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lmvari · 3 months ago

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⟳ 27. BLUEPRINT

Love terrified Kuni.

It was why it’s easier to pretend he didn’t care than to deal with the mess of actually feeling emotions. Because the truth was, he knew what came after.

He learned too early that love doesn’t mean staying. It left him shattered and alone.

He'd lived it twice too many times.

It started with his mother.

Sharp, elegant, composed. Always with one hand on her tea and the other on her schedule. She was the type of woman people admired from afar. Untouchable. Unshakable.

But to Kuni, she was simply his mom.

Though distant, she taught him everything he needed to, reminded him to be independent and never show weakness. A kind of tough love that you’d feel cared for.

She wasn’t perfect, but she was his entire world. She made a silent promise to be there. To guide him. To raise him right.

By fourteen, she was gone.

No explanation. No goodbye.

Just a letter and a cold set of instructions.

Kuni later found out her whereabouts through his mother’s friend. Apparently, she left the country. Started over with her life. A life that didn’t include him.

She left him the apartment. A trust fund with enough to cover school, food, a quiet kind of living. She left instructions, contacts, legal arrangements, everything a responsible parent should leave behind.

But she didn’t leave herself.

And that was the part Kuni never forgave. He felt rejected. How could someone who taught him everything just walk away? How could someone who gave life to him disappear like he wasn’t enough to stay for? She made sure he’d live. But she never once asked if he’d be okay.

But no matter how much he tried to harden himself, no matter how often he repeated her lessons in his head—

Don’t feel. Don’t break.

He still loved her.

And the thing is, the more someone taught you not to feel, the more devastating it was when you still did.

Since then, Kuni learned:

Love doesn’t mean permanence. Love is something people say until they decide they’re tired. Since then, he built a wall no one could scale, no one could touch. He never let anyone try.

But Kuni’s defenses were paper-thin.

Just before his senior year, Mona came into his life.

Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, ambitious and brilliant in ways that scared him. He didn’t mean to let her in. He told himself not to.

But she made it so goddamn easy.

She made him feel seen, like he wasn’t just someone people tolerated but someone they actually wanted. For a while, she made him believe he could be enough. To be loved. To be chosen.

But dreams don’t wait for love. And Mona had big ones. She was always chasing something—her career, the stars, a future that didn’t leave much space for someone like him.

There were days she didn’t answer his calls, weeks when she barely looked up from her screen. At first, he understood. People get busy. He could wait.

But then weeks turned into months, and Kuni slowly got tired of waiting for someone who no longer remembered to wait for him.

Still, he clung to her.

Even when the silence between them was louder than any words. Even when she drifted so far he could barely hear her voice anymore. Even when it got to the point where even he pitied himself.

He told himself she was just busy. That she’d come back.

That people could stay.

He was wrong.

Mona sits at the edge of Kuni’s bed, hands folded, back too straight. She’s already dressed, coat draped over her lap. The air between them is thick. Final.

“I got the offer in Berlin,” Mona had said, barely above a whisper. She wasn’t smiling.

Kuni didn’t ask what offer. He already knew.

“You’re leaving,” he said, even though it wasn’t a question.

She nodded.

He stared at the coffee table between them. The untouched tea. The silence.

“When?” he asked.

“Next month. It’s… it’s everything I’ve worked for. It’s my dream.”

Right. Her dream. What is he, then? Just something she happened to like along the way?

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His chest ached, but he didn’t let it show. Just leaned back against the couch and looked at her. Really looked. Memorized the way her brows furrowed when she was nervous, the way her fingers tapped her knee when she was holding something back.

“You’re not coming back,” he said as if it’s a statement.

It took her a moment to respond. She gave a small, hesitant shrug. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. Her voice was composed, but not cold—just honest. “This is something I have to do, Kuni. For myself.”

He nodded slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah.”

He knew. But knowing didn’t make it hurt less.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. He knew from the start who she was. Knew she had dreams bigger than this city, than him. It was his fault for being weak and indulging in something he knew was a risk.

He wanted to come with. Drop out, leave everything behind and live a quiet life with her in another country while she pursues her dream. But he knows she would never agree to that. And staying with her while she’s away would only be a distraction and hold her back from the things that she wanted to accomplish. And he knows he would go crazy worrying about her whereabouts.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He gave her a tired, bitter smile. “Don’t be. I already expected this.”

And he did. He just hadn’t realized how much of him she’d take when she left.

Kuni never hated Mona. He couldn’t.

She was doing what she had to do—what Ei had done, too.

They were both selfish, yes. Except Mona had a valid reason. And he thinks maybe that’s why he didn’t react out of anger.

He didn’t cry that night. Didn’t beg. He just sat there, eyes wide and empty, letting her go. Because he knew better than to fight for someone who’d already made up their mind.

The next morning, she was gone. And in her place was silence.

Kuni knew, deep down, that he was fragile.He let someone in, even when every part of him screamed not to. Naive. Stupid. Too soft where it mattered most.

So this time, instead of just walls, he built thorns around himself. Weapons. Barbed words, sharp silence, cold detachment. Anything to keep people at a distance. He started hooking up, messing around, destroying his reputation, losing himself in the temporary comfort of bodies that didn’t ask questions.

Because love, he decided, was just a longer word for loss.

And he was tired of losing.

But then you happened.

And Kuni wanted you.

He didn’t know it then.

The start of fourth-year.

He didn’t realize the girl at the bar, the one that suddenly sat beside him, was about to become the most emotionally confusing part of his life since the people he loved walked out and took parts of him with them.

Back then, you were just a stranger. A friend of a friend’s. A blur in the crowd. Another girl to satisfy his needs. You weren’t supposed to matter. Weren’t supposed to be more than just a one-night stand.

But you did. Somehow.

Somewhere between the stolen glances and clumsy laughter over shared drinks, between the way you didn’t flinch at his sarcasm or walk away when he got harsh and quiet—you started becoming unforgettable.

And Kuni didn’t remember people. Not like that. Not after just one night.

But that was the thing about you.

Even then, when you were both pretending, both half-lost in your own ways, you had this way of slipping under his skin like you belonged there.

He just didn’t know it yet.

“You look depressed.”

He turned to see a face he was sure he’d seen multiple times before.

Who were you again?

Oh, right.

[Surname].

The girl he usually saw with Ajax’s girlfriend in photos and parties. Usually somewhere across the room, half-laughing at something your friends said. He didn’t think you’d ever spoken directly to him before. Maybe in passing. Maybe not at all.

“And you look like someone who should mind their own fucking business,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of whatever was left in his glass.

Kuni wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone’s shit. Today was already bad enough. It was their anniversary. And he wanted to mourn it alone. So either you leave him alone or deal with his asshole attitude.

Except you didn’t go away.

Just slid onto the couch next to him like you were old friends, slouching on the backrest.

“Just saying. You’ve been sitting here for like thirty minutes, scowling into your drink like it said something rude.”

He gave you a side glance. Your lips were smirking, but your eyes were something else. Curious. Too perceptive for someone who had probably been drinking all night.

“What do you want?”

“A less boring night,” you said plainly. “You seemed like a good place to start.”

That made him laugh, just barely. People often don’t approach him first like that.

“Why are you here alone?” he asked.

“My friends bailed on me. Had a rough week,” you answered.

He simply looked at you with a side look, mulling over whether he should entertain you or not.

Well, maybe small company is okay. He decided.

The both of you talked. Nothing deep. Just enough to fill the space between glances and refills.

It was surprisingly comfortable.

Your sarcasm met his in the middle. Your eyes lingered just a little too long. You leaned in when you laughed, nudged his shoulders when you disagreed. And the longer you stayed like that, the more the air between you shifted.

Warmer. Tighter.

Every brush of your knee against his felt more intentional. Every look a little heavier. You stared at him just a second too long.

