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✧.* I Will Shield You ⋆˙⟡

: ̗̀➛ a/n: just a short lil thing I thought of, dedicated to my darling dearest @all-skedaddle-and-no-bop wc ~700 : ̗̀➛ cw: fluff and light angst, hurt comfort, depressed! reader, modern au, summer after college, reader has family issues, kaveh helps you get out for a lil bit

You lie in your bed, a stranger in your own body. The world outside is both too bright and too dark to bear. Voices are muffled outside your door. It's well past noon, so of course, your family is active around the house. The large walls suffocated you; you could feel your chest caving in on itself as you buried your flesh prison deeper in the blanket.

BANG

Your heart skipped a beat, and panic filled your heart; then you saw Kaveh.

Your darling had climbed up to your window right by the bed and was asking if he could come in. You staggered out of bed and opened the window, arms wrapped around your waist protectively. He hopped in and immediately took off his shoes, putting them by the wall. His jacket lay forgotten on the floor.

“My love, you hadn't even read any of my texts, I got worried.” He wrapped you in a soft yet protective hug.

“I'm really sorry, I just…” You trailed off, not knowing how to put it into words.

“It's okay, I'm just happy to be here with you.” He kissed your temple softly, and you melted into his touch like chocolate chips in a cookie.

His heartbeat was soothing; it helped with all the noise in your head. You nuzzled closer, and he ran his hand through your messy hair. It had been too long since you were blessed with Kaveh’s touch.

“I missed you,” he spoke first. “But now we're finished with the semester and I'm all yours.”

“Hmmm,” Was all you could muster as a response. It had been too long since you could put your walls down.

As you felt all these emotions well up inside, the ones you've been bottling up since who knows how long, they began to spill out. Soft sobs shook your body as you clung to his cotton white T-shirt. You tried to hide within yourself, but Kaveh didn't let you and hugged you tightly into his body. His slim body supported your weight, physical and emotional, and he was more than happy to do so.

“Wanna get outta here?” He bent down to look at your tired, sorrowful face, more breathtaking than the full moon.

You gave him a little nod, but, “What about them?” You turned your head towards the door that led to what felt like a pit of sharks.

“I'll handle ‘em and you get washed up okay?” He wished that he could shield you from all the sorrows of the world, but for now, this is what he could do.

“O-Okay.” You looked at him with your red eyes, trying to form a small smile.

You went to wash up, and Kaveh reintroduced himself to the family that was all too familiar with his presence. The young architecture student was kind-hearted but subtly sharp-witted as a single aunt in her 40s.

When you came downstairs to face the world, you were greeted with a scene. Your family had quieted down significantly and only paid you a few surface-level greetings. The love of your life was by the front door with a smile like sunshine and the smugness of someone who single-handedly saved their bride from a den of wolves.

“Let's go, darling.” He kissed your hand and held his shoes in the other hand.

When you made it out of the house, you asked him, “What did you tell them?”

“The truth. Now, c'mon let's go get some takeout and finish that show at my place.” He grabbed your hand and led you into a world that you could only face in each other's embrace.

: ̗̀➛ a/n pt 2: just a short lil kaveh drabble, hope y'all enjoyed

credit to @.cafetkitsune for the dividers and @.maikol_with_a_b on twt for the banner art

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What the Heart Wants ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

CHAPTER 5 | SERVITUDE

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: ̗̀➛ a/n: CHAPTER 5, i had family stuff going on so this took a WHILE so sorry about that, wc. 700 : ̗̀➛ cw: none, reader is a bit self depricating, alludes to darker themes but nothing explicit, identity reveal : ̗̀➛ taglist: @kimura-uzuri , @blushho , @uniquecutie-puffs

: ̗̀➛ prev (chapter 4) : ̗̀➛ chapter 1

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“Dannie?” Your voice was full of confusion and anxiety.

Why is the mysterious man in the emperor's quarters??? Why were you summoned??? WHAT IS GOING ON??????

Your mind screamed at you, panic and dread filling your chest as it became hard to breathe. This is the end; you broke some sort of rule, and now you will be punished. You are sure of it. How stupid of you to think you could enjoy any of life's blessings. You failure.

“Yes… I… suppose I have some explaining to do.” Dannie's voice snapped you out of your spiral momentarily.

What does he mean? How is he involved? Was Dannie actually a plant to snuff out irresponsible servants? As you were about to drop dead from the terror your mind thrust upon you, “Dannie” spoke again.

“My name, well, my actual name is not Dannie, it's Dan Heng. And-”

“WHAT.” HE is the Dan Heng? You went on a night picnic ~date~ with the EMPEROR?!

“Eheh, yes, Dan Heng,” this was not going nearly as smoothly as he had hoped, “first, I wanted to say that I thoroughly enjoyed our picnic last night.”

You stared at him with eyes ready to pop out of your skull and mouth agape, the emperor enjoyed his picnic with you. You were about to explode from the bombshells being dropped on you. Whether you would burst from happiness or terror was yet to be determined.

“Second, I wanted to make a request.”

“A request?” You were still reeling from the fact that the emperor had a picnic with you, and now he wanted to make a request?

“Yes, I would like for you to be my personal servant.”

“You…want…ME to be YOUR personal servant?” Your tone was unfit to address the emperor, but it was the last thing on your mind at the moment.

“Yes, I want you to be my personal servant,” some part of him found your shock amusing, “the time I spent in your company was quite enjoyable, an- and I have…” He had gone off script; he hadn't thought you would be so surprised, though he didn't really know what he had expected.

“You have?” Your eyes bore holes into his soul, and your brows furrowed like they resented the space between them.

“I have determined your person as trustworthy and responsible, ahem, yes.” That wasn't really what he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say instead. This would have to do.

“Okay…” You quickly dropped into a low bow as the rank of your company finally dawned on your panic-ridden self.

“Oh, there is no need-” Dan Heng was interrupted by one of his servants rushing into the room and whispering in his ear.

“Right now?” His face flashed a tired and worried expression before putting on his mask of stoicism.

I cannot give in, he told himself, as he quickly rushed out to attend to some important matter.

Once he left the vicinity in a rush, the air changed slightly, the scene replayed in your mind as your brain bombarded you with questions. The sound was too loud to form any coherent thoughts, so all you could muster was a helpless look at the servant lady who had brought you to this room. You wanted to reach out to her; she was about the same age as your mother, and you felt so desperately alone at the moment. Although it was not bad to be promoted to such an esteemed position, especially if it came with a pay increase, it was not good either. Why did the emperor want you? It also was not optimal to be alone, for hours at a time, with a random high-ranking man such as him. Anything could happen, and you were powerless to defend yourself. Why why why why why. Horrible scenarios ran through your mind as your breathing quickened.

“Let me show you around the living quarters here.” That snapped you out of your fears, somewhat. You put on a joyless smile and nodded, following the lady as she walked out of the room.

You could feel it in your chest, something was happening, but you weren't sure what.

