daniwrld

[daniwrld]

Oh my GOD im actually giggling so bad ahdhsjakaksjsjdjjdd this is PERFECT ughhhhh,,, danishiya canon!

Aquarium date!

COMISSION @sillyenemyarcade

Chishiya shuntarō was a man notorious for never taking days off work. It had been worse since the meteor, he had sunken himself into saving people and studying. But, as his cheerful, bubbly partner, Dani had plans. Just for today of course.

“Are you sure this is where you wanna be? We could be going to dinner instead of this childish place.” He hums, curiously skimming his fingers through the water with some hesitation as he looked at the shallow waters down below, a fish almost nibbles his finger. He grimaces and quickly pulls away. Stuffing his hand into his pocket.

“Yes! Trust me, there’s so many cute fishes. It’ll be worth it.” Her eyes glistening as the water flows, tropical fish, a little octopus hidden under rocks, sea bunnies. “Look at that one!” She points, the tropical fish bangs its head against the glass. Chishiya only stares in amusement, his eyes flickering between her and something else. Suddenly grabbing her wrist. “I’d like to show you something.”

“Huh?” She stares confused before shrugging. “Okay.” As he begins walking, Dani takes in each sight, humming before she’s met with one of the biggest tanks she’s ever seen. “Holy-“ There were jellyfish of all sorts of colours, seals, in another enclosure, sting rays, sea bunnies, and other poisonous animals. She gasps. “Jellyfish!”

He smiles, removing his hand from her wrist to intertwine his fingers with hers, “That one looks like you.” He murmurs softly, pointing to the pink jellyfish. She giggles, a brown stingray appears, seemingly following the jellyfish, not getting to close. They seem to dance in a way, beautiful and wholesome. “That’s you.” Dani murmurs softly, her finger pressed against the glance. Chishiya smiles and squeezes her hand. “It is.”

“Although, the jellyfish isn’t as.. pretty as you.” It seemed like he tried to find words that sounded sweet, Dani presses a soft kiss to his cheek. A grin on her face.

“Let’s go look at the seals, and get dinner afterwards.” Dani requests, all Chishiya does is nod and smile.

Let me know if I need to change anything! 🩷

[daniwrld]

omg i love ur oneshots sm,,,,, i adore u pageee !! Can u maybe write a chishiya x reader where she has REALLY REALLY bad social anxiety and like never goes out at all😭

chishiya x anxious!reader

summary: you had never been extroverted (to say the least). But luckily for you, neither has chishiya.

tags: established relationship, fluff, social anxiety

A/N: hiiii! i feel like this is so bad so i’m so sorry😭😭 my writers block has been terrible these past few days so this is just whatever slop my brain could produce😭😭

word count: 1.7k

masterlist!!!

You’ve always been a creature of habit, but “habit” feels too gentle a word for the walls you’ve built around yourself. Your life exists almost exclusively between the four walls of your apartment, a soft-lit sanctuary of blankets, books, and the faint hum of your laptop. Going out? That’s for other people – those that don’t feel their heart slam into your chest at the mere thought of a stranger’s glance.

But then there’s Chishiya. He is different - solitary, like you, but by choice rather than necessity. You had met on one of your rare visits to the grocery store, bumping into him, literally, and, for some reason, he decided to stick around. You finally confessed your struggles with anxiety to him a few weeks after, expecting him to become disinterested like so many others, but he just said, “meh, outside is overrated anyway.”

He’s learned you, piece by piece, even noticing the signs before you do sometimes. The way your fingers twist the hem of your shirt when you’re overwhelmed. The shallow breaths that come when the doorbell rings unexpectedly. The way you curl into yourself on the couch when your brain thinks just a little too much.

Tonight is one of those quiet evenings between you both. You’re nestled under a blanket, scrolling through your phone, while Chishiya lounges in the armchair across from you, flipping through a book on biochemistry or something equally impenetrable.

“You’re fidgeting,” he says suddenly, not looking up from his page.

You freeze, realizing your foot has been tapping against the floor. “Am I? Sorry.”

He glances at you then, those sharp eyes softening just a fraction. “It’s fine. What’s on your mind?”

It’s nothing big - not really, just the usual spiral. You had seen a post online about a local event happening this weekend. It looked fun, like something you’d enjoy, but you were hyperaware that fear would keep you away once again. It stirred that familiar ache: the longing to be involved, to be normal. But saying it aloud feels silly, redundant even. “Just… stuff. You know.”

He nods, closing his book with a soft thud. “The delivery guy’s coming soon. Want me to handle it?”

You exhale, grateful he doesn’t press. He never does. He was good like that, always offering without making it seem like a favor. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You eat in companionable silence, the kind that never demands filling. It never did with him. Afterward, he clears the table while you wash up, and when you return to the living room, he’s already dimmed the lights, knowing you prefer it dark.

“Movie?” he asks, settling on the couch.

You nod, curling up beside him. His arm drapes over your shoulders casually, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. It’s these little things - the way he anticipates what you need without words - that make you feel seen.

Safe.

But Chishiya isn’t content to let you hide away forever. Not in a forceful, sudden way; no, he’s far too clever for that. He plants seeds, subtle suggestions that will nudge you toward the edge of your comfort zone. Like last week, when he mentioned ordering books online but mused aloud about browsing in person someday. “Less waiting,” he had said offhandedly. You had brushed it off, but the idea lingered in your mind. It would be nice, you hadn’t been to a bookstore in years.

He’s doing it again now, as the movie credits roll. “I finished that thriller you lent me. The ending was predictable like you said.”

You smile, shifting to face him. “Told you. What did you think of the twist with the sister?”

“Oh that was from chapter three.” He said with a playful smirk, knowing you didn’t get it until chapter 10. “I need something new. There’s a bookstore downtown – it’s small, independent. Not too crowded.”

Your stomach twists, that familiar knot forming. “You could go alone. Or order online.”

“I could.” He pauses, his eyes meeting yours. “But I thought you might want to come. They have that section on rare editions you like.”

It’s not a demand; Chishiya never demands. But there’s a subtle challenge in his tone. The kind which means he’s not going to back down. He knows you love books - the smell of paper, how the pages sound when you turn thrm. Your apartment is lined with shelves, supplementing any need to go to a library, but all of those books were bought online or gifts from family if you were lucky.

“I… don’t know.” The thought of stepping out, navigating the streets, possible small talk with a cashier - it sends your pulse racing. “What if it’s busy? Or someone talks to me?”