Kuni found himself drawn in, caught in the way your gaze lingered. There was something disarming about you. Not in-your-face attractive like most of the girls scattered around the bar, but effortlessly magnetic. Your outfit was modest by comparison, yet the bare line of your shoulders and the way your top hugged your figure left just enough to wonder about.

Teasing, intentional, but not trying too hard.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about what you looked like underneath it.

And yet—

Yeah. Something stirred.

Shit.

He hadn’t come there to take anyone home. That wasn’t the plan that night.

He licked his lips, feeling them dry.

You looked at him again, head slightly tilted, a silent invitation hanging in the air, like you were waiting for him to say something.

Fuck it.

He mirrored your tilt, voice dropping low and lustful. “My place?”

There was no hesitation. Just a nod.

A small, knowing smile.

Kuni thought you were odd.

Not in a loud, obvious way. Just odd enough to make him notice.

Most people who came to bars like that, looking for a warm body and a night of distraction, understood the unspoken rule:

Leave in the morning.

No lingering. No breakfast. No awkward small talk pretending that what happened meant something.

One-night stands came with that silent agreement. Hit and run, no strings. It was safer that way. No messy emotions, no confusion. Either he slipped out first, or the girl did. Always.

He usually brought them back to his place, so he was used to waking up alone. On the rarer occasions when he woke up first, he’d lie in bed longer than necessary, sometimes even missing a morning class, just to avoid making it uncomfortable for the girl to make her quiet exit. It was routine. Predictable.

So when he woke up that morning after the bar, bare mattress on his back, the hangover still settling behind his eyes, he assumed it was the same as always.

You were gone. Of course you were.

He sat up, dragging a hand down his face.

But something felt off.

Kuni woke abruptly from his sleep, sweaty and heaving.

He stared at the wall, in a trance. Head throbbing from the hangover.

Fucking nightmare.

He shook the dreaded feelings away and scanned his surroundings.

The room was quiet, too quiet. But not in the empty kind of way. There was a presence still hanging in the air. The subtle sound of movement outside the room.

And that was when it hit him. He walked out of his room and into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

You glanced over your shoulder casually, flipping something in the pan. “Cooking breakfast.”

His eyebrows twitched. He blinked.

“Right,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “‘That’s not necessary.”

“I want to.”

There was no hesitation in your voice. Just calm certainty, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be in a sort-of-stranger’s kitchen making breakfast after a one-night stand.

He leaned against the counter, eyeing you like you’d just sprouted a second head. “Have you ever slept with anyone before?”

You didn’t even look up as you answered. “Yes.”

His brow furrowed deeper. “Do you always cook breakfast for them?”

That time, you did glance at him, smirking a little. “No.”

“The hell—”

“You looked lonely last night,” you said simply. “And depressed. You looked like shit. Still kinda do, honestly.”

Kuni opened his mouth to respond, but you kept going, unfazed.

“Also, your apartment’s a disaster. I had the overwhelming urge to clean it. Cooking seemed like a good start.”

Kuni looks around his place, seeing all of his belonging scattered. Laundry. Trash.

Oh.

He didn’t have a strong desire to clean much ever since he started fooling around. Keeps most of the girls away.

You slid a plate with food onto the counter in front of him with practiced ease. “It’s not that deep. I just thought you could use a small win today.”

He stared at the plate, then at you, silent for a long moment.

You just smiled, turning back to the stove. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t completely, utterly confusing.

He takes in the sight of you cooking in his kitchen. You were standing there, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair messily tied back, completely at home in a place you’d only stepped into for the first time a few hours ago.

And something about that made his chest tighten. Not with warmth, but panic. It was too much. Too close. Too dangerous.

So he looked away. Swallowed hard. He walked back into his room, grabbed his phone, and when he went back out, he didn’t bother hiding the edge in his voice.

“This was a one-time thing,” he said flatly. “Don’t get comfortable.”

You froze, spatula mid-air.

He didn’t look at you.

“I’ve got shit to do,” he added, colder now. “You should head out after you eat.”

A beat passed. Silence stretching like a knife.

Still, he didn’t look.

Because if he did, he might’ve apologized. Might’ve said he didn’t mean it. Might’ve let you stay.

And he couldn’t afford that. So he hardened his voice one last time.

“Lock the door behind you. And leave my shirt.”

Then he walked out of his own apartment.

Ironically, Kuni let it happen a second time.

The one thing he swore he wouldn’t do.

Never repeat a girl. Never fall into the same pair of arms twice. Never give anyone the power to make him crave them more than once. He made that rule for a reason. To keep things clean, forgettable, and detached. It wasn’t even about morality, it was survival. Once was already too much for someone like him, someone who’d learned the hard way what happened when you let someone past the surface.

The plan was simple: drink, fuck, forget. Find a new face, a temporary escape, rinse, repeat. He didn’t even bother to learn the names of most of them.

You were supposed to be just like every other. A face he’d forget by morning.

But you weren’t.

Kuni wondered about you.

Not just in passing, not just in the shallow, fleeting way he did with others.

Unlike the others, he was already acquainted with you. He’d seen you around campus, around his friends, knew your name before he ever touched you. Got to talk to you before he even touched you.

Back then, you didn’t even cross his mind. But that night and the morning after, something shifted.

You were different, not because you tried to be, but because you didn’t. You were sarcastic, annoyingly perceptive, and knew how to keep up with him in the short time he got to talk to you.

And maybe that was the problem.

That was what scared him.

The way you deflected all of his attacks. The way you lingered in his head long after you were gone. And that was dangerous.

So when he opened his door and saw you again, three days later, he was already on edge.

Kuni opened the door halfway, eyes slightly bloodshot, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand.

He stared at you in disbelief.

“Didn’t I say it was a one-time thing?”

Cold. Defensive. Because if he let it get soft, even for a second, someone would crawl past the walls again.

You didn’t flinch. “Relax. I just need my ring.”

He took a sip before answering. “What ring?” he says, tone bored.

“The gold one. I left it by your stove.”

He blinked, recalling it, then remembered exactly what you were talking about. It was the ring he saw when he got back to his apartment.

He figured it was yours, obviously, since you’re the only girl that had the audacity to cook in his kitchen. But he didn’t really think you’d go back for it.

“You left it on purpose.” He stares at you.

“You wish. It’s a ring with sentimental value, unlike you. I just forgot about it.”

“If it’s really important, you wouldn’t’ve forgotten it,” he accuses.

“Would you just give it to me?” you glare at him.

He sighs in defeat. He walked back to his messy couch and gestured lazily. “Go get it yourself.”

He hears you mutter a frustrated ‘finally,’ before focusing back to drinking.

You walked past his living room and headed straight for the kitchen. His eyes follow you, watching with half-interest, half-irritation, nursing his drink in silence.

You found it easily, sitting there like it never moved. You stared at it for a second longer than you needed to before sliding it back onto your finger.

Then thunder cracked loud outside.

The rain had come fast and hard, lightning flickering in the windows.

“Shit,” you muttered, glancing out. “You got an umbrella?” you called over your shoulder.

“Nope.”

“Wow. Responsible.” Sarcasm. “I’m out,” he heard you say.

He didn’t respond. But he noticed how your steps slowed. How you lingered by the door, fiddling with your ring, eyes darting toward the storm. You didn’t want to go out in the pouring rain. You didn’t say it, but he could tell.

He let out a sigh and muttered without looking at you, “Stay until it stops. I’m not driving you.”

Simple. Emotionless. But you stayed.

You ended up on his couch while he poured himself another drink. He didn’t offer conversation. Not wanting the night to steer differently.

The silence stretched for minutes, but then, you surprised him again. You walked over and grabbed the bottle. Poured yourself a glass. Sat beside him like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a brow.

You took a sip and shrugged. “What, you don’t share?”

He didn’t reply. Just let you do whatever you wanted.

Just what is it with you and being too comfortable around him.

He tried so hard not to interact, tried hard not to linger his eyes for too long. But he had a few shots already and the liquor is starting to take effect.

He took a subtle glance at you.

