#the exception being if it's like. the flash or whatever. whose actually meant to undeniably be able to go FTL

[robotsprinkles]

sorry for the stupid powerscaling rant

powerscalers just really annoy me

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

At The Touch Of Your Hand

Charlie Barber x (Female) Reader (Historical AU)

As a young woman whose entire life has already been mapped out for her, you believed there was very little to look forward to as you entered the ballroom. It was just another ball, during another season, with the same foppish men shallowly vying for attention. However things are bound to take a turn for the unexpected when Charles Barber makes his re-entrance to society after six years in obscurity.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 

Warnings: Period typical sexism, historical inaccuracies 

Word count: 2.9k

“I’ll not be listening to any more of your incessant griping tonight Judith.” Your father’s voice was firm and unwavering, his distaste for his wife’s unending list of complaints evidently getting the better of him. 

“You cannot possibly think him to be an agreeable man Edward! Not after he-”

“Enough Judith!”

Your mother’s mouth bubbled open and closed as if she were impersonating some incredibly affronted fish, it was very rare that father would plainly tell mama he had tired of listening to her whining. You swapped a furtive glance with Jemima, the tension spiking to a palpable degree, your mind instantly began scrambling to fill in the gaping hole left in your mothers remark.

After he what? What could he have done, this enigmatic man, whom you had never heard of before this night, to have warranted such obvious distaste from your mother? You could not help but feel that whatever it was should be much cause for concern, if it meant that your mother was unwilling to host him. Judith Bell would usually be seen falling over herself for the opportunity to have such a man welcomed to dinner, an impressive man, titled. 

Before your racing mind had the chance to create a whole plethora of beastly scenarios to cast this man in, along came one of the very few things in the world that made you want to disable all intelligent brain function in your mind.

Hartley. 

You regrettably saw him approach you over your father’s shoulder, straightening his gloves and smoothing his flaccid hair as he neared. Every last cell in your body heaved a long groan at the sight of him, so bland, so thoroughly unimpressive, truly he was an unremarkable sight to behold. In no time at all, he stood proudly before you.

“Miss Bell, I believe the first waltz is almost afoot.” He declared. You saw your mother’s previously enraged face fracture into an unbearably bright beam at his appearance, all distaste for Lord Barber’s presence seemingly forgotten. 

You flashed a tight smile as he held out his gloved hand for you to take. You accepted, placing your hand in his with the lightest tough you could manage, as if placing your hand solidly within his pudgy one would solidify your future with him. Unfortunately you feared that there was very little you could do to escape that. 

He led you briskly onto the dancefloor, amongst the sea of brightly coloured silk taffeta frocks, and then proceeded to draw you into a hold appropriate for a waltz. It was far too intimate for you, even though his hands were in no danger of straying, you would have much preferred a livelier jig that required much changing of partners. 

As the rhythmic arrangement of the waltz began to fill the room, you willed your feet to move in a reasonably graceful fashion, it’s not that you were a bad dancer, you were just much better when paired with a partner you actually wanted to dance with. Robert was a long way from fitting that criteria. 

You could not help but note the hotness of his hand upon your shoulder, and you guessed it would probably be sweaty if he were to take that glove off, you repressed a shudder at the thought of his slimy hand upon your skin. Sweaty hands were indicative of nerves, what on earth could he be nervous about? If he could not struggle his way through a meagre waltz without being overcome with nerves, what chance did he have of upholding one end of a fiery debate, or withstand a passionate feeling about anything?

You allowed your eyes and mind to wander as you twirled about the dancefloor, you spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, many of your mother’s acquaintances gathered to watch their own daughters on the dancefloor, your mother was no exception. She watched you with beady eyes, looking for mistakes in your footing or your posture, clutching her dainty glass of sherry in her clawed fingers. 

You were vaguely aware of Robert droning on about a business venture his father was allowing him to head, something pertaining a new weaving technique for linen, you really did not care to give much attention to it, you occasionally emitted a noise of agreement to create the illusion of engagement. 