“Then we leave.” Simple, logical. “It’s a Tuesday afternoon. There won’t be many people. And I’ll handle any talking.”

You bite your lip, fingers twisting in your lap - a sign he clocks immediately. His hand covers yours, stilling the motion. “No pressure though. Just think about it.”

The next morning, you wake to the scent of coffee. Chishiya’s already up, leaning against your kitchen counter with a mug in hand.

“Morning,” he says, sliding a cup toward you.

You mumble a reply, sipping gratefully. It was the same routine as always: breakfast together, him reading the news on his phone while you sketch absentmindedly in your notebook. But today, you can tell he’s watching you more closely, not overtly, but you feel his eyes in the side of your head.

By noon, he broaches it again. “I’m heading to the bookstore at around two. If you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. Part of you wants to - desperately. To feel normal, to share something simple with him outside the confines of your apartment. But…

What if you get overwhelmed? What if you embarrass him?

He senses the war in your head without needing to ask. Setting his phone down, he moves to sit beside you at the table. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s stupid,” you whisper. “I want to go, but… my chest gets tight just imagining it. How would I cope if I can’t even think about it? What if I freeze up?”

His expression doesn’t change - no pity, no frustration. Just understanding. “It’s not stupid. And they won’t be staring; people are too focused on themselves. But if it happens, we adapt to it. Breathe through it, like we practiced.”

Those practices - he started those subtly too. Deep breathing exercises disguised as “meditation for focus,” which he claimed helped his studies. You know better now; it was for you, to arm you against your own anxieties.

“Okay,” you say finally, surprising yourself. “I’ll try.”

His lips quirk into an almost-smile. “Good.”

The next hour is preparation, though he doesn’t call it that. He suggests comfortable clothes - your oversized sweater and jeans that don’t pinch. He packs a small bag: a water bottle and noise-canceling headphones, for you, just incase.

As you step toward the door, your hands start to tremble. Chishiya notices - of course he does, he notices everything when it comes to you - and he silently slips his fingers through yours.

Outside, the world felt obnoxious: cars humming and clanking as they drive by, people talking too loudly, eyes looking your way. You cling to chishiya’s arm, your eyes focused on the ground. “Too much?” he asks.

“A little.” Your voice wavers.

“We can turn back.”

But you shake your head. “No. Lets keep going.”

He just nods, continuing to guide you down the sidewalk. It’s not far - ten minutes at most – but right now it feels eternal. A passerby brushes too close, and you flinch so Chishiya shifts, positioning himself between you and the street, like a human shield.

“Focus on the details,” he says quietly. “Count the cracks in the pavement. Or name the colors around us.”

It’s another trick he’s taught you. You try: gray sidewalk, blue sky, red stoplight. And slowly, the panic ebbs away to something more manageable.

The bookstore appears ahead - a quaint corner shop with a faded sign. Through the window, you can see shelves stacked high, soft lighting, and only a few people.

Inside, it’s heaven. The air smells of old paper and ink, a silence which is only broken by the turn of pages. A single clerk nods from behind the counter, then returns to their book. No forced greetings, no hovering.

Safe.

You exhale, the tension in you uncoiling slowly. Chishiya releases your hand but stays close, browsing a nearby shelf. “Take your time.”

You wander tentatively, fingers trailing the spines. Fantasy, mystery, poetry - your havens. For the first time in ages, the outside world feels… tolerable. Chishiya picks up a volume of his favourite medical journal, but his eyes flick to you often, just checking in.

At one point, you reach for a high shelf, and he’s there instantly, plucking the book down. “This one?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He adds it to his stack. “Anything else?”

You browse longer than planned, the anxiety fading into mere background noise. But as you approach the counter, it surges back. The clerk - a kind-faced woman in her forties - looks up. “Find everything okay?”

Your throat tightens, the words sticking in your throat like tar. Chishiya steps forward seamlessly. “Yes. Just these.”

He handles the transaction, chatting minimally with the cashier about the weather. You stand beside him , grateful for his buffer.

The walk home feels lighter than the one on the way here. You had actually done it – a small step that feels like a milestone towards a slimmer of normalcy. Maybe it was a coincidence, but the cars were quieter now, and the pavements less crowded.

“You did well,” he says once you’re inside, door locked behind you.

“I almost didn’t.” You sink onto the couch. “But… it wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

He sits beside you, unpacking the books. “Progress isn’t linear. Today was a step. A big step for you.”

You lean against him, exhaustion mingling with the small pride. “Why do you push me like this? Not that I mind, but… you are okay with staying in, right?”

“I am.” His voice is thoughtful. “But I see how the isolation weighs on you. I don’t want you to feel trapped - not by anxiety, anyway.”

That’s the closest he’s come to admitting he’s helping on purpose. “Thank you.”

Later that evening, as you’re both reading your new finds, he says, “There’s a café near the bookstore. I heard its nice… quiet. Maybe we could try it sometime?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe is good.”

And it is. With him, nothing feels too scary anymore.

[daniwrld]

idk rant abt shiya ..?

i love chishiya sm. like aaghh i've never related to a charcter sm before him. yes, i write silly fanfics about him—yes i think hes the hottest man alive.... but i hate the chishiya gooners. his personality+backstory is ssssoosos complex,,,,and i adore him so much as a character.

he's evil,,he's mean,,,he's a little manipulative bastard and i love it. like i find the human brain sssooo interesting, and his character makes me so happy (///ω///)♪. hes so smart too like agh i adore him sssmmm🤍🤍🤍🤍 i just wanna punch him in the face and then cry bc i did that.,,.....,.,.,.,.,.,

does he knows its okei to be a little cute sometimes....?

[daniwrld]

INTRODUCTION !!

,,➤ danielle [dani]

she/her ,, AROACE LES !

AQUARIUS-PICSES CUSP — INTJ ᡣ𐭩.

diamond's playeeerrr ...

obsessed w shiya ✧˖*°࿐

american ,,, autistic

i adore nijiro murakami ,,,<3

PLS INTERACT :

alice in borderland, mha, jjk, haikyuu, kpop fans (i mostly stan bts & enhypen!), writers, dc, psychology nerds, the darren shan saga, star wars, etc..

DNI :

homophobes/transphobes, racists, chronically online blinks, pedos, people who love gore, niragi supporters (of his actions), porn accounts, weird men, basic dni..