Then your eyes unexpectedly met his, and he was caught—just looking.

At the curve of your lips, the slope of your neck, the way your legs crossed under your oversized hoodie.

“You’re staring,” you said, lips twitching into a smirk.

He snapped his gaze away, regretting his actions.

Something was growing on him. Hard.

He shouldn’t’ve let you inside. He should’ve just gave you back the ring himself.

“I thought this was supposed to be a one-time thing,” you added, voice laced with laughter and teasing.

It hit a nerve. He didn’t reply.

You leaned in closer. The air shifted. He clenched his jaw, still silent. Still pretending it didn’t affect him.

Your fingers grazed his knee. And that was it.

He was tipsy. Tense. Tired of pretending.

And just like that, everything he’d tried to bury lit up like fire under his skin.

The rules broke. Again.

You didn’t stay that night. You left quietly early in the morning while he was still asleep. But when he woke up, the apartment was clean. The dishes were washed. The clutter was gone.

A plate of food sat on the counter. Next to it was a folded napkin with a note in what he assumed was your handwriting:

‘Just fucking eat it.’

It made him chuckle.

And that’s what pissed him off most.

That you left no trace of yourself, except for something so human it stuck with him the whole day.

So Kuni let it happen. Again.

If the second time was unexpected, the third was deliberate.

You showed up at his door a week later, around midnight, cheeks pink from the cold. Or maybe from the fact that you were reeking of alcohol. Your hair was messy, jacket half-zipped, and your lips pulled into a crooked line that told him this wasn’t planned.

You didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Can I come in?”

He blinked. “What are you doing here?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t wanna be home. Fought with Lumi. Needed a distraction.”

And he was the first person you thought to come to?

“You’re drunk.”

“Sober enough to walk here.”

He almost shut the door in your face. But something in your face, tired, but still sharp with defiance, made him pause.

You didn’t wait for him to invite you. You pushed past him like it was your place, like you belonged there.

And when he tried to say something, you kissed him.

Fast. Desperate. Familiar.

He almost lost his balance. But he didn’t push you away. Maybe that was his mistake.

The two of you didn’t fall asleep this time. Both of you just lay there, skin warm, breaths uneven from whatever that just was.

Kuni stared at the ceiling blankly. “I swear, this is the last time,” he mutters.

You turned to him with a questioning gaze.

“I don’t do repeats. You already crossed that line.”

You stared at him, half amused, half insulted. “Right. I forgot, you’re the infamous campus heartbreaker.”

He didn’t respond.

You waited. Then asked, “Why do you do it?”

“That’s none of your business.”

You sat up a little, tugging the blanket higher. “It’’s about commitment, isn’t it? Doesn’t it get tiring? Having to find someone new every time?” you tried to pry more.

He didn’t answer. You studied him for a beat. He looked calm, but you knew better. You didn’t press further.

“Never mind. It means nothing to me. I don’t like commitment, either. So you don’t have to worry about reusing me,” you laugh. “Rather than worrying about your sex life, I should worry about my health. You probably have STDs, or something,” you hug yourself and shiver dramatically.

He rolls his eyes. “I always use a condo–”

“Relax, I was joking,” you snort.

This irked him.

“Get out of my apartment.”

And you did. With an annoying giggle at that, too.

Kuni mulled it over long after you were gone.

This meant nothing to you. You said it yourself. Maybe that’s when everything took a turn. Because to him, this never meant anything, not really. But he was scared that he’d start to consider giving it meaning.

You were a risk.

But then again… so was everything else.

The exhausting nights of downing drinks to build the courage to flirt. The meaningless hookups. The silence in his room afterward. The emptiness that clung to him even when the bed wasn’t. He kept running from commitment, kept choosing chaos, but in the end, it still left him tired. Worn and bitter and bored of it all.

And then there was you. Bold. Audacious. The kind of fun Kuni didn’t have for a while.

He didn’t trust himself. Not to stay cold. Not to keep the distance. Because, again, he knew he was fragile despite everything. But when you said it didn’t mean anything to you, something in him relaxed.

Maybe, just maybe, if you could control yourself, he could too.

The next time it happened, it was Kuni who approached you first.

Then it was you. Then him again.

A quiet back-and-forth, a rhythm born from stressful weeks and late nights, each of you seeking the same kind of escape in the other.

It was unspoken, effortless. Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. A fling. Whatever label people might throw on it, neither of you bothered to define it.

It was easier that way. Easier to pretend it was simple. And for a while, it was.

Because Kuni was careful. Always.

He set his own rules. His own boundaries. After every night, he made sure to be the one who woke up and left first, even when it was in his own apartment.

Sometimes, you beat him to it. And he took it as a sign that maybe you got it, too. Maybe you were just as good at keeping things distant.

When both of your friend groups found out what’s happening between you two, despite all the teasing and doubts about the nature of your relationship, you both kept denying it.

We’re just friends.

A short sentence that he repeated a hundred times. And you followed.

The two of you never hung out outside of bed. Never spent quality time. Never got to know each other beyond the surface level. Most of the time, when life was going fine for the both of you, weeks would pass in silence. No check-ins. No texts. Just distance until the next bad day came, and one of you reached out, needing relief.

So it continued. Wordless. Measured. A mutual understanding held together by silence and restraint.

For months, you both clung to the comfort of routine, anything to stop whatever complicated feelings were quietly growing in the spaces you refused to look at.

He appreciated you for it. How you never crossed the line he silently drew. You never asked the wrong questions. Never prodded at the past he kept buried. You never tried to peel back the layers he guarded like armor.

You were content with what little he gave. Fragments of deep conversation, fleeting touches, the kind of closeness and banter that never demanded more.

And somehow, that made it easier. Safer. It was comforting to him, in a way. Knowing someone could be there even when he offered next to nothing except his body. Even when the two of you barely qualified as friends.

But over time, something shifted. Because the more times it happened, the more curious he became. He became restless. He found himself wondering:

If you were willing to stay through the bare minimum—no promises, no answers, no depth—

what would happen if he gave you more?

Four months in, things began to change.

It was subtle at first. So subtle that it went past Kuni.

Maybe it was when you started ranting before getting intimate. Stating your reasons for calling him. You’d drop onto his couch with a sigh, words spilling out like a routine. And he just listened. Something he didn’t even realize was way past his boundaries.

“I swear this prof. hates me.”

“I keep getting migraines lately, it fucking sucks.”

“My thesis partner thinks ‘editing’ means changing the font.”

Then there were other things. You started checking if he had eaten, always in the form of an insult.

“Don’t tell me you’re surviving on caffeine and alcohol again.” And he’d roll his eyes, but the next time, you’d still ask. Even urged him to buy food that he can cook.

He started keeping snacks you liked. The ones you always brought when you were hungry, stating, “I want to eat before we do anything.”

He later went on a grocery run and mindlessly stocked up on them. Kept them in a drawer in his kitchen. Along with headache meds. “Emergency stash,” he claimed when you noticed. Didn’t say whose emergency he meant.

Or maybe it was the time when nothing happened.

You showed up, visibly stressed, visibly shaken, and instead of touching him like he initially thought you’d need, you asked if you could just stay.

No ulterior motive. No need to touch.

So you sat beside him. On the floor. In silence. Shoulder to shoulder. And you didn’t even say a word. But somehow, it made all the noise in his head quiet.

That was when it started to really terrify him.

Because in all the flings he had, no one ever reached that far. They got his body. Never his quiet. But you? You found your way into both. Without even realizing.

Suddenly, Kuni wasn’t sure if this was just physical for him anymore.

Because for the first time in a long while, he started to wonder to himself how your day was. If you were sleeping okay. If you went out with your friends today. He started to replay the way you laughed when he humors your playful banter and insults. The way you looked proud when you beat him at a dumb card game one night after leaving the bed in a storm.

And worst of all, he started calling you up more often even when he didn’t really need to. Granted, it always ended in sex, but a part of him simply did it to hold you.