As you rounded the dancefloor once again, your eyes swept over a broad form that was becoming undeniably familiar all too quickly. Charles stood a little way back from the dancefloor, conversing with a stout man who you recognised as the host of the ball, Lord Harrington. Although upon closer inspection, you were forced to reconsider your observation that he was participating in conversation. It appeared that he was being talked at rather than talked to, his attention otherwise much diverted, much like yours. His glittering eyes were very much fixed on the couples dancing before him.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were not travelling aimlessly amongst the group of merry dancers, his gaze was solely tracking you. He watched as the buttery yellow light shimmered upon the lavender fabric of your gown, sparkled through your hair, and highlighted the barely exposed curve of your shoulders. He drank this in all without your knowledge, your attention far too occupied with ensuring Hartley did not step on your silk slippered feet. What an enchanting little creature he saw twirling before him. 

“Did I see Lord Barber making conversation with your father earlier?” You were forced to tune back into Hartley’s voice as he spoke directly to you, stopping your eyes from repeatedly searching out the towering height of Barber,

“Yes, I believe he knows my father.” You replied flatly, not really eager to discuss the man with Robert. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, Charles had begun to feel rather sacred to you. 

“I’m interested in making his acquaintance myself while he’s in town, quite the recluse he’s been for the past five years or so from what I understand.” Robert remarked, this did admittedly capture your interest. Why would a man like him have hidden himself away from society, other than the obvious fact that it was a dreadful environment, it was practically created for powerful men like him. 

“I confess I was unaware of his existence until tonight.” You offered blandly, while you were tempted to probe Hartley for more information, you found his predisposition for gossiping more repellent that intriguing. 

“People don’t talk about him much anymore. Though what I have heard them say is undoubtedly interesting, I’m sure his reappearance tonight will be the talk of the town by tomorrow breakfast.” Robert’s sentence was punctuated by a ridiculously salacious chuckle at the end, which made you long to put more distance between your bodies. 

“Undoubtedly, people do little else but talk the day after a ball.” You deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with his misty eyes. 

“Although I dare say there ought to be rather a lot of talk of just how ravishing you look in this gown.” Your stomach dropped at his words, spoken in a voice that he had forced down into a lower octave. You flicked your eyes up to his, only to find him inconspicuously allowing himself a good look at your chest. You swallowed back the tart response that your brain formulated, much in favour of finishing the dance as quickly as possible. You settled on a lifeless little laugh.

As soon as the band began to cease their performance you delicately pushed yourself out of his hold, and lowered into a quick curtsy. 

“Thank you for the dance Mr Hartley, it was quite… satisfactory.” And without waiting for his response you turned on your heel and began to hasten away, in search of Jemima. You were eager to tell her in agonising detail how utterly lecherous he had been. But you didn’t even make it off of the dancefloor before a broad chest blocked your path. Your eyes were obscured by a wall of icy blue and white, and you didn’t even really need to glance upwards to confirm the identity of the individual. 

The scent of fresh mint and fragrant pine greeted your senses, cleansing them of the heavy musky smell, with an undercurrent of body odour that you had endured with Hartley moments before. You refrained from indulging in a deep inhale as you summoned the courage to raise your eyes towards his face. 

Charles Barber’s smirking face.

“In a rush, Miss Bell?” He asked, his honeyed voice vibrated through the air, breathing against your ears like a summer wind. You momentarily forgot every word you had learned since infancy, and struggled for a response. 

“No I- I mean yes I was just- I’m not in a rush per say I just-”

“Were making a fleeting exit from your partner over there?” He stopped your aimless flailing with his words, allowing his full lips to quirk even further into an amused smirk. You felt your cheeks warming rapidly.

“I was just in search of my sister.” You replied, unsure if it was proper to admit that you were, in fact, shamelessly fleeing Hartley. 

“Well, by the looks of things, he will presently approach and ask you for another dance. Allow me to be so bold as to assume that you would like to avoid such an occurrence.” Charles remarked, quickly glancing over your head to where you assumed he could see Robert.

“I would be reluctant to dance with him again so soon.” You said quietly, unsure of his next assumption. 

“Well in that case, would you do me the honour of the next dance, Miss Bell?” Your heart gave itself to flittering beats as you absorbed his words. You could hardly fathom the idea of sharing a dining table with him, and you were being offered a dance? The pristine white glove upon his expansive hand moved into your line of sight as he offered his hand to you. You could not help but raise your eyes to his, though you promptly wish you hadn’t when you were met with the scorching intensity of his gaze. It was fight or flight really. 