WATTPAD ;;, p4rkingjimin

TIKTOK;;, glitt3rr.girl

DISCORD;;, p4rkingjimin_05944

[daniwrld]

Safe and sweet.

Haaaiii luvies!! this is for the bestest friend ever (i'd say we're friends <3),, they're fr the #1 urumi fan and idc i ship urumi x igi so bad!!!!!!!!!!)!))))!!!! Soooosssososoo,,, this is for them!!!!!!

TYPE: urumi x reader (no use of y/n.), gender neutral!reader, fluff, borderlands au (after a game.)

WARNINGS: brief mention of blood, injury, and death. small kiss,,, obsession with strawberry pocky—and just cuties <3 idk lmk if i forgot anything???

pocky crumbs and sweet kisses, at least you survived.

The game ends with the sound of the siren crackling into silence.

You’re still alive. Barely.

Your hands are scraped, your clothes half torn, and your lungs ache like they forgot how to breathe in panic mode. Your legs are jelly, your body buzzing with leftover adrenaline, but your eyes sweep the space for one thing.Or one person.

“Urumi…?”

You spot her near the edge of the collapsed scaffolding—standing there like it hadn’t even happened, like she hadn’t just dodged death twice with nothing but a flick of her smile and a switchblade.

She’s stretching her arms above her head, yawning like she’s bored. She’s smiling. Of course she is.

“You look like shit,” she says cheerfully.

Your breath hitches in a half-laugh. “Thanks.”

“I mean it in a flattering way.” She turns, brushing dust from her coat. “Kind of a rugged, tragic hero thing.”

You roll your eyes, wobbling a bit as you step closer. The gash on your leg stings with every movement.

She notices. Her smile fades a little. “You’re bleeding.”

You glance down. “Yeah, I noticed that too.”

She walks over, and suddenly she’s right in front of you—close enough to smell the faint, sharp tang of metal on her clothes. Her fingers reach out to gently pull your pants away from the wound. Her touch is light. Delicate, even. You’re not used to her being delicate.

“You okay?” she asks, voice soft now. Real.

“…Yeah. Are you?”

She hums thoughtfully, then grins. “Mostly annoyed you didn’t duck faster.”

You snort. “I didn’t realize you cared about my ducking speed.”

“Oh, I don’t,” she says, brushing hair from your face in a way that betrays the words. “But I was sort of planning on flirting with you after this, and it’s harder to do that when you’re dead.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. Wait, what?You blink. “You were what?”

She grins wider. That smug, sweet curve of her lips. “Mm. I mean, if you died, it’d be a huge waste of all the tension we’ve been building, don’t you think?”

You don’t know what to say. Your brain is still trying to catch up.

She leans in slightly, still watching you with that glint in her eye. She always looks like she’s in on a joke no one else gets. It used to annoy you. Now it’s just… her. And somehow it makes you feel safer.

“You’re really full of yourself, huh?” you murmur.

“Only a little,” she says, her voice dropping a bit. “But I’m usually right.” Her expression softens, the playful spark still there—but behind it, something honest. Something vulnerable, maybe.

She reaches out again, slower this time, and her fingers brush lightly under your chin. “I meant it, though,” she says. “I was scared. When I couldn’t see you in the smoke.”

Your throat tightens. “…I was scared too,” you admit.

“Thought I lost you.”

Something shifts between you, the space shrinking without either of you moving much at all. She doesn’t rush it—just watches your expression, eyes flicking between yours like she’s reading the fine print of your soul.

And then, slowly, she leans in. Not fast. Not desperate. Just soft. Intentional. Like she’s giving you time to stop her—like she knows you won’t.

And you don’t.

Her lips touch yours in a kiss that’s all warmth and quiet, laced with something tender that makes your knees a little weaker. It’s not a performance. It’s not teasing. It’s real.

She pulls back after a few seconds, still so close you can feel her breath.

“…Told you I’d flirt with you.”

You stare at her. “That was more than flirting.”

Urumi gives you a smile that’s both proud and soft. “I’m good at escalation.”

You laugh—fully this time, a little dizzy with adrenaline and affection. “You’re insane.”

“Mmm. Maybe. But I’m still your type.”

You should be annoyed. You really should. But instead, you take her hand, squeeze it gently, and shake your head with a grin.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “you kind of are.”

And for once in the Borderlands, it feels like surviving wasn’t just about living—it was about getting to this moment.

With her. With that stupid, beautiful smile.

──── ୨୧ ────

It was Urumi who suggested they find a place to hide out for the night. “There’s a shuttered café nearby,” she said, casually inspecting her nails like she hadn’t just kissed you senseless. “Hard to break into unless you know which vent to crawl through. Lucky for you… I do.”

You didn’t ask how she knew. You were starting to realize that Urumi just… knew things. About places. People. Vents. Pocky stash locations.

Anyways, though, luckily, the trek there wasn’t long, though you winced every time your leg flared with pain. Urumi walked beside you—not doting, not hovering, but aware. She didn’t offer to carry you or anything dramatic like that. She just adjusted her pace to match yours, wordlessly.

And when you stumbled once, her hand caught your elbow and steadied you like it was second nature. Like she already knew your center of gravity better than you did.

The café was small. Dusty. Forgotten. Cracked tiles and broken chairs, but the backroom was intact—warm enough to keep the chill off, and quiet in that rare kind of way. Like the world had been paused.

You both sat on a pile of worn blankets that someone, somewhere, had left behind.

Urumi unzipped her satchel and casually pulled out two slightly crushed snack boxes. “Today’s dinner,” she said, holding up the red foil packet. “Strawberry Pocky. Vintage.”

You blinked. “How the hell do you still have that?”

“I hide things better than I hide feelings,” she said with a crooked grin. “And I hide feelings very well.”

You laughed, gently, and took one of the sticks she held out. Your fingers brushed. Hers were warm.

The first bite was sweet and artificial and perfect. The kind of taste that reminded you—somehow—of life before this place.

“Don’t inhale it all,” she warned, nudging your shoulder as she opened a small container of what looked like broken, buttery cookies. “I’m sharing this with you even though you ran directly into a tripwire back there.”

“I dodged it,” you said around a mouthful of Pocky.

“Barely. You flailed.”

“I didn’t flail.”

“You made a noise.”

“I got startled!”

She bit into a cookie, smiling against it. “It was cute.”

