.

“This - whatever this is - it’s not…” You faltered, the words slipping out of reach. “It’s not real.”

Even as you said it, your chest tightened. Because it had felt real. Her hand in yours, the way you had leaned in, the way you hadn’t wanted to stop.

“I told him I had impure thoughts.” You added quickly, like you needed to anchor yourself to something familiar. Something safe. “And that I almost-” You stopped, swallowing hard. “That I almost acted on them.”

Silence.

You forced yourself to meet her eyes.

“But I didn’t tell him about you.” Your voice dropped. “Because there’s nothing to tell.”

The lie landed between you, thin and fragile.

Your fingers curled at your sides, like they still remembered the shape of her hand.

“This isn’t…” You tried again, weaker now. “It’s not something.”

Semi exhaled softly, something unreadable flickering across her face.

“Right.”

The single word carried more weight than it should have. You took a step back without meaning to.

Distance. You needed distance.

“This was a mistake.” The words slipped out, sharp and sudden, like if you said them fast enough they might become true. “All of this. The tutoring, the… everything.”

Semi went still. You felt it immediately, the shift in the air.

“I shouldn’t have come last night.” You continued, voice tightening. “I shouldn’t have let it-” You stopped, unable to finish.

Shouldn’t have let you.

Silence pressed in.

Then, quieter, more controlled, “I’m a mistake?”

The question landed hard. Your chest constricted.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You shook your head, frustrated and overwhelmed. “I mean this isn’t-it’s not right. It goes against everything I-”

“Everything you were taught.” She cut in.

The correction was soft, but firm. You still flinched.

“It’s the same thing.”

“No.” Semi’s voice stayed calm, but there was something sharper underneath now. “It’s not.”

You looked away.

Because you really weren’t sure anymore. And that terrified you.

“I can’t do this.” You said, quieter now. “I can’t keep feeling like this. Thinking like this.”

Semi took another step closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that you felt it in your bones.

“And what are you feeling?” She asked.

You didn’t answer, because if you said it out loud, it would become real. Irreversible.

Her voice softened. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Your composure cracked just slightly, your voice dropping to something fragile.

“I don’t know what this is.”

Semi held your gaze.

“I think you do.”

Her words settled deep, uncomfortable but true. You shook your head anyway.

“No.” But it sounded weaker this time. Less certain.

Semi didn’t argue anymore. She just watched you, something quieter in her expression now.

“I’m not asking you to figure it all out.” She said softly. “I’m just asking you to stop lying to yourself for a start.”

Your breath caught, because that, more than anything, felt impossible.

Silence stretched again. The chapel bell tolled once in the distance, a low and steady reminder. Of time. Of choices. Of everything you were supposed to be.

You took another step back.

Then another.

Creating space like it might save you.

“I should go.”

Semi didn’t try to stop you.

“Yeah.” She said, nodding slowly. “You probably should.”

Her eyes stayed on yours. Steady. Knowing.

You turned before you could lose your nerve, moving quickly toward the chapel doors. Your heart pounded with each step, loud and uneven, like it was trying to break free from your chest and run to her.

At the threshold, you hesitated for a second. You didn’t turn around, but you felt her there. Behind you. Waiting.

Not chasing.

That made it worse.

“I’m not-” You started, voice unsteady. “I’m not like you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. The moment they did, you wished you could take them back.

Silence followed. Then, quietly, she replied.

“I know.”

There was no anger in it. Just something soft, and maybe a little sad.

You left without looking back. The chapel doors closed behind you with a dull, final sound that echoed longer than it should have. The hallway beyond felt colder, emptier, like something had been stripped out of it.

Or maybe out of you.

The days that followed didn’t feel like relief. They felt like absence.

You avoided Semi without even deciding to. It just… happened. You left rooms earlier than necessary, took longer routes through corridors you already knew by heart. Even chapel felt different now, like every bench had started remembering where you had sat beside her.

Or where you almost had.

You told yourself it was better this way, cleaner, quieter. But the quiet didn’t settle. It pressed.

And underneath it, constantly, was the same thought you refused to name properly:

It had felt real.

On the fourth day, an announcement came during morning assembly.