“Yes my lord, I would be honoured.” You replied, placing your hand firmly in his. 

The experience of being led into a dance by Charles Barber was worlds away from that of the artless movements of Hartley. You knew that much. 

You stood facing each other, as part of a long line of men and women standing parallel to one another along the centre of the marble floor, you could not help but notice that he was the tallest in the line by a considerable amount. Your heart was racing as you heard the shaking violin strike up the opening measures of the dance. The line of ladies ducked into graceful curtsy, directed at the men before them, and then the dance fell into an elegant sequence of turns and fleeting touches of hands. 

It was not two measures into the dance that Barber clearly felt that he was in rhythm enough to begin to talk to you as you moved around each other, and the other occupants of the dancefloor. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” He asked as you passed close by one another, his eyes firmly fixed upon yours, paying no mind to his feet or the people around him, though his body continued to move with a grace and ease you would have thought impossible for a man of his stature. 

“Very much so, Lord and Lady Harrington do always host the most beautiful parties.” You replied politely, though it was untrue that your night had been pleasant up until this point, the unfamiliar feelings fluttering about your stomach presently were enough to erase all memory of the previous encounters from your mind.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly Miss, though I might add that I think Lord Harrington has very little to do with the festivities you see around you. I believe it is fair to say that Lady Harrington is the brains of the operation.” He concurred, his face breaking into a smile, one you might call mischievous if you were so inclined to such flirtatious words. You could not stifle the laugh that escaped at his remark towards the esteemed Lord Harrington.

“Are you well acquainted with the hosts, my lord?” You asked him, the smile laid upon your face beginning to ache slightly, though you could not for the life of you force it down. You gasped silently as your hands entwined, as he led you side by side down the line formed by the other couples, as part of your dance.

“Old friends of my late father’s.” He explained, looking sideways at you. His hand dwarfed yours, it warmed his glove in a way that was so different to the sticky heat of Hartley’s hand. You found yourself wishing that there were no gloves separating your hands from touching skin to skin. A tingling sensation began in the palm of your hand, still held in his, and worked its way to the tips of your fingers and up your arm. In that moment, you decided the touch of his hand was something quite inexplicably magical. 

“And you, Lord Barber? Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, longing to hear the velvet of his voice again. He smiled down at you warmly, sending the tingles from your hand all over your body. 

“I am enjoying the evening far more than I anticipated, it has been pleasant to see old friends.” He started, his eyes moved swiftly once up and down the length of you, never hesitating anywhere for too long. As he met your eyes again, his smile curled into a smaller one, far more intimate, meant only for you. “It has been even lovelier making new acquaintances, which is not something I usually find myself able to say.” He tells you. 

Your mind raced to stumble through the meanings in his well measured words. Did he mean meeting you? Part of you screamed that he must mean that, why else would he have bothered to make such a point of saying it to you? A larger part reasoned that he had undoubtedly met many new people tonight, and why in this vast room full of people would he single you out as a lovely new acquaintance?

All too soon it was time for your hands to part once again, you already missed his large warm palm and it hadn’t even left yours yet. As he opened his fingers to loosen his grasp on your hand, and pulled his palm away from yours, your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his middle finger trace a burning line across your palm as he slipped his hand away from yours. A shiver shot down the length of your spine at the sensation, which you had felt so keenly despite the presence of your silk glove. 

Another glance towards his regal face showed you that his smile had faded, melted into a look of deep concentration. The chocolate of his eyes had darkened, the light sparkled in the depths of them. So many thoughts were rushing through them, but you couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, your own brain was still trying to make sense of the litany of feelings coursing through you from the mere brush of the tip of his finger along your palm. 

It was a wonder you had managed to complete the dance without bumping into a single other occupant of the dancefloor, as you had quite forgotten that you were sharing the space with anyone else at all besides him. You could scarcely remember a time before you found yourself cradled in his gaze, you could not remember what your hand had felt like before it had been encased by his. It was only the end of the melody that brought the end of the dance to your awareness, you found yourself short of breath, though you were absolutely certain it had nothing to do with the steps of the dance. 