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: ̗̀➛ a/n part 2: hello all of y'all and im so sorry again for how long this whole thing takes to update, and my dearest @all-skedaddle-and-no-bop

banner credit goes to abimanyu on pinterest but again idk who the actual artist is

prev masterlist next

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NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

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this is a cry for help btw, everyone who has survived this book should make a support group together

i just finished sunrise on the reaping

i will never recover

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okay I gotta say the way nightmares are depicted are so realistic in this book and also I hate how much I relate to haymitch

i just finished sunrise on the reaping

i will never recover

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happiness is a lie we tell to children

i just finished sunrise on the reaping

i will never recover

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i just finished sunrise on the reaping

i will never recover

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this is what I need in my life

thinking about touya in therapy making it into uni and doing fine arts. like, i imagine him as a pottery student, his scarred hands forming smooth clay into the most breathtaking, perhaps even abstract ceramics.

not paint your pain, but pot your pain.

maybe you're a fellow student who happened to notice his incredible work. you took pottery as an elective, and it's become your favourite subject because you get to stare at the white-haired loser working on a new masterpiece.

during class, you always sit at the wheel next to him. when you struggle with working the clay into something half decent, he chuckles at you and teases you for how shit you are at pottery. but then he's eating his words as he stalks over, practically shoves you off the stool and takes over.

when he's finished, a plain ol' pot sits on the wheel, waiting for your flare.

i imagine you two swapping numbers under the guise of sending notes or something, which quickly turns into rapid-fire insults and pleas for him to help you with your assignment.

on weekends, he'll stride into the studio and shrug off his overcoat on top of your bag.

rolling up his sleeves, he'll smirk, "looks shit. just like you, l/n."

you roll your eyes and sass back, "whatever, todoroki. just get over here n' help me, will you?" and he does.

pulling up another stool, he guides you through forming something gradable on the wheel. after making sure it's not going to go to ruin the second he looks away, he starts working on his pot alongside you.

you catch glimpses of it here and there, but he tells you to fuck off because of collusion or whatever.

your voice drips with sarcasm as you remark, "how studious of you, 'roki."

"fuck up," he mumbles, those thin brows knitted together in concentration.

sure, he's a bit rough around the edges. but you've come to really like him. as a friend, of course.

unbeknownst to you, as the weeks progress, touya's therapy sessions transform into a yap fest about you. his psychologist suggests that touya invite you to hang out. obviously, he thinks that's a stupid fucking idea and brushes it off.

but as he's lying in his futon, phone in hand and space bar flickering, he keeps thinking it over. he types the suggestion several ways:

let's hang out some time fuckface

you doing anything this saturday? since you don't have any friends, probably not, huh?

do you wanna hang out with me?

finally, he sends:

busy this saturday?

your text bubble appears. and then it disappears. and then it returns. then disappears.

yes or no woman?

two minutes pass of those three dots popping up then fading until you finally reply:

yes

your 'hangout' consists of touya taking you to an art gallery for 'inspiration'.

"i thought we were hanging out, not doing school work," you pout. he stops in front of a piece of trash in a perspex glass box.

"your pot still looks like ass. is this how you thank me?" he grumbles.

you defend your poor baby, "my pot does not look like ass!"

"whatever makes you feel better, shithead," he shrugs.

"you—ugh!" you groan, stopping next to him. the exhibition is about the beauty of consumerism, and while you're all for sustainability, looking at trash wasn't your idea of an enthralling date hangout. you could literally go outside and admire trash; you didn't need to do that in a gallery.

as you two walk into another crowded showroom, touya grabs your hand unexpectedly. you flinch on instinct and gaze up at him, confused.

"you might get lost," he smirks, avoiding your eyes relentlessly.

you scoff, "i'm not a dog, todoroki."

"now that's an idea," he chuckles. "miss l/n on a leash. like you'd need it. you already follow me everywhere like a lovesick puppy."

"just say you hate me already," you huff as he drags you over to a war painting.

"and what the fuck is with this art? why's it all so sad?" you mutter, curling your fingers around the back of his hand.

"if you wanna look at reconnaissance paintings, they're across the hall," he mumbles. you notice the gradual reddening of his cheeks, and his grip on your hand tightens as you almost collide with some tourists.

"watch out," he grits his teeth, pulling you close to him. his sudden display of strength has you stumbling into his chest, shell-shocked soldiers staring blankly at you both from the wall.

"thanks," you say quietly, fearing the heat rising to your face. you can smell the clay on him, and something else. smoke?

he releases your hand and turns to face the painting. it's quiet between you two for a few minutes, his scent lingering in your nose. you've smelled these smoky notes before when he's helped you with your pot. but never before has it been so strong.

you break the silence with, "you should really ditch that cologne. makes you smell like a chain smoker." his eyes bulge out of his sockets and his head snap down to you.

"what?" you chuckle. touya casts a nervous glance around the room before gazing at you again.

"i've been stressed, alright? don't tell my therapist," he mutters. your mouth curves into an 'o' shape as you blink up at him. his words ricochet off the walls of your mind.

at last, you shake your head and agree, "i won't."

by the end of your meetup, you are feeling no more inspired than you did at the start. if anything, you're feeling a bit disheartened. you had no idea that 1) touya is in therapy and 2) he smokes. you should have seen it coming with the frequent coughing and stiffening up whenever his family is mentioned.

from that point onward, nothing is the same for the rest of the term. every time you see him, you can't help but feel a little sad, like you've been let in on some secret you weren't supposed to know. you two still joke and rile each other up, but you steer clear of mentioning the cigarettes poking out his coat pockets, or that distant look in his eyes when you compliment him on his work.

when your grades are released, you text him:

let me guess, full marks?

nothing. like, not even a peep for the next few hours, which is completely unlike him. you try to convince yourself he's just busy, but you worry about him.

as you're making dinner, your phone rings. sighing, you turn off the stove and saunter over to the couch to grab it. must be mum or something. 'pottery prodigy' stares back at you. you click the green answer button without hesitation.

"todoroki?" you call into the microphone. static-silence, and then a sniffle.

"hey." his voice is wobbly, like he's crying.

"heyyy," you say softly. "everything okay? why did you call me?" he sniffles, loud and unapologetically in your ear.

"yeah. just, um... fuck, nothing," he responds shakily. you can hear him berating himself internally.

you ask, "did you grades go okay?" heading back to the kitchen, you grab the turner and flip your veggies. more static-silence.

"you don't have to tell me if—"

"am i..." good enough. "interrupting you?" he murmurs, voice dampened with sorrow.

you insist, "no. no, not at all. i'm just making dinner."

"what're you having?" he asks while choking back a traitorous sob. dogs bark in the background; he must be outdoors, you think.

"veggies n soba. but i think they got cold," you respond, switching your phone to the other ear as you shake the strainer.

"soba?"

"yeah." the wind whirs on the other end of the line, interjected by his sniffles.

"are you in the neighbourhood? you can come over, if you want," you offer. what the fuck are you doing? you ask yourself. of course, he doesn't want to come over! he's probably calling you because he ran out of cigs and needs a distraction!

his voice is small as he confirms, "really?"

"yeah, course. i'll make some extra food now, okay?" you say while pouring your cold noodles into a bowl.