The sisters gathered you all in the chapel again, voices echoing slightly too sharply off stone walls, the kind of formal tone that always meant change was being introduced as something good.

“We are welcoming a new guidance counselor to the academy.”

A small pause.

“This is a space for support, reflection, and understanding.”

The word understanding lingered differently than the others.

You didn’t look up immediately, but when you did, a younger nun stepped forward.

She didn’t look like the others. Not softened by age into severity, or hardened into ritual. She looked… close enough to feel real, only a few years older than you, maybe. Calm posture, hands loosely folded, expression composed but not closed off. There was something unsettling about how unguarded she seemed in a place built entirely on restraint.

“I’m Sister Claire.” She said gently. “And I’m here to listen.”

Not correct, listen. That alone made something in your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t go at first. You told yourself there was nothing to say. Nothing about you that required a counselor. Nothing that wasn’t already handled, named, confessed.

But the thought of her words stayed with you anyway.

Listen.

Like that was enough.

Like that could be enough.

You saw Semi the next day.

It was accidental, or you told yourself it was. She was leaving one of the side rooms near the administrative wing, door clicking shut behind her as she stepped into the corridor. You slowed without meaning to.

Something in her posture was different. Not lighter exactly, but… unburdened, in a way you didn’t recognize.

She saw you immediately. Of course she did.

Her eyes flicked to you, steady as always, but there was no tension in them now. No edge, no waiting, just calm. Almost…

Happy wasn’t right. But it was closer than anything else you had seen on her lately.

“What were you doing there?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

Semi adjusted her sleeve slightly, casual. “Counseling.”

The word didn’t sound heavy when she said it. That was the first strange thing.

“You went?” You asked.

She shrugged once.

“Yeah.” Then, softer, almost like she didn’t care whether you understood it or not, “She just listens.”

Something in your expression must have shifted, because Semi’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“You should go.” She added.

“I don’t need-”

“You do.” She said simply.

Then she stepped past you like the conversation had already ended in her mind.

And it had.

You stood there longer than you meant to.

You replayed her expression, the ease in it. The absence of something you had started to think was permanent. And beneath it, something sharper rose without permission:

Why does she get to feel like that?

You didn’t move until you realized your feet already had.

You booked an appointment that evening quietly. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a choice that had anything to do with her. But your hand lingered a fraction too long on the scheduling page before you confirmed it, as if waiting for something to stop you.

The guidance counselor’s office was smaller than you expected.

For the first time, the room was nothing imposing, or ritualistic, just a room. Warm light. Plain furniture. A chair that didn’t look like it had ever been used for confession.

A few minutes passed after you sat down, the door opened. Sister Claire stepped in.

“Hi.” She said softly, closing the door behind her.

No “bless me.” No “tell me your sins.” Just… Hi.

She stayed standing for a moment like she was giving you space to change your mind. Then she pulled the chair opposite you, not the one positioned behind a desk like authority, but angled slightly off center, as if she didn’t want there to be a barrier at all.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

You nodded before you thought about it.

She sat. Not rushing you. Not filling the silence. Just waiting in it with you.

That, more than anything, made your throat tighten again, because waiting was what Semi did.

But this was different. There was no pressure in it. No hidden expectation. No sense that silence was being measured against you.

It was just space.

“You don’t have to organize it.” She said gently. “If it’s messy, that’s fine.”

Your fingers flexed in your lap.

“It’s not supposed to be messy.” You said automatically.

The words came out sharper than you intended. But Sister Claire didn’t react like you’d broken something, she only tilted her head slightly.

“Who told you that?”

The question landed too easily, too softly. Like it wasn’t a challenge, just simply curiosity.

You hesitated.

“I don’t know.” You said finally. “Everyone.”

That made her pause.

“Okay.” She said quietly. “Then maybe we can start there.”

You stared at the edge of the chair in front of you, focusing on something physical so you didn’t have to focus on your own thoughts.

“I’ve been…” You swallowed. “Having thoughts I shouldn’t have.”

She nodded once.

“About someone?”

Your breath caught slightly.

You didn’t answer immediately. But that alone felt like an answer.

“Yes.” You admitted.

Sister Claire didn’t write anything down yet, didn’t reach for anything. She just watched you carefully, like she was making sure you didn’t feel cornered by your own words.