Your cheeks flushed. You didn’t respond. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It never was with her. It felt… settled. Like the storm had passed and now there was only this strange little calm where you sat beside someone who, for whatever reason, made the end of the world feel a little less lonely.

You looked over at her. Her eyes were closed, lips tinted faintly pink from the candy, her knees pulled loosely to her chest.

The quiet made you bold. “Why do you always smile like that?” you asked softly. “Even when things are going to hell.”

She opened her eyes slowly and looked at you. “Because if I don’t smile,” she said, “I’ll think too much. And if I think too much, I’ll panic. And panicking’s not cute.”

That answer should’ve made you laugh. But it didn’t. Because something in her voice told you that was the truth. You didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then you leaned in just slightly and bumped your shoulder against hers. “I’m glad you didn’t panic,” you said quietly. “Because I needed you today.”

Her expression flickered—like a spark in the dark. She didn’t smile this time. Not the usual cheeky grin, at least. Just something softer. Tired.

She reached into the Pocky box, pulled out another stick, and offered it to you with a lopsided look. “I’ll take that as a thank-you. Feed me this one.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

So you did. You gently lifted the stick and held it toward her. She leaned forward without breaking eye contact, bit down, and took it from your fingers in one slow move.

When she sat back, she smiled again. “Romantic.”

“Teeth kind of ruined it.”

“You love it.”

You hated how much she was right.

The two of you sat in the dim light of the backroom for a while, trading snacks and sharing body heat and dumb little jokes that didn’t mean much but also kind of meant everything. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t confessional.

But when Urumi let her head tip to the side and rest on your shoulder—that felt like a secret.

And when she whispered, just barely audible:“…Don’t die in the next one, okay?”

You whispered back, “Only if you don’t.”

And she murmured, eyes already half-closed:“Deal.”

In a world where everything was cruel and loud and fast, this moment was none of those things.

It was soft. Safe. And, for once…sweet.

[daniwrld]

Killed with a kiss

HIII! guys idk what i did with my fonts,,,so screw them!!! Anyyywaaayyys,,, ive been meaning to write something for awhile and thought this was a good time!

TYPE: chishiya x y/n,, fem!reader, angst (no comfort. my specialty.), borderland au

WARNINGS: blood, death, knife,,, hella grief—master manipulator final boss,.,.,.,.,..,idk man chishiya..? Mention of surgery, lmk if i forgot anything!

ALSO,,i'm starting a tag list! If you wanna be tagged, go ahead and comment luvies! Mwah!

i loved you, and you killed me.

The final game had no name—only silence and steel and a single rule written in scarlet across a screen overhead: Only one player may leave alive. There were no riddles, no puzzles to solve, no elaborate mechanics to dance around. Just a room that reeked of sterilized death and the sound of two hearts beating on borrowed time. The room was cold—too cold. The kind that seeps beneath skin and into bone, not from temperature but from implication. The walls gleamed like polished teeth, slick with a sheen of inhuman perfection, and the floor was white, endlessly white, almost reflective enough to show you the face you didn’t want to see.

Chishiya stood in the center of it, motionless, back straight, hands loosely curled at his sides, and he watched her from across the expanse like he didn’t already know exactly how this would end.

She was clutching the final object—a chip shaped like an eye, the game’s win condition—between trembling fingers, looking at him like he might be her last hope or her last heartbreak. Maybe both.

Her shoulders were heaving, scraped and bruised from the rounds before, and her gaze, wide and frightened and pleading, met his with a sort of quiet devastation that made the pit of his stomach coil. It was the look of someone realizing that the person they trusted most had become the person they should have feared all along.

She took one step toward him, cautious, voice breaking on his name. “Chishiya?” It wasn’t really a question. It was a confession. A prayer.

A cracked whisper of disbelief, her voice quivering like it was trying to hold back all the pieces of herself that were splintering at once. “Tell me we’re not actually doing this.” Her grip on the chip faltered slightly, and she looked down at it as though it had betrayed her too.

“We can find a way—together. There has to be—something.”

But he said nothing. Not yet. Not when every word he could offer would only cheapen the truth. The silence stretched between them like a noose—taut, breathless, final. He stared at her, his face the same blank slate he wore through every game, every death, every betrayal. But inside, the pressure was growing, pressing in like the walls were collapsing on his ribs.

He’d done terrible things to win. Cruel things. Strategic things. But nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever felt personal. He told himself he hadn’t planned it—this outcome, this one-in-two, this no-win scenario. He told himself that if it had been anyone else, this would have been just another move on the board.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was her. The one person who had, in spite of everything, gotten past his armor, his indifference, his carefully constructed walls.

And now, the game had turned her into an obstacle. And obstacles in the Borderlands didn’t get mercy. They got cleared.

He stepped forward, slow and careful, as though approaching a deer that might bolt at the snap of a twig. She didn’t move away. Of course she didn’t. Even now, with her heart breaking open in her chest, she still looked at him like he was safe. Like maybe this was a test, some elaborate fake-out, and he’d reach out and pull her close and tell her he’d never let this place win.

And god, he almost wanted to. For one insane, illogical second, he wanted to throw the game. Let her win. Take the knife and place it in her hand. If it meant she would stop looking at him like that—with that soft hope still flickering in her gaze, like it wasn’t already too late—he almost would’ve done it.

But he didn’t.

Because survival had always been his compass. He’d built his whole life around it. He had long ago accepted that he was not someone meant to be chosen. He was the observer. The tactician. The ghost in the game.

And she—she had been the one thing he hadn’t accounted for. The anomaly. The complication. The softness in a world that demanded sharpness.

And he couldn’t let her change him. Not now. Not when he was so close to the end.

He reached her. Close enough now to touch. And he did—raising a hand to her face, brushing trembling strands of hair behind her ear like he had every right.

Her breath hitched, and her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest second. That simple, unconscious trust was the cruelest part. She leaned into his hand. Her skin was still warm. Still alive. Still filled with belief.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” she said, not because she was sure, but because she needed it to be true. “I know you, Chishiya. I know you.”

And for one final moment, he let her believe it. Let her lean forward. Let his hand cradle her cheek. Let his lips brush hers—soft, almost apologetic.

And then, like the monster he had trained himself to become, he kissed her like it mattered. Because to her, it did. And maybe, in some twisted, broken corner of himself he tried to deny, it did to him, too.

Her lips trembled against his, a quiet sob caught in her throat, and her hands clutched the fabric of his coat like she was drowning. Her kiss wasn’t passion—it was grief. A desperate last tether to something she didn’t want to let go of.