"you've got my location, right?" he's been walking to your house this entire time, staring at that little dot on his screen. you two shared location earlier this month for 'assignment collaboration' purposes. if he was late, you could check the tracking app and see if he was stuck in traffic or vice versa.

and touya wishes he could say that the only times he's checked your location were precisely for that. but more often than not, he looks at the little dot that represents you. it's to make sure you're safe, he reasons. another piece of information kept from his psychologist.

"yeah." he hangs up and does a loop around your block so he doesn't show up too early.

when he eventually knocks on your door, you let him in with an understanding smile. his nose tip is all red, and his eyes are slightly puffy as he slips his shoes off.

you two don't even make it to the kitchen before he's breaking down in your arms, sobbing something about not being worthy.

you rub his back and hold him tightly as he cries, his face buried in your neck. your fingers run through his pale locks. they're slightly greasy, and your mind entertains the thought of you washing his hair in the shower. you shake your head a little, and promptly apologise for disturbing touya's resting spot.

he doesn't say a word as he calms down, or when you bring your cold dinner into the lounge room and eat it together on the couch.

the only words that leave his lips are a muttered, "thanks," when you force him into the bathroom and hand him a toothbrush.

you let out a long sigh as you flop down on your bed and climb under the blankets. you're about to doze off when your bedroom door opens and in slips a half-dressed touya.

he walks lightly over to your bed and slips beneath the covers.

he doesn't touch you, just complains, "your couch is gonna give me scoliosis." you giggle softly with your eyes still closed.

"think that's funny, fuckface?"

"reeeeeaaaal funny, touya," you grin. but oh, you called him by his first name. you've never called him by his first name before.

you try to correct yourself, "todor—"

"shut it, dipshit. just go to sleep," he cuts you off and rolls around in your blankets, probably ruining your plushie array at the end of your bed.

you tease him, "are you a fucking worm or something? stop wriggling around—touya!"

he wraps his lean arms around you and slides you back into his body, making you squeal, "the fuck are you doing?" his nose nuzzles your shoulder and he breathes in deeply.

"getting comfortable."

"well, you can get off, you little shit," you grumble. your attempts to shake him off end up with his arms clamped around you like a vice. and soon enough, you find yourself relaxing into his body heat and dozing off.

such becomes a routine when things get bad at home for touya. but instead of showing up at your house like some booty call, you two make it official over a beautiful, hand-crafted vase he gifts you for passing the course.

masterlist

inspired by my valentine’s day with the boys post from earlier this year

star girl's final words: haha so it's been a while. hi. erm, i got carried away as you can see here. hope i have done our pookie bear justice!

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Oblivious boyfriend Caleb !

wc: 2.6

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and after reading all that angst, i was inspired to finish. it's kinda meh BUT im gonna drop it here anyway.

pairing: non-MC!reader x Caleb

content: self-indulgent, angst, emotional neglect, quiet breakup, fem!reader, avoidant reader, i had to make caleb ooc, he's a basketball player, college au

——

When you first started dating Caleb, you thought you could handle it—the attention he got, his friends you never really got along with, his charm, his wit, his friendliness.

But the more you watched him, the more you realized you might've been over your head. That maybe, you were right.

That maybe, you never had a chance.

That maybe, he was never really yours to keep.

You always tried reminding yourself that he loved you. Because he did, right? He opened doors for you, bought you flowers just because, had an album just for you, introduced you as 'his girl'. That was love, wasn't it?

You bit your nails, glancing at your phone for the umpteenth time tonight. Your laptop was in front of you, Caleb's favorite snacks sprawled out on your bed, unopened and waiting, and your favorite Hello Kitty pajamas on (Caleb had a matching pair).

It was 6:24. Where the hell was he? He was supposed to be here at 6:05.

You flicked your mouse across your screen as your computer dimmed. You glanced at the time again—6:25 p.m.

Seriously, where was he?

You sighed, opening his contact and calling him.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Was he seriously not going to pick up—

"Pips!"

You couldn't help the small breath of relief that spilled past your lips. "Caleb."

"Hey! Uhm—look, please don't be mad."

Your heart sank.

"What?"

You heard laughing in the background, then a hushed scolding before Caleb was speaking into the phone again. "So, uh I got caught up with my friends at the courts. We were just supposed to stay for a few minutes but now I'm all sweaty and gross."

"Okay..." you murmured. "So, you're not coming?"

"I promise I can make it up to you."

You bit your cheek, trying your best to hide just how disappointed you were. But to do that, you had to stay completely silent.

After a beat, Caleb started again. "Babes.. I'm really sorry. Are you mad at me?"

"No," you managed, but the word was clipped.

"Hey, I'll see you tomorrow and I'll take you out on a date, yeah?"

Silence.

"Babe?"

"'Kay."

You thought you thought you heard Caleb's breath hitch. "Kay? Hey, if you're mad, tell m—"

"I'm not mad. Just text me to let me know you're safe."

"Wait, hold—"

'End call.'

You let out a shaky sigh. Of course, he missed this. Of course, he missed the one day of the week he didn't have practice or conditioning.

You switched your phone on do not disturb and placed it on your nightstand. You roved your eyes over the assortment of snacks you'd gotten him. You guessed they were yours now.

He'd been missing more dates recently. Had been having to make up a missed date or late arrival more often. It was always basketball, or his friends, or her that kept him from you.

But he still loved you, right?

-

You were curled up in bed with him, your arm lazily draped over his chest as you scrolled through TikTok, only half paying attention to the videos because your mind was swimming with the question: Who is Caleb texting?

You didn't want to be the girl who peeked at her boyfriend's phone or demanded to know who it was, so you just lay there, pretending you were fine when you were dying to know who he was talking to.

But you knew.

Deep down, you knew it was her.

At some point, he got up to get something from his mini fridge and you turned over on your side so you wouldn't impulsively grab his phone and swipe through every conversation he's ever had.

But then his phone buzzed.

Then again.

And again.

Caleb glanced up from his fridge. "Hey, think you can respond for me?"

Your heart leapt in your throat as you slowly turned on your side and glanced at his phone. "Oh." You slowly picked it up and entered the password.

You stared at her contact name: 'MC 🏃‍♀️'

His childhood best friend. Track girl. Tanned and skinny with toned legs like every other track player.

Of course. Why would you ever hope it would be anyone else?

You swallowed hard. "She said that she forgot her foam roller and her coach is going to kill her if she doesn't bring it tomorrow.. She's asking if she can borrow yours."

Caleb hummed in thought, taking out a small bottle of water and taking a sip. "Uh, type back 'sure'."

You hesitated. "Don't you need it?"

Caleb shrugged, crossing the room back to his bed and settling in beside you. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Was that special treatment? Or was he just being nice? Just being him? Slowly, you messaged her back and handed him his phone back. You didn't say anything. Didn't look, just lay there on your back instead of cuddling with him again.

"Hey, why are you all the way over there?"

You shrugged, already scrolling on your phone again. "I don't know. Just got comfy here."

Caleb furrowed his brows. "You seemed fine just seconds ago."

"Mm."

Caleb sighed, sitting up straight. "Look at me."

"I'm fine, Caleb."

"No, Babe, please just—"

You sighed, shifting in his bed as you curled back into his side, and gave him your best smile. "I'm fine. See?"

Caleb stayed silent for a moment, his eyes softening. "If I hurt you, I didn't mean to. MC's just a friend."