“And when you say ‘shouldn’t,’” she said, “what does that mean to you?”

You frowned slightly.

“It means… wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

The question made your chest tighten again. You hated how simple she sounded, like the answer should exist outside your fear.

“It goes against what I’ve been taught.” You said.

She nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

That wasn’t agreement. It wasn’t rejection either. Just acknowledgment.

“And do you feel like what you were taught and what you feel are the same thing?” She asked.

That was exactly the problem.

“I don’t know anymore.” You said quietly. The honesty surprised you more than it seemed to surprise her.

Sister Claire leaned forward slightly, not invading, just attentive.

“What changed?” She asked.

Your stomach tightened. Suddenly, you weren’t in this room anymore.

You were back in the study room. Her hand in yours. The crucifix between you. The bell cutting through everything like judgment that didn’t care what you wanted.

Your fingers curled slightly.

“I thought I understood it.” You said. “What was right and what wasn’t. It was simple.”

“And now?”

Your breath shook faintly.

“Now it doesn’t feel simple.” You admitted. “It feels… uncertain.”

Sister Claire nodded like that was not only expected, but familiar.

“That can be very frightening.” She said.

You let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but wasn’t.

“It is.” You said. “Because if I’m wrong, then everything I’ve been doing… everything I’ve stopped myself from-”

You stopped. You didn’t finish the sentence. But she didn’t force it, she just let it sit there.

“I want to ask you something.” She said after a moment.

You looked up cautiously.

“Okay.”

“When you think about this person,” she said carefully, “what do you actually feel first?”

The question confused you.

“It’s not… one thing.” You said.

“That’s fine.” She replied. “Start anywhere.”

You hesitated.

Your mind tried to organize it, to label it correctly, to make it safe. But what came first wasn’t a rule, it was memory.

Her voice.

Her hand.

The way she never took more than you gave.

The way she waited.

“I feel…” You swallowed. “Seen.”

The word surprised you as it left your mouth.

Sister Claire didn’t react immediately. She just repeated it softly. “Seen.”

You nodded, unsure why your chest felt tight.

“And that feels… dangerous?” She asked.

“It feels like I’m not supposed to want that.”You said.

“Why not?”

The question made something in you shift, because you didn’t have a clean answer.

“I don’t know.” You admitted again.

Sister Claire leaned back slightly, thoughtful.

“I’m going to say something.” She said gently. “And you don’t have to agree with it.”

You nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

“Wanting to be seen isn’t the same thing as doing something wrong.” She said.

Your stomach tightened immediately at the simplicity of it.

“But it leads to other things.” You said quickly. “It leads to temptation. That’s what I was told.”

“And did anyone ever ask you what you think it leads to?” She asked.

You looked down. Your fingers were twisted together.

“I don’t know what I think.” You admitted.

A pause. Then, more fragile, “I thought I did.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t the same silence as before. This one didn’t feel like waiting for confession. It felt like waiting for understanding.

Sister Claire spoke again, softer now.

“When you went to confession,” she said, “did it help you make sense of what you felt?”

Your mind flickered back to the priest’s voice. The words: impure, sin, distance, clarity. Then the emptiness after.

“I don’t think it helped.” You said quietly.

“Why not?”

Your throat tightened. Because saying it made it real.

“Because I didn’t feel… guided.” You said. “I felt… labeled.”

Sister Claire nodded once, slowly.

“That’s an important distinction.” She said.

You looked up at her again. And for the first time in a while, you weren’t bracing for correction. You were waiting for understanding.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.” You admitted.

She studied you for a long moment. Then spoke gently.

“Maybe you don’t have to do anything with it right away.”

“Then what do I do?” You asked.

Sister Claire didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she said, “Can I ask, when you’re around this person… do you feel pressured?”

You hesitated, because the honest answer was complicated.

“No.” You said finally. “Not like that.”

“And do you feel… afraid of them?”

You thought about it.

The chapel. The almost-kiss. The bell. The way Semi had stopped when you stopped.

“No.” You said again. Softer this time. “No.”

Sister Claire nodded slowly.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

The question landed differently. Because this time it wasn’t about Semi. It was about you.

