'Don't be scared' == a parallel fairhi valentine's event!
Not again.
The pressure in the back of your throat feels like you’ll throw up any second now. Not an option. Your eyes flash around the place for anything to defend yourself. But perhaps by chance, or more worryingly- by design, any object heavy enough to knock someone out has been relegated to the living room.
The soft whistle rings through the walls, circles the door. Grating like nails on a chalkboard.
You scan yourself, quickly toss on a sweatshirt that covers you up better than your pajamas, and drag your hand to the handle.
Not again.
Not again.
You find yourself filtering through the long list of horrible things you’d rather experience than this. It’s so fucking unfair. What did you ever do to deserve this?
You push the door open to see an uncannily similar sight as three months ago. When you’d first broken up.
Satoru’s taken up a place in your kitchen and is rummaging through your cupboards with the stove on high— lean, muscular frame basically gliding about the space. His mop of white hair falls messily and half dried. You can smell your shower gel on him, like it’s his own.
A shower that isn’t his, in a bathroom that isn’t his. Like he remembers where you left everything the day before, and is now humming his way through the morning hours.
It would be sort of romantic… you know, in other circumstances.
You’re balling your hands up into tight fists, but even that can’t keep them from shaking violently. Your heart drops through your stomach, and squeezes uncomfortably around nothing but bile. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up so hard that everything breaks out in goosebumps. And all of it is made more infuriating by the fact that he knows you’re here, and he’s pretending he doesn’t.
“Satoru…” Your tongue is heavy before you get it to move. “What the fuck- what are you doing here? I changed my locks- I- I have a restraining order on you.” Your voice cracks halfway through your sentence, as the feelings catch up with you. This isn’t the first time, or the second. Your hiccuping starts because of the panic of that— because you know very well what he’s here for. Satoru takes and takes and takes without caring about a thing you say.
“You’re in violation of the restraining order,” you sadly say, but it’s hard to make out your own words through the crying.
Of course he doesn’t react like any person in his position would, caught breaking and entering. “Good morning, pretty girl.” He turns over his shoulder to wink one of his pale blues your way, grinning all the while. “Breakfast is on the way, if you want to freshen up real quick?”
When he catches sight of your face, he has the audacity to raise his brows, and pout. “What’s the problem? It’s Valentine’s Day. I’ve missed you.” He wipes his greasy palms on his sweatpants, before reaching for you. Cupping your face into his long fingers, he wipes a thumb through the mess of tears. “I thought I’d surprise you with a gift before jumping on you, this time. You don’t like it?”
Your sniffles and teary expression only makes him nudge your face upward, and press his face into your space. And you’d fight… but you’ve tried that. You’d run, but you’ve tried that too. Twice. Even playing nice never gets you any closer to freedom.
The kettle whistles on the counter, as you try to swallow your tears. “I don’t like it.”
His fingers slide from your chin down your throat, before he grips it too tight. “Hm? Don’t be scared.” He grins so wide it dimples his cheek, and brushes his lips over your mouth. “I know you like it.”
Emily was never really fond of her birthday. It brought back too many memories of terrible past ones that she thought it was best to leave the day be. Treat it as any other. Yet Jon knew that. But there were things Jon didn’t know and things she wasn’t going to bother him with. She wasn’t his problem anymore. With guitar case in hand, the blonde made her way to the small lounge where it was empty and set it down on a small table. Opening up the case, the smile on her face faded to white complexion of fear. This couldn’t be happening. This is why she stayed inside. Looking at the case, on top of her guitar was a picture of Emily recently out at the zoo. Hesitantly reaching out and picking it up, the corner of the picture and a small ‘xo’. He was back. Her fears confirmed. Slouching back into the couch, she felt her panic start to rise as she stared at the picture in her hand. Not even realizing someone entering the room.