Your throat tightened as you looked away. "I know."

"Do you?"

No.

"Yes."

Caleb sighed softly before lying back down. You guys didn't talk about it after that. Just settled into an uncomfortable silence.

But that was fine.

It was fine.

-

You fidgeted in his passenger seat, pressing your legs together. You tried something new that day—a bit of makeup, nicer clothes, a new hairstyle. Caleb told you how cute you looked before you left the dorms, but his words seemed to fade as you pulled up to the small restaurant.

"Hey," Caleb said, squeezing your hand. "I promise you look great."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Okay."

With that, you two stepped out of the car and made your way inside. It wasn't upscale or anything, just some place to grab a quick bite and chat, but you felt out of place nonetheless.

His friends greeted him. They greeted you, too. They were never mean to you, your personalities just never really went well together.

But sometimes it made you wonder how you were with Caleb in the first place if the people he surrounded himself with were the complete opposite of you.

At first, everything was fine. You sat there, smiled at all the right times, and spoke when you were spoken to because you had no idea what you would say otherwise.

Then—"How come you barely speak?"

You glanced at his friend. The table had gone silent, all eyes on you now, like everyone was wondering the same.

"I do," you tried, offering a nervous smile.

"Sure, every now and then, but what is it? You don't like us or something?"

Caleb squeezed your hand under the table. "C'mon. So what she doesn't like talking?" he huffed.

His friend frowned. "We just wanna get to know her." Then he turned back to you. "So? What is it?"

Heat stung your face. You hated being put on the spot. Hated how everyone, including your own boyfriend, was just staring at you now, waiting.

You fidgeted in your seat, your throat suddenly too tight.

"No, I like you guys. I guess I just..." you shrugged, "don't have a lot to say."

One of his friends clicked his tongue. "You're really... shy, huh?"

You went even quieter at that.

Shy.

The way he said it was odd, like it was almost an insult. Was it meant to be an insult? What was wrong with being shy?

"I guess," you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Before anyone could say anything else, Caleb cut in. "Alright, alright, let her be guys."

They all started fussing, begging Caleb to let them ask more questions, but you weren't listening anymore. You were staring at your half-empty cup of water, your cheeks burning so hot you felt like you couldn't breathe.

Caleb leaned over to you once his friends settled down. "Hey, you okay?"

You looked up, trying for a smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine."

He looked like he was going to say something else, but you stood up before he could, your chair squeaking against the floor. His eyes followed you, his brows furrowed with concern. "Are you sure?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Just want to use the restroom."

Caleb stood up beside you. "Want me to come?"

"No. It's fine." Then you were gone, hurrying through the restaurant blindly. You had no idea where it was, but when by some miracle, you found it,you slipped into the first available stall. You sat there, too overwhelmed to care about how dirty the seat was.

You just breathed shakily, resting your elbows on your knees and bringing your hands to either side of your face.

So what if you were shy? Why did it have to be such a big deal? Why didn't Caleb stop them sooner? He would've immediately jumped to MC's defense if the roles were switched, wouldn't he?

No, don't do that to yourself. You were just—You just—You sighed, burying your face in your hands.

You didn't want to go back out there. Maybe you wouldn't.

-

That day made you spiral. It made you question why Caleb was even with you.

You stopped asking for things after that—pictures, phone calls, texts, hugs, kisses. You started deleting messages you meant to send like 'I miss you's and 'I love you's. Started stalking his old posts and compared them now.

He looked happier back then. Louder. More him.

Caleb noticed the small shifts and would suddenly say things like "You know I love you right?" You always nodded and told him you loved him too, but you believed him less and less.

Now you were at a party he insisted would be fun, but the second you got there he was pulled into conversations and games. And worst of all? MC was there, laughing and smiling with him like it was second nature. And Caleb smiled back—so big and bright. He never smiled that way with you.

And you stood off the side, a bitter drink in hand that was barely doing anything to quiet the voices in your head.

You felt lost for hours, and Caleb only checked in on you twice. Twice. He looked at you, talking to you, but he didn't see you. Not really.

"Hey."

You glanced up from your drink, blinking at MC who had padded over to you and took a seat on the couch next to you.

"Are you okay?"

You smiled. Or tried to. You didn't have the energy for it though. "Yeah. I'm fine."

MC wasn't mean or malicious. That's what really pulled this all together. She was nice. Observant. She saw you more than your own boyfriend and something about that made you want to break down right then and there.

She sighed. "Listen, me and Caleb aren't—"

"Picture!"

Before she could finish her sentence, you were both being pulled into a group photo. You were at Caleb's side, she was on his other.

Then it happened. He wrapped his hand around her waist and tugged her close, then smiled into the camera like nothing.

You felt the flash, but your eyes were glued to him. To his smile. To his hand.

Your stomach coiled with something hot and ugly. Your eyes stung with tears and you immediately decided no. No, you couldn't be here anymore.

You slipped from his side and started pushing through the throng of partygoers. You didn't care that Caleb was your ride, you'd figure something out.

You stepped into the cool air and let out a soft breath. You blinked furiously, trying to keep your tears at bay, but they streaked down your cheeks unbidden and ruined your makeup.

Not that it mattered. You weren't sure Caleb even noticed it tonight.

You stood there for a second before finally starting down the sidewalk. You were 5 minutes in when you got a text.

Caleb: Where'd you go?

Nothing.

Caleb: Hey, you alright? I can't find you. Call me.

Still nothing.

Caleb: Babe, why aren't you answering? Just text me if you're okay.

Do not disturb.

Caleb: Why'd you go on do not disturb? I'm sorry. Please answer.

You shoved your phone in your pocket and kept walking. Your feet ached and your body shook from the cold, but anything was better than talking to Caleb right now.

You weren't sure what happened once you got to your dorm, all you knew was that it was 3:00 a.m., your makeup was wiped off, and your shoes were on the floor near your bed.

Probably Tara.

You let out a small yawn, about to settle back into bed when your phone went off again. You let out a tired groan, blindly reaching for your phone that was on your nightstand and squinting as you looked at the screen.

20 unread texts from Caleb.

Slowly, you opened the messages.

You read over all of them, each one making your chest a little heavier. Then finally, you typed back.

You: I want to sleep.

Caleb: Jesus Christ. That's all you have to say? I've been worried sick.

Read.

Caleb: Stop doing that. Please talk to me.

Suddenly, your phone lit up with his contact. You sighed, hesitantly accepting his call and pressing it up to your ear.

You didn't say anything at first. Just sat there, listening.

"What the hell?" Caleb immediately breathed out. "I was so worried about you. Why didn't you tell me you were leaving the party?"

You waited a second, then quietly you said, "I didn't think you'd notice."

You heard something soft, like disbelief. "Why wouldn't I notice?"

You stayed silent.

"Y/N, please talk to me. What's going on?"

Tears stung your eyes again. You felt your lip tremble with a small cry, but you swallowed it back. "I'm tired."

Silence.

"Tired of what? You can't just leave a party like that."

You took a shaky breath. "Of this."

More silence.

Then you heard the stutter in his breath. "What?"

His voice got so quiet, you almost didn't recognize it.