And that’s when he did it.

The blade was small. Concealed in the inner fold of his sleeve. He had palmed it without thought. He was always prepared. He didn’t look down. Didn’t flinch. Just angled his wrist and drove the knife between her ribs while their mouths were still pressed together. She gasped into him.

It was the most violent sound he’d ever heard. Not because it was loud—but because it shattered something sacred. She pulled away sharply, staggered back, hand flying to her side. Blood gushed through her fingers, thick and too fast, staining her shirt, then the floor. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees with a strangled cry. Her eyes locked on his with a kind of horror he had never seen. Not even in the faces of those who’d begged for their lives. She looked like she’d been broken. Like her heart had been carved from her chest before her body ever hit the floor.

“You kissed me,” she choked, her voice paper-thin, like her lungs were filling with glass. “You kissed me—and then you… you killed me.” Her words weren’t rage. They were devastation. A child asking why the stars stopped shining. A girl asking why the man she loved had decided she wasn’t worth saving.

She tried to crawl toward him, blood smearing beneath her, staining the white floor like a wound the world itself had opened. “I would’ve died for you,” she whispered, tears slipping freely now. “I trusted you. I—I loved you, and you—” Her body convulsed with the effort to breathe. Her lips parted as if to say more, but the words didn’t come. Just a sob. Just that terrible, silent ache of someone who had been utterly destroyed by the person they held closest.

He knelt beside her without thinking. Caught her head as it slumped. Her blood soaked into his palms, hot and real and irreversible. She was trembling. Shaking so hard she couldn’t focus her eyes. But her gaze found his anyway. Even now. Even bleeding out. She reached up, touched his face with fingers that were already cooling. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth where her kiss still lingered. “I didn’t think it’d be you,” she breathed, almost dreamlike. “I thought you were the only one who wouldn’t—” Her voice cracked. Her hand fell. Her eyes didn’t close, but they stopped seeing.

The lights above them shifted. A chime rang. The robotic voice that followed felt like a death knell: “Game clear.”

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. He sat there with her head in his lap, with the weight of her body settling into final stillness, with her blood painting his hands like guilt that would never wash off. His chest ached in a way it never had before. A deep, cold, aching chasm that swallowed whatever scraps of self he had left. He had survived.

He had won. And yet—there would be no moment of triumph. No breath of relief.

Because in killing her, he hadn’t just removed an obstacle. He had annihilated the last proof that he might still be something other than a weapon shaped like a man.

And now, even victory tasted like ash. Like loss. Like her.

And the worst part was—he would do it again. Because survival, in the Borderlands, always meant leaving someone behind.

And this time, he had left behind the only person who ever made him feel like living was something worth choosing.

──── ୨୧ ────

The world kept going. That was the most insulting part. The sky hadn’t changed. The sun still dragged itself over the ruins of Tokyo like it didn’t care that the ground below was soaked in the memories of the dead. The wind still blew. The Borderlands hadn’t paused to honor her—hadn’t whispered her name, hadn’t marked the spot where she died.

There was no gravestone. No memorial. Just another emptied space where something beautiful used to exist. And Chishiya, as always, remained untouched on the surface—cold and unbothered, walking with hands in pockets through a land that refused to bury its ghosts.

But inside? Inside, he had never felt so full of her absence. It was everywhere. It clung to the backs of his eyes and the corners of his breath. It haunted every still moment between games. He had thought, once, that guilt was something you could ignore. Push down. Rationalize. But it turned out that guilt with a name—guilt with a face, a laugh, a kiss, a final breath against your lips—was something else entirely. It lived in him now.

Not like a wound. Like a second heartbeat.

He didn’t speak of her. Never once. When Kuina asked where she went, he shrugged. When Usagi pressed with those too-honest eyes, he deflected with a clinical tone. Nobody knew the truth. Nobody but him. He kept her death close, like a secret stitched to his ribs. Sometimes, at night, when the others were asleep or gone, he would find himself standing in front of windows, watching reflections that didn’t look like his own.

In those moments, her voice would come back. Not loud—just soft. Just enough to make him remember the way she’d whispered "You kissed me." The way her hand trembled when it reached for him, even while dying.

The way she looked like she’d been forsaken. He didn’t drink. Didn’t dull it. He wanted to feel it all. Every ounce of what he’d done. Every aching second. Because forgetting her would’ve been the final betrayal.

He hadn’t touched anyone since.

Not out of guilt, exactly—but because no one else felt real. Not like she had. Her presence had never asked for permission. She had slipped past every wall he had built, gentle and constant and terrifying. Where others had tried to read him, to break him open—she had simply seen him.

And that made the knife he put in her so much sharper. It hadn’t just been betrayal. It had been sacrilege. A desecration of the one thing that had made this world feel less like hell. And now that she was gone, the emptiness was a constant. It lived beneath his skin. In the spaces she used to fill. In the things he could no longer look at.

He’d moved quarters twice just to avoid the corner where she used to sit during planning sessions. He avoided rooftops. She loved rooftops. Loved watching the fake sun fall over broken buildings like it was still worth admiring. He used to stand beside her, pretending not to care. Now he couldn’t even glance upward without tasting ash.

Sometimes he dreamed. Not often—his mind was too controlled, too cold—but when it cracked, it cracked hard. He’d wake up in the middle of the night with the phantom feel of her lips still on his, the warmth of her blood seeping back into his palms, the ghost of her voice saying his name like it still meant something. Shuntaro. Not Chishiya. Not doctor. Not player. Just him. Just the name. Said like it was still worth loving.

He hated those dreams more than anything. Because for those moments—those short, suffocating moments—she was alive again. And then she wasn’t. And he had to kill her all over again. Every time. Over and over. In his sleep. In his silence. In the mirror. It never ended.

He kept the chip. The obsidian chip that had sealed her fate. He could’ve thrown it away. Buried it. Burned it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. It stayed in his coat pocket, close to his heart. A talisman. A punishment. He ran his thumb over its edges when the quiet got too loud. It was still warm some nights. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or some cruel residue of what it had cost.

Once, he cut his finger on it. The blood had surprised him—like his body still bled, like he was still human. He had stared at it for a long time. Not bandaging it. Just... watching. Like maybe pain would mean something. It didn’t.