You bowed to each other once again, as was customary, and then he went a step further by enclosing your hand in his. He lifted your slightly quaking hand up towards his face, and you held your breath as his warm lips pressed down gently upon your glove. Had you not have held your breath, you were quite certain he would have robbed you of it. The impression of his lips seemed to burn your knuckles in a delightful way, in a way that made you yearn to tear the white silk from your body and request that he press his lips to your bare skin. You couldn’t correct the way your own lips parted slightly, something which he seemed to note as his eyes roamed your face as he straightened back up to his full height, allowing your hand to fall back to your side. 

“Thank you for the dance Miss Bell, it was quite… enchanting.” He spoke softly, caressing your face with his eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head, turning, and leaving the space, your eyes were stuck to his wide shoulders as he left. You were pulled out of your little world, where you and he were the only inhabitants, by Jemima’s voice suddenly at your ear.

“Just to warn you, sister dear, mama is quite enraged.”

Tags: @millenialcatlady​ @safarigirlsp​ @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @sacklerscumrag​ @stumbleonmywords​ @fizzywoohoo​ @hopeamarsu​ @roanniom​ @kylobien​ (Please let me know if you would like adding or removing!)

[karasuno-writings]

Hiiii~ So you know the thing in Fukurodani where they tell Bokuto that a girl in some row say's he's super cool? Now, may I please request a scenario / headcanons where after a match, the girl (reader-chan) they told him about ran into them outside and she and Bokuto met and they actually hit it off quite well? I'm sorry if this is too much 🙏💓

This is such a good idea honestly!! I liked it a lot, and I do love Bokuto so I HAD to write this :3 Sorry if I took long! I hope this is fine!!! 

Fem!! Pronouns ahead!

______________________

“Akaashi” Konoha grabbed the setter’s arm, setting him aside just enough as to not raise suspicions. Both of them stopped stretching for a few seconds, Akaashi looking at him with expecting eyes. 

“Should we do something about Bokuto?” He asked the setter, who looked over at Koutarou, his eyes staring at the horizon fixated at nothing in particular, but not quite right nevertheless. Akaashi had noted this ever since they put foot on the gym, but now he was sure they had to get him motivated if they wanted to have any chance of a good start-off. 

“We should” Akaashi nodded, looking once more at Konoha.

“Same old?” he questions, knowing fully well that Akaashi would know what he meant, and as soon as the setter nodded with a shrug Konoha walked over to where Bokuto currently sat, stretching his hands out. 

“So…” He started, not waiting for the ace to even stand up as he began “There is this girl in the front row ya know? And she is really pretty too” Bokuto stood up and scanned the crowd with big eyes, until he saw what was indeed a very pretty girl, looking down to where the boys practiced before the match.

“Is that her?! I can see what you mean” Bokuto nodded, she had something about her that made her stand out. Konoha had not noticed her before but took it as the perfect chance. 

“Yes...Well, Yukie did tell me that she told her, that you were super cool” He said, most naturally as Bokuto turned to him, beaming. 

“She did?! Akaashi! Team! ” Bokuto shouted over to his friend, who instantly knew the plan had worked as soon as he saw the ace’s face filled with excitement. Akaashi knew he didn’t have to answer to get the boy to carry on so he waited for whatever Bokuto had to say, the whole team had turned to look at their captain too.

“Let’s show them what we are made of!” He exclaimed, smiling. Bokuto was set on showing her what he was capable of. The team smiled triumphantly as Konoha flashed Akaashi a knowing smirk.

Bokuto looked over at her once more before the match began, she was talking with some friends, but there was something so surreal about her, she seemed nice, and fun, hoping that he would catch her attention, and maybe then she would approach him after the match. 

The whistle sounded and both teams prepared to start, they shook hands once before getting on their respective positions. It was their turn to serve as Koutaro’s mind was now ready and going at top speed, nothing could stop him now.

The first set ran smoothly, the team pouring their all into each play, working as perfectly as a well oiled intricate clockwork, each gear turning perfectly; and Bokuto was no exception, it is undeniable that on the first set he was in his prime.

The second set however, had a bumpy start, as Bokuto began losing track as the middleblockers of the opposing team seemed to have figured out his patterns, and while his strength was basically unstoppable those one touch had proven to be lethal as they gave the rival team a chance at scoring. 