That’s when it changed.

The lines between you didn’t blur with the heated touches or the nights tangled in each other’s arms. No, those were expected. Part of the deal. What truly blurred them were the quiet, gentle moments that had no place in whatever this was.

It was never the passion that confused him. It was the tenderness. The kind that shouldn’t exist between two people who swore they were nothing. Because despite everything he tried to avoid, he started to silently care.

And caring was the one thing he swore he’d never do again. Not after what happened before. Not after everything he’d buried just to survive.

But he found himself forgetting what it felt like to be left behind—ironically, in something destined to end that way.

Because with you, it didn’t feel like survival anymore.

It was something dangerously close to living.

So much so that for a while, Kuni thought about ending it.

Not because he was tired of you. It was the opposite. It was because his feelings were changing, and that was never part of the plan.

He believed that it meant nothing to you. That it was all him making something up in his head. That the quiet care, the shared silences, the way you both stayed longer than necessary were just convenience. It simply stemmed from your personality.

After all, neither of you ever defined what this was. In those rare, intimate moments, where one of you would do something only people who cared would do, there was always a wordless agreement to never speak of it. To pretend it didn’t mean anything. There was always awkwardness hanging in the air.

So he convinced himself that if it continued, you’d leave. That one day, you’d see him for what he was—someone wrecked and weak—and you’d reject him for it.

But then the what-ifs started to creep in.

What if you felt it too? What if the small things mattered to you just as much? What if you weren’t staying because it was easy, but because, like him, you hoped?

And if he pushed you away first, he’d be losing you. Not because you left, but because he didn’t let you stay.

So Kuni continued.

He continued to keep you around.

Continued to dance back and forth between acceptance and denial.

When Kuni woke up before you, he didn’t leave.

He used to always leave before dawn. Always.

But lately, every morning, he stayed longer than necessary. Half-asleep on the edge of your bed, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, arm lazily draped around your waist. Close. Closer than he ever let himself be while conscious.

Shit.

He wanted to avoid cuddling, as much as possible. But it happened sometimes, blamed it on the cold or on reflexes. He’d usually slip away before you stirred. No trace. No warmth left behind.

But this time, when you shifted in your sleep, back brushing against his chest, he didn’t move.

You were turned away from him. Breathing slow. Completely unaware of the way he looked at you.

He let himself look. He took it all in. The calmness of your features, the way your hair fell across the pillow, the slight twitch of your fingers like you were dreaming. The kind of softness he’d convinced himself he wasn’t allowed to want.

He could’ve left. Should’ve, probably. But instead, his eyes fell to your hand, resting loosely on the blanket.

That ring. The stupid ring that started it all. If you hadn’t left it that night, maybe none of this would’ve spiraled into whatever you were now. Maybe he wouldn’t be here wrapped up in warmth he told himself he didn’t need.

But he was.

And without thinking too hard about it, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. Quiet. Careful.

He didn’t point the camera at your face. Just the way your back curled slightly toward him, the way the early morning light traced soft outlines across the sheets, the stillness of it all.

A snapshot. One he’d keep for himself. Just to remember. He observed the photo, thinking that it didn’t give justice to the real thing.

Pretty.

He never said it aloud. Not to you. But maybe someday, you’d see it.

And maybe you’d understand.

Kuni hadn’t been subtle.

Not lately.

And maybe that was the point. He knew he was slipping. Letting things show. Letting you see. The in-between, too heavy.

He started leaving hints on purpose. Not loud gestures that would risk scaring you away, but little things. Quiet gestures. Nothing he expected anything back for.

He just wanted to show you the change. Wanted you to know without him having to say it, and to see if you felt the same too.

He thought about everything—about how easy it would be to pull away again. How easy it would be to just keep things as it was.

But a part of him didn’t want easy anymore.

Kuni didn’t reply to your message, in a hurry.

He didn’t think. He just moved. Grabbed the snacks he knew you liked and stopped for coffee, even though it was already late and the café near his dorm was closing soon.

He didn’t have a plan. He just… didn’t want you to feel alone tonight.

When he spotted you hunched over a table in the library, looking one breath away from falling apart, something sharp tugged in his chest. So he walked over and dropped the coffee and snacks in front of you. Didn’t say anything grand. Just eased into the seat across from you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked at the table, then up at him.

“What is this?” you asked, wary.

He shrugged, trying to play it off. “You look like you’re two pages away from losing your mind.”

That was it. No ulterior motive. Just… worry. Quiet, uninvited worry.

He saw the way you hesitated before touching the cup. Like you were trying to figure out what he wanted. Like you were weirded about him just showing up.

You stared at the coffee like it might bite. Like it meant more than it did—or maybe exactly what it did.

“Seriously,” you murmured, not meeting his eyes. “Why are you here?”

He leaned back, tried to keep it light. “Dunno.” Then softer, “Just figured you’d need a recharge.”

He watched your fingers curl around the cup. That was enough. He didn’t need a thank you. He just needed to know you were taking care of yourself, even if it was through him.

Your notes were a mess. Your eyes were dull. He could tell your head hurt.

“You sure you don’t wanna take a break?” he asked.

“I can’t.”

“You look like you need one.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, well, I don’t have that luxury.”

He bit back the urge to argue. You were always so stubborn. Always acted like you had to do everything on your own.

So instead, he offered what little help he could. “It’s late. Continue studying at home.” He hesitated. Then, quietly, “Or at my place. It’s closer.”

And just like that, your expression changed. He saw the way your hands stilled. How you immediately shut down.

Why?

You laughed, cold and hollow. “Right. And I’m sure we’d get so much studying done there.”

He blinked, confused. The edge in your voice was sharper than usual. “What do you mean?”

Oh.

You thought this was about that. Of course.

He felt a heavy feeling he couldn’t describe.

You didn’t answer. Just brushed him off. Told him you still had a lot to do. And maybe he should’ve argued. Explained himself. But what would’ve been the point? You’d already made up your mind. So he let the silence sit. Then stood up quietly.

“Fine,” he muttered, trying not to let the sting show. “Don’t overwork yourself, moron.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to say. Wasn’t what he wanted to do.

But it was too late, and all he could do was walk away.

Kuni didn’t plan to call.

He read your message that you planned to do an all-nighter, and his thumb was already tapping the call icon.

He told himself it was to check on you. To keep you company while you worked. Not because he missed you. Not because the silence of his room felt louder without you in it.

When you answered, the image of you lit up his screen, half-tired, eyes ringed with stress, but still managing that soft ‘Hey’ that landed somewhere uncomfortably near his chest.

“Hey,” he answered. He kept it easy. Familiar.

You asked why, and he gave the first excuse that came to mind:

“You aren’t here and I didn’t have anything else to do.”

A lie, kind of.

There were things he could be doing. He just didn’t feel like doing them knowing you’d be staying up all night.

You asked about studying, and he brushed it off like it was nothing. Said he already did. Said he doesn’t pull all-nighters like you losers.

Made you laugh. That was the point.

He didn’t say he’d been thinking about you since earlier. Didn’t say he regretted how that went. How you looked at him like he was just another interruption. Like all he ever wanted was you in pieces, never whole.

So he stayed quiet now. Watched you twirl your pen. Half-listened as you thanked him for the coffee.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Truth, laid bare without thinking. He waited for the blowback, for you to read into it and pull away again. But you didn’t. Not really. You changed the subject like you always do.

You didn’t know that he stayed on the call for your voice. Watching you frown at your notes and bite your lip grounded him more than sleep ever could.

That he was trying, really trying, to just be there without asking for anything.

Even when your eyes started to flutter shut. Even when your voice got quieter and softer until it was barely there.

He teased. Called you an idiot when you couldn’t remember what he last said. Then watched you drift off, your figure slackening in the frame.

He didn’t end the call right away. Didn’t hang up like he should’ve.

He just stared. You looked peaceful. Safe.