People still talked about him. Called him sharp. Brilliant. Dangerous. They said he was unbeatable. That he saw everything, felt nothing. And he let them. Let them believe that he was untouchable. Let the myth of Chishiya survive, even as the man underneath was slowly being eroded by the memory of a girl who’d kissed him while dying. No one ever saw that part. No one ever would. Because he had made sure of it. His mask had never been thicker, never more flawless, than after he killed her.

In public, he was still the same man—slow steps, glinting eyes, quiet smirks. But if anyone had looked closer, they might’ve seen the small shifts. The way his hands shook for half a second before lighting a match. The way he paused before saying her name, even when it was safe. The way he never, ever said goodbye.

He saw her once.Not really. Just a girl in the distance—same hair, same stance. For one impossible second, his chest clenched like it was being ripped open. He took a step forward before his mind caught up, before logic snapped its fingers and reminded him that he had stabbed her. That he had watched her bleed. That she was gone.

He stopped walking that day. Sat down on the street. Didn’t move for over an hour. Just let the moment destroy him. No one found him. No one ever would. That version of him—the one that grieved—was private. Sacred. Broken beyond repair.

Chishiya didn’t believe in redemption. He didn’t believe in souls or karma or happy endings. But there were nights when he stood in the middle of nowhere, looking up at a sky that had never been hers, and he whispered her name like it was a question. Not loud. Not pleading. Just enough to let the world know he remembered. Enough to tell her ghost—if she existed—that he hadn’t forgotten. That he wouldn’t.

Because some betrayals don’t end when the knife leaves the body. Some live forever.

And she—she would be the last thing he ever remembered when the Borderlands finally came for him.

──── ୨୧ ────

The fluorescent lights above the hospital hallway buzzed like they always had—soft, steady, mechanical. It was early morning, the hour when the city hadn’t fully woken yet, when the air still smelled faintly of antiseptic and rain through open vents.

Chishiya walked with a paper cup of lukewarm coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other, his coat trailing behind him, white as ever, pristine and impersonal. Nothing had changed. His routine was precise. Efficient. There was comfort in the rituals of it all—scrub in, diagnose, calculate, incise, save. Move on.

That was the kind of control he preferred: quiet and absolute. But lately… lately something in the back of his mind had been stirring. Not a memory. Not quite. Just a flicker. A shadow at the edge of thought.

He entered Room 314, scanning the chart one more time as his footsteps softened. The boy in the bed—no older than six—was sleeping again, shallow breaths through an oxygen mask, thin arms tucked against his chest. Chishiya had operated on him two days ago—something delicate, brain stem malformation. Life or death. He remembered the way his hands had moved—steady, certain.

But afterward, when he’d stepped back and washed the blood from his fingers, there had been a moment. A pause. A sharp stab of déjà vu, like he’d seen that exact posture before. A child. Small. Fragile. A choice.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

“You saved him,” said the voice behind him, soft, worn at the edges. He turned. The boy’s mother stood in the doorway, eyes red-rimmed but grateful, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as though holding herself together. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “Thank you. I don’t know how—he’s everything to me.”

Chishiya nodded, polite, distant. He never knew what to say to that kind of gratitude. He didn’t do it for praise. Didn’t do it for anything but the clean calculation of whether he could. If a life could be saved, he did it. If it couldn’t, he didn’t lie about it.

“I’m glad the procedure was successful,” he said simply, voice even. “He’s healing faster than expected.”

She nodded, stepping a little closer, eyes still on her son. “He’s strong. Always has been. Like his sister was.”

Chishiya didn’t react. Not until she added, almost absently, like an afterthought stitched into grief:“Her name was Y/N. She passed away last year.”

There was no reason for it to land like a blow. No reason at all. He didn’t know that name. Had no connection to it. It was just a name. A thousand people died every day. Thousands more were born. Names were incidental. And yet—his breath caught. A fraction of a second. A stutter in the rhythm. Y/N.

He blinked, slowly, and turned toward her, his expression unchanged—but something behind his eyes had fractured.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as was expected. His voice sounded the same. Measured. But his heart had thudded once—loud, dissonant. His fingers curled slightly at his side.

“She was older,” the woman continued, not noticing his shift. “They were inseparable. He still asks for her in his sleep sometimes.” Her smile faltered. “She was always the brave one. He looked up to her like she could do anything. I did too, if I’m honest.”

Something about the way she said it. The cadence. The way her voice trembled and steadied in the same breath. It hit him harder than it should’ve.

He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t believe in anything outside of what he could see, touch, dissect. But now, standing there, watching a mother grieve the name of someone he had no memory of, he felt something pulse inside him. Something tight. Familiar. Sharp.

He excused himself after a moment, retreating to the hallway, setting the clipboard down a little too quietly. He stared at the floor. White tiles. They reminded him of something. Of somewhere. Of someone on their knees. Blood on the floor. Hands outstretched. But when he tried to follow the memory, it slipped away like fog.

His heart beat harder, louder, until he pressed his palm to his chest like that could force it to stop.

“You kissed me—and then you killed me.”

The words weren’t real. They couldn’t be. He hadn’t heard them. He didn’t remember them.

But he did. God, he did.

He didn’t know when the tears started. Only that one had fallen onto his wrist, sudden and unwelcome. He wiped it away instantly, jaw tightening. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Not here. Not over something that didn’t make sense.

Later that night, alone in the on-call room, he sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands like they were foreign. They were clean. Steady. Healed from years of surgeries. But he kept thinking: I’ve held her before. I held her while she died.

It didn’t make sense. There was no file. No record. No scar. And yet her name felt carved into his chest. Not remembered—branded.

He picked up a pen, wrote her name in the margin of an old chart. Just to see it. Y/N.

His hand shook.

He never asked about the girl again. But sometimes, he saw the boy in the hallway. Sometimes he heard the mother say her name in passing. And every time, he paused—just for a moment—like a ghost had walked through him.

He never remembered her face. Never dreamed of her voice. But something inside him ached like he had once loved her more than survival. Like she had died because of him.

And though he couldn’t explain why—he started avoiding white rooms.

He never kissed anyone again.

[daniwrld]

Thank you Chishiya Shuntaro for fixing my mental health (he made it worse)

[daniwrld]

im gonna start balling i couldn't keep this to myself im so sorry

[daniwrld]

CONGRATS ON REACHING 3K !!! So happy for you 💐💐💐 I've read all your AIB works and oooo-

Can I request some more head canons of awkward Chishiya flirting like in Tokens of Appreciation? It was the first one I read of yours and I loved it a lot 👀👀

Purely Transactional

Summary: More instances of Chishiya unknowingly being a dork.