Your breath caught slightly.

“I don’t know.” You whispered.

Sister Claire didn’t move when your voice started to break. She didn’t reach across the space between you, or interrupt, or try to steer you away from it. She just stayed there. Present. Like she was willing to let you fall apart without making it mean something was wrong with you for doing it.

Your breath turned uneven before you even realized what was happening.

It started small. A tightness in your throat, a pressure behind your eyes you tried to blink away. You focused hard on your hands again, like if you could just keep your body still, the rest of you would follow.

But it didn’t.

The feeling rose anyway. Not sharp like guilt, or structured like fear, it was something softer. Worse.

Because it didn’t come with an argument anymore. It came with recognition.

Your vision blurred as you swallowed, hard.

And in that silence, careful and trembling, you finally stopped trying to translate it into something acceptable. Not temptation. Not confusion. Not something you were supposed to pray away.

The realization settled quiet and certain, your chest tightening as if your body had understood it before you had ever given it permission.

“I…” Your voice cracked before it could finish forming. You tried again, but it came out smaller. “I think…”

Your throat closed, sucking a breath in that didn’t quite work.

Sister Claire didn’t fill the silence. She didn’t rescue you from it.

Your fingers curled into your palms so tightly it almost hurt, like you were trying to hold yourself in place. Because if you let go of this moment, you might go back to not knowing. And that felt worse now.

Your eyes burned.

And then, finally…

“I think I love her.”

It came out broken and barely audible, like saying it too clearly would make it collapse under its own weight.

The room didn’t change, but something in you did. Your breath hitched sharply, and suddenly the tears were there, no longer held back, just spilling over without permission.

You stared down at your hands as if they belonged to someone else. Like you were waiting for the word to be corrected, reframed, taken apart.

But Sister Claire still didn’t move. She only watched you, steady and unflinching, as if the truth you had just said didn’t make you smaller, only more visible.

Your voice came again, rougher now, panicked underneath the honesty like it was trying to undo it.

“But-”

Your breath caught hard, and your head shook once, small and instinctive. Like your body was rejecting what your mind had already accepted.

“But she’s a girl.”

The words broke at the end. Raw. Disbelieving. As if that single fact should have been enough to erase everything that came before it.

Silence followed immediately. Thick, but not heavy.

Sister Claire didn’t answer right away. She just let the words sit in the air exactly as you gave them to her.

And in that space, your breathing started to shake harder, like your body didn’t know what to do with a truth it couldn’t argue with anymore.

Finally, very gently, she spoke.

“Thank you for saying that out loud.”

Not agreement.

Not rejection.

Just acknowledgment.

And somehow, that made it worse and better, all at the same time.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

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[oikyawa]

SHE BECAME A VICTIM TO MY BUSY SCHEDULE

eita semi x reader

SYNOPSIS eita’s busy schedule becomes too much for you.

eita semi. the solo singer and guitarist, the man with a growing fanbase over japan, and the man you love.

it’s his biggest dream come true, being a musician with people who adore his music.

late nights spent writing and scrapping lyrics for songs, spending hours in the music room at the academy, creating all kinds of demos he wouldn’t release to the outside world.

and you’ve been with him through everything.

the late nights that consisted of him balling up tons of papers with lyrics that just weren’t right, listening to him play his guitar in the music room after school, and being the only one he’d let hear those demos.

for all those moments, and tons more, you were there.

since you were sixteen years old, upto now, at twenty two years old.

you’ve been at semi’s side for six years, and you didn’t think you’d ever leave him. but time can do awful things to a relationship.

you loved to stay up late with him, hearing him talk about the ideas he’s had for new music, comforting him after not getting signed with a record label, him singing you back to sleep after a nightmare. all those happy memories.

but memories are just memories, they don’t change how you feel in the present.

you know it’s selfish, but sometimes you wish he didn’t choose this path, even if it’s all he’s ever wanted.

it changed him in a way.

he’s still the same eita semi you fell in love with at sixteen, when he protected you from a volleyball flying right at your face.

he’s still the same eita semi who let you practice new makeup styles on his face at a sleepover, not caring how long it took you to perfect the look.