And under his breath—too quiet for you to hear, but loud enough to mean something—he whispered,

“Goodnight, pretty.”

Then he hung up.

And stared at the empty screen a while longer.

Kuni knew he was being too careful.

Why you couldn’t see what he was trying to show you. Why you assumed things that weren’t pure.

He wanted to make it more obvious. Not by saying something, but by doing something. Asking you out.

He remembered Ajax once casually mentioning how he gets his girlfriend little gifts when she does well. Sometimes for absolutely no reason. Something small. Something thoughtful.

Kuni had rolled his eyes at the time, but the idea stuck.

So when he saw the charm, delicate glass petals with a little space for initials, he didn’t even hesitate. He bought it without overthinking.

Well, maybe he did. A little.

Because it wasn’t just a gift. It served as a starting point. A declaration.

He stood outside the lecture hall, leaning against the wall, pretending to scroll through his phone. He heard your laugh before he saw you, that breathless, giddy kind that only came when you were running on adrenaline.

And then there you were.

You looked light.

Freer than you had in days. Weeks.

And the way your eyes found him—like you were surprised by him being there—it settled something restless in his chest.

“Hey, genius,” he said, tone flat, like this wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t waited ten whole minutes rehearsing, nothing to say.

You lit up. You tried to play it off, made a joke about maybe not passing, and he scoffed.

Please.

He knew you passed.

He saw it in the way you carried yourself, like you finally remembered you were brilliant.

You laughed, and he felt it more than heard it.

So he pulled the charm from his pocket. Held it out to you with no ceremony. No big speech. Just a quiet offering.

“I figured you deserved something,” he muttered. “Should’ve gotten a bigger one, since you aced it and all.”

He watched you freeze. Watched the way your fingers curled around it carefully, like it might break. Like it meant more than you were ready to say.

And maybe that was the point.

This wasn’t like the coffee, or the food, or the study calls.

This wasn’t fleeting. It was something you could hold on to. He didn’t need you to give it back, or throw it away, or overthink it.

He just needed you to keep it. To know he was proud of you.

When your voice faltered, he looked away. Shrugged. Stuffed his hands into his pockets like it was nothing. Like his pulse wasn’t racing.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he said, already walking ahead.

Then, over his shoulder, with more ease than he felt: “C’mon. I just finished my own practicals. We need a proper celebration. Nothing big, just us. You in?”

He didn’t wait for your answer. Didn’t look back. But a big part of him hoped you’d see it for what it really was.

The hair thing.

He hadn’t meant to do it. It surprised him, as well. Like it was instinct, like your presence was already stitched into the rhythm of his hands. But the moment his fingers grazed your skin, he felt it. Too soft. Too familiar. Something that felt less like impulse and more like yearning.

You looked at him like you felt it too. That made him hope. Made him more confident.

He could feel that you wanted more.

So when you reached your dorm and he opened his mouth—finally, he thought.

Just fucking say it.

That he wanted more than what you had now. That this thing between you wasn’t just about satisfying cravings anymore. That he was starting to look forward to the in-betweens more than the aftermaths.

That he was falling—fast, hard, and quietly—for the only person who might or might not catch him.

But then his breath caught.

His courage flickered.

What if saying it ruined this? What he got the wrong signals?

So he smiled, bitter and tired, and said, “Never mind.”

And you looked at him like you knew. Like you were waiting for something, too. Like you were hoping.

“Kuni…” you trail off. Your brows furrowed and your lips frowned, clear disappointment.

Seeing that almost made him cave. Almost. But instead he flicked your forehead, the safest affection he could manage. Told you to get some rest, and turned away before he changed his mind.

Maybe next time, he thought.

When he walked off, he didn’t feel lighter. He felt everything all at once. Tight in his chest, sharp in his ribs.

Kuni was still a coward.

And he continued being a coward.

For days, he said nothing. Did nothing. Just existed on the edge of every what if.

He kept thinking about that night. Your laugh echoing in his chest, the way your eyes softened when you thought he wasn’t looking, the warmth of your skin when he tucked your hair behind your ear. Stupid. It was so stupid. But it stuck with him like a song he couldn’t turn off.

He should’ve said something. That night. When he hesitated. When he looked at you and wanted—really wanted—for the first time, something more than what you were.

But he hadn’t. Because hope is dangerous, and he wasn’t brave enough.

A part of him started to regret his actions. Started to regret stepping over his own boundaries. Because he realized again that it really was easier to pretend it was nothing.

At some point he hoped you’d do something instead—reach out, push the line, call him out. Anything that would make the leap easier. Something that would let him off the hook.

And still, he couldn't do it.

Because he knew it was his responsibility.

Instead, he buried it under silence. Let the days stretch on with only a few texts, safe and distant. Played it cool like he wasn’t checking his phone every few hours, like he wasn’t searching for your face in the halls more than usual.

It drove his friends insane.

“You’re being a dick,” Ajax told him flat out one afternoon. “You start treating her like she’s special, then keep denying to everyone else that you feel something. Do you know how that looks like to others?”

"There really is nothing to it,” Kuni spat. Denied.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re sure acting like a guy in love.”

He had no answer to that.

Vague denials, dismissive shrugs to his friends. He clung to them like they were lifelines. But the cracks were starting to show. Even he could feel it.

And Kuni had always been good at many things—sarcasm, pushing people away, hiding behind sharp words and sharper silence.

But love?

It was something he swore to never feel again.

And you? You were becoming too important to risk on a maybe.

So he stayed quiet. A coward still.

But even he knew—

He couldn’t keep hiding much longer.

Kuni was genuinely curious.

He was looking forward to hearing your request after winning the bet.

What would you ask of him? It seemed like something you’d been dying to say. Maybe it was dumb, but he was already prepared to give in to whatever you asked.

But he didn’t expect to get blindsided.

She was back.

He found out just not through whispers, but straight from her—texting him out of nowhere.

Hey. I’m back. Can we talk?

She told him months ago that she wouldn’t return. That she needed to do this for herself. And he accepted it. Quietly. Painfully.

And now?

He stared at his phone too long. Didn’t answer. Thought ignoring it would make it go away. But fate had other plans, because next thing he knew, she was there, in the hallway, walking toward him like time hadn’t passed at all.

Same familiar perfume. Same old eyes that once made him lose himself. And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Déjà vu didn’t come gently. It came like a wave, dragging everything he buried right back to the surface.

He agreed to meet her. Maybe for closure. Maybe out of reflex.

The world felt muted.

“You look good,” Mona said softly. “Tired. But good.”

He didn’t return the compliment. Just looked at her, quiet.

“What happened to Berlin?” he asked, his voice low, guarded.

“I finished what I had to do there,” she said, smiling. “They let me come back. I’m gonna graduate here. Take some time to figure things out.”

Kuni nodded. Nothing inside him moved the way it used to. There was no ache. Just… a distant memory.

“Did it go well?” he asked out of courtesy.

“It did! I learned so much and had countless opportunities.” She smiled proudly, remembering the things she did and experienced.

After a pause, “I’m glad it went well. You did good,” he said, to his own surprise. And he meant it. She laughed at the sudden compliment, nudged his arm playfully. He didn’t mind.

And that’s when it happened.

He smiled. Soft. Brief. Real.

But it wasn’t for her. Not anymore. It was for who she had become. For who she fought to be.

Because even as he looked at her, it wasn’t Mona’s face in his mind.

It was yours.

He remembered the way you clenched your pen when you were focused. The way your eyes sparkled when you got fired up talking about something. The way your voice shifted when you were nervous but pretending not to be.

God.

He wanted to see you like this too.

Thriving. Smiling. Accomplished.

And he wanted to be there beside you when you did. To be someone who stood still beside you while the world changed.

That’s when the guilt hit. That’s when the confusion clawed its way back in.

Mona being here—she complicated things. She was a symbol of everything he let go of. And now she was back. It’s the last thing he needed right now.