Genre: fluff

let me preface this by saying that Chishiya is definitely like a cat bringing back little trinkets he found strewn about

he remembers any throwaway detail about you that comes up in conversations

did you off-handedly mention your favorite color? chishiya would tear apart the other hotel rooms to find you a sleepwear set of that color

would 100% disassemble things if it meant he'd get something useful for you

oh what's that? your bedside lamp's light bulb went out?

lo and behold, here comes chishiya with about five different light bulbs borrowed stolen from the militants

"I wasn't sure if you wanted warm light or cool light"

he's like a little scavenger

whenever he's outside—hanging around game venues before the game starts or waiting for the car after he wins—he's always on the look-out for things you may like

kuina definitely teases him about it

"Is giving them the Poppin' Cookin' kit part of the plan too?"

"This is purely transactional. I'm only doing it to gain their trust."

for the LONGEST time, this is how he'd reason out why keeps giving you things

he's giving you this hair tie so that they can rope you in for the plan—totally not because he heard you complain about your hair getting in your face last game

he's breaking a shop window to retrieve jewelry from a brand you liked so you'd be convince that he was your ally—totally not because you lamented how you'd never been able to wear it

he also doesn't understand pick-up lines

he thinks they're the lowest form of romantic expression

the closest he'll come to them is the most convoluted compliment that may fly over your head

"chishiya are you really just going to leave mid-conversation"

"you're giving me tachycardia"

in an attempt to dance around his feelings, he would attribute every irrational romantic thought he has for you to medical jargon

on a random day, he'd burst into kuina's room just to rant

"This is unhealthy. I think I am about to expire. They're giving me aphasia. My sinoatrial node constricts with them around. I need an epidural."

"I have no idea what you're saying, please leave."

honestly, he baffles you more than anything

he's very hot-and-cold

if he feels like he revealed too much—he never does—it's like his system resets and he freezes for a second

you'd be having pre-game banter and he thinks he's been too obvious with his feelings

"If it's a spades game, how'd I know you won't just push me into a meat grinder?"

"It would be a shame, I'd miss talking to you."

*NO I'VE REVEALED TOO MUCH AFFECTION*

"Awh, you like talking to—"

"You're throwing me off my game. This is serious business and I need to focus. Oh and here's this candy bar I found lying around, isn't that the junk that you like?"

he's holding tightly onto The Plan as an excuse

The Plan is why he keeps hanging out in your room

The Plan is why he lies beside you in bed to watch over you as you sleep because you've had bouts of insomnia

The Plan is why he rerouted the water supply to your room so you can have a bath soak salt for just one night, even if it meant the entirety of the 3rd and 4th floor had no water

The Plan is why he lets you "steal" his clothes so your scent sticks to them

The Godforsaken Plan is why he begrudgingly lets you put barrettes and hair clips on his hair, just because he'd "look so cute" in them

"Kuina, I'd have to delay The Plan. The timing isn't right."

"I thought all systems are go now?"

"It can't happen tonight. ___ and I are having a skin care night. Oh and also, we're swapping them for that Arisu kid instead."

[daniwrld]

>¬<

[daniwrld]

AHHHH IM SCREAMING.. bc of you,, i actually started writing niragi w more cuteness aggression (i already DID, but like—i amped it up a bit bc i realize youre prob right, he prob gets REALLY bad cuteness aggression) but likeeee in my story, i swear to god my OC (mori) would get along with your y/n sm (just pretend y/n is a character for a sec pls.) Bc their personalities are lowk so similar.. like mori is a sweetie pie i swear.

Anyways,, here's the link to the story mori is in bc you said i could show my works on here and i think you'd like it <33

❝ GLITTER ❞

Keep up the good work ml !! i'm so excited for furture chapters, and i love reading !! (* >ω<) thx for listening to me yap too hehe !

I’ll check it out when I have the time to!! To everyone else who sees this and wants to read something, check the story linked!!

Love you and tysm<3

[daniwrld]

GLITTER

Guys.. this isnt what i'd post, like, EVER.. but i wanted to post a cute edit i made of my OC, chishiya, and niragi from my story "glitter" + a few funny moments between them so far bc they're SO cute and i'm currently obsessed.

GLITTER

I love them sm. :( pls dont repost w/o creds!

[daniwrld]

okay but i really want to talk about this interaction between Chishiya & Usagu becaUSE frankly, i never see it talked about and the already wary / hostile tension Usagi has with him even BEFORE the betrayal. (well, from her view - simply a PLAN from Chishiya's view.)

I love, love in BOTH versions Usagi is opposed to this scheme right away. Even if they ARE different. But part of this I think is also simply due to medium. Which is something we can't forget when assessing media. Manga has to rely on more upfront emotions / expressions because you can't have as much nonverbal communication the way you can in live action / anime. You obviously can to a degree but it won't come across the same. EITHER WAY, both forms make it clear that she does not trust Chishiya or this plan.

Chishiya KNOWS she will be the hurdle, which makes Arisu his trump card in more than one way. Both as the unknowing sacrificial lamb, as well as the INSURANCE CARD that Usagi will follow Chishiya's plan because Arisu's the one in danger. It's a clear show of Chishiya taking advantage of the fact he knows Arisu will agree and that Usagi will listen to Arisu. Just LOOK at the satisfied look in the last image when Arisu shuts down Usagi's protest. In both versions, Chishiya knows he's won even before everything is said and done.

Usagi for her part makes it very clear she doesn't like the situation and that she DOESN'T TRUST CHISHIYA. ( Which is the smart decision tbh. ) In both media she's physically the FURTHEST from him, compared to Kuina who is the closest and then by Arisu who moves / sits closer as Chishiya ropes him further into the plot. But she stays far away ; physically keeping her distance just as much as her words do. We can't really tell in the manga because of the media form, but live action wise - she also keeps her eyes firmly on Chishiya. DISTRUSTFUL AND WARY OF HIM. And we see Chishiya knows because we have that brief silent exchange in pictures 2 & 3 of the live action where she stares at him and he meets her gaze dead on. He's aware of her distrust but it DOESN'T MATTER because he has Arisu on his side and he knows it. Even in the manga though we see Usagi staring at Chishiya rather than looking towards Arisu or Kuina, and it's a nice detail.