"What do you—? I don't—Okay, just wait." You heard rustling, then again—"What does that mean?"

You shrugged, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "I don't want to do this anymore, Caleb."

"Stop," Caleb blurted out. "I don't—I don't get it."

"I tried," you whispered, your voice breaking on a quiet sob. "I'm just... I can't do it anymore."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

You couldn’t stop the sound that broke from your throat. The thought of being without him hurt. Maybe even more than everything you've gone through these past months, but you knew it wasn't right anymore.

Not when you were invisible to the one person who was supposed to really see you.

"Yes."

There was a beat of silence, until quietly, Caleb murmured, "I don't want to break up."

Your throat tightened painfully.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby. I can—I can stop being friends with MC. I can quit basketball. I can talk to my friends and make them stop being such assholes. I can—"

"I don't want any of that." You closed your eyes, chest aching with all the months you'd spent trying to hold on, only for it to end like this.

“I just want it to stop."

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Satoru Gojo Called For Help

Call #01 - Boy wants to die ☼

Teen Confessions Helpline—where your secrets go to die in a locked vault of emotional baggage. What’s your damage today?

I think I want to kill myself.

Oh!

Yeah...

Right. Okay. Wow. So that went from 'Hi, how are you' to 'existential crisis' real fast.

You’re supposed to say something helpful now. Like: life is worth living, puppies are soft, stars are twinkly—whatever pep talk you’ve got back there.

YES. Yes. Life is a… beautiful, unpredictable, uh… flaming trash pile of potential? Wait. That came out wrong. I panicked. I’m new.

Hi, New. I’m actively spiraling.

God, are you always this nonchalant about your own mortality? Because that’s either extremely cool or deeply alarming and I can’t decide which.

Do all your calls go like this?

No! Usually it’s like, “I texted my ex and now I think I have chlamydia.” You're my first “death is inevitable and I’d like to RSVP early” situation. So, uh... congrats?

You suck at this.

Okay, wow. Hurtful. But honestly, yeah, fair. I signed up for heartbreak and bad decisions, not... the void.

Well. Surprise.

Plot twist! You're the emotional finale to my six-episode training arc.

...It’s just a long story. Too long. Not even the fun kind.

I got time. My boss thinks I’m stress-pooping. I can ride that lie for at least ten minutes.

...No one’s ever said that to me. That they had time.

Okay, wow. Now I want to cry. Can I give you a theoretical hug? Like an HR-safe, consent-implied, emotionally-charged air-hug?

It’s not your fault.

Still sucks. Like when you realize your therapist has a therapist and everyone's just handing trauma around like a fruitcake no one wants.

...Thanks, I guess.

Crap. My boss just texted ‘???’ which is corporate-speak for ‘wrap it up or I’m hiring your replacement on Fiverr.’

Then go. It’s fine. Everything's always fine.

Nope. No fading into the emotional mist after a line like that. You better call me tomorrow. I want a dramatic sequel. Cliffhanger. End credits music. All of it.

You really think I will?

You better. If not, I’ll use your number to spam-call you with badly sung Celine Dion karaoke until you come back just to make it stop.

...You’re insane.

Yep. And inconveniently alive. So call me. I want to hear the long story. Even if it sucks. Especially if it sucks.

...Okay. Maybe.

That’s all I need. A maybe. I can work with maybe. I’m like a cockroach—you can't get rid of me that easy.

You still suck at this job.

But you’re still talking to me. So who’s the real sucker here?

END OF CALL: 3 Minutes, 34 Seconds

Call Satoru Gojo?

Taglist:

@pickledsoda

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Thinking of smart characters getting frustrated with their s/o because they won't drink water for their hiccups.

"JUST DRINK THE DAMN WATER"

"NO IM GONNA FIGHT THIS LIKE A MAN"

"I AM A MAN I SAY YOU DRINK WATER"

"I DONWANNA"

"IT WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE SO MUCH EASIER"

"IT'LL GO AWAY ON IT'S OWNNNN"

"HERE" *shoves water bottle to your mouth lovingly*

"NOOOOOOO" *gurgled sounds of dismay*

Al Haitham, Veritas Ratio, Kaveh, Kunikida, + your favs

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happiness is a lie

Imagine being Zayne’s non-mc significant other. Red String of Fate AU

Imagine being born with the ability to see the red strings of fate. The ones that tied people together. Lovers, soulmates, the people meant to find each other.

Imagine some were strong. Some were gentle. Some were ugly and sharp. And you... you could cut them. Not to play with people's lives, but to help. You only ever cut the ones that hurt. Obsession, possession and the pain pretending to be love.

Imagine never once had a string pointed at you. Never. Not once.

but Imagine you tried to love anyway. Quiet, careful tries. But each time, they were already tied to someone else. So you let them go. You always let them go. You told yourself it was enough to help others. That not everyone gets a string. That maybe you weren't meant to belong.

Imagine then came Zayne. He didn't have a string at all. Nothing pulling him toward anyone. Not even the hint of one waiting to appear. Just stillness.

Imagine the way he looks at you was like you weren't anything. Like you weren't broken or forgotten. You didn't fall fast. You didn't rush. You built something slow and steady. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe love didn't need fate. Maybe it just needed someone to stay.

Imagine he knew what you could do. What you could see. So one night while you were sitting beside him, your head on his shoulder, he asked gently.

"If I ever get a string and it's not for you. I want you to cut it." You hesitated. Just for a second. "Alright." And he nodded. He trusted you.

Imagine weeks have passed then months. Still no string. Still just the two of you. Happy in the quiet way. The kind of happy that doesn’t shout or shine. It just lives in the little things. His sleepy voice in the morning. Your laughter when he made tea wrong again it was super sweet like what in world-. His hand finding yours under the table. Yours holding on, always. Until tonight.

Imagine you were visiting him at the hospital. The two of you were heading to a restaurant after his shift when you saw him come out. And there you saw it. A faint glow. Scarlet and soft. Spinning from his ring finger like a whisper, like a promise. And it wasn't pointing at you.

Imagine it heads down the hall. Past the sterilized white walls of the hospital. To Room 212.

Imagine you have seen her before. A patient. Someone Zayne has cared for, carefully, gently. A kind girl with a tired laugh and too many paper cranes tucked under her pillow. You never sensed anything romantic. You never even worried. But the string doesn't lie.

and Imagine its there now. Shimmering. Real. And for the first time in your life, your heart aches not just for someone else but for you.

Imagine, strange enough. Your heart didn't drop. It didn't crash. It just stilled. Like everything inside you went quiet at once. And you stood there staring at the string that wasn't yours.

Imagine the way he saw your face change. He stepped closer. His voice softened. As if he was trying to figure out what's wrong.

"What's wrong?" He asked, holding you gently by the arm. "Nothing." You smile at him. He did not buy it. "Did it happen?" He asked. "Do I have a string?"

Imagine the way you looked at him. The man you loved. The man who had been yours. Not because fate said so, but because he chose you. Every day. Again and again. And you said. "No. Not yet."

Imagine you lied. Because if this was fate choosing for him. If this string led him to happiness. You wouldn't take that from him. You loved him too much.

so Imagine you smiled. Let him pull you into his arms. Let him hold you like nothing had changed. You let him, the way he kiss the crown of your head. You savour it.