“I’m happy for you,” he said coldly, slowly walking away. “Really. But I’ve got to go.” He waved her goodbye, turning his back on her.

“Wait, Kuni…” she called out.

He stopped.

“Um.. There’s more,” she said. “Please hear me out.”

He turned, facing her again.

“My parents. They’re trying to arrange a marriage with someone in Germany. Says it was for a partnership. Pay back for accepting me in Berlin.” she said. “That’s… also partly why I came back here.”

She continued, “I told them I’d go along with it after graduating here for a year but… I don’t want to. I don’t love him.”

He stared at her, silent.

“I want to try again. With us,” she said, stepping forward. “Maybe if I show them I’m in love with someone else, they’ll back off. If we can rekindle what we had…”

His heart dropped.

“No,” he said, voice cold. Sharper than before. “You want to pick up where we left off like it was nothing?” he said quietly. Kuni really couldn’t blame her for leaving. Couldn’t get angry. But asking this of him?

“I—” Mona looked taken aback.

“You left. You said Berlin was your dream, and I respected that. I let you go without begging you to stay.”

A pause. The wind rattled through the open halls.

“You don’t get to come back now that I’ve found reasons to move forward. You don’t get to do this to me.”

Her expression faltered. “But—”

“Goodbye,” he said. Then he left. No second glance.

He didn’t touch his phone that afternoon. Forgot to.

Not with everything in his head.

Kuni noticed your silence immediately.

You always replied. Sometimes late, sometimes short, but you always said something. But now, days have passed. No “lol.” No reactions. No dry sarcasm.

Just… nothing.

He told himself maybe you were busy. Research, projects, a nap that turned into three days of recovery.

But when the silence stretched longer, a dull throb of worry settled in his chest.

Had he messed up?

Was it the late reply?

The bet?

He hated how his first instinct was to spiral. And he hated how the thought that maybe you’re done with him made his throat tighten.

Still, he swallowed his pride and looked for you. In your usual hallway. Outside the library where you liked to sit. Even tried knocking on your dorm and waited for you to come out.

But you didn’t.

So he kept texting you. Even asked Ajax to ask your best friend if she’d seen you.

None of the things he did resulted in a response from you.

He knew something felt off.

And it didn’t help that Mona was everywhere now.

She waited for him after class. Sat beside him during lunch like they were still something. Talked to him like nothing had changed.

Maybe to her, nothing had. But everything had changed for him.

He didn’t want this. Didn’t want her here. Didn’t want the past making itself comfortable beside him when all he could think about was you.

But when he tried to distance himself, when he gave her cold shoulders, short answers, quiet indifference, she just smiled and brushed it off.

“I’m an irregular student. You’re the only friend I have right now,” she said once. “It’s not like I’m trying to get back together. I just… feel safe around you.”

And he had nothing to say to that. So he let her stay. Even when it felt wrong. Even when it made him look like someone he wasn’t anymore.

Because what could he have done? Mona leeched on him.

What he didn’t realize was that you saw it. Everyone did.

Saw her sitting beside him. Saw her waiting for him.

It looked exactly like what he swore he didn’t want anymore.

He was blind.

Kuni didn’t expect your reason.

Didn’t expect you to disappear because of him.

For days now, Kuni’s been turning that silence over in his mind, retracing every interaction, every message he sent that went unanswered. But then he noticed, how you were replying to others since they started mentioning you again. How you posted that one tweet.

You weren’t offline. Just off with him.

That’s when it hit him.

Maybe he had pushed too hard. Maybe you were pulling away because he stepped too close to a line you never agreed on crossing.

He hadn’t even asked to sleep with you again lately. Neither of you had.

No excuses this time. No impulse to hide behind.

Just him, choosing not to make a move. Because lately, every time he looked at you, he didn’t want something casual. He wanted to stay. Stay even when it wasn’t convenient. And he thought you were somewhat on the same page.

And maybe that was the problem.

You didn’t ask for that. You never said you wanted more.

Maybe he got the wrong impression.

So he stopped messaging. Not to punish you. Not to give up. But because he thought maybe he’s the reason you’re backing away. Maybe you're trying to breathe and he kept hovering too close.

He didn’t want to make it worse. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He noticed how fast you distanced yourself the moment things felt real. Something he thought he’d be doing. Though it ached him, because he was hoping otherwise, he thought maybe you’d call him up again when you needed relief. That things would go back to how it used to.

How it should be.

That rainy Sunday night confirmed it.

He didn’t expect to see you. He didn’t expect to feel the ache surge back up like it never left when he spotted your figure across the store. Hoodie. Hair damp from drizzle. Your eyes darting away like he was a stranger and brushing past him.

An unforgiving storm poured down, as reflecting his heavy feelings.

You didn’t dare run through the storm, staying outside the convenience store, stuck. Thinking about it, it was similar to when you went to retrieve your ring and ended up staying at his place because it was raining.

Except this time was different.

He watched you. Watched your silence from inside. He waited for you to go back. To talk to him. He waited for the words. But you didn’t make a move, just hugging yourself from the cold, waiting out the storm.

Feeling discarded again, he confronted you. Not wanting to face the same hurt he experienced in the past once more.

He came off strong at first, but he wasn’t angry when he asked. Just tired of pretending it didn’t sting. Tired of acting like he didn’t care, when he did.

And the way you answered—empty, vague, careful—it only confirmed what he feared: you were never going to tell him the truth unless he forced it out of you.

But he didn’t expect what you said next.

“I want to claim my bet.”

Then his heart sank the second you said you wanted to stop.

No more late nights. No more whatever-this-is. No more excuses to see each other. Essentially, it was the only thing that held your relationship together.

He was wrong. It was never anything deeper.

Not to you, evidently.

He thought about saying something. Thought about asking why now, why like this, in the middle of a storm that sounded like the world was falling apart around you.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to reach for your hand and tell you that he wasn’t ready to let go.

That it wasn’t a fling anymore. Not for him. But he didn’t. He just accepted the hurt once more. Because it was what he’s used to. His first instinct.

“Alright.”

Because, again, what else was there to say to someone who already made up their mind?

So he pulled his hood up. Took one last glance at you—quiet, expressionless, unreadable. And walked out into the storm. Not because he didn’t care, but because staying felt more humiliating than being soaked to the bone.

Each drop felt like punishment.

Every step away from you a reminder:

You were never his to begin with.

And still, as the rain drenched him and blurred the streetlights ahead, all he could think about was the sound of your voice, flat and final—

“Let’s just leave each other alone.”

And maybe, in the end, that’s what he’ll do. Not because he wants to. But because you asked him to. Even when it felt like a punch in the gut when someone he cared for left him again. Even if it means walking away with the one thing he never admitted out loud:

You were more than just something to satisfy his needs. You were the risk he wished he took earlier. Something real that he wished he had established earlier.

Maybe your view of him would’ve changed. Maybe you would have opened up to him. Maybe it could’ve been easier than easy.

If he only had the courage back then.

Kuni regretted that stormy night.

The silence that followed. The words he didn’t say. The look on your face. He told himself it was better this way, easier for you both. But every day since, the hollow ache in his chest reminded him otherwise.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call.

He couldn’t. Because what would he even say? That he missed you? That he was sorry? That the space between you felt like it was swallowing him whole?

So instead, he waited. By the gates, where he knew it was around this time if the day when you left the campus that day.

He didn’t tell you he’d be there. He couldn’t handle being ignored again, or worse, watching you walk away with that same look in your eyes.

He knew you’d refuse to talk to him.

He waited.

Hours passed. His legs ached. But he kept looking. For your silhouette. Your steps. The familiar weight of your presence in a crowd.

And then—

He thought he saw you.

Or maybe just the shape of you. He blinked, unsure, stomach tightening with something bitter and hopeful all at once.

But Mona appeared.

Her voice broke through his thoughts, casual and teasing. She said something about him being distracted again. He didn’t answer right away. Just kept his eyes in that direction, heart pounding.