It's not just restricted to this scene either. At least in the live action with the bonus conference room scene, we see her decide to fix her stare on Chishiya. Which is interesting because other than Niragi, she really only flicks her gaze over the other two despite them physically moving to block them.

And yes, Chishiya talks so naturally people look to whose speaking. But even when Niragi starts talking again she's still staring at Chishiya, whereas we can see Arisu's gaze flicking back and forth between Niragi and Chishiya in the background. To her, it seems that Chishiya is ranked higher in priority to keep an eye on. And frankly, I don't blame her. Chishiya's NOT UPFRONT with his real nature where as Niragi, at least with his persona here, is very open about it for better or worse. You can expect him but you can't with Chishiya because the man is always slinking around and observing. And again, live action only, but when they reunite post - Beach, Usagi maintains her solid stare at Chishiya ( with a brief look towards Kuina ) , where Arisu is ?? already willing to take his eyes off of Chishiya to look elsewhere at times. And it's just a fun little detail that I think spaks VOLUMES to just how much Usagi has never been trusting when Chishiya's in the room.

Anyways, the tdlr version of this is I find it fascinating how Usagi seems to already know Chishiya's a snake and not to be trusted even before anything goes wrong compared to Arisu's naïve trust with him and Chishiya's manipulation of Arisu's trust in him because he knows Usagi doesn't trust him but that she will follow Arisu.

[daniwrld]

[daniwrld]

Day 35 in the woods with the daughter I adopted (the son went missing)

[daniwrld]

Almost

𝙞 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙨𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚.. 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩. 𝙞 𝙡𝙪𝙫 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙮𝙖 𝙨𝙢 :,(

𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙤 𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙚𝙭 𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙞𝙗 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙃𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙞𝙩. 𝙒𝙮𝙢 𝙪𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙮𝙖?? 𝙣𝙤 𝙩𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙝𝙤. 𝙄𝙈 𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙔𝘼. 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙮𝙚𝙖. (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

🅦︎🅐︎🅡︎🅝︎🅘︎🅝︎🅖︎🅢︎: ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

🅣︎🅨︎🅟︎🅔︎: ᴀɴɢsᴛ (ɴᴏ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ), ʙᴏʀᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴜ, ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ʏ/ɴ.

"chishiya let his fears get the best of him."

The rain poured in sheets, relentless against the shattered remains of Tokyo. Water pooled in the cracks of the pavement, rippling as distant gunfire echoed through the empty streets.

Somewhere, someone was still fighting for their life.

But here, in the ruined skeleton of an empty alleyway, the world was deathly quiet.

Chishiya sat slumped against the wall, breath shallow, his white hoodie now dark with blood. It was hard to tell how much was his anymore.

You knelt in front of him, hands trembling as you pressed down on the wound in his abdomen.

Warm, wet.

Too much.

Too much.

"You’re gonna be fine," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Chishiya huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much. His lips were pale, his usual smirk replaced by something softer, weaker. "That’s a terrible lie," he murmured.

Your throat tightened. "Shut up. Don’t talk like that."

He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering. "You always were a terrible liar."

The words were meant to be teasing, but they landed like a weight in your chest. You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling in the fabric of his hoodie as you pressed harder, desperate to stop the bleeding.

He didn’t flinch.

That scared you more than anything.

Your heart was pounding, your thoughts racing. There was still time, there had to be. If you could just—if you could find help, if you could get him somewhere safe—

"Y/n." His voice was quieter now.

Your hands clenched. "No."

His brow arched slightly, the ghost of his usual amusement flickering in his tired gaze. "I didn’t even say anything."

"I know what you’re gonna say, and the answer is no," you choked out. "You are not dying, Chishiya. I won’t let you."

He studied you for a long moment, eyes tracing the worry in your face, the way your hands shook despite your determination.

"You’re always so stubborn," he murmured, voice laced with something almost… affectionate.

Your breath hitched.

And then—his hand touched your cheek.His fingers, slick with blood, brushed over your skin as he wiped away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. The touch was barely there, light as a feather.

You felt like you were breaking.

"I should’ve told you sooner," he said, so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

Your chest ached. "Then tell me now."

His lips quirked up, weak but real. "You already know."

"No," you whispered, shaking your head as tears blurred your vision. "Say it."

A pause.

Then, so quiet it was almost lost to the rain—"I love you."

Your breath caught.

For a second, the world stopped.

And then—his hand fell from your face.

His eyes, so sharp and knowing, dulled.

The breath you were waiting for never came. "Chishiya?"

Silence.

"Chishiya—No, no, NO!"

Your hands shook violently as you grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, willing him to open his eyes, to smirk at you, to tell you this was some cruel joke—

But he didn’t.

And you realized, with a crushing finality, that he never would.

A strangled sob tore from your throat as you clutched him, forehead pressing against his. The warmth of him was already fading, slipping through your fingers like sand.

Too late.

You had been too late.

You wanted to scream. To curse this world, this game, this universe for taking him from you when you had only just—when you had finally—

Your body wracked with silent cries as the rain kept falling, washing away the blood, the warmth, the last remnants of him.

Chishiya had always been one step ahead.

Always the one watching, analyzing, knowing things before anyone else did.

But this time? This time, he hadn’t planned for this.

Or maybe he had.

Maybe that was the worst part.

Because he had known. And he had still chosen to tell you, even when he knew you’d never get to say it back.

Because deep down, he still couldn't believe he was worthy of love. Not yours, not anyone’s.

And yet, your love had tried—soft, steadfast, unwavering.

It had come so close.

Almost enough to reach him.

Almost enough to save him.

But almost was never enough. Not for someone who never knew how to let it in.

[daniwrld]

watching/reading aib has to have been the best and worst decision i’ve ever made cuz wtf do you mean i found another “literally me!!!” character but this time it’s genuinely serious?

chishiya makes me sick to my stomach everytime i see him in such a mixed way. i love his character so much but i relate to him so heavily it hurts to think about.

“honest people always seemed pretty stupid to me. i’ve always loved messing with people who try too hard at life. I HATED selflessness. It’s probably because I was jealous, they all had something I was missing. It was like they could always see what a pathetic, and small minded person I really was. I was always afraid.”

i don’t think i’ll ever find a character who has resonated with me as much as chishiya shuntaro does, and I find that sad. this quote is gonna stay in the back of my mind forever.

thank you for listening to my mini ted talk, find my live comedy shows on netflix