Imagine you close your eyes. Then you blink. But you could still see the string. Bright. Alive. Stretching toward someone else. And you didn't say a word.

because Imagine, love isn't always holding on. Sometimes, it's letting go quietly. Even when no one sees the breaking. Just loving someone enough to lie, so they never have to feel the weight of goodbye.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: karma's a bitch cuz I literally was about to passout at the local market. I'm so embarrassed. Thou shall not set foot on the market for at least a month XD

: also if you know my reference for this one and the last one. I see you're a people of culture;)

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I miss my wifey (pt 2)

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Zayne bc Caleb insulted the birthday banner^

Childhood trio Pt. MC's birthday (flashback when they were x/12/14 years old)

The boys are preparing for MC's birthday party. Zayne is in decoration committee and Caleb is on snacks. Caleb walks in to see the half inflated balloons on the table and a rather dull decoration

Caleb: Are you kidding?

Zayne, still decorating: I'm not done yet.

Caleb, picks up a balloon: Zayne. This fits in the palm of my hand. You haven't blown them up enough. And why have you chosen brown and grey balloons?

Zayne: They match the carpet.

Caleb: What is that? [Caleb points to a banner] "It is your birthday, period."

Zayne: It's a statement of fact.

Caleb: Not even an exclamation point?

Zayne: This is more professional!

Caleb: I can't believe how bad this is.

Zayne: Are you trying to hurt my feelings? Because if so, you are succeeding. Fortunately my feelings regenerate at twice the speed of a normal lands.

Caleb: Okay good then.

Zayne: Have you collected the money from everyone?

Caleb: I am working on it.

Zayne: How much do you have?

Caleb: Six dollars.

Zayne: That's how much you and I contributed! Damn it, Caleb!

The banner:

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After (various fandom men) x Daddy issues riddled reader is (various fandom men) x MOMMY issues riddled reader

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an off day

synopsis: zayne has an off day, so you make him take one.

tags: reverse comfort, angst, fluff, heart to heart, zayne shuts down at the hospital one day, he cries in your arms on a bench, he’s having an existential crisis, i accidentally wrote overachiever gifted kid zayne, think of him like a confused baby deer, size difference, side character death, a very infatuated siamese cat, something something zayne’s subtle attempts to reclaim dominance/dependability after being taken care of (you notice them all). takes place in autumn because i yearn for it

pairing: zayne x fem reader

word count: 3.5k

a/n: zayne brain

Akso Hospital’s parking lot is the emptiest you’ve ever seen it.

The Wednesday starlight is partly to blame. There’s not much traffic at 8 p.m. on a weekday—which makes your current predicament all the more confusing. 

It’d been a standard day at work: emails, meetings, and sneaking out 10 minutes early. But right before you’d stepped into the shower at Zayne's house, your phone had rung.

“Yvonne? Hello?” 

“Um, hello! I’m so sorry to call like this, but we really don’t know what else to do. Dr. Zayne is really…shaken? He’s not hurt, but he’s not responding to any of us, and you’re his first emergency contact. Please come down to Akso as soon as you can!”

You’d re-dressed in record time. 

As you step through the sliding doors, their glass panels reflecting the towering streetlights, you note the hallways are as empty as the parking lot. You suppose it’s a good thing—for a hospital not to be busy, and all—but the absence of friendly faces makes you quicken your steps. 

At the end of the hall, you jam the elevator button to his floor, unease prickling at the back of your mind. 

You sigh in familiarity when the doors open. A confused-looking Yvonne is speaking with the receptionist at the front desk, but she ends the conversation as soon as she spots you. 

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t know what to do! I just—this doesn’t happen to him,” she rushes out, shaking her head profusely. “I see it with the others, but never him.” 

You touch her elbow in gratitude and offer a smile. “Thank you for calling. You did the right thing. Where is he?” 

Relieved, she turns toward the end of the hallway, where the edge of a sleek wooden bench protrudes past the wall. “Just down there,” she says, pointing a finger around the corner. “Thank god we aren’t busy tonight. It’s been deserted up here since the last surgery.” 

The last surgery. 

“Thanks,” you breathe, trying not to wonder what that could mean. “I’ll take care of it from here, don’t worry. You should go home and get some rest.” With a short wave, you set off down the hallway, passing vibrant anatomic murals and pediatric patient artwork. With every step, your breaths shallow and your pulse quickens. You don’t know what you’ll find at the end.

Your steps falter when you round the corner. 

In all the time you’d known him, Zayne had never wavered. He offered tireless strength and support—displayed composure you could only dream of. He was your Atlas, except he shouldered the weight of the world not out of punishment, but out of duty. 

But in that moment, he was an uprooted anchor, drifting through sloshing seas. 

His bowed head, shaky hands, and shuddering shoulders. The sheen coating his pale face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d seen a ghost. 

With an ache in your chest, you approach, but Zayne’s head stays low. Only when your favorite teal-and-white tennis shoes come into view do his glistening eyes snap up. 

Shock and longing color his face a rosy pink, matching the fading imprint from his surgical mask. Wordlessly, he reaches for you. 

Unsteady arms wrap around you as you move between his legs, cradling his head into the crook of your elbow. Your chin covers his hair this way, and you slant your cheek to nuzzle into him. 

“Hi,” you whisper, gently stroking his soft strands. 

“Hi.” By the rasp in his voice, it’s the first time he’s spoken in hours.

Your heart clenches. “Are you tired?”

A long exhale fans across your arm. And then, he nods.

You’re forced to blink back tears of your own when his drop onto your skin. 

This was uncharted territory. Thousands of thoughts, thousands of actions mill about in your mind, but you’re not sure which to settle on. Right now, you can only tell him what you’d want to hear. “I love you.” 

His voice trembles as his arms tighten. “I love you, too.” 

You’re not sure how long you embrace him. When his breathing evens, you lift his chin, smiling gently down at his flushed face. “Is your shift almost over?”

He nods once, solemn.

“Let’s go back to your office. I’ll sit with you.” 

You successfully coax him off the bench, guiding him through the halls to his empty office. But after a few minutes of signing paperwork, his gaze is on you. He eyes you forlornly, not saying anything—and he wouldn't have said anything had you not noticed.

Your lips quirk. “Your work is down there, silly.” 

He blinks. 

Chuckling softly, you rise from his guest chair and hang your purse on its arm. A few steps later, and he’s pulling you toward him and burying his face in your stomach. 

You let him, but raise his head soon after. Again, he greets you with glassy green eyes.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” you murmur.

“I’ve never been like this before.”

Quiet ambient music fills the car ride home. 

Pulling into his driveway, you switch off the ignition and quickly circle around to take his hand when he steps out. 

Pretending not to notice the way his cheeks flush, you lead him to the doorway and press his thumb to the sensor, letting out a breath when it lights up green. 

Once inside, you head straight for his bedroom. In the dim lamplight, you help him out of his disheveled scrubs, smiling softly when he avoids eye contact. After undressing yourself, you tug him toward the master bathroom, where you run the shower on hot. 

Through the mist, you lather soap over his body, washing his hair of the beads of sweat that’d gathered before your arrival. 

You step out once you’re both clean. Zayne follows, reaching for one of your matching towels, but your hand intercepts his halfway. Shaking your head softly, you lift the towel from the rack and wrap it around him, catching the steam that still rises from his skin as you gently pat him dry. Through it all, he allows you, taking his nightclothes from you when you finish.  

Under normal circumstances, you’d expect a smart remark—a sideways glance as he subtly reminded you he wasn’t a child. But tonight, Zayne is pliant. Deferent. He utters not a word of protest, his trusting hazel eyes trained on you as he waits for you to move him along.

Once you dry yourself off and slip on your nightshirt, you do exactly that: taking his hand and heading back toward his room, gently pushing him down on the bed. His grip tightens when you turn to switch off the lamp, and it takes a soothing grin and touch of his cheek for him to reluctantly let you go. 

When you slide into bed next to him, his arms encircle you instantly. He tucks his head in your shoulder, and you reach up to stroke his raven hair.

“Good night” are your last words tonight.

“I love you” are his. 

It’s late morning when Zayne hurries down the stairs, the pads of his slippers smacking against the floor. When he sees you at the kitchen counter, tapping your phone next to a bowl of cereal, he stops in his tracks. “When someone’s alarm doesn’t go off, it’s generally nice to wake them up in its place,” he chides, visibly trying to suppress his irritation.

“Generally,” you repeat. “But…what if you didn’t go to work today?” you ask, tone gentle so the suggestion doesn’t send him into shock.

It’s only slightly helpful. Suddenly wary, he narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What do you mean? My rounds are scheduled as normal, and I have several reports to complete.”

You scratch your neck. “But what if I already called Yvonne about it, and she and Greyson and your whole team agree you shouldn't go to work today?” you reveal with a sheepish smile.

“You….” His eyes fall closed in an intense grimace. “And all of them agreed?”

Smile widening, you put your palms up in defense. “Yes. But you don’t have to spend the day inside! I’ve been looking for things for us to do around town. Think of it like a short vacation!” you cheer, hopping off your chair to wave his arms in excitement. 

Oversized sleeves billowing in the air, Zayne sighs in defeat. “What do you have planned?”

After a quick drive to the parking garage downtown, you walk hand-in-hand past closely packed buildings, coming to a stop outside a recently opened cat café.

Spinning around, you make a ta-da gesture. He snorts. 

“The first time we tried to come, you got called in for an emergency surgery. So I thought we could go in today! But only if you want to, of course,” you say quickly. 

The beginnings of mirth glitter in his gaze. Stepping forward, he holds the door for you like he always does—as if the way he’d let you lead him last night were but a distant memory. You study him for a moment, noting the quiet plea in his hazel eyes, before brushing a kiss on his cheek and strolling inside.

“Welcome!” the greeter calls as the strong scent of coffee hits your nose. “We’re glad to have you here! Feel free to take a look around and play with the cats, and order when you’re ready!” 

Nodding your thanks, you shift your attention to the cats’ biographies on the wall to your right. “Look, Zayne! This one was rescued from a house fire an—Zayne?” 

The man who’d walked in right behind you has disappeared. Panic fills you for just a second—until you spot him at the coffee bar, nodding along as the barista repeats his order. Him and his sweet drinks. 

Marching up to collect him, you tuck your arm in his and settle at a table on the back wall. 

Three white kittens, most likely siblings, chase balls of fuzz in the corner. To your left, an adult Persian cat lounges on a tower, its tail lashing with superiority. As you wait for your order, you and Zayne are so engrossed in your surroundings that you fail to notice the besotted Siamese in front of you. 

Until it leaps and lands right on Zayne’s lap, that is. 

Mroww, it purrs, affectionately bumping its head into his chin. Startled, he looks to you with wide eyes, hand hovering over the cat’s arched back. 

You almost fall out in laughter. Almost. But instead, you spare him and nod encouragingly, guiding his hand down to pet its sleek coat. “Well, who’s this?” you chuckle, running your fingers through its short fur. 

“That,” your server interjects, setting your drinks down and scratching the cat’s ears, “would be S’mores. She’s the oldest cat here. And very friendly.” 

“Hello, S’mores,” Zayne murmurs, and she bumps his chin again. 

S’mores doesn’t leave you—doesn’t leave him, rather—for the next hour. When he stands to throw your cups away, she meows in protest, digging her claws into his shirt. For a moment, he looks as though she’s going to eat him, but he schools his nerves quickly, this time. “Now, now,” he shushes. “We’ll be back.” 

A few shops down from the café lies a retro ice cream parlor. The shopkeeper’s bell jingles as you step inside, surveying the pink stools and checkered floors. 

“Hi!” you greet the teenage cashier. “He’ll have three scoops of green tea, and I’ll get one of taro, thanks.”

“Cups or cones?” the cashier asks, looking utterly bored with everything but the man behind you. 

You smile at her in understanding. At least she has taste. “Cups, please.” 

Hearing rustling behind you, you turn your head and see Zayne reaching into his back pocket. “Oh, I’ll get it,” you chirp, digging inside your purse for your wallet. 

He barely spares you a glance before laying a generous bill on the counter. “Can she get an extra scoop, please?” 

Taking small spoonfuls of ice cream, you follow the winding sidewalks outside the parlor in comfortable silence. Before long, a city park comes into view, its verdant grounds preceded by a shimmering pond. The ducks’ multicolored feathers are almost iridescent in the afternoon sun.

Pointing to the wooden feeder ahead, you slow your steps. “You want to?” 

Before you finish the question, Zayne is already pulling coins from his wallet, handing them to you with a soft smile. “Of course.” 

After you slide the coins in the machine, unappetizing pellets fall from the dispenser into a complimentary feeding cup. For several minutes, you take turns sprinkling them into the water, watching as the ducks paddle over to you with intrigue. The bobs of their sleek heads create turquoise ripples across the surface, while you rest your own on Zayne’s shoulder. 

After a while, he takes your empty ice cream cup and heads for the nearest trash can. 

You smile at him when he returns. “You’ve been so chivalrous today. It’s like I’ve stepped into a fairytale.” 

He cuts his eyes at you before placing a hand on the small of your back, urging you down the twisting park path. “If you don’t feel like that every day, then it seems I need to work harder.” 

“‘Work harder’ shouldn’t be in your vocabulary,” you chide. Then, your voice softens. “You always make me feel that way. Today, it’s just…extra. And I love gentleman Zayne—very much—but he’s just as cute when he’s clingy in his sleep,” you promise, nudging his thigh with your hip. 

He clears his throat. “He’ll make a note of that.” 

After a few more minutes of walking, a fork in your path prompts a moment of indecision. Go left, and you’re sure to have the conversation that he may not be ready for. Straight? An hour more of idle chatter before you head home in the setting sun. And right…well, to the right is the 4-foot-tall jungle gym, so you’re not too worried about ending up there. 

Before you can ask which way, Zayne tightens his grip on your waist and turns left, ambling over to the blue and gray swing set. 

You smile to yourself. He’s being brave.

As you settle on the sun-warmed swing, the tips of your shoes drag back and forth in the gravel below. Dust kicks up on the pristine leather, turning white to beige, but Zayne’s earnest voice interrupts your grieving. 

“I had a good day today. Thank you.” 

You’re not swinging very high—only a couple feet off the ground—but compared to him, you might as well be on Mount Everest. Chuckling softly, you reach down and join hands, pulling him with you into the air. “What was so good about it?”

He delays his answer, his startled eyes widening with each rock back and forth. Only when he gets used to the movements does he elaborate. “It was peaceful. I did things and went places I’d never had the chance to before. And I got to spend time with you.” 

You hum. “So it has everything to do with where you were, and nothing to do with where you weren’t?”

He’s silent for a moment. Trees rustle in the quiet, their scarlet leaves dancing on wavering limbs before succumbing to the gentle autumn breeze. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “It’s only fair I tell the one who came to rescue me why she had to.”

“It might be fair,” you nod, turning to meet his emerald gaze. “But do you want to?”

His lips twitch. “I want to.”

Digging your heels into the gravel below, you halt his and your momentum, giving him your undivided attention. 

“A teenage patient received an emergency surgery yesterday. Complications with congenital heart disease,” he begins. “I’d spoken with him a few times prior, and we got along quite well. Aspiring physician, set to graduate at the top of his class. The only thing was, he’d often worry about…missed experiences. He didn’t attend school dances or athletic events. His older sister gave birth last spring, but he missed it due to a college entrance exam.” 

“That sounds lonely,” you offer, rubbing your thumb across the back of his hand. 

“Yes. He was very lonely,” Zayne agrees. “He was lonely up until the moment he flatlined on the operating table.” His hand flexes in yours, and you tighten your grip. 

Blowing out a breath, you ask what you already know the answer to. “And he…?”

“Did not respond to resuscitation attempts.”

Your chest hollows at the words. To lose someone so young…to lose anyone at all…. “I’m so sorry, Zayne. If I had known—”

“Oddly enough, his passing wasn’t the main cause of what happened yesterday. It only exacerbated the issue at hand.” 

Knitting your eyebrows, you wait for him to continue. 

“Yesterday,” he pauses, “was a lesson learned. Because I realized I also lack those experiences. And I thought, if someone a decade younger than me left his life with so much regret, then….” He swallows thickly. “If I were to die today, I’d have dedicated my life to this pursuit. But what would I have done outside of that? What stories would be told of me, other than those that took place in a classroom or a hospital?” 

A mix of emotions renews the ache in your chest. Pity, fear, surprise, understanding. “You saw yourself in him.” 

Watching a group of boys climb on the jungle gym, he interlaces your fingers. “I did. For a second, it was me on the operating table. Is that selfish of me?”

Humming, you draw swirling patterns in the gravel. “I don't think so. I'd hope no one would,” you muse. “Zayne, you…are the smartest, most hardworking person I know. But sometimes, I wonder how much that took from you.” At the admission, you expect his eyes to widen, his lips to tug into a frown. But all he does is eye you expectantly, with all the trust in the world. And you know it’s okay to continue. 

“You always knew what you wanted to do growing up—you wanted to help people. You wanted to save lives. You wanted to practice medicine. There was always a goal, right? And you were always sprinting toward it. I mean, you were in algebra when your agemates were still stuck on multiplication tables,” you recall, playfully wiggling his hand in the air. “But maybe in choosing what you wanted to do…you overlooked who you wanted to be?” 

The question floats like the leaves in the wind, and for a moment, you think he’s just like them. Beautiful, vital, but just a little lost. He purses his lips, a contemplative pout forming on his face, but says nothing. 

“Forget about medicine for a second, Zaynie. Don’t look at me like that—I know it’ll be hard, but try. Now, what sort of things do you like? What are you passionate about? When you look back on your life, what kind of experiences will you want to have had? A few minutes ago, you asked how others would describe you. But how would you describe yourself? Who is Zayne when he’s not striving for something?” 

“I….” He pauses, voice dwindling into a whisper. Last night’s expression creeps back onto his face. “I’m not sure.” 

“That’s okay.” Nodding your encouragement, you rise from your swing and stand just in front of his, slotting your legs between his knees and cupping his cheek. You’re just a bit taller than him like this. “To me, Zayne is a gentleman who likes sweets and animals and is adorably afraid to swing too high. He helps people, not because he’s a doctor, but because he’s kind and compassionate—even when he doesn’t show it. And he’s still figuring some things out about himself, but that’s okay because I'm proud of him.” You beam. “Your turn.” 

Sometime during your speech, his face had softened. He chuckles lightly before obliging. “To me, Zayne is…a pragmatist. And he’s cautious, not afraid,” he adds, narrowing his eyes when you shrug. “He can be cold when he doesn’t mean to be. He’s curious, but often too timid to satisfy those curiosities without someone by his side. And he wants to be someone…who doesn’t live with regret for his missed experiences,” he finishes, hazel eyes twinkling up at you. “Perhaps that’s why I felt so happy today. You give me new experiences, every time we’re together. Which is why, if you’re willing, I’d like to make up for lost time and make more memories with you. What do you say?” 

“I say,” you drawl, flitting your eyes to the structure behind him, “have you ever been on a carousel?” 

His brows furrow as he turns his head, catching your hand in his when it slips off his cheek. “I can’t say that I have.” 

“Then let’s go!” you giggle, hauling him up with all your strength. “The sun won’t set for another 30 minutes. And while we’re at it, I’ll race you there!” 

[tickled-p1nk]

You’re curled up on the couch, reading Megumi The Little Engine That Could for the third time. He’s leaning against your arm, eyes squinting as he soaks in every picture.

Satoru plops down on the other side of you, making an exaggerated show of sighing. “Babe, what does a grown man have to do to get the same attention as a five-year-old?”

You raise an eyebrow. “He’s learning about optimism, is that what you need?”

Megumi points to the page. “You’re at the part where the train says, ‘I think I can, I think I can.’” He’s so focused, he doesn’t even notice Satoru sulking.

“I think I can get some attention, too.” Satoru mutters. He leans over and tugs at your sleeve like an overgrown toddler. “Me. Read to me. I’m the real little engine that could.”

You snort. “You’re more like the engine that whines.”

Megumi nods solemnly. “Yeah. You’re old to be a little engine.”

Satoru’s jaw drops, scandalised. “Me? Old? I’m young and beautiful. Tell him, babe.”

“Hmm.” You tap your chin thoughtfully. “Sorry, you’re ancient history now. ‘Gumi’s my new favourite.”

Megumi’s lips twitch into a tiny smile. “Hear that, old man?”

“Wowwww, betrayed by the love of my life. Unbelievable.” He pokes Megumi’s shoulder playfully. “You better watch your back, kid.”

Megumi looks up at you, entirely unimpressed. “Can you make him go away now?”

You laugh, patting Megumi’s head. “You heard the boss, Satoru. Go away.”

Satoru huffs, crossing his arms, but there’s a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Fine. But if he gets a bedtime story, I want a bedtime something else later.” He winks at you and Megumi stares blankly.

“Gross.” He deadpans.

“Huh?!” Satoru’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “How does he know what I'm talking about?!”

a/n: the little engine that could traumatises me to this day. my baby cousins where addicted to that shit