His frustration had began growing, clearly annoyed by the precision of the blocks and the intricate thought process that led to and impeccable guessing of the direction of his spikes by the pesky blockers. With each one touch his spikes became increasingly stronger, which would not be a problem if that didn’t meant that his directioning decreased with each blast.

Akaashi noticed that Koutarou was losing focus as soon as one of his spikes slammed barely inside the court, dangerously close to the edges, and knew that if he carried on like this it would ultimately end for the worse. Bokuto’s weakness 23, he though, looking over just before the next play could start and immediately knew what to do, he quickly motioned for a timeout.

Bokuto was fuming as he walked over, stomping as he approached his team, he was not one to direct his anger and while he liked showing excitement, he’d rather stay quiet. 

Akaashi thanked that Konoha had left a foothold for him to solve the problem, making it way less of a hassle to deal with than it usually would. The setter looked over to you, you were now looking at Fukurodani’s team, curious as to what the timeout was for. Akaashi noticed you and with a smile he turned back once more, knowing that it was the perfect moment to get his friend out of his low. 

“Bokuto, she is looking over at you, maybe she is curious as to why your spikes are so aggressive now” He said, looking at his friend who immediately whipped his head over to you. 

You frowned slightly and blushed, it had not escaped your notice that the teams setter had been looking at you a few seconds ago, and now you were being watched by the ace, such attention seemed unusual. You saw him wave at you and blinking in confusion you slightly waved back, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.

Bokuto saw you blush and his smile returned, a new drive rising on his chest. Of course he was not going to look like a fool on the eyes of someone whose attention he has got, specially after they had just waved back at him. He cleared his head up, and smiled at Akaashi, who knew that this was truly a crisis averted.

Bokuto’s plays became way more tactical than in the first half, and while unbelievably strong, he stopped compromising the other aspects of his spikes, trading his strength and channeling it into a deadly precision. Every time he scored he looked over to see if you had seen him, and every time your eyes met you felt like something was going on in that head of his.

The match was over, Fukurodani held the victory and Bokuto was ecstatic, congratulation all the players in the team, and thanking them for their incredible performance. He shook hands with their opponents and soon left the court, hoping to catch you on your way out.  

You were outside the gym, waiting for your friends to catch up, but your thought were elsewhere.You could not take the fairly handsome boy of your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly had you done to catch his attention in such a way, specially in the middle of a match. 

“Hey hey!” Bokuto skipped down the stairs, jumping over to where you stood. You turned to look at him, noticing how much handsome he looked up front, biting your lips as you hoped nothing would give your sudden liking of him off. Your head swayed left and right, expecting him to be talking to someone else, but you noticed he was talking to you when he stopped right where you stood. 

“You really think I’m super cool?!” He smiled, eyes wide as he waited for an answer. You blinked in confusion, while he was not wrong you wondered what exactly had sparked such a thought on his mind.

“Well, I definitely do” You sheepishly answered, a hand covering your neck as you averted his eyes.

Akaashi stopped dead on his tracks as he saw Koutarou talking to you, he really did not thing that would happen, but knowing his friend he now noticed it was a foolish thing to overlook. He just hoped that Bokuto would not make a fool of himself. 

“I’m Bokuto Koutaro, nice to meet you! ” He smiled, pink tinging his cheeks as he took in your features properly for the first time. He now got why he was so absolutely mesmerized by you; up close your eyes sparkled, and the way your smile curled your lips up in such a sincere way made him stare maybe a bit too much. There was an air about you that just managed to peak his curiosity, and being so nice, he wanted to know you better.

“Y/N, a pleasure” You were still not sure how you had caught the attention of the captain, but the way his eyes landed on yours and the excitement with which he talked made you feel comfortable around him. 

“Hey! If you are not busy you can come with my friends to celebrate our victory!” He asked, formalities had never been his strongest suit, but the sincerity in his request really did say that he wanted to get to know you, it was not everyday that he hit it off so easy with someone like you. 

“Sounds wonderful”

[serenlyss]

.41 ritshou

Thanks for the prompt! This ended up being a little more than a drabble haha but I had fun with it! This also turned into a Ritsu’s birthday fic so happy late birthday Ritsu!