and he’s still the same eita semi who’ll write songs about you any chance he can get, whether he’s bored or stuck with lyrics, his thoughts are always revolving around you.

but he doesn’t feel the same, it’s something you can’t exactly pinpoint.

he’s been getting home later and later every night, but he still wraps his arms around you with that same familiar warmth, that made you forget about it.

he’s been home less and less in general, spending most of the time he has at the studio or at a gig.

you used to love coming along with him, since he loves to have you by his side constantly, distracting him from the anxiety of playing on a new stage with a new song, and being able to take breaks and stare at your pretty face to relax him.

but you don’t really come along anymore, and he’ll tell you that ‘it’s fine.’ and disappear for the next couple hours, often bleeding into the late hours of the night.

it feels like you’re living complete seperate lives, where the other doesn’t appear as much as before.

he’s living his life filled with music sheets and guitar strings, while you live yours in an apartment that feels too empty, with no dirty mugs on the counter.

you miss the life you had before he got more well known.

you miss being freshly twenty years old and having just moved into your first apartment with your boyfriend. no clue what living together with someone that isn’t your mom is like.

you miss the nights where he wasn’t playing different gigs everytime, when he was solely playing his music for you.

you don’t think you’ll ever get those nights with him again, with the years to come his fame will only grow, and you’ll be sinking into the background as time passes.

you’re happy for him, you truly are. but this isn’t a life you can live.

it’ll get too lonely for you. even if you know he’d drop anything to be by your side at a heartbeat, you’d feel like a burden.

he’s told you numerous times that you’re never a burden to him, but sometimes it really feels that way.

you don’t want to come off as needy or selfish, wanting him by your side when you’re only the tiniest bit upset, feels too much to ask for.

so you don’t.

you don’t ask for him to stop by when you feel like you’re about to break, you don’t tell him how miserable you may feel that day, you keep it all to yourself. thinking that’s the best way to do it.

he already has enough on his schedule as is, you don’t want to pile yourself on there and watch it break.

and if you had to admit, you’re not really happy in the relationship anymore.

it’s not him personally, it’s the situation that’s the problem.

maybe if he were working a nine to five job, then maybe it would work out.

but that’s not reality, as much as you hope it is, it isn’t.

he’s a man with a busy schedule, and you find yourself victim to it.

you feel like it’s best to end things with him, if you do it any later, it’ll hurt even more. not like it won’t feel like your heart would be ripped out already.

you shoot him a text at four in the afternoon, saying ‘we need to talk, please come home.’

this morning before he left, he’d told you that he could be home earlier today, you only had to send him a text if you wanted him home earlier.

and so you used that opportunity.

he texted you three times, but you ignored them. simply basking in your anxiety waiting for him to be back.

and he came back ten times faster than you expected, throwing the door shut behind him with a loud thud.

he appears from the hallway in a completely disheveled state.

hair messy and a few stray hairs sticking to his forehead, zip up jacket half off his shoulder, chest heaving like he ran a whole marathon before coming home, and eyes having the lightest sheen over them.

‘baby? what’s wrong? are you okay?’ he rushes over to the couch in the flash of a second, the couch dipping as he sits down beside you, hands awkwardly hovering around you.

‘i’m fine, eita. we need to talk.’ the seriousness in your tone makes him gulp, resting a hand on yours. which you don’t pull away from.

he looks at your eyes, trying to find a small sparkle that’ll tell him it’s a prank, that you’re messing with him.

but he doesn’t.

he only meets a cold look in your eyes, one that he’s very unfamiliar with.

‘babe—’ ‘i think we should break up.’

there it is. the words he never wanted to hear you say, ever.

your gaze flicks to him, and oh, it’s heavy to look at.

his entire face dropped, eyes filled with tears and threatening to spill over his lashline.

you feel his hand that’s on yours tremble violently, now along with his entire body, that’s also starting to shake.

‘baby, no— please no.’ he pleads, tears now actively pouring out of his eyes, sobbing helplessly as if it’ll change your mind.

god, you feel terrible now, for doing this to him.

it almost makes you forget everything that led up to his moment.

part of you wants to wrap your arms around him and never let go, telling him that it was just a ‘nightmare’, and that you’ll be there when he wakes up.

but you fight that part of yourself, it’s reality, it’s as real as anything can get.

he leans foward, the warmth of his palm leaving your hand hits you like a wave of ice cold water, that may be the last time you’ll feel his warmth.

he now cries into his palms, not on your shoulder or chest like all the times before.