He didn’t even realize Mona had reached for his arm until he felt her hand. He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t lean in, either. Not really. Just stood there, letting her talk, letting the moment slip.

And then—he saw you.

Clear this time.

Your eyes met his across the campus distance, and the world went still for a breath. You looked at him with an unreadable expression, but it was evident that you didn’t want to talk to him.

His chest ached. He wanted to move. To say something. Anything.

He noticed Lumi beside you, giving him a cold glare. He sighs, giving up, and turns to Mona, “Let’s go.”

As he walked away, he kept thinking about that split second. The look on your face. He didn’t know if you’d ever talk to him again. But he hoped that you’d seen it.

That you’d seen him waiting.

That you’d understand he hadn’t stopped.

Not really.

Not ever.

Kuni considered entertaining Mona’s offer.

She made it easy. Familiar smiles, old jokes, the kind of comfort that used to mean something. Maybe if he let himself fall back into that rhythm, he could use it as a distraction. Maybe he could pretend her presence filled the space you left behind.

Maybe he could trick himself into believing he still had it in him to feel that kind of fondness for her again.

Though, it seemed unlikely. Because even as Mona laughed beside him, even as her hand lingered on his arm like it used to, his mind kept drifting.

His mind kept drifting to you.

He knew it was pathetic.

Going back to the past that caused him pain. Maybe it’s because the pain he felt with you hurt more.

Unlike Mona, you didn’t climb over his walls, didn’t tear them down. You never pushed, never crossed the lines he set.

He let you in on his own terms. He wanted you. A conscious decision. One he made willingly, recklessly, because it felt right at the time.

And now, he regrets it.

But because in doing so, he cost you.

But at this point, he just wanted the ache to stop. Wanted the nights to pass without your name sitting on the edge of every thought. Wanted to stop remembering the exact way you looked when you said goodbye.

So he let Mona talk. Let Mona hang around, fooling both of them in the idea that she had him again.

And his friends didn’t take it well.

Lies. All fucking lies.

Truthfully, he agreed with his friends. But he couldn’t help but defend himself. Maybe it was mostly his pride talking.

They didn’t know the whole story to judge and reprimand him.

He knew that was one of his many faults too.

Kuni tried to reach out to you again.

He wanted a final attempt. Even knowing you probably wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Still, he found himself driving, on impulse, on hope, to your street late at night, at a time he was sure you’d be home.

He parked nearby, lights off, waiting in silence.

But your dorm windows were still dark. No signs of life. He knew you weren’t asleep this early, so he waited.

Ten minutes. Twenty. An hour.

And then he saw it. Headlights cutting through the street. A car pulled up to the curb right in front of your building. A car he recognized immediately.

Kaz’s.

The tinted windows were light enough to make out the face in the driver’s seat.

Tall. Relaxed. Familiar.

And then his breath caught.

You were in the passenger seat. With Kaz. At night. Alone.

What the hell were you doing with him?

A pit opened in his stomach, heavy and bitter. He watched as you smiled at Kaz. Soft, warm. A smile he hadn’t seen in weeks. A smile he could recognize anywhere even through tinted windows.

You opened the door, stepped out. Kaz stayed in the car, waiting until you were safely inside before pulling away.

Kuni’s hands clenched the steering wheel. Jealousy and betrayal burned through him, sharp and ugly. He didn’t have the right to be angry. But that didn’t stop him from seething.

Is that why Kaz was so angry at him? He thought it was weird how he seemed personally affected by what he’d done. And you. How could you replace him so fast? Flash someone a smile so soft, so easy, just like that?

He considered stepping out the car, knocking on your door, and confronting you. But he knew better than that.

Kuni banged his head on the steering wheel, feeling his head throb from the pain of all these thoughts.

Was he really just nothing to you?

For the first time in a while, Kuni genuinely considered crying.

As pathetic as it sounded.

Not out of anger. Not even heartbreak. Just… exhaustion. The kind that creeps in after weeks of pained emotions.

He started seeing it everywhere. His friends’ tweets, their replies, their subtle jabs that weren’t so subtle at all. Mentions of you. Mentions of Kaz.

He ignored the provocations, pretended they didn’t get under his skin. But it all chipped away at him.

And the one time—the only time—he finally gathered the nerve to text you again, he found out he was blocked. Everywhere. Every account.

You were done.

His anger toward Kaz? It fizzled into something colder. Not hatred. Not even bitterness.

Resignation.

Because he saw the photo he posted.

You looked happy. At peace.

And if someone else could give you that, what right did he have to hate them for it? To ruin it for you? To demand something?

So he never confronted Kaz. Didn’t call him out. Didn’t throw a punch. Didn’t do anything.

Instead, he focused on Mona, as much as he didn’t want to. She was persistent. That night, she texted him out of nowhere.

‘Let’s get ice cream’

He didn’t even think about it much before replying.

He needed a distraction. Anything to quiet the thoughts screaming in his head.

Kuni didn’t bother opening his phone that night.

Despite his circumstances, Kuni knew he could trust Ajax.

He was the constant in his life. His childhood friend.

The only one who knew everything. What Kuni had been through. What shaped him. Why he shut people out. Why he was so goddamn difficult and confusing.

When things got too heavy, too loud in his own head, Ajax was the one person he could run to, whether he wanted to or not.

So he told him everything. How it started between the two of you. How somewhere along the way, it stopped being casual for him. How terrified he was to lose you, to lose someone again, that it paralyzed him.

Made him act weak. Act like a coward.

And Ajax… understood. Almost as if he knew it all along.

Of course he did.

Even with that annoying, too-loud personality that always got on Kuni’s nerves, Ajax had never been the type to judge a person for baring their soul.

He listened. Really listened. Because that’s the kind of person Ajax was.

Ajax simply expressed his disappointment in how Kuni handled it. How he made it worse by letting Mona back in his orbit.

"You set so many boundaries between everyone, even [Name], and yet didn't bother with Mona? That's stupid, dude."

What Ajax revealed to him after made things more complicated. More confusing.

Ajax told him that it was a misunderstanding on both sides. That he should talk to you properly. He didn’t elaborate further, even when Kuni insisted and even threatened him.

“Sorry, it’s not my story to tell.”

He said before leaving Kuni confused.

Kuni didn’t know what the hell possessed him to say yes to Ajax’s invitation to Ven’s birthday party.

He knew you’d be there. He knew Kaz probably would be too. He knew damn well you’d want to stay as far away from him as possible. And worst of all? The party was being held at the same bar where he first met you.

Just the thought of that night—, ow everything started, threatened to pull him under.

But still… he went.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was some desperate, silent hope that you’d talk to him. That what Ajax said was true. That it was all a misunderstanding. Or maybe he just needed an excuse to drink and see you again. One last time.

And he did see you again.

…Wrapped around Kaz like it was second nature, that is.

Close. Too close.

He told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he was past this. He respected your happiness and that the ache just needed more time to fade.

But watching it unfold right in front of him, you and Kaz, set something off in him. Bitterness. A fire he thought he’d already drowned.

And maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the week-long frustration burning at the back of his throat. But when he saw Kaz leaning in to kiss you, something in Kuni snapped.

He didn’t mean to grab you on the dance floor. Didn’t mean for it to spiral the way it did. But he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand him. Couldn’t stand seeing your lips on someone else.

So when your eyes met his—startled, angry, confused—he acted on impulse.

His body moved before his mind could stop it. Tomorrow, he might drown in the regret. Maybe this was the moment he finally destroyed whatever was left of you both.

But god, did you taste good.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE yeah, i got frustrated with kuni too lol. there was a point where i got confused with what i was writing but honestly? that reflects kuni’s turmoil lmfao. sorry it took too long i’ve been busy and part of me was avoiding proofreading this chapter bcoz it’s so fucking longgg. anw, thoughts? i’m scaredddd. also feel free to correct any typos, plot holes, whtv u see fit bcoz honestly the cho is so long i couldve missed a lot of things

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scaraobsession · 2 months ago

Text

Categorically Yours⎯ ♡

⎯12. study buddy

Note: I'm sorry if this is not up to your expectations, I promise I tried ;-;

Word count: ~1500

God, he’s so impatient. ‘Be ready at nine’, he said– like what sick individual would say this to a college student? You should report him for psychological warfare, but speedrunning your morning routine has priority.