—

Ritsu draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, leaning forward to rest his chin atop them. It’s not a very comfortable position, especially considering the fact that he’s currently perched on the roof of his house, on a hard incline with nothing much keeping him from sliding down to the edge except for friction, but he does it anyway, because it makes him feel like his heart isn’t beating as fast or hard as it actually is and like he isn’t on the verge of a mental breakdown.

The night had started out fine. Ritsu hasn’t had a birthday party in a few years now, but all of a sudden he has people around him that he actually wants to celebrate with, people that want to celebrate with him. So why does he suddenly feel like the world is ending? Under his feet, he can faintly hear music playing as the party goes on without him.

The night had started out fine, but two hours in he’d looked around and realized that nearly half of the faces all around him were almost entirely unfamiliar. Classmates and club members, the student council, members of his old soccer team… he knows them all by name, but he doesn’t actually know them. He isn’t even sure if he can call them friends. Even Kamuro had been there, which had caused him to feel overwhelmed in a whole different way. He’d looked around and hadn’t see any sign of Shou or Shigeo or Teru, the people he’d actually wanted to be there, and suddenly it was like he’d been dunked underwater, the sensation stealing his breath from his lungs and making every step feel like the air itself had been resisting him.

He’d excused himself with perfect politeness, not an inch of his inner feelings allowed to be seen on his face, and made his way upstairs. He’d hardly even hesitated to throw open his window and climb outside, clambering up onto the rooftop where he now sits, wondering why in hell he’d thought throwing a party had been a good idea. He digs his fingers into the denim of his jeans and exhales, his breath colder than the July air outside.

“So this is where you ran off to!”

Ritsu doesn’t mean to flinch, but he does anyway, his body twitching involuntarily in response to the voice that he recognizes instantly as Shou’s. His friend pulls himself up fluidly onto the rooftop beside him and leans forward until his face is in Ritsu’s periphery, all bright red hair and pale, freckled skin and glinting white teeth in the darkness. His light blue eyes reflect the dim yellow street lights below them as he meets Ritsu’s gaze, legs sprawling out in front of him as he settles himself down at Ritsu’s side.

“What’s up? The party’s downstairs, you know,” Shou asks with all his regular flippancy and charisma, the words coming across entirely casual despite their deeper implications.

Ritsu waits a half-second before he replies, “Just getting some air. Did Shige send you?” He has a feeling that his brother, ever so sharp-eyed and intuitive nowadays, had been the first to notice his absence. He wonders if anyone else had, or if they’d been deaf to his presence to begin with.

Shou shakes his head and moves his face out of Ritsu’s line of sight, leaning back against the roof with his hands behind his head. Ritsu lifts his own head and lets his gaze follow him. “Nah, I came to find you when I got out of the bathroom and saw you were gone. It’s your party, you know, you should be there for it,” he replies. Shou’s calm demeanor has an area of effect on Ritsu, whose shoulders sink a little lower as he listens.

“I guess,” Ritsu murmurs, but even if he knows the party is technically for him, it doesn’t feel like it belongs to him anymore.

Shou’s smile falters at this, a hint of concern comes to his face. He props himself up on his elbows, turning to give Ritsu his full attention. “You alright?” he asks. “You look sad, did something happen? You can tell me, you know.”

I look sad? Ritsu echoes in his mind, blinking. That can’t be right. Ritsu is very careful to keep his thoughts to himself, and his expressions are always carefully under wraps. Not even his family can tell when he’s feeling sad, most of the time, though he has a feeling Shigeo sees more than he lets on. Ritsu opens his mouth to produce a scripted response: I’m fine, just a little tired. I ate too much cake and have a stomachache. I was taking a phone call before you showed up. Instead, the words that come out of his mouth are, “There were too many people.”

Shou doesn’t respond right away, which is weird enough in its own way. When he glances in Shou’s direction again, he finds wide blue eyes staring back at him, flashes of recognition and sympathy behind clear, unhidden surprise. “Really? You invited them, though, didn’t you?”

“Some of them,” Ritsu mumbles in response. He sighs softly against his knees and finally lets his body unravel, feet sliding down the tiled surface of the roof as his head and torso lean back against the roof beside Shou. He tucks his arms close against his sides and clasps his hands over his stomach, and feels a warm summer breeze blow his bangs out of his face and to the side. “My parents invited some of them, too, but they’re… all people I know.”