‘baby— why? what did i do?’ the nickname, the one that used to make you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, stings too much now, along with his broken tone tugging on your heart strings.

‘i can’t do it anymore.’ you want to add a ‘sorry’ at the end, even if you feel so incredibly sorry about it, it’ll feel too much like something that can be fixed.

‘what? why? what did i do? please, baby. tell me.’ he’s turns his body towards you now, his hands shaking to hold yours.

‘it’s not you, eita. i just- i don’t fit into your schedule anymore.’ your voice cracked, the realization of what you’re doing suddenly really kicking in.

‘baby no— please no, i can fix this- lets try, please?’ he cradles your hands in his, bowing his head down again so it rests on both your hands.

you feel his tears falling on your skin, and it burns.

‘eita, i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry— but i can’t anymore. you’re the best thing in my life, i swear to god you are. and i love you so much, but i really can’t keep going like this. i’m miserable everyday, you’re barely home, sometimes it doesn’t even feel like you’re my partner anymore.’

you love him, you really do. but you can’t stay, all you’ve been feeling these past weeks is pure and utter misery, and you can’t live on like that. you just can’t.

and he knows, he knows how much you love him, and how much he loves you. but he also hears how true your words are.

he’s barely been home, he’s barely seen your face the past couple weeks.

he knows that the situation is making you miserable, he feels it too.

but he doesn’t want to accept that fact that it’s over.

as selfish as it might sound, he’s not going to shatter his dream just like that.

it’s unfixable. you’re too stubborn to change your mind, he knows that. and that’s one of the many things he loves about you.

but right now it’s the one thing he hates about you.

he loves you, so much it makes his chest hurt.

his love for you is endless, he doesn’t think that there’s anything that can make him stop loving you.

he fell inlove with you at sixteen for a reason, and he’d never go back in time to change that.

he loved you then, he loves you now, and he’ll never stop loving you. even if you don’t love him anymore.

you’re his muse, the light of his life, the reason he gets up every morning.

you’re the reason he pursued his dream of becoming a musician, and he never would’ve done it without your support.

and it’s his dream that shattered the beautiful relationship that you had.

‘i’m sorry baby, i’m sorry that i was too fucking selfish all this time, i abandoned you, you! i’ll never forgive myself, but please baby, can’t we fix this? i love you too much to let you go.’

he’s begging, on his knees now. begging you to just please, please stay with him.

you’ve been through the hell called high school together, you’ve bickered too many times to count, you’ve been through the struggle of moving in together.

you’ve been through so many hardships together, so why isn’t this one you can’t overcome?

you were supposed to grow old together, get married, maybe even have a kid or two, live in more houses with one another.

you were supposed to live together till your last breaths.

and now all the things you were supposed to do together, got shattered in an instant.

he can’t imagine being with anyone else other than you.

‘i don’t want to do this either, i really don’t. but i seriously can’t live like this anymore. and i’d feel even worse if you gave up your dream for me, i’m so sorry.’ you can’t fight the tears that threaten to spill over anymore, letting them fall freely over your cheeks.

he carefully stands up, not making an attempt to wipe the stream of tears that are still falling from his eyes.

he walks back to the hallway where he originally came from, and just punches the thin wall as hard as he can.

he drops to his knees and breaks down all over again.

it’s over.

everything you two had, is over.

in a year from now, you’ll both be estranged, living two completely different lives. but without eachother in them. and he can’t bear the thought.

and the ring he bought, the one he’d planned to propose to you with, today. will forever stay buried under snapped guitar strings and his old jersey from highschool.

but in the end, you are his biggest dream. and he should’ve made you feel that way.

a/n: i planned to be nice and make it a happy ending, but tumblr removed part of my next so i got mad and made you guys all suffer with me 😗 the ring mention was the biggest blow i could give, extra pain we love it right.

and if you need to blame someone, blame justin bieber for making this song, i also recommend listening to it!

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