You rush down the stairs of your apartment building, shoving the keys into your pocket while praying that Scara is still there, waiting and not too pissed. Once the front door closes behind you, you hear a car horn blare. Your head whips in the direction of the noise and, of course, it’s him. Sitting in the car, smug expression, knowing he embarrassed you.

You open the car door and sit on the passenger seat, saving your sarcastic comment since he’s doing you a huge favor today. “Hey”

Scara just shoots you a frown before starting the car. “You’re late.”

A guilty feeling starts to build up in your stomach when you see his tight face. He’s helping you and you kept him waiting. “I know… I’m really sorry, I’m not used to waking up this early… I didn’t mean to make you wait for me.”

Scara sighs softly, the tension on his face easing. “It’s okay, I’m not actually mad. Kinda expected it, to be honest.”

You shrink in your seat, a little embarrassed that he thinks of you like that, especially now that you proved him right.

He adds on. “Don’t be late again next time.”

“Next time???” You question, eyes wide, before you can even think about or process it.

His eyes widen slightly, and he doesn’t elaborate, eyes on the road. You decide not to say anything either, as to not make him snap at you again.

The two of you arrive at the café, which looks really cozy on the inside. Maybe this study session won’t be complete torture. You look around for a good spot. “Is this booth fine?”

“Yeah sure.”

You sit down and Scara hesitates for a few seconds before settling down next to you, leaving the seat in front of you empty. He takes out his laptop– that you see for the first time ever by the way since he ‘doesn’t need notes’ because note-taking is apparently beneath him– and the philosophy book your professor recommended. Following his lead, you put your notebook and your pen on the table.

Before you can start studying, a waitress approaches with a friendly smile. “Hello, what can I get you today?”

Scara gestures at you to go first. What a gentleman, consider yourself charmed.

Usually, you’d order a cup of cocoa, but you need some caffeine since someone made you get out of bed at this ungodly hour. “I’ll take a cappuccino, please”

“A black coffee for me” Either he’s really tired, or really tasteless.

Regardless, the two of you start studying. He opens something on his laptop –and wait… it’s the slides the professor doesn’t share?

You blink. How on earth does he have those? Did he sell his soul to the devil? Or to your beloved professor?

You lean over suspiciously.

“Where did you get those?”

He doesn’t even look up.

“I have my ways.”

Cryptic and stoic. Typical Scara behavior.

You don’t let it go easily.

“No, but seriously, where did you get them?”

Scara sighs, like you’re being unreasonable.

“My mom is a professor too. I made her ask for them. Now less talking about that and more studying”

Without any much-needed mental preparation for you, he starts out explaining all sorts of philosophy related things from the beginning of the semester, pointing at the presentation slides for emphasis. You start taking notes, occasionally asking questions when he’s going too fast or when something is too confusing.

He describes all these concepts and definitions with his calm and confident voice, his tone dipping when he’s a little unsure about something or rising when he talks about the things that interest him in that class– it’s almost hypnotic. You hold on to every word he says, and yet it feels like a blur, like you’re watching him speak instead of listening to his explanations. Something about it is just so captivating. After a while you find yourself staring at the way he moves his hands while he talks, just enough to make his point but not too much where it becomes obnoxious. His hand moves a little closer and–

“Yn? Are you even listening?” Scara snaps his fingers in front of your face. You flinch out of your trance, blinking.

“Ah, sorry I-”

He cuts you off, sharply, “You got distracted.”

You nod, apologetic look on your face. He drags out a long, exasperated sigh, but actually softens his tone. “I think you need a break, we already went over three lectures”

“Yeah, a break would be nice.” The tension leaves your body at the idea.

Scara takes a look at your notes, examining them for a second.

And no reply, again. Scara really just straight up avoids questions he doesn’t want to answer with no excuse whatsoever.

Instead, he asks you a question, “Did you eat yet?”

“No, I was in a rush…” You chuckle nervously.

“Me neither, let’s buy something.”

The two of you walk up to the counter, scanning the display for something nice for breakfast. The pastries all look so delicious, you’re having a hard time deciding on what to get. Deep in thought about this very important decision, Scara’s annoyed groan disrupts you.

“They only have sweets. Ughhhh.” Yup, his taste is questionable.

You fail to bite back your comment, “No shit, it’s a café.”

His brow twitches, he smiles wryly. “Coffee is bitter, so the food here should be bitter, too.”

You snort, taking the opportunity to smartass him for once, “I fear it’s common knowledge that Café food is sweet, you know. You could’ve taken me to the library if you wanted something bitter.”

He looks to the side, mumbling, “I know, I just thought you’d like this place.”

You pause. You surely misheard, right?

You glance at him from the side, he’s still looking away as if he didn’t just say something oddly thoughtful and– contrary to his bad taste in food– sweet.

“Well…”, you start, trying to play it cool while he caught you off guard, “I do like it. Despite your suffering.”

Scara hums, barely suppressing a small smile. “Good. At least I don’t suffer for nothing.”

Your mind goes back to the pastries, but his comment lingers in your head. You get a slice of strawberry cake, he gets a plain croissant.

Back at your booth, you start eating in a comfortable silence, before Scara breaks it with a question. “So… why psychology?”

You glance at him, surprised at his sudden interest. “I guess I like figuring people out. Why they are the way they are. It’s complicated, but… important.”

Scara hums. “Sounds exhausting if anything. People do what they do, why they do it doesn’t matter in most cases”

You shrug. “People always make more sense when you look at what they’ve been through. And I think it matters more often than you think. I mean, you chose this café. Why? Because you wanted to do something nice for me. I think that sentiment does matter.”

He goes quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on his coffee.

“…You read into things too much,” he mutters eventually.

You lean back a little.

“Now your turn. Why history?”

His shoulders relax a little, more comfortable with this topic. “It’s straightforward. Things happened, you just study why they happened. People say it’s just memorizing dates but there’s patterns that repeat themselves because humanity doesn’t change.”

Ha. Contradiction spotted.

“Oh, so the ‘why’ does matter in history, but doesn’t matter in psychology?”

He pauses, taking what you said into consideration.

“I guess it’s just on a larger scale in history?”

Now it’s your turn to think. “Maybe. You do like to analyze people, just not up close”

He rolls his eyes and smirks a little.

“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me”

The two of you go back to studying, going over the rest of the material. It’s surprisingly easy when Scara explains it to you and not that arrogant professor who talks like everyone has a degree already. Hours slip by and the sun sets, so the two of you decide to call it a day. He makes sure to bring you home safely.

Once he parks in front of your apartment complex, he turns to you. “Do you feel like you actually understand more now?”

You nod, shooting him a grateful smile. “I do. You don’t know how big of a favor you did for me. So… thank you.”

Scara looks away, as always. “Don’t mention it. At least you’re all caught up now.”

“Thanks to you.” You add quickly. You still feel kind of guilty that he spent his whole day helping you, but he doesn’t look like he regrets it.

“Seriously, it’s nothing.” He says.

“I don’t care, I’m still thanking you. And thanks for bringing me home, too.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, grabbing your things, “Anyway, I’m heading in. Goodnight, text me when you’re home!!”

He blinks, giving you a mildly confused look. “I’m a guy in a car, I think I’m safe.”

You roll your eyes. “Just do it anyways.”

You step inside, trying not to think too hard about the fact that that actually went… really well.

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summary⎯ It starts with a note in philosophy lecture. They sit together once, then again. Now they’re texting, sharing notes, and maybe something else they won’t admit. Minor in philosophy, major in denial.

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