annieboop

[annieboop]

i just read the most heart breaking revolutionary life changing fanfic ever.. AND TO THINK IT ONLY HAS LESS THAN 1K NOTES???? everyone read this rn 😭 this is genuinely the best take of enemies to ??? to future lovers everrrr! THIS WILL BE MY NEW FIXATION FOR AT LEAST THE NEXT MONTH. best believe that i will be rereading this everyday 🫶🏻 seriously you're an amazing writer ^^ im so jealous of your ability to write written fics because im in DEEEP writers block and all i can do rn are social media aus 😔 sighhh anyways i lowkey got annoyed with the repeat of certain dialogs bUT IT MADE EVERYTHING SO MUCH BETTER ACTUALLY 🙏🏻 really made me feel each pov's emotions! thank you for sharing this artwork of yours 💗

sunflowers

pairing: bakugou katuski x f! reader contains: enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 17840 summary: there you stand at the beginning of the world, with you and your sunflowers; your lovely liar's smile.

note: canon-compliant but i bend it; early childhood and then up to season 3. also cross-posted to ao3.

The first time you meet Bakugou Katsuki, you are six-turning-seven, and you remember it well. Not just because it’s the first day of school, or even that it’s your birthday. Rather, you remember it because of him, and though you think you would rather die than admit it, there is some part of you⏤ a more rational part⏤ that can temper itself down to acknowledge the fact.

You remember it well, because that morning, your mother makes sure to doll you up extra pretty. She dons you in a frilled dress like it is your armor, taking extra care with your hair, its bows, and she does: so much that there is an extra skip to your step as you walk. You don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. But you still make sure to say your thank yous to all the unfamiliar faces that compliment you with gummy smiles and a not-so-quiet, conspiratorial grin. “It’s my birthday!” 

You remember the way your cheeks hurt from forcing the wideness of it, the way you think it has started to sound like a mantra. You remember smiling, nonetheless, at his friend, as he wishes you a happy birthday! in return⏤ you are smiling at his friend, and not him.

You remember it well, because the first time you ever meet him, he looks you up and down, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and dares to call you ugly. 

If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. Already, your new friends are tensing for the inevitable confrontation. “You can’t just say that to her,” Sueko says, her eyes already narrowing in a glare.

“And who the hell are you, extra?” The crimson-eyed boy scowls right back. 

The other girl wilts a bit, but her glare remains set.

You decide, right there and then, that she is your new best friend. 

You smile. If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. But you don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. So you only give him your kindest smile, because your mother told you to play nice in the morning, as she brushed out your hair. You make sure to give him a once over, glancing down, and then up. 

“It’s okay!” Your eyes curve, ingratiatingly polite; ingratiatingly sweet. “Some people are just born blind. And stupid.”

“HAH?” His reaction is exactly what you hoped for, and it’s almost too easy. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING⏤” 

The slight quirk of your mouth is amused, but you only turn, pointedly, to your new best friend. “Any chance you’re free this weekend? Let’s hang out.” 

She stutters an answer, eyes darting between you, and the blond you know is seething behind you, if the glare he’s practically boring into the back of your head means anything.

You tilt your head to the side. A little inquiry, a little push. “So?”

Hands slam down on your desk, cutting out her squeaked yes. You jump a little at the sound, your eyes widening⏤ both a little bit at the sound, and how close his face suddenly is. All of a sudden, you’re glad you didn’t call him ugly right back⏤ it would have sounded petty, after all, and almost certainly would have bit you right in the foot, considering how this crimson-eyed boy is so clearly not.

“I’m talking to you.” Well. You think, he’d probably be a great deal prettier if wasn’t glaring down at you, face contorted in what seems like half snarl, half scowl. 

His friend adds, a little bit placatingly. “Bakugou-san’s not stupid. He’s really smart, actually, always been top of the class. He’s really cool!” 

You note the way the class eyes him, the way the blond’s eyeing the door. He grunts. “I also have twenty-twenty vision.” His chin raises, arrogance in the set of his features, a bit calmer at the praise, but also a touch quieter, almost a bit wary. 

The door opens. He glances back, just as a man walks in, old enough that you assume that he is your teacher. 

It takes effort to keep the shit-eating grin from spreading across your features. “Are you sure?” You ask instead, completely straight-faced. ( You should really consider acting, you think. You’re practically a genius! ) You simper, a hand covering your mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”  

It’s almost too easy, you think, the way he explodes, literally. 

“YOU WANNA FIGHT, EXTRA?” Miniature blasts pepper the table, and you might have thought it intimidating, if it’s not for the way your sensei is stalking over, looking almost as murderous as the boy himself. “I’LL KILL YOU!” 

You coo a little, fearless with the backing of your newfound supporter. “You’re really scary. That’s illegal, you know.” 

He opens his mouth. But then⏤ “Bakugou. Seeing as it’s the first day, you won’t be getting detention.” His mouth closes mutely. You grin a little at the way he’s being pulled away from your desk, fingers still clutching at the edges of it⏤ by the scruff of his collar, and somewhat like a dog, you think.

His eyes flash, a little bit angry, a little bit dangerous. He points one grubby finger in your direction. “She started it!” 

The sensei also pins you with a stern look. “The next time this happens, the both of you’ll be staying after class to clean, as detention. Am I clear?” 

You gape at both of them. It’s half genuine, half not. You think this verdict is a little unfair. The boy grins, smug.

A complaint is on the tip of your tongue, then you see the sensei’s expression:  deadpan, tired, and unsympathetic.  You sober up, frowning a little. 

“Okay. Sorry, sensei. I’ll try.” 

The crimson-eyed boy is still glaring at you, a little victorious, a little smug, but with a gleam in his eyes. This is war, they seem to say, silent and from across the room.

Little does he know, it has been, ever since the moment he decides to look you up and own, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and calls you ugly.

You blow him a kiss.

He jolts. The face he makes is obviously a frown of disgust. 

The sensei straightens. You smile ingratiatingly, turning away.

This is war, his eyes seem to promise, and really, you can’t help but agree. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your revenge is served not even three days later, on a Saturday evening, and you think it is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

You have your father to thank for it, actually. The boy, whose name you learn is Bakugou Katsuki, is something of a mini celebrity at your school. 

This means that the surface level things are easy to find⏤ he has anger issues, an explosive Quirk, and is smart, consistently at the top of the class. ( You frown a little when they tell you. These are all things you already know, and the only new information⏤ he likes spicy food⏤ isn’t helpful in the slightest. ) But this also means that, knowing his temper, there are very few willing to actively take your side, and much more openly against you. You are the new girl, the outlier, and though he can’t quite make you an outcast⏤ you and your horde of girl-followers ( bought with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ he has enough friends, or rather sycophants, that will ignore you in the hallways, or mutter names at you.

The boy in question doesn’t, though.

He storms up to your desk the second day. You are chatting with your friends, as he slams his hands on the desk and snarls: “Fight me.” 

Catching your pencil just before it falls, you frown up with him. “What ever happened to: hi, hello, how are you?” 

“Hi, hello, how are you.” He sneers. “Scared?” 

“No, and my answer is no.”

His scowl deepens. “So you are scared.” 

“I’m a healer.” You lift your chin in outrage, affronted. “I’m not violent.”

“Nah. You’re just an extra.” 

Internally, you seethe. First ugly, and now an extra. You have never been called such things in your life. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue. 

The sensei walks in. 

It dies in your throat, Bakugou’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. He turns away, head held high; arrogant and condescending, having won this encounter by a mile. 

Wrath boils in your ears, but you tamp it down, expressionless. Your pencils are carefully aligned, your notebook opened with just a little more force than necessary. Internally, you promise yourself, he’ll get what’s coming to him. You will make sure of it. 

You get your chance soon enough on a Saturday evening, dolled up again in a dress your mother painstakingly picked out for you, your hair pressed into careful curls. Your father had told you: your family had been invited to dinner by a friend he’d met at work, and that they have a son in the same grade as you, in the same school. 

You had shrugged. So long as there’s a chance their son would be willing to join your Anti-Bakugou Society ( consisting only of you at the moment ), you don’t particularly mind.

“Play nice,” Your mother reminds you now, as you stand before the door; your father knocking on it. There is a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in your hands, matching the color of your dress, and you only scrunch your nose up a little at her. 

“I’m always nice.” 

Your mother doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then there’s a⏤ Katsuki, get the door!⏤ along with an answering⏤ “SHUT UP, OLD HAG! I’M GETTING IT!”⏤ and then, you blink.

The name sounds rather familiar. The voice, too. 

The door opens. You stare, wide-eyed, as a head of blond hair enters your vision, familiar and crimson-eyed.

He’s just as stunned as you are, as you watch, with no small amount of delight, as he takes one look at you, and then the sunflowers you hold in your hands, and sneezes. 

Christmas has come early, you think. “Katsuki! This is your house?” You step a little closer, a sickly sweet grin on your face. 

He dodges the sweep of your bouquet. A pity, you think, but you are successful: he only sneezes all the harder.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you… by any chance allergic to sunflowers?” 

Your mother gasps, tearing the bouquet from your hands. She had been the one to pick them out.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to know the answer: as soon as they’re taken away from his immediate vicinity, his sneezes lessen.  

Your mother had been the one to pick them out, and you had disliked the way they looked. But you decide, there and in the moment, that they are your favorite flower. 

He straightens. His nose is still red, and there is murder in his eyes. “Why the hell are you here?” 

His mother sweeps in, pinching him by the ear. “You will not address our guests that way.” She hisses, before looking up at the three of you, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to teach him manners, I swear⏤”

“No worries at all, Bakugou-san.” Your mother says, correcting herself at the other woman’s oh, just call me Mitsuki! She pinches your ear in turn. “This one is much the same. A righteous demon, she is.” You narrow your eyes a little at her. 

The blonde laughs, and the way she ruffles her son’s hair is terribly fond. ���That’s just part of their charm, I suppose.” 

He hisses up at her. She hisses right back. 

You love her, you think.

“Oh, where are my manners!” She straightens, blinking. “Please come in. Masaru’s in the kitchen, just setting up⏤”

Your parents walk in first, complimenting the decor. Mitsuki beams at them, and down at you. “Masaru tells me the two of you go to the same school,” She says. “Have the two of you met before?” 

You say: “Yes!” at the same time he gives a flat, but resounding, “No.” 

He glares daggers into the side of your head. You grin. “We’re in the same class, and he’s my best friend!” You exclaim, the lie rolling easily off your tongue.

“No the fuck I’m not.” 

“Language, Katsuki!” Mitsuki reaches for his ear again, her face the picture of delight. “I’m so happy you’re finally making friends!” 

“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!” 

She gasps, affronted, looking like she wants to tear him a new one. You smile. Your parents look on, utterly lost. “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you angel.” And from the look on her face, one might have thought she truly believed it. She whips around to glare at her son. He glares back. “I don’t know how she puts up with you, but you’d better treat her well.” You grin at him from behind, terribly smug, and terribly victorious. 

She turns around, and your smile is pretty again, pleasant and soft.

Mitsuki coos at you. You think the dichotomy between the way she talks to the both of you is like heaven and earth. “Come over to our house more often. I’d love to have you over anytime!” 

“HAH? WHAT⏤” 

“We wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mitsuki-san.” Your mother says, assertively. She is shooting you the look, the one that means she knows what you’re up to. 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Katsuki has few enough friends as it is.” 

Your father laughs, ever the mediator. “We’ll have to invite you over next time as well. We live just down the street.” He brightens. “Actually, seeing as they’re classmates, they could maybe walk together in the mornings?” 

Your mother’s grip tightens around his arm. 

There is a wicked grin on your face. “I’d love that!”

The boy in question doesn’t even get the chance to protest, because Mitsuki’s already chirping. “It’s settled, then!” 

You think: it doesn’t even matter if he emerges victorious in all the encounters you have after this, because when the adults turn, you get to stick your tongue out at him.