“Well then, you know a lot of people,” Shou says simply, wiggling his legs against the uneven roof’s surface in search of a more comfortable position. 

He’s barefoot, Ritsu realizes, having ditched his shoes somewhere along the way. For some reason it makes Ritsu want to smile; Shou never had cared much for manners or rules, and his rebellious spirit feels so, so refreshing when Ritsu is confronted by his own “good child” demeanor. He hums quietly. “I guess so,” he responds with a shrug of his shoulders, sinking just a little deeper into the roof as he breathes steadily and lets his wound-up limbs relax.

Shou, to his credit, looks perfectly at home, sprawled out on the rooftop with no shoes on. He isn’t wearing a jacket, either, but it’s warm enough out that the breeze doesn’t make him shiver. “Well, you may not know them all that well now, but there’s still time,” Shou points out, after a minute or so of silence has passed between them. “I know you have, like, a persona or whatever, but it doesn’t have to be like that forever. You can talk to them like normal people.”

“I guess that makes you a “normal person”?” Ritsu retorts, but it’s humorous rather than hostile. A faint smile blooms on his face as he tilts his head to the side to look at Shou.

Shou laughs, a quiet, private laugh meant only for him, one that’s so different from his usual boisterous guffaws that it nearly gives Ritsu whiplash every time he hears it. “Normal is relative,” he shoots back, and it feels like a weight is lifted.

Of course Shou’s answer to his dilemma would be simple, his solutions usually are. And, to Ritsu’s surprise, his solutions are usually good, too. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he promises.

Shou shoots him a grin, then sits up with a start. “Oh, that reminds me! I was gonna wait until everyone else went home to do this, but I think now is as good a time as any,” he babbles, reaching for his discarded bag and rifling through it for a moment. He fishes out a wrapped package, one with a little white bow stuck to the top of it, and holds it out to Ritsu. “I got you something. Y’know, like a birthday present.”

Ritsu had accepted more than a dozen gifts throughout the night from many of his guests, some of which he was excited to open, and some of which he’d known immediately would have very little sentimental value, but something about this moment, sitting on the roof of his house in the middle of a summer’s night next to the best friend he’s probably ever had, sends Ritsu’s heart racing all over again. He reaches out and accepts the gift, hears the cheap convenience store wrapping paper crinkle under his fingers, and wonders how much thought Shou had put into picking something out just for him. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “Can I open it?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

Ritsu picks at the wrapping paper carefully at first, as though it was necessary to preserve rather than destroy it, and only remembers that wrapping paper is meant to be ripped to pieces when Shou groans and tells him to hurry up already, you’re killing me! And so he smirks and does as he’s told, digging his fingers into the colorful paper and tearing it off in one smooth motion until he can finally tell when the gift in his hands is.

It’s a notebook, one with a hard cover wrapped in a strong, soft material. It feels almost felted under his fingers as he runs them briefly over the cover. When he pulls the cover open, he sees that it’s swiss bound, each page designed to lay perfectly flat no matter what part of the book he turns to. It’s nice, really nice, way nicer than the spiral-bound notebook Ritsu uses for his math homework.

“You’re always ripping out pages of your book to write ideas down on,” Shou says, sitting up so he can lean over Ritsu’s shoulder to look down at the notebook, “but then they end up getting lost or crumpled up at the bottom of your backpack. I thought if you had a book you could use specifically for jotting down your ideas and stuff, you’d be less likely to lose them at the bottom of your backpack or misplace them.” He taps his finger on one college-ruled page, reaching around Ritsu’s shoulder to do so. “What do you think?”

Ritsu is, quite frankly, speechless. Shou doesn’t often show himself to be a very emotionally mature person–neither is Ritsu, in that regard–but the gift undeniably has a lot of thought put into it, something Shou might have heard Ritsu complain about at one point and filed away for future use. “Thank you,” he says again, for lack of better words, “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Shou says with a grin, pushing himself to his feet. He fiddles with the edge of his t-shirt, moving it back into place after laying down had rumpled it a little, and then he reaches out a hand to Ritsu. “C’mon, we should head back inside before your brother comes looking for us.”

Ah, right. Ritsu had nearly forgotten about the party still happening in the house underneath them. “Yeah, we should,” he agrees, and accepts Shou’s outstretched hand.