The look on his face is so quietly violent, so blatantly murderous, as you wave your still sunflower-smeared hands in his face, that you think you will remember the sweetness of this victory for the rest of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your relationship does not change in the slightest after that.

Mitsuki invites you over to her house once a week, and your parents do the same. The adults do their own thing, and you do yours: trying your best to annoy the daylights out of your newfound nemesis, and he only does the same to you. You’ll make fun of his All Might merchandise, the ones displayed proudly in his room, and he’ll make fun of your Recovery Girl ones, the ones you have so painstakingly collected⏤ she’s not nearly as popular of a Hero. He’ll sneer: “So that’s why you used to kiss everyone you healed?” 

You’ll sneer right back, cringing internally at the reminder of that phase, though you are still Recovery Girl’s number one fan. “My Quirk’s literally activated through touch. You’d be lucky if I poked you with a ten-foot pole, let alone heal you with a kiss.” 

He’ll make a face. “Eugh. You wish, idiot. I’d never want to kiss an extra like you.” 

The two of you have learned to act relatively civil with adults in the house. You smile up at him, sickly sweet. “Yeah. This extra is an idiot, and she definitely didn’t score higher than you on the last history test.” 

By one point, but still. 

He snorts, though you can tell the reminder irks him. “That’s only ‘cause you sucked up to sensei like, three classes in a row.”

You sniff in derision.  “I did not.” Sure, it’s true: you’d definitely been a little more active in class, and answered more questions than usual, but you’d studied for it! You’d studied a lot!

He sneers back. “Did too.” 

You have learned to imitate the murderous glare he likes to level you with, and the first time you mimic it, you grin a little as his eyes widen, stunned.

The two of you are civil for the most part, though, at each other’s houses. His mother would tear him a new one if she heard him acting anything but⏤ ( she has )⏤ and you think you like his parents too much to ruin your relationship over something as trivial as this. 

School is a different story, however, as are your walks in the mornings. “Shut the fuck up,” He’ll snarl at you.

“But Katsuki-kun!” You’ll coo right back, using the tone you know he hates. “I haven’t even started talking yet!” 

He’ll scowl at you. You’ll simper right back. He’ll speed up, and you do not slow, nor do you attempt to match his pace, because you know: if you slow, he will too. Always keeping that same distance, and if you speed up⏤ well, you’d tried that once. And you’d kept pace with him for all of two seconds, before he’d sped up in turn, until the both of you were practically sprinting to school. 

You lose, of course. You have never run a day in your life.

( You start training right after. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack.

( Your mother picked out the flowers, but you are the one that held them, and you were also the one to decide, there and then, that these were your favorite flowers in the world. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly stunning in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. 

“You’re ruining my shirt,” He grouses. “Stop crying. I’m literally more injured than you are.” 

You sniff. “I’m not kissing you better.” 

He snarls. “Come anywhere near me with your mouth and I’ll blow your face off.” 

“You want it so bad it makes you look stupid.” You tell him, and he tenses beneath you, but you only press your cheek to his neck, and think, heal.

The pain of the bruises lances through you, and you feel the way he relaxes.

You droop. “Onwards, steed.” 

“I will literally drop you.” 

“I just healed you. I’m tired.” 

“No one fucking asked you to.” 

He doesn’t make good on his promise, though, and eventually, you sigh a little into his neck.

“What.” 

“Nothing.” 

“What, dumbass.” 

You hum, a little absentminded. “You’re going to UA, right?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Oh, I was thinking of applying for the healer understudy openings.” You shrug. “Dunno if I can get in, though.” 

“You will.” His certainty surprises you. 

You smile. “Didn’t know you believed in me so much, Katsuki-kun.” Your head flops back onto his shoulder. “Will you still walk with me in the mornings, then?” 

“After school, too. Even if you don’t get in.” 

You shift to blink up at him in surprise. 

He clicks his tongue. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck else’s gonna punch shitty stalkers for you?”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, like the sun cresting upon the horizon, lighting up like a dawn inside your chest. You laugh at the feel of it. “Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed today? Besides, you don’t even know where I’d be going.” You reach up to pinch him on the cheek. 

He jerks away, the look on his face disgusted.

“Then I’ll teach you to fight.” 

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like. There’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. 

( That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you tell Mitsuki-san, once upon a time, and though you are not sure if it is love, you think: you do not mind it. )

This is how your relationship is, and how it remains, until the end of the second last year of middle school, right before the both of you enter UA.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are asleep at your desk when you are jumpscared awake. 

“UA? That national school? Isn’t their acceptance rate really low?” Someone in your class is asking. 

“That’s exactly why you guys are just extras!” You roll your eyes as the ash-blond jumps straight atop his desk. “I aced the mock test! I’m the only one at this school who could possibly get into UA. I’ll definitely surpass All Might and become the top hero!” 

This is not the first time you’ve heard this tirade. Sueko nudges you, quietly. “Hey. Didn’t you say you were applying for one of their healer slots?” 

“Oh, yeah.” The sensei glances down at his list. “Midoriya wanted to go to UA as well, right? And someone else…” You tense.

The class bursts into uproarious laughter, and it seems you are temporarily saved. 

“Huh? Midoriya? No way! You can’t get into the Hero course by just studying!”

The green-haired boy stammers. “Th-they got rid of the rule! There’s just no precedent…” 

You roll your eyes at the sound of familiar explosions. “Huh? Deku! You’re below the rejects! You’re quirkless! How can you even stand in the same ring as me?”

“No, wait! Kacchan! It’s not like I’m trying to compete with you or anything! Believe me!” He falters “It’s just that it’s been my goal ever since I was little! I won’t know unless I try…”   

“What do you mean, unless you try? You’re Quirkless!” 

You slam your textbook down with a little more force than usual, and the whole class turns to you in surprise. “He has a dream that he dares to try for,” you say, coolly and careful. “Isn’t that enough?” 

“And what the hell would you know about that?” 

Disbelief rushes through you, and you turn to look him squarely in the eye. The class tenses, and his own eyes widen. It has been a while since you’ve challenged him like this directly, whether in school or otherwise. 

Sueko pipes up, unhelpfully, from beside you, as if he wouldn’t know. “She’s also applying for UA.” 

You don’t get the chance to glare at her, because your sensei continues the thought. “Oh, yes, that’s right! You were the last student applying to UA! The healer routes are notoriously difficult⏤ how’s that coming along?” 

“Ah, I applied to some hospitals for volunteering, but I don’t know if they accept middle-schoolers,” You laugh. 

Your sensei nods, in support, but also a little condescendingly. “Well, it’s also a very difficult path, so don’t beat yourself up about it too much, yeah?” 

The smile on your face feels a little bit painful, a little bit stretched. 

You are distracted for the rest of that day. So out of it, in fact, that when the sensei calls upon you, his favorite student, you take all of five seconds to respond⏤ blinking, first, then glancing up, with a: “Sorry, what was the question?” You are so out of it that you bump your hip into your own desk as you move past for lunch, wincing at the twinge of it, and you are so out of it that you forget your pencil case when you leave after class, and have to go back to get it.

“Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a last chance dive off the roof!” 

You know that voice. You pause. But then, the blast of familiar explosions. 

Before your hands, the door slams open. 

You don’t know what you were expecting. Bakugou and Midoriya both, obviously, and you suppose you should have known his two lackeys would have been there, too. They turn from their face-off, and your glare is sharp and terrible. “So what if he’s Quirkless?” You snap, storming over to grab the green-haired boy by the wrist. “At least he has a dream. At least he dares to try. That’s more than I can say for the two of you.” 

“Stay out of this,” The blond snarls, a warning. 

You are not entirely a good person. You lie as you please, wielding the power of your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and do things entirely for your own amusement, uncaring of the aftermath. You know Midoriya, or rather, you know of him, and how he is a frequent target of Bakugou’s scathing remarks. At first, you had assumed he’d just been one of the people that disliked you, but it had become increasingly evident that he was just one of the people that didn’t dare to brave the blond’s wrath. And you are not entirely a good person, because you just didn’t care. Not to talk to him, not to stand up for him, not if he hadn’t even tried to for you.

You are not entirely a good person yourself, but even so, you know that there are lines that should not be crossed. 

You lift your chin, and say, quietly. “Apologize.” 

“Hah?” He tilts his head. “And why the hell should I? Why the hell are you defending him?” 

You feel incredulous. “What does that have anything to do with it?” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker down to where you are holding the green-haired boy, by his wrist. “There are things that you should never, ever, say to a person.” His eyes narrow, but there’s an irrational anger within you, a disbelief. “You’re literally trying to become a Hero. How can you, an applicant of UA, who hopes to become one of the best heroes in the world, tell someone to kill themselves, and not think there’s anything wrong with it?” 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Little explosions are escaping his hands, in the uncontrolled way they do when he’s furious and unaware of them. 

You think Midoriya makes a pained sound, what with the way your hands are clenching, angry and white. Heal. A sting pulses through you, and you drop his wrist, but your eyes are flashing. “You’re being an ass. Apologize.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.” 

You lift your chin. “If you value our friendship in the slightest, then yes, I do.” The vehemence of your words stuns you a bit, and the blond recoils, as if he has been physically struck. 

You think you have won, for all of a moment, and then he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. What friendship? The one you lied to my mom about and said that we had? That friendship? The one that doesn’t exist? Won’t exist?” 

His sneer is not harsh, but the breath that leaves you is shaky.

You do not hear his next words.

( You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly nice in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like, and there’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one.  )

This is how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you say to Mitsuki-san once upon a time, but now, you know, because you have learned to read between the lines of his words; to understand him: that this is just how he treats liars who worm their way into his world, and how he tolerates them.

Your lip wobbles. There is a lump in your throat. But you will not cry for him, nor will you plead. Play nice, your mother chastises you once upon a time, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. She chastises you once upon a time, because you do not particularly care to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are petty, yes. Vindictive, too. You may not be that much of a good person, and you are not without your own feelings, hypocritical as that may be. But you are trying, and you are genuine, or at least as much as you can be, as much as you ever have, and he⏤ he has just thrown all of that in your face. 

“Fine, then.” You smile, and you are unfeeling as you lie. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, either. Don’t talk to me again.” 

The door slams behind you.

You do not hear his next words, so you do not hear him mean: not while you choose him, and not me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki is six-turning seven the first time he meets you. 

It is the first day of school. You are seated at your desk, a crowd of adoring sycophants around you. “Happy birthday! You look really pretty today,” His friend says from beside him, and he looks you up and down. You are wearing a sky-blue dress, with your hair pressed into careful curls.

His cheeks warm. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he only grunts, looking away to the side. “Dunno. She looks pretty ugly to me.” 

“You can’t just say that to her,” Your friend hisses. He doesn’t know her face. 

He scowls at her. “And who the heck are you, extra?” 

She wilts under the force of his glare, and he feels a little better, as if satisfied.

“It’s okay!” You smile. He blinks. Maybe he should call you ugly more often.

And then you call him stupid. And blind.

And the rest is history. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The results of your hospital volunteer application are sent back the next week, and the first thing you think of, somewhat bitterly, is that at least now, you have a proper excuse for skipping out on your weekly dinners. 

You have already skipped out on the first, pretending you feel sick. 

Your phone is still silent. You have not talked to him since that day, not even to check up on him when you see the news, though your fingers itch to. You think of sunflowers: how you didn’t even like them, until him. You think of how your bag now feels empty without its signature pins, how you have thrown every scrap of yellow clothing into a pile in your closet, your sunflower-themed charms and notebooks tucked away. 

Proof of life comes from your mother, and you do not turn on your phone. 

You break your silence two days later, pushing your vegetables somewhat morosely around your plate. “My volunteer application was accepted. They’re letting me intern at the hospital.” 

Your father beams. “That’s great news! You should’ve told us earlier! Honey, we have to eat out to celebrate! Oh, I need to tell Masaru⏤” 

“I won’t be going to weekly dinners for the rest of the summer,” You cut in. Your mother’s chopsticks pause midair. 

Your father blinks at you. “Surely the hospital isn’t making its interns work that much.” 

“Well, I’m applying to UA.” You shrug. That much is true, but it’s also just so you can fill in your hours, work yourself down to the bone. “I’d like as much experience as possible.” 

Your mother is watching you carefully. 

Your father clears his throat. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard.” He says, jokingly, as he dishes another helping of food upon your plate. “You tell us if they’re giving you any trouble, alright?” 

You force yourself to smile back. “‘Course, dad.” 

( Your mother asks you, a week later, when you arrive home from your internship. “Are you still friends with him?” She has asked you a similar question once, years ago and late in the evening, at the end of the dinner party, your father drunken and half-leaning on her shoulder.

You give her the same answer you did then, and in the same way. Cheery, and without a hint of hesitation. “Nope!” 

She is watching you carefully. 

You excuse yourself, and she does not ask you about it again. )

It feels like the days never end, and yet summer passes by before you can blink. You banish all thoughts of blond hair and crimson eyes entirely from your mind, and truthfully, you do not have the mind to think of him much, anyways. You steal the pain of your patients and make it your own, smiling at the brightness of their faces as you heal one, then two, then several more. It tires you terribly so, and between your time at the hospital and pre-studying for the UA exams, you’re so fatigued each night that you fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow. You don’t even have the time to meet up with your friends. And before you know it, the last year of middle school is upon you, as are the start of your applications. 

It is a whirlwind of things to do, so much that you feel you do not have the time to breathe, or even think. Katsuki’s been placed in a different class from yours, which comes as a relief in more ways than one⏤ firstly, that you don’t have to see him, and secondly, because you can let your grades fall just a little, and still come out as top of your class. Between your intern shifts, your mindless studying, the applications, the tests and quizzes and preparing endlessly for interviews, the thoughts of anything else vanish entirely from your mind. You do not feel the emptiness of your afternoons, nor much of your mornings. 

About two months in, Midoriya Izuku is the one to seek you out. 

There is a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth, a textbook in your other hand. You notice him when a shadow falls over it, blotting the light out. You glance up, drawling. “Yes?” 

“Can I… talk to you for a moment?” He ventures, nervously, a tray gripped in his hands. 

You eye him a little strangely. 

You haven’t seen him since four months ago⏤ you haven’t really been paying much attention, and even the reminder sets your walls of iron slamming up. He’d been shorter then, you think, and significantly more hesitant. The boy from back then would never have even dared think about approaching you like this.

He flusters. “I-I just! Another time is also okay, or if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤” 

There he is, you think, a touch amused. “Can it be said here?” 

Beside you, Sueko’s jaw drops. You can feel the stares of your friends boring into the side of your face.

“Y-yes?” 

“Then make it quick.” You flip the page of your textbook. 

He hesitates. “Is it really okay…? For me to sit here?” 

Your eyebrow arches, high. “Since when have you been unable to sit where you like?” 

Mutely, he sets his tray down, and sits. 

You only flip another page. “You can either eat or talk.” You say, conversationally. “Lunch won’t last all day.” 

Obediently, he takes a spoonful of rice, and swallows. “I just… wanted to thank you.” He begins.

You know exactly what he is talking about, and your throat tightens. ( You think of your backpack, how empty it feels, but your refusal to tack on your sunflower pins anyway. ) You shrug. “No need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Even so,” Midoriya perks up a bit. “N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before, and especially not to Kacchan… I-I’m really grateful, either way!” 

You snort a little. Never would you have thought Midoriya Izuku, of all people, would stand here one day, thanking you. 

“I think you’re a really good person,” He says to you, a little bit hesitant. It jolts you a bit, the genuine honesty of his tone, but what you are not prepared for is what comes after. “And I know Kacchan does, too.” 

Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth.

“He still cares about you,” Midoriya says, a touch softer. Your friends are not looking at you, but you can still feel the weight of their gazes, their ears.

You say as you set your spoon down. “If you want to be friends with me, then you will never speak of him again.” 

Midoriya watches you carefully, notes the finality in your tone. His gaze rises to a point above your shoulder.

He flinches.

He does not speak of what he sees, or of this conversation, ever again. 

You do not turn, and you do not ask.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The week of UA acceptances arrive, and you await your own with bated breath. 

Your father laughs as you run out exactly at eight every morning to check, before he finally deigns to tell you that the postman usually delivers to your house around twelve. “I knew that!” You say, and he laughs at the obvious lie.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you still sneak out the next day at the same time, just in case. 

But as it turns out, the postman is late. You know this, because Midoriya texts you late in the evening, after dinnertime, with his signature All Might emoji and a brief: check your mailbox!!!!!

You stop, your heart in your throat. You don’t think you are breathing. 

He’s still typing, spamming your text messages with a thousand All Might emojis, each of them more despairing than the last. You do not know what this means. And then, you see his next message: I got in!!!!! 

It turns out that you are not, in fact, breathing.

You feel like you are holding your breath the whole time you’re fumbling through your mailbox, dropping random letters haphazardly onto your doorstep. That one looks like it’s important, you think, distantly, and it gets dropped somewhere onto the growing pile at your right, scanning them all for a familiar logo, and⏤ you see it at the very bottom of the pile.

You thumb it open with shaking hands. Congratulations, it reads, and you scream.

( You think for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. )

Your father pokes his head around the corner. “I heard screaming. Everything alright?” 

Your mother is smiling. “Mitsuki just called. Katsuki’s in.” 

Your father is looking at you with wide eyes. You are grinning, there are tears in your eyes, and you are wordless in your delight. 

Your mother laughs, soft. “I suppose two congratulations are in order.” 

“Midoriya also made it, so make that three.” You correct, grinning. 

Your father whoops. “THAT’S MY GIRL!” For the first time in almost a year, you feel light as a feather, like the world is spread wide before you, and you are a young god before it, your wings wide and at the ready. 

For the first time in almost a year, you think, for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. You think of reaching for your phone⏤ ( and if you did, you’d see his icon that you’d purposefully wiped blank bubbling )⏤ but you don’t. You think of a boy with blond hair and crimson eyes that you have not looked at in almost a year, how you’ll brush past him in the halls, surrounded by your gaggle of friends, your uniform and makeup, your armor, and try not to note how he’s grown taller. For the first time in over a year, you think of him, and your heart does not feel like an empty cavity in your chest; you do not feel so hollow, nor do you ache.

Your heart only squeezes, a little tight, but. 

You think you will be fine.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are delusional. You are not, in fact, fine. 

You are standing in front of the classroom door. It spells the code of your class: 1A, in bold lettering, proportions inhumanly large. You are three minutes late, but it’s really not your fault⏤ you’d simply fangirled so hard over the fact that you’re finally getting to meet your idol in person last night that you’d barely gotten any sleep, and your mother had had to haul you practically out of bed and out the door, throughout the whole of your alarm. 

You slide open the door. Instantly, you’re met with a sea of faces, and you steel yourself⏤ but then. 

For the first time in over a year, you see him, and all of a sudden, you are painfully aware of the lack of yellow on your figure; your backpack entirely empty of its signature sunflower pins. 

The smile is frozen on your face, and he looks just as shocked as you feel. 

A voice drawls at your side. “You must be the healer,” You are glad for the distraction; the source a scraggly-haired man halfway through removing himself from a sleeping bag. Your sensei, you deduce. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sensei!” You bow. “I overslept because I was fangirling too hard over meeting Recovery Girl today! I promise it won’t happen again!” 

A wave of soft laughter ripples through the class, and over the din, you hear a⏤ she’s kinda cute!⏤ at the same time as a⏤ oh, I love her already. 

“If I get hurt, will I get to see you?” A voice calls, and you turn to see a boy⏤ blond, and your heart stutters for a moment, but his shade isn’t ash, it’s golden. He’s grinning cheekily up at you. 

“No flirting in my class.” Your sensei warns. “But yes, seeing as she’s 1A’s healer understudy.” He turns to you. “Recovery Girl’s waiting for you in her office. You know where it is?” 

You nod cheerily. “Sir, yes, sir!” 

“Good.” You turn at the obvious dismissal, shooting a wave at your green-haired friend as you do. 

You leave the classroom with your shoulders set, your chin tilted high, your outfit your armor, and your makeup your helm.

You pretend like you do not feel the crimson glare that seems like it’s trying to pierce through the back of your neck. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Recovery Girl likes you, and you feel as if you are floating for the whole of a day. Not even meeting Bakugou’s gaze the next morning can knock you from it, nor can the grape-haired boy’s leering from across the room. You can’t really dwell on them for long, either, not with the crowd of people aggregating by your desk. You blink up a little, surprised.

It’s not like you’ve made an effort to dress up especially pretty today, and you don’t think you’ve come off as incessantly nice. You are not the you from first grade anymore⏤ you don’t just think yourself pretty, you know you are⏤ but are confident enough in your own skin that you have stopped putting on airs; have allowed yourself to be as cold and sarcastic and dry as you want. Most of your girl-followers⏤ ( the ones you buy with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ have only seen glimpses of you like this, and you can count on one hand the people outside of your parents who know you as you are. 

Sueko, Midoriya, and of course, him. 

You do not dwell on it for long. You are confident in your own skin, and though you would like some more friends, you do not wish to temper yourself to gain them.

You smile a little at the question the purple-haired boy asks, disliking the way his eyes are lingering at your chest. “You’re all welcome to drop by the clinic anytime you like. It’s what we’re here for, after all. Though, if you want a kiss to make you feel better,” 

You pause a little bit for dramatic effect watching the eyes of several boys brighten just a bit.

“You’ll have to go to Recovery Girl.” 

Your straight face is very well-practiced, but you do not hide the small quirk of your mouth as you watch their souls die. 

An arm slings around your shoulder, its pink-skinned, pink-haired owner grinning at you. “I think we’re going to be best friends, you and I.” 

You remember thinking the same thing about a different girl, when you are six-turning seven, and you hear the same genuinity behind it.

( You are clad in your outfit like armor, your makeup a helm. Today, you are exactly as cold and sarcastic and dry as you like, because you are confident in your own skin, and you do not temper yourself in the slightest. )

You smile up at her. “I think I’d like that!” 

Her grin widens, but then, an older Hero walks in⏤ Cementoss, you think. You have made an effort to memorize the roster. “To your seats, everyone.” He calls. 

You take out your notebook, neatly arranging your pens. New year, new you. You don’t have as many shifts at the hospital anymore⏤ you don’t need the experience exactly, as you’re sure UA will look good enough on your resume, but it can’t hurt. Besides, you enjoy working there anyways; the older nurses who help you out with a kind smile, the doctors who are almost always willing to answer a question. But the lessened shifts allow you to breathe, just a little, to settle back into a healthier routine; one no longer so bogged down by your thoughts. 

Math transitions quickly into English. You think you prefer Cementoss’s teaching style just a little, even if Present Mic is more energetic⏤ a little bit too loud for your tastes, you think. The material is basic, seeing as it’s the unofficial first day of class, and though you’ve already pre-studied most of the content, you end up writing most of it down, anyways. 

Lunchtime arrives. You balance your tray on your hands, walking side-by-side with Mina. Midoriya waves at you from his table, surrounded by an assortment of friends, and you nod back. “Let’s sit there!” The pink-haired girl points excitedly at a particular table. 

You see several boys from your class, some more familiar than the rest. A head of ash blonde, crimson eyes that glance up to meet your own. 

“Midoriya wanted me to sit with him today,” You say, a touch apologetic. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?” 

Her eyes widen a bit, and you note the glance, the observance. Her own smile is your mirror, just as apologetic, and just as assertive. “Maybe another time,” She says.

She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. You like that about her. 

You incline your head, eyelid pulling down in a wink. “Do let me know which one you like,” 

She only laughs at you, her answering grin somewhat sly. 

All Might steps into the room after lunch, and though you’ve never been one of his particularly die-hard fans⏤ you think of your sunflowers, how you make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours⏤ you can admit that in person, he stands a legend in real life. You are just a little starstruck, you think, as he smiles at you, and says⏤ “Do try to keep your injuries to a minimum, though not to worry! Our healer team will be here to assist you!” 

You find yourself grinning a little as you respond, “Nothing fatal, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about anyone bringing a dead person back to life.” 

He booms a laugh. “Naturally! You are all Heroes! You should refrain from using lethal power whenever possible!” 

He speaks too soon. The first teams are called up, and the matchup is almost comical. 

Bakugou will be fine. You know this. You are not worried for him in the slightest⏤ not that you would, you tell yourself, a touch sardonically.

No. What you worry for is the state of your Quirkless friend, and you are right to worry. Bakugou seems almost angrier than you’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, considering how good you are⏤ how good you used to be, you correct yourself⏤ at getting on his nerves, though Midoriya seems to be holding up very well. 

Your friend has grown, you think. He is not at all the same person he was over a year ago in that classroom. 

But you are right to worry, because All Might is shouting into his microphone. “Young Bakugou, stop! Are you trying to kill him?” 

No, you think, immediately, instinctively. You know Bakugou is many things, but he is not that. Never that.

You feel the force of that explosion from here. “This is supposed to be a class!” One of your classmates, red-haired and red-eyed, is saying. “You have to stop him!” 

“He knows what he’s doing.” You find yourself saying. Somewhat cold, somewhat callous. There are eyes on you, surprised.

You shrug.

You don’t really know why you say it, either. 

“Young Bakugou, the next time you use that, I’ll stop the fight, and your team will lose. To attack on such a large scale inside is inviting the destruction of the very stronghold you are supposed to be protecting. That is a foolish plan for both heroes and villains, and you will lose a lot of points!” 

You don’t need to look at him to feel his teeth gnash in anger, but you still watch the screen, anyways. 

Their clash is violent. You remember saying, once, that you dislike violence because you are a healer. But that is not entirely true, you think: you see the passion in their every movement, even as your green-haired friend receives the brunt of the beating, the callous elegance of it. The careful calculations, the years of training that you have walked alongside most of to witness. 

“This looks bad!” One of the classmates from before seems to shout. “Sensei!” 

You don’t dislike violence just because you are a healer. What you have always disliked is the senseless brutality of it, the cruelty of its aftermath. Not because you have to deal with it, but because sometimes, you can’t. 

You look to All Might. He seems to be struggling with something. 

“So long as it is not fatal,” Your voice is soft, but no less firm. “I can heal it.” 

His mouth tightens, but you see his decision made in that moment. 

You turn your attention back to the screen just in time to see Midoriya’s Quirk. Your eyes widen. It’s so sudden, so powerful, that you almost miss it; the blast entirely different from Bakugou’s own. So he was not Quirkless after all, you think, but all thought of that vanishes when you see the aftermath. 

All Might is turning for you, but you are already running. 

You see the two you are unfamiliar with first. “How is she?” You ask the blue-haired boy who stands upright. 

“I’m fine!” She gasps out. “Just nauseous! But Deku⏤” 

You hear the nickname, and you think you look a little strangely at her for it. You don’t dwell on it very long, though, because you’re already slipping past. 

Then, you see him, and though your heart stutters a little in your chest⏤ ( your bag, empty of its sunflowers )⏤ you still look him in the eye. You are professional. “Are you hurt?” You ask, because he is standing there, still gaping, a little open-mouthed. 

He turns that look upon you, and his eyes widen. 

The eye contact feels slightly unsettling. You look away first. “Well. If you are, you can let me know.” 

You kneel at the green-haired boy’s side. 

A hand stops you, just as you reach out. They’re a little bit bigger than what you’re used to, a little bit more callused. “Wait,” He says, voice raspy, and you tense a little: both at the familiar and unfamiliar touch, and because it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. “You don’t have to⏤” He scowls, cursing. “Recovery Girl.”

You blink up at him, a little confused. 

But then you see his eyes dart towards your arm, and then the green-haired boy’s, lying prone on the ground. 

“I am a healer. It’s what I do.” 

“That’s not what I⏤” He curses again under his breath. “The damn nerd will be fine. Does he even know about your Quirk?” 

“Why would that even matter?” You are confused, and you shove his arm away. Your friend is still hurt, and he is keeping you from your job. Why do you even care? You want to say.

You bite your tongue, and think: heal. 

Midoriya blinks awake halfway through. Your arm is covered in purple contusions, and he gasps, jerking away. “You⏤ your arm!” 

They fade within seconds. You only reach again for it, feeling the crimson gaze burning into the side of your face, as you’re sure the rest of the class is too, from their camera screens hundreds of meters away. You stare straight ahead, and think, heal, even as your arm ripples in agony again, painted and purple. 

You steal your patient’s pain, and you feel all of it, but you don’t show a thing. Because you are a healer, and that’s what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are a healer, and that’s what you do, but the next day, Aizawa-sensei still admonishes you for it. 

“Your records are very impressive,” He tells you first, and you straighten. You figure: he is likely a man notorious for his lack of praise, so you might as well lap it up while you can. “However, just because you have a very high pain tolerance, does not mean you do not feel pain. Am I correct?” 

“Yes, sensei.” You dip your head. 

“The lot of you hear that, right?” He addresses the rest of the class. “She’s a healer, and she can heal almost anything, save those who are already dead. That’s very impressive, and it’s very rare. Don’t let her become your crutch. She will not always be there, and though she might say she doesn’t mind your burden, others will. Whether it’s yourself, your fellow Pro Heroes, or the civilians you are trying to save.” 

There is murmured assent from the class. 

He turns back to you. “Heroism is also about knowing when to step back and let others handle the situation. It is okay to share your burdens,” He tells you. 

You blink a little, surprised at the comments that are not really criticism at all. “I am a healer,” You state. “It’s what I do.” 

He sighs. “You’re just as stubborn as your mentor,” He says. 

You smile at this, chirping. “Thank you!”

“That was not a compliment.” 

You sink into your chair a little sheepishly, but it’s like a sun has been lit in your chest, because you take it as one anyways, and you are grinning. 

Lunchtime is a little strange today, for more reasons than one. Mina invites you again, but she doesn’t protest your decision, a knowing glint in her eye. But she doesn’t mention a thing, and you are grateful for it. 

Midoriya is sitting with the same people as yesterday, and he beams, delighted, as you slide into the seat beside him. Iida and Uraraka nod at you from across the table, and you nod back. 

Surprisingly, it’s the red-and-white haired boy across from you⏤ Todoroki, who breaks the silence. “My father says he would like to meet you.” 

You blink. That’s certainly not what you were expecting. “Endeavour, right?” 

He nods, his face deadpan. “Please decline.” 

You choke a little bit on the bite of food that has just entered your mouth. Midoriya slides you a napkin. 

You cough around it. “Wow, Todoroki-san. You really dislike me that much?” 

He shoots you a strange look. “Not at all. Why do you ask?” 

You’re a little confused. “Oh, that was a joke.”

“Apologies. I have never been very good with jokes.” 

“Nothing to apologize for, and I was planning on declining, anyways. I’m going to intern under Recovery Girl for the rest of my life!” 

“I will communicate that to him, then.” 

Midoriya coughs lightly from your other side. You elbow him. 

Uraraka giggles, but whatever she is going to say is cut off by the sound of the alarm. There has been a level three security breach, you hear. 

“Trespassing,” You hear someone clarify. 

You stare at the horde of gray-uniformed students crowding the hallway. You have never been a huge fan of crowds, especially ones as tightly-packed as this. Besides, you think, a touch dryly, that if there were an intruder, walking headfirst into a mosh pit like this would probably be the best way to get yourself caught up in a mass murder. 

But you don’t get to voice any of these concerns, because then Uraraka is tugging at your wrist. “If we don’t get ourselves in there now, we’re never going to get our way out! Come on!” 

You fall, weightless, and are carried away upon the sea.

It’s horrible. Internally, you curse the girl, and almost don’t even feel bad about it because yes, she’s like the sweetest person you’ve ever known, but she’s also reason you’re in the midst of a thousand wayward bodies right now, wrinkling your nose at the reek, and practically fighting for your life to keep your head above the throng. You are a healer, you think, a little despairingly, as you elbow someone so harshly that your own limb twinges. You are fighting a desperate battle, but nonetheless a losing one⏤ at least you are, until hands lift you by the waist and carry you forth; your savior cutting his way through the crowd with ease.

Your back hits the wall, and gratitude is on the tip of your tongue as you look up, but then you see him: ash-blond, and glaring at you with crimson eyes. “The hell were you thinking?” He hisses. “You don’t even like crowds.” 

You hate the familiarity in the way he says it, as if he still knows you, and you hate the way he cages you in against the wall, his body larger than you have known, but how it still feels the same, pressed up against yours.

( You think of your sunflowers, how your bag feels strangely empty without them. )

It is the nearest he has been to you in well over a year. You hate the way he smells, like burnt caramel, and you hate the way your cheeks warm. 

You want to say: neither do you, and you want to ask him why he even bothered to try and save you. You know he doesn't like you, not even in the slightest, not this liar who has wormed their way into his world; this liar that he tolerates. You think of a thousand witty remarks, ones that used to make his eyes light, the curl of his scowl somewhat harsh, but no less familiar, of giving voice to your outrage, to your feelings, and simply storming past. 

You choose none of the above. 

You still your features, the picture of calm, set the steel of your shoulders, and stare straight at a point above his shoulder. “Why do you even care?” 

You do not look at him, so you don’t see the way he recoils, ever-slightly. The expression he levels you, half-bewildered, half-disbelieving, the rest a complicated mix of emotions even he could not decipher himself.

You don't see the way he opens his mouth, because then Iida is there and shouting. 

You see your chance, and you don’t wait for his answer. You weren’t expecting one, anyways. 

He doesn’t even have the time to reach for you, before you slip past, and are gone. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You stand before the mouth of USJ, your heart in your throat. 

You barely notice the weight of the device upon your wrist; a monitor that connects you to all the ones distributed amongst the class, because there are villains down there, you think, a little dumbfoundedly. Real villains, like the type you see in movies, and you feel almost ridiculous, out of place, as if someone will smack you upside the head and tell you: wake up! and that you are not in a story. And you are not, because you pinch yourself, and yes, this is real life. 

You have never seen a villain yourself before, because you are a healer, and have only ever dealt with the aftermath of what they have done. You know the damage, the pain, the torture it can inflict upon a soul; the way sometimes, no one can ever fully heal them afterwards, not even you. So though you are a little wide-eyed, your thoughts blank, when the mist wraps around you, you don’t even think. 

You lunge. 

Crimson eyes widen, and he catches you, just one second before you fall into darkness as one. 

You try not to think about the way his body feels against yours, how he is cradling you, the way his hand automatically wraps around the back of your head. You feel the impact in your bones, though he bears the brunt of it. Automatically, you reach up, and think, heal, but you don’t have the time to do much else, because then his eyes widen, and he’s shoving you away. 

“STAY THERE!” Distantly, you think he is roaring at you, and another time, you might have protested that you could defend yourself. But the shock of it all is still settling in⏤ ( these are real villains, you think dazedly, and this is real life )⏤ and you are a healer, right now, you are nothing more than a civilian. 

In the aftermath, you still stand, dazed. Bakugou and another red-haired guy from your class are panting, smoke curling from your familiar ash-blond’s figure, and you register, like the world is separated from you by a film: it’s over. 

“Oi.” There are palms cupping your face, and you blink a little, startled, as crimson eyes boring into yours. “You hurt anywhere?” 

No, you think, a little too stunned to speak; the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentle manner of his touch. But then you see a hint of blood trickling down the side of his cheek.

As if on instinct, you reach out for him. He jerks away.

Wow, you think, the lump rising to your throat instantly. You had not known he hated you this much, to the point that he is unwilling of even your touch. 

“I am a healer,” You say, your throat somewhat tight. ( You think of sunflowers, your bag that is empty, your closet and its piled-up yellow. ) “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.” 

You sense that he is watching you carefully, but your eyes do not rise to meet his gaze. You simply steal his pain, and you barely feel a thing⏤ even if his injuries were not so light, you think you are too numb to, anyways. 

You move past, and he does not reach for you. The red-haired classmate⏤ Kirishima, you recognize, grins at you, saying that he is unharmed. He offers to escort you back to the front, but then, your wristband is beeping, a location upon it.

You straighten. You are still afraid, you recognize, but there is someone out there that needs help, and this is simply another obstacle you must overcome. You will not always be in your hospital, tending to those that manage to get themselves wheeled in⏤ and though there is fear in you, there is also an equal determination. 

“There are people who need healing,” You say, and that is all you need to. 

You are a healer, but that does not mean you are any less brave.

You are a healer, and this is what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You ask Aizawa, two days later, if he would be willing to teach you self defense. 

( You remember a boy, back from what feels like eons ago. You, on his back, the sun in your chest as he offers to walk you both to and from school. You don’t even know where I’m going, you tease, and he only scoffs at you. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.

You think of your sunflowers, and your bag, empty of them.

Your throat tightens, and you make your decision. )

He looks a little surprised, and asks you if you are sure. He warns you that he will not be a lenient teacher, but you have seen how this man dove headfirst into danger to save his students; seen his kindnesses that are masked in the form of tough love. 

You also know he likes you, at least a little bit. If he hadn’t, he would not have complimented you like that on the third day, would not have had the hint of fondness in his tone as he drawled, that wasn’t a compliment. 

And even if he doesn’t, you know he will be at least a little lenient. 

You had been the one to heal him, after all. 

You are wrong.

You hate running. Always have. You started training, years ago, but that had been entirely out of spite, and in the wake of it⏤ ( your bag, empty of sunflowers )⏤ you had stopped. You hate running, always have, and you have no time, you’d told yourself, nor the energy⏤ but really, you hate it because it reminds you of him.

Now, you hate it for a different reason. You hate it because Aizawa pushes you, hard, until your lungs are gasping for air, your knees and legs trembling⏤ you think, somewhat sourly, that none of your healings had ever prepared you for this. You have healed all manner of wounds, cured a variety of diseases, but that does not change the fact even back when you were running, you had not put everything you had into it, and that now, you are trembling, bones soft, muscles even more so, somewhat like a deer.

You heal fast, though, you always have. You would not have been able to heal without it⏤ Aizawa knows this, which is why he pushes you hard. “If you hadn’t been so dedicated to medicine,” He tells you, “I would’ve told you to go the Hero route instead.” 

You shrug. The thought has never occurred to you. Your mother is a doctor, and as soon as your Quirk had developed, you had never thought about anything else. But you don’t get a chance to voice it, or even to thank him, because then he’s hauling you up by the arm.

“Break’s over,” He informs you, a signature shit-eating grin on his face. You think you’re beginning to hate the sight of it. “Back to running.” 

You sigh, before dutifully acquiescing. 

Schoolwork is easier, at least, though between your sparse shifts at the hospital and Aizawa’s daily after-school training, you are pretty much spent. You don’t even register Mina chatting excitedly beside you about the upcoming UA sports festival that Aizawa has just announced⏤ you only think, a little despairingly; more work. 

You glance up at your pink-haired friend’s surprised exclamation, and you see: a crowd of people, so many that from your vantage point, it seems like it’s the intruder incident all over again. A scoff, vaguely familiar⏤ “They’re obviously scoping out the competition, small fries. We’re the group that made it out of the villain attack.” Someone protests, telling him to play nice⏤ no, you think. This is him being nice. “Out of my way, extras!” 

“I came to see what the famous Class 1-A is like, but you all seem pretty arrogant. Are all the students in the Hero courses like this?” 

You see: a head of purple hair, mussed, and you think⏤ wow, he could be Aizawa if your sensei’s hair was shorter, purple, and he were using his Quirk. 

“Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn’t make it into the Hero course. Did you know that?” 

You didn’t, but he only continues. 

“The school has left those of us a chance. And based on the results of the sports festival, they’ll consider our transfer into the Hero course, and vice versa. Scoping out the competition?” He scoffs. “I, at least, came to say that even if you’re in the Hero course, if you get too carried away, I’ll sweep your feet out from under you.” His eyes flash, chin raised high. “Consider it a declaration of war.”

You sigh a little internally at the theatrics. “Excuse me, coming through.” You call. You ignore the way the ash-blond tenses a little as you walk up beside him, and you smile politely at the crowd; your uniform your armor, and your makeup your helm. You can do damage control just fine. “I’m class 1-A’s healer, so I don’t have a bone to pick with you really, but,” You cock your head. “All we did was fight off and survive a villain attack. I’m not sure how that’s arrogance. Have any of us gone out of our way to bother you?” 

You are sure your classmates haven’t, because though you have not known them long, you are observant enough to tell that they are good and entirely dedicated to the path of Heroism. And you are right: he is wordless in the face of your diplomatic tone, the maturity of it all. 

But then⏤ a laugh, somewhat mocking. You think you recognize the voice, and you do: it’s class 1-B’s understudy, standing in the middle of the crowd. You have not talked to her much, thinking her quiet, but it seems that really, she just dislikes you. 

“That’s so rich of you to say,” She says, with a scoff. “Sucking up to Recovery Girl all the time, parading around like you own the place, all because you went viral and people started calling you The Best Healer of our Generation.” 

You blink⏤ you remember Sueko mentioning it once, you think, after one of your co-workers, one of the older interns had started making videos of you, with your consent. You had not put much thought behind it, and you hadn’t the time to, between your many hours and the boneless weariness that had been so constant in your life after.

“Get off your high horse,” She snarls, a vehement finality to it, as she scans you, up, and then down. 

You don’t know what to say, because honestly, you had never thought of yourself that way; had not thought of any others thinking of you that way. There are cries of outrage from behind you, you hear, distantly, as if you are underwater, but you are still stuck on the way she scans you. As if you are less than what you are, reduced to the painted trim of your nails, the makeup on your face, less than what you are and undeserving. As if it does not matter that you go to the hospital more often than not, your features clear, your hair pulled up, and lose yourself in your work; the agony of your patients, healing them and then some more until your bones ache with the ghost of their pain and you drop dead to your pillow, your phone turned off. 

You are silent not because you are hurt, exactly⏤ you do not know this girl, and she does not know you⏤ but because you are so stunned. You don’t know what to say, because you have never thought yourself reduced to just this, less than what you are and undeserving. Distantly, you hear the cries of outrage, you feel yourself, adrift amidst an ocean, your hands clenching. You don’t know how to start, or what to even say.

But he does. 

“She doesn’t use social media,” He starts, and yes, you don’t, but how does he know? “It obviously wasn’t even her recording the videos, you fuckwit, and it says in the account biography that it’s owned and run by a friend.” 

You are staring at him, your heart held like hope in your throat. ( You think of your sunflowers. ) You don’t understand why he is saying this, why he is stepping in for you. ( You remember making fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You remember finding that you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He never calls himself your friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

He does not look at you, nor does he pause, and though there is anger in his voice, you think he is holding himself back. “High horse?” He laughs sardonically. “Get off yours. She’s already ten times the healer, hell, the Hero, you’ll ever be.” 

( He doesn’t call himself your friend, but he still stands up for you. )

You don’t know what sort of expression you’re making, but it has to be ugly, something complicated, not exactly bewilderment nor gratitude or simply hope but some combination of them all; like something in between. 

“And what would you know? What are you, her guard dog?” She snarks back. 

And finally, you find your voice. 

“He does what he likes.” 

You are still watching him, and you see the way his hands clench, and then unclench. 

( You think very briefly of your sunflowers, and you think that you will always miss them. You can heal any wound on this earth, save the fatal ones, but you cannot heal the hole he has carved into your heart; not the one from this boy who knows you, every facet, both the good and the bad. You have never needed to hide the unsavory parts of yourself from him; after all, your very relationship was built upon a lie. You think a part of you has always loved him for it, will always love him for it⏤ this boy who is not your friend, has never been your friend, but still knows you, stands up for you, and believes in you, in all of you. And, you think, even if he does not care for you, there will always be a part of you that always cares for him. )

You turn to level her with a cool stare. 

“He’s right,” You say. “I don’t use social media, and before you call me a liar, just listen.” You add, as her mouth opens. 

( Your mother is a doctor, and when your Quirk develops, you know you want to go the same route. You have never even considered anything else; never even thought of being a Hero, until your sensei tells you that he might’ve pushed you for it, had you not already been so dedicated to the path.

And you will not pretend like you have been good every step of the way⏤ you are not that much of a good person. Your mother tells you to play nice, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. You are not that much of a good person, you have never particularly cared to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are grown now, better now, you know, but some elements of you still remain. You still wear your outfits like your armor, though it is not your hair but your makeup that is now your helm, you take time with your appearance and you take care of it every morning. Your volunteering at the hospital was not born entirely out of unselfish intention⏤ firstly because your mother said it was what you should do, and second because you thought the experience would look good, especially since you were applying to UA. But⏤ )

“I don’t know why you applied to UA, but I know why I did.” You say, simply. “It was because I wanted to become a healer, and this is one of the best places in the world to do it.” You straighten, jerking a finger at the ash-blond beside you. “We all went through the same application process. Take him, for example. He’s arrogant, he’s loud, and he always gets on your nerves. But that doesn’t make him any less passionate, or any less of a Hero. It doesn’t matter, because if you’re determined enough, strong enough, you’ll eventually rise to the top.”

You are the center of attention, but you have never been so aware of a singular set of eyes, burning straight into you.

You continue. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want to be, but that goes for the rest of you, too.” You jerk your thumb back to your classroom. “There’s a green-haired boy in there that everyone thought was Quirkless, including himself. But he had a dream that he dared to try for, and look where he is now.” 

You look at your fellow intern, the class 1-B one. 

“I don’t use social media for a variety of reasons, haven’t for a long while, and I won’t pretend like all of them were good. But ever since I started volunteering at the hospital, whenever I think about it, I think: every second I spend scrolling the internet could be another life lost. Someone I didn’t save, something I didn’t learn that could’ve helped someone in the future.” Your shoulders are set, and you lift your chin high. “You can think I’m a liar all you want, but I would hope, as a healer, you would be at least able to understand this.” 

She is mute, and you look at the rest of the crowd, wearing your outfit like armor, your makeup, your helm. 

You raise one eyebrow. “Anything else?” 

Silence is your only answer, and you shrug.

“See you around, I guess.”

The crowd parts mutely before you, but then your wrist is clasped in a hand⏤ you think, very briefly, of sunflowers, but then you turn, and it is Mina grinning up at you, several others from your class in tow. “You’re so fucking cool,” She tells you, bright and genuine. 

You are not that much of a good person, never have been, and, you think, you are not entirely sure if you ever will be. You will never be entirely unselfish, free of your precociousness, your pettiness, your occasional lying habits, and all the other thousand-and-one flaws you could find in yourself, if you really tried. 

But you are growing. You are the same you that you were before, and you are also different. 

You grin at her. “I know I am,” You say. 

You are not that much of a good person, but you are growing, just as much the person you were before, as you are someone new.

You are a healer, you are yourself; this is who you are, and this is what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

His mother calls him out on his sulking, barely a week in.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She frowns, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“S’fine,” He snarls. “Keep your damn nose out of my business, old hag.” 

For once, his mother does not take him up on the challenge⏤ he almost wishes she would. He’s been itching for a fight, to get it out of his system somehow, but she’s always been able to read him⏤ just like you.

Mitsuki waves the phone in her hand. “Her father said she won’t be joining us for weekly dinners anymore⏤ she’s started volunteering at the hospital, and just won’t have time.” She states, plainly, and without judgment. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if you’re still friends, but you were probably a little shit like usual, so get off your ass and go apologize.” 

Apologize. That damned word. He hates it. And he’s considered it, but then he remembers: you, your face, the way it had crumpled, and then the way you’d sneered, don’t talk to me again.

He has always been able to tell your lies from your truths, and it stunned him in the moment, because it had not seemed like so much of a lie. 

And it’s not. He sees the truth of it, a week later, when you skip out on your weekly dinners, accept your volunteer position, and cut the whole of him from your life, just like that. He sees the truth of it, on the first day of school, as he waits by your intersection and is almost late because you aren’t there, as he scans his class for your face and finds you absent, when you pass him in the halls and don’t even bother to look up. He sees the truth of it two months later, when that damned nerd stands at your table, a tray in his hands, and you allow him to sit. His heart is in his throat, clenching around something painful, there is smoke rising from his hands⏤ Deku looks up instinctively, flinching, and you do not even bother to turn. 

( You and your sunflowers, the way you smile like the sun when you find out he is allergic, and go out of your way to plaster sunflower-themed things all over yourself, and he’s not quite sure if they are your favorite flower, or you do it just because you hate him. But then he gets to know you, slowly and over the years, a thousand-and-one forced interactions until he finds, one day, that he is not reacting so sharply to your barbs, uncaring that you flop onto his bed and muss up the sheets, unminding of your chatter, your studious, stupidly competitive nature, the way your eyebrows knit a little when you focus on a more difficult concept, or how you’re grinning as you annoy him, rambling about anything and everything; your fictional crushes.

You say you want to be a healer, and the first thing he thinks is: that’s stupid, why not a Hero?⏤ but your eyes are determined as you say it, there is a fire in them, and he sees that bleed into the way you do things; the way you act. You never call him your friend⏤ you have, once, very clearly a lie⏤ but he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, promises to walk you to and from school, even if he does not know which one you might go to, promises to teach you how to fight. It’s stupid, he knows it is, the way he tenses when you joke that you want him to kiss you so bad because he’s imagining it. And then the guilt after, when you press your cheek softly into the curve of his nape, feeling the dried-out tracks of your tears, the way you shudder as you steal his pain⏤ barely-there, but he feels it, anyway. )

He looks at you, properly, fork crumpling in his hand. “Yo. You’re staring.” One of his friends nudges him, gently, and he forces himself to look away. 

( You, the sunflowers you bedazzle yourself in, your bag absent of them, and the way you never wear anything yellow ever again. )

He’s angry at you, at first. It’s unfair, he thinks, the way you seem to carve him completely out of your life, with all the practiced precision of a surgeon, that he spends almost all his time thinking about you, and that you do not do the same for him. You don’t want to talk to him, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and that’s fine⏤ he has his pride, and he is not going to beg you to stay. Not when you chose the nerd over him. 

But then you stand in the doorway. You look like you did the first day, clear-eyed, but older. Your eyes widen when they catch sight of him, ever-slight, but he’s never missed a single expression on your face, and he does not miss it now. All of a sudden, he wants to talk to you so badly that it hurts⏤ he sees the bags under your eyes and wants to tell you to sleep, the bone-weariness with which you carry yourself, your step absent of skip. 

But then, your gaze drops. He sees your bag, absent of its sunflowers. 

He feels as if his gut were a stone, heavy and damning. 

He remembers: you have never once thought of him as a friend, and he will not beg you to. He will respect your space, your wishes. 

And yet. You stand by the entrance, the day of that first class, fierce and silhouetted by the sun. Are you hurt? You ask him, and it feels as if he were floating, stuck in a dream.

He takes too long to respond, and you give him a once-over, clearly discerning he is fine. You kneel by the damn nerd’s side, and he feels the absence of your attention like a physical thing, but even that is secondary to the horror he feels when you reach the other boy; his arm painfully bruised and almost a terror to look at. 

He wants to say: you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to hurt yourself. There are other healers in the building, and don’t you have a mentor? You raved about Recovery Girl all the time, there’s no reason you should be taking his pain for yourself. And the nerd will be fine⏤ anger clenches at him, then, because if the nerd knows about your Quirk and still allows you to hurt yourself for him⏤ “Why does that even matter?” You ask him, and he hears the ghost of what you don’t say: why do you even care?

He does. Of course he does. He always has, even when you giggle to yourself about something so blatantly stupid, even when you are an entire pain in his ass. 

But then he thinks of you, your bag empty of sunflowers, the way you have not worn yellow since. 

His arm drops back to his side, and he says nothing more to you, just as you’d like. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You have always disliked crowds, but so has he. 

He is watching you when it happens, sees you lingering hesitantly by the exit. You’ll be smart about it, he’s sure⏤ he’s hotheaded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or blind. But then⏤ brown-haired cheeks tugs you by the wrist, forcing you into the throng, and he thinks: what the fuck? 

He knows it’s stupid, and that you won’t thank him for it, but he dives after you, anyway. 

He forces his way towards you, watching as you elbow someone particularly hard with a surge of pride, before he’s holding you and marching away, towards the wall, towards free space, trying not to think about how you feel in his arms, how you feel with the whole of you pressed against him. He needs to say something, anything to distract himself, so what he says is: “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t even like crowds.” 

Your cheeks are a little flushed, and you are staring at him. He feels his own warm in turn, and he feels like a kid again, heart like a sun in his chest. 

Your features still. Your mouth flattens, and you are cold as you say what you did not only a day before. “Why do you even care?” You ask.

He does. Of course he does. 

But you do not ask this question in hopes of an answer. Your gaze slides past, and then you go with it, refusing to give him even the time to reach for you. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When the mist envelops him, the first thing he turns towards is you. 

His eyes widen⏤ you are already in the air, lunging at him, and he barely has the mind, the presence of thought to catch you. You fall as one, and his gut lurches⏤ he wraps himself around you, shielding your vitals, your head from harm, and gladly takes the brunt of the impact. He has all of a second to check up on you, to feel you pressed against him, know that you are safe, before he catches sight of more villains behind. “STAY THERE.” He shoves you into a corner, setting his back to you⏤ and when they are done, you have not moved an inch.

He sees the daze of your eyes, the shock, and cups your cheeks anyways, trying to ground you. “Oi,” He says, harsh, but also soft. “You hurt anywhere?” 

You blink up at him, and then at the red he barely feels sliding down the side of his cheek. 

He jerks away. He doesn’t want you to touch him, not to heal him⏤ he’s strong, he’s fine, he can deal with it, he doesn’t need you to steal his pain. Not when it’ll hurt you. 

“I am a healer,” You say, and his heart clenches again at the sound of your voice, and again when you tell him: “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.” 

He hears the steel in your voice, lets you touch him.

He would give anything to curl into your touch, even if for the rest of your life, your relationship is just like this: he, the dog, and your favors, the bone. He wants it, so long as you will keep on touching him like this, and yet he also doesn’t want it, because he cannot bear to be the one causing you such pain. 

He is angry beyond words when the extra starts laying into you like she does, and you simply stand there, bearing the brunt of it all. 

He’s watched the videos, seen every single one. Seen how hard you work inside of them⏤ the comments talk about how beautiful you are, but all he can think of is the tired pallor of your face⏤ but what’s more is that he knows how hard you work outside, too, and who is this girl to even talk about you like that, when she doesn’t know what it’s like to take the pain of another, and make it into your own? His tone of delivery is quiet, no less than lethal, and he speaks with every ounce of pride he has in you and the person that you are. 

You are watching him, he thinks, and he thinks, somewhat dizzily, that this is it. You’ll chew him out in front of the crowd, call him out on his bullshit, tell him to stop speaking about you, speaking for you, that you hate him, that he’s stupid, anything and everything of the above. 

But you do not.

You only rise, and he thinks that you are not at all the girl he has known before. Some parts of you are the same, entirely unchanged, but you have grown⏤ so much that it takes his breath away. You have always been coolly elegant in your deliveries when you mean it, but this⏤

He thinks: it is okay if you never want to talk to him, if you don’t care one bit. It is okay if you choose never to wear yellow again, your bag remaining empty of its sunflowers, it is okay if you carve him entirely from your life. 

He will respect your wishes, and watch from the sidelines, basking in the radiance of you: the healer, the girl, and simply everything that you are. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You should not be here. 

You feel terribly out of place in this darkened room, with a crowd of familiar villains before you, disoriented and groggy. 

If it were not for the ash-blond by your side, you think you might’ve started hyperventilating. You are quiet as you wake. You notice: his hands are bound, but yours are not⏤ they know you are a healer, you think, and they do not fear you. 

You feel, rather than see, crimson eyes slide to yours. You blink up at him. 

And then, his eyes flicker up.

You see the resolve set firmly onto his face. You know him, likely more than he does himself, which is why you know what he will say. 

He says: “I’ll listen. I’ll consider working with you, so long as you make sure to leave her out of it.” 

No. The word clangs into you with a force, a viciousness. You jolt upwards, so fast your head spins⏤ no. You know he won’t. He is a Hero to the core, and you know this, because you have decided early on that you will remain a step behind him always, even if he does not care at all for you, there and ready to steal away your pain. You have decided: you will see him live out all of his days, full of glory and entirely unscathed, victorious, and you will not watch him burn his life away like this, tucked away in a corner of this world, quietly and without a sound. 

He lies to protect you, and you decide there and then that it isn’t worth it. You know him, have spent a thousand and one days getting to know him, just as you know that his bluff will be called before long, because though Bakugou Katsuki is many things, you have always known him to be a terrible liar. 

You aren’t, though.

You straighten, and rasp. “No, he won’t.” 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He watches you straighten, watches you drawl, and he feels a terror like ice creeping up to his throat.

Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, soft and lovely under the candlelight, but then⏤ “Katsuki’s going to be a Hero,” You tell them, and his heart stutters because when was the last time you actually called him by his name? 

“Shut the fuck up,” He tells you.

You ignore him.

“Trust me when I say, this guy’s like, the biggest All Might fan you’ll ever see. Well, actually, maybe not the biggest⏤ Midoriya’s collection is insanely impressive, but you get the point. Did you really see his actions at the Sports Festival and think that was your opening?” 

You stand, a smirk on your face, and he wants to tell you to shut the hell up again, to just stop talking, but⏤ you turn, you flash him a grin, and it’s like he’s six again and seeing you for the first time. You see him, in a way no one else ever has, in a way that assuages all the criticism he’s seen since, narrowing his world down to these things: you, and your unwavering confidence in him. Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, you are scared and terrified and pretty much everything in between, but he hears your words, hears your truth.

“Newsflash, losers. He’s wanted to be a Hero ever since he was a kid, and nothing’s ever going to change that.” 

His heart swells so tight he thinks it’s going to burst. You, in this moment, like you still care, that he’s not alone in this, and that he cares for you more than anything else in the world, loves you more than you will ever know. 

You do not need to say anything else, because there is a knock on the door⏤ pizza delivery, someone calls, and then the door opens; All Might in the flesh. The heroes⏤ and then you are scrambling for him, your fingers fumbling with the knots, but he simply jerks his hands apart, tearing the fabric, and reaches for yours. 

You still a little, surprised, flinching back a bit, but his heart is singing⏤ you care, he thinks, somewhat dumbly, like a mantra bouncing around inside his head. He barely registers the rest of it⏤ he emerges by the ruins of a building, your hand still in his, piloting the both of you around the villains who try to keep you. Shitty Hair, calling down at him from the fucking sky⏤ what the fuck? but then he’s calling for you, and then there is you: looping your arms around his neck, knowing, instinctively, what he means.

His chest warms like the sun, ethereal and glorious. 

You blast together into the night. His hand lands upon another one, similarly callused, and then he’s curling his other around you, latching you to him. Your head is settled in the crook of his neck, and you don’t protest it in the slightest, only untangling yourself once you land.

You don’t reach for his hand once you do, but that’s okay. His heart is singing. 

He snarls at the others in his usual manner, and you assert yourself with your own. He follows you as you walk, a step behind. The others leave you at the police station, their own parents plenty concerned, and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest⏤ he gets to walk you home, after all. 

You are silent as he does. He walks a step behind, and does not prod you. 

You stop. He does, too. Your hands ball up into fists. He watches, waiting. 

Finally, you whisper. “Why the hell’d you do it?” 

That is not at all what he’s expecting you to say.

“Hah?” He’s never been good with his words, always more combative than means. Particularly with you. Especially with you. “Cause I wanted to, dumbass. The hell do you want me to say?” 

You whip around and slug him instantly, punching him square in the gut. 

He barely bends from the force of it. You clutch your fist, teary and glaring. 

“Fuck you,” You hiss. “Fuck you, Katsuki. You don’t just get to pretend like you care when you want to, whenever it suits you! You don’t get to⏤” 

He’s stunned into silence. He’s the one that’s pretending like he cares about you?

Your mouth opens and closes, so angry that you cannot quite find the words. “You don’t get to just fucking try and sacrifice yourself for me! What the fuck!” 

He steps closer, disbelief lighting a second sun in his chest.

You lash out. “Stay away from me!” 

He catches it in his hand, and you try to fucking headbutt him. He dodges that, too, and then he’s pulling you into him, as tight as his heart feels.

You stiffen. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s figured out how you really feel. 

“I’m sorry,” He rasps into your ear. “I care for you. I’ve liked you since we were fucking six, and you shoved your stupid fucking sunflowers in my face. I was angry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll have me.” 

You do not move. Do not breathe, and for all of a second, he thinks: this is it. 

And then, you crumple. 

He can count the number of times he’s seen you cry on one hand, but you weep into his shoulder now, a year’s worth of repressed emotions wrung out of you in an instant. You melt into him so perfectly he feels as if he was made for you, the weight of you so perfect and familiar in his arms. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He thinks you are saying though it’s somewhat unintelligible, between your sobs and the way your voice is muffled from being pressed into his chest. 

He chuffs in your ear. “Feel free to add blind and ugly to the list, if you’d like.” 

You laugh, broken and teary, but then your arms rise, and you are wrapping them around him.

He thinks: it’s okay if the world ends right then and there, so long as he gets to hold you; just like this; just then and there; just for a moment longer. 

( He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How your face had lit up in absolute delight at the sound of his first sneeze, and how you’d stepped forward to thrust it further into his face, a wicked grin on yours all the while. How you lie your way into weekly dinners, and he’s furious, swearing he won’t talk to his parents for the whole of a month⏤ but then you’re there, in his room and making fun of his figurines.

You say, somewhat disinterestedly, that you think you remember a new All Might one on the market. He caves, and his vow lasts only a week. 

He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How he had always hated the sight of them before you; a young god faced with his one mortal weakness, but as time went on, he learned how he did not quite mind the look of them on you. He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile; soft and lovely under the candlelight, scared and shaking and terrified but still believing wholly in him, just as he does you. 

He thinks he has loved you since forever. )

Absent-mindedly, he presses his mouth to your hair.

And in the light of the dawn, pink-streaked and painting you awash in sunflower yellow, you look up at him, and smile. 

bc i need to rant about this fic: afterword

[annieboop]

this really blew up omggg 😭 i was so scared of posting this back then because there weren’t any kny / demon slayer smaus JWHDKDN thank uuu for all the love and support on this post!

[%] 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐒 „ 𝘬𝘯𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 !

PAIRINGS. sabito x reader , muichiro x reader , obanai x reader , giyuu x reader , sanemi x reader , rengoku x reader

GENRE. modern!au / roommate!au

[annieboop]

[ 10:08 PM ] — megumi chuckled as he watched the movie with you. the film itself isn't as interesting as the man beside you, his reactions are amusing, making your heart skip a beat every time his face changes expressions.

something about him being so laidback, open like a book for you to read, and vulnerable at this moment made you sigh in content. you couldn't help but feel glad that he'd chose to let his guard down around you, megumi's so calm and he looks like his age whenever he breaks out a smile.

it was so serene and boyish in all his nature. head leaning on the couch, his arm lazily resting atop your shoulders, legs lifted on the coffee table. with your head against his chest, you can hear the soft rhythm of his heartbeat as he relaxed, your head suddenly lifting and jostled whenever he lets out a laugh or react to the movie.

after a while, he noticed you weren't as invested on the film as he was but rather, you're distracted by something – or someone – else.

“i know we haven't seen each other for weeks but do you really have to stare at me?” megumi scoffed, flicking your ear.

grumbling, you glared up at him and stuck your tongue out.

“what, i can't miss you now?” you feigned shock, putting a hand on your chest, “and here i am thinking that you missed me, too.”

“it was only 12 days, you're so dramatic.” he rolled his eyes but you don't miss the faint smile on his lips. he continued to watch the movie as he adjusted his hold on you, his hand now rubbing up and down on your arm soothingly.

“felt like forever to me,” you muttered with a pout on your lips.

megumi's eyes immediately landed on your pout and before you knew it, his lips slotted themselves to yours for a brief moment before he pulled away.

“that was it? again!” you kicked the ground with your bare foot like a child.

“you're so needy.” he clicked his tongue in mock annoyance.

but he leaned down again to kiss you, your hands holding his face in place as you deepened the kiss.

megumi found himself sighing in relief. this feeling alone, you holding him, your lips against his, chest to chest as you felt each other's heart beat at the same time. this is something he'd love to go home to every day.

pulling away after what seemed like hours, he pressed his forehead against yours, noses brushing.

megumi is so serene and boyish in all his nature. his eyes filled with nothing but adoration for you, a grin splitting his lips as you both chuckled at nothing and everything all at once, his heart open for you to see and take. your breath hitched at the glowing signs of love in him, and you never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands like you did in that moment.

[annieboop]

— surprising them with a kiss !

˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ characters ! tanjiro k., inosuke h., zenitsu a., tomioka g., kyojuro r., and sanemi s.

˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ genre ! fluff, slight angst on giyuu's part.

˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ notes ! kimetsu no yaiba has a vise grip on my life rn and i just wanna give them love <3 ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ i got a little carried away, these became like little fics omg

･ﾟ✧*: tanjiro kamado couldn't be any more perfect. he's thoughtful, kind, caring, and sometimes a doting partner. you figured that's how he showed his love, by making sure you look and feel good every time you both step in and out of your home.

yet sometimes it can take him literal hours when he's fussing on you, making sure you have brought the right equipment, that you didn't miss any meeting or appointment, making sure you eat complete meals every day, reminding you to sleep at a reasonable time and always there in case you needed help with a kind smile on his face.

you both just got home after a mission and are still recovering from your wounds from the previous battle.

tanjiro was like a whirlwind — zooming in and out of rooms, getting medicine, and the necessary materials to dress your wounds while he's still roughed up himself.

“honey, maybe you could—” you were cut off by his two hands cupping your face, turning it this way and that.

“we need to clean your wounds first, don't want them getting infected, right?” he smiled gently before hurling off to who-knows-where.

“please, honey, just listen to me for a bit?”

“oh, i found the gauze!” you huffed as he completely ignored you, limping his way back to where you're sitting on the bed.

“now where were we? oh, your head wound!”

as he was leaning in to clean your wound, you grabbed his hand and zeroed in on his lips, kissing him deeply as you felt his breath hitch.

he blinked a few times as you pulled away, a satisfied smirk on your face when you saw his blushing and surprised expression.

“i'm fine, tanjiro. just let me take care of you for now, okay?”

･ﾟ✧*: inosuke hashibira was looking extra fine that day and you just couldn't help how pretty he looked. sensing your stares, he turned his head to you with a scowl on his face but it only made him look prettier in your opinion.

“what are you looking at?” he muttered.

“nothing.” you replied.

he let it pass this time, turning back to whatever he was doing but he can still feel you boring holes at the back of his head.

he doesn't mind you staring as he knew he's great and all. after all, he is the king of the mountain, the lord inosuke, so of course you'd stare in awe.

but this is getting out of hand even for him.

“will you quit it?!” he growled, his frown deepening.

his eye twitched when you only laughed out loud because of his reaction.

oh, so you were making fun of him!

“let me tell you something, y/n! a lowly creature like you don't get to make fun of lord inosuke!” he fumed through gritted teeth.

“what? nooo, no, i'm not making fun of you, inosuke!” you immediately tried to console him.

“then why the hell are you staring, huh?!”

instead of answering, you figured you'd just show him and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

“W-WHAT WAS THAT FOR?! ARE YOU CHALLENGING ME?” he raged, standing up and pointing a finger at you, his boar mask pulled down over his face so you couldn't see him blushing.

“i just think you look so kissable today, silly.”

･ﾟ✧*: zenitsu agatsuma has been whining since you step foot in the forest. he kept saying how there must be scarier beasts lurking in the dark waiting to eat you both other than demons and that he'd rather get eaten by demons than a wild bear, no wait – he'd rather just fight a demon than get eaten by a wild bear.

honestly, you paid no mind to his usual ramblings as he cried out, a steady stream of tears pouring down his face. he gets into his own head every time he lets his anxieties and overthinking get the best of him.

good thing you were paired up with him for this mission as you have just the thing to do in these kinds of situations. shaking your head at him fondly, you leaned in and kissed his lips.

“don't worry, we'll kick their butts: wild beast or demon. you're gonna do great, ‘nitsu!” you intertwined your hands in his as you smiled at him.

zenitsu froze for a hot minute before he regained his composure, more confident and braver than before.

how in the world did he have such a kind, comforting, beautiful and supportive lover like you?! surely, the gods have blessed him with such luck to even have you gracing his life. he wants you to marry him already.

“that's what i'm talking about, y/n-chan! we're going to defeat ALL the demons! you're giving me more kisses after, right?”

･ﾟ✧*: tomioka giyuu can't help but let his thoughts spiral down again. his mood was getting worse lately and he wonders why someone like you even likes to be around someone like him? surely, there are people who you would rather spend your time with? someone much more interesting, someone who doesn't have trouble voicing their feelings to you, someone who won't let their negative thoughts consume them on a daily basis.

a pout formed on your lips as you gazed at giyuu who's lost in thought, a frown on his face and a sad, faraway look on his eyes. he's been like this lately — you know something is troubling him and you're patient enough to wait for him to come to you. but this has got to stop. you want to see your beautiful boy smile again.

so, without moving so much as not to startle your boyfriend, you cupped his cheek with your other hand while the other moved his fringe and placed a tender kiss upon his forehead.

that surely caught his attention as you saw his eyes snap up to you, his face blooming with a blush as his features softened — the barest of smiles ghosting his lips.

“you're wonderful and i love you. nobody else, okay? i'll be here when you're ready.” you rested your lips on his temple as you hugged him close. you felt him wrap his arms around you, burying his face on the crook of your head.

“thank you, my love.”

･ﾟ✧*: rengoku kyojuro laughed boisterously as he took you down for the tenth time that day as you sparred. this has been a daily occurence between you two, and in a way, has been one of the things you bond over with.

you get to spend time with each other while also helping each other train, getting better both physically and mentally. plus, kyojuro gives helpful feedback and he's like your personal trainer.

except, you just can't win against him. you've done every trick in the book and there's just no outsmarting this guy. if you didn't love him, you'd surely be fuming right now.

“aw, what's the matter, y/n? getting tired?” he genuinely asked with a huge smile on his face, although there's a hint of teasing in there that you noted.

standing up again, you grabbed your wooden sword and went into a fighting stance.

“no, just trying to figure out how i'll beat you.” you shrugged nonchalantly earning a chuckle from kyojuro.

“i'm sure you'd do splendidly, sweetheart. don't think too hard on it, though!”

you lunged, pretending to attack him once again, but you caught him off-guard as you kissed him deeply on his lips. it lasted for a few seconds, enough for you to disarm him and pin him to the floor.

you pulled away with a winning grin, kyojuro looking up at you with hearts in his eyes.

“i win!”

･ﾟ✧*: sanemi shinazugawa liked to hold you tight while sleeping. the sun just came up and you woke before him, stretching your limbs as best you could without hitting your lover. turning your head, you're met with his handsome face, devoid of any creases between his eyebrows, not a scowl on his lips, and his usual raging eyes closed and wandering in dream land.

you chuckled softly, helplessly in love with the man in front you and thinking about how different he looks while sleeping than when he's awake.

your eyes traced his features; his soft snowy hair, his long eyelashes, his broad chest — okay, you've been staring for too long.

scooting closer, you felt his arm draped on your waist pull you against him as he groaned in his sleep. you bit back a smile, squealing internally from how adorable he can be.

as much as you would love to stay in his arms and stare at his beautiful face, you still have responsibilities that need tending to, and so was he.

“sanemi,” you called softly.

nothing.

“neeemi!” you called out to him again, a hand coming up to play with his locks.

“nemi, wake up, baby.” you chuckled, booping his nose, causing it scrunch up. he only groaned as both his arms tightened on you — clearly a sign that he's already awake.

“come on, nemi. we have to get up!”

“shut up, don't want to.” he grumbled, slurring on his words as drowsiness gripped him.

you gently placed a kiss on the bridge of his nose, right where his scar is as you hummed.

sanemi's eyes immediately opened, his heart pounding and he's sure you can feel it. he avoided your gaze as the tips of his ears, cheeks and nose reddened.

“there you are! good morning, nemi.” you laughed, kissing his cheek.

“yeah, yeah. good morning to you, too. now do that again.”

[annieboop]

BEAT THE DRUM

— in which college!peh-yan admires your rhythm in the form of his heartbeat.

genre. fluff.

contains. fem!reader, profanities, suggestive at the end, possibly ooc and bad grammar.

word count. 1.6k.

note. i enjoyed writing this one bcos this kind of events back in college is truly the best stuff for me. i also think i went overboard lmao. i hope you enjoy!

requested.

You entered the main gate of the massive sports arena and the overcrowded space full of excited students from various universities irked you. All the chatter and loitering, instead of placing themselves right on their designated seats, made you grumble underneath your breath and a visible angry vein to pop on your forehead.

You scanned your eyes around the open area to look for your crew when a familiar voice called your name. You saw your closest friend and the rest of your team huddled in one spot — few were sitting down on a bench, certainly judging the passersby with the way their eyes followed anyone who looked worthy enough to gossip about, while some were warming up their limbs in an attempt to ease out their nervousness.

Nonetheless, the brightness in their eyes relieved your own discomfort and you briskly walked towards them. But the duffel bag on your shoulder containing your own outfit unexpectedly hooked into someone leading you to lose your footing and their arms to wrap around you before you fall face flat on the ground.

Keep reading

[annieboop]

12:16 AM 🖇️ ran haitani x fem!reader

— themes. fluff, bartender ran 🤸, very short

the smell of expensive wine and smoke lingers in the chilly air. the bar was now almost empty with only you and the handsome bartender behind the counter occupying the now-closed place.

ran, looking dashing in his lilac-purple suit, diligently tended to the few remaining wine glasses; wiping the stains with a clean white cloth before safely storing them away to their rightful places. with your chin on one hand, arms propped against the cool surface of the wooden table, you continued to admire the way his eyes would squint ever so slightly. shadows casted over his eyes due to the dim lights above him, but you could still see them as clear as day.

your breath was caught up in your throat when he places his things down, his heels rotating a ninety degrees and his body following suit until he's facing you directly. a coy smile prances on his lips and you swore you heard angels singing and saw flowers blooming around his handsome face. your heart raced dangerously fast when he took slow strides towards you, faint clicks reaching your ears as the soles of his shoes meets the tiled floor. you returned his smile nonetheless, ignoring the giddiness that washes over you, as well as the persistent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach.

"two years," you said in a breathy whisper when he leans against the counter righr across from you, his face nearing yours but you don't dare move away. ran moved to prop his elbows on top of the counter, copying your pose and pressed his chin on tha palm of his hand. "we've been together for two years yet i still can't get used to seeing you in a suit." you could smell the tiniest bits of alcohol that he had consumed when his breath fanned your cheeks that you were sure to be painted with a rosy hue.

ran chuckles, eyes half-lidded as he stares at you with nothing but affection swimming in the purple pools of his irises. his eyes shone underneath the dim lights of the bar, and his relaxed smile stretches into something that resembels fondness when you felt on of his hands had come up to paly with a strand of your hair. "two years and i still can't help but be captivated myself evertime i look at you." he responds, bringing a strand of your hair to his lips to give it a kiss.

you could feel the warmth rapidly spreading across your chest and your heart loudly beats his name in a rhythmic manner that you sure do hoped he wouldn't hear. "you look too stunning ran," you breathed from your nose. you noticed that one of his eyebrows were lifted to a question gaze and you sighed dreamily. "i hate that other ladies get to gawk at you so openly even when i'm around. can't you just be ugly for once?"

"you know i can't do that. more ladies means more income." he replies in a matter-of-fact tone that made you purse your lips to form a pout. ran merely chuckles, caressing the locks of your hair that he was still holding. "and besides, i only have my eyes set on you."

© sen (haruchyio). all rights reserved. no work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without my permission.

[annieboop]

AFTER MATCH

— ran haitani x reader

"you should've saw it, it was like karma, sanzu ended his phrase and ran beated him" rindou laughed as he threw himself on the couch, and groaned as his wounds received the impact. he and his brother were so fucked up, you couldn't believe they were standing up and laughing if you hadn't seen with your own eyes.

"he was like 'no matter how strong you are, it's easier with an weapon' and pow!! my weapon reaching his face" ran laughed too but made a pout as the bruises on his face hurted by his movements.

you listened their words, smiling about how excited they were even though they were full of pain. they didn't care about that, they were happy to know that the guys they beated were worse than them.

rindou was holding an ice pack against his face while waiting for you to finish taking care of his brother. both of them were good friends of yours and the fact that you took classes of nursing was a magnet for them, it makes they come to your house after any fight.

even if they weren't too bad, ran dragged his brother to your house just to see you, just to ramble about how he triumphed above the other gangs. their gang lost this time, but he is happy to get to see you again. he loves that you first check if they aren't too hurt so you can scold about how irresponsible they are, you would punch their arms and slap their heads. but if it was serious, you'd look at them worried and treat every little bruise, then bake a special cake just for them, just to make sure they would eat properly.

the sound of the kettle whistling made it way across the whole house, whenever the Haitanis came to your place, you'd make their favorite tea, it was routine. "wait here, i'll be right back" you patted softly ran's head and went to the kitchen before all the water evaporates.

"rin, i'm gonna be honest, i won't die until i marry them" the eldest confessed to his brother with a hopeless romantic face, rindou laughed at how pathetic ran seemed, but he was really happy to see him in love, he trusted you and knew you would take care of him. and as your best friend, he knew the feelings were reciprocated, but it was funnier to see you two struggling to each other when it comes to this subject.

[annieboop]

it's just an excuse so he can hold you a bit longer

— haitani ran, drabble

— a/n: gosh i have like ten drafts and i suddenly make this, quite surprise that i finish it in one day. and i swear it's supposed to be short but lol, long drabble indeed 💀

"ah hello? ayumi?" you spoke as you held your phone against your ear with your right hand. while the other hand is busy trying to fit your feet in your shoes.

"y/n come on! can't you be faster?" you can hear ran whining while you still take your time talking to your friend. "gosh y/n let's go! we're gonna late!" he whines again.

"gee ran just go already, no need to wait for me. you're not my boyfriend to walk together to the campus." you glare at him as you close your apartment door.

boyfriend.

god, how much he hates that word. so much that he wishes he's your boyfriend so he didn't hate that word more.

"ah ayumi sorry- ran? ah he's here as usual. what? me and ran?" your flustered voice made him perk his head at you, somehow interested in your topic with your friend. "no, you know we're not like that. he's the one who always sticks with me."

hearing that, he frowned. you made him sound desperate even though it's true. he's desperate for your love, wanting to hold you and call you his girlfriend.

as you talk to ayumi, he felt time go slowly. an idea came into his mind as he saw your left hand that was free except swinging it front and back. since he walks ahead of you, he waits for a moment until you near. with that, his right hand grab your free hand and continue to walk.

feeling the warmth on your left hand, you stopped and look at ran who is already looking at you. realizing you look at him with confusion, he speaks, "ah you so focus talking with ayumi. you nearly trip." he moved his head to point at the small rock below you.

turning your head to see the rock, you nodded. god he's so thankful that the rock is actually there. it's true that you're so focused on the phone, but he's actually just making it as an excuse.

trying to pull your hand from him, he grips your hand, not allowing you to break the hold. "i'm afraid that you'll trip. just continue to talk to ayumi while i'm making sure you are safe." you nodded your head slowly and you two continue your walk to the campus.

everyday, haitani ran will show up in front of your door and said to walk together to the campus since your apartment is near. he will leave his bike and just walk with you while annoying the shit out of you. this happens everyday that it becomes your daily routine.

but this, this is new. the warmth feeling on your palm made you feel weird. and the fact that he's quiet than usual is weird too. well, maybe you think that you're on call now so that's why ran didn't bother you. and he said that you will trip so you just shrug and continue to talk with ayumi.

ran side-eye to see a soft smile on your face before you continue talking to your friend. ran just smile as if he unlocked a new achievement. well, a new achievement indeed. all he did before were just made you mad and a scowl on your face. so seeing your smile made him feel like he have a chance. a chance to ask you out.

and he thankful for your friend, for calling you and made the time so slow than usual. for making him made up the excuse so he can hold you. please he's so head over heels for you.

but as soon as he saw the campus, he frown. just now, he's thankful for making the time go slow so why have you two already arrived at the campus? he looks behind to see you still talk to your friend. another idea came up and he just hold your hand still and made his way to your class.

before, when you're talking with your friend on the phone while you two are hanging out made him mad. mad because the person you talk to take your time to spend with him. but now, he's so fucking thankful. he doesn't even know how many times he said the word thankful in his head.

"mhm, i see you later. don't be late though, today we have a presentation. okay, bye ayumi." smiling, you end the call and feel that ran stop so you look at the building in front of you. "uh ran, why are we here?" you look at him.

"we here! at your class!" he smiles. you look at him confusedly before look at the building again. "but this is not my class." panicked, ran look everywhere but you. "uhh- ah you're still on the phone and you look so into it so i can't bring myself to stop you. and here we are! just a couple of blocks from your class!" you look at him as your eyes twitch. pretty sure there's an irk mark on your forehead.

"why would i even allowed you to hold my hand." you sigh as you turned. "i might be late today, so see you later." you walk to your class. leaving him behind, but he can't see the soft smile on your face. well, you can't see the smile on his face too since you already turned your body.

"see you later."

you know. you know that he's gonna wait for you. that's why you tell him that you're gonna late. everyday you two will together to the campus, and that's mean you two will walk home together since he leaves his bike at your apartment. well, that's an excuse too so he can walk with you again.

he always makes an excuse to you. whatever the situation is, he always made one. ran may be a cocky person, but when it comes to you, he's nothing but a coward. he can't bring himself to ask you out. maybe tomorrow, just not today- he said that everyday so i don't know when is it. but one day, he believes.

"you still on the phone and you look so into it so i can't bring myself to stop you." and that, was one of his excuses. an excuse so he can hold your hand a bit longer. maybe making an excuse is not that bad huh?

he look at your body which is growing smaller as he turned around, a smile still on his face. he looks at his right hand that holds your hand earlier before clench it. making his way to his class.

perhaps, he may have a chance.

[annieboop]

BEAT THE DRUM

— in which college!peh-yan admires your rhythm in the form of his heartbeat.

genre. fluff.

contains. fem!reader, profanities, suggestive at the end, possibly ooc and bad grammar.

word count. 1.6k.

note. i enjoyed writing this one bcos this kind of events back in college is truly the best stuff for me. i also think i went overboard with this one lmao. i hope you enjoy!

requested.

You entered the main gate of the massive sports arena and the overcrowded space full of excited students from various universities irked you. All the chatter and loitering, instead of placing themselves right on their designated seats, made you grumble underneath your breath and a visible angry vein to pop on your forehead.

You scanned your eyes around the open area to look for your crew when a familiar voice called your name. You saw your closest friend and the rest of your team huddled in one spot — few were sitting down on a bench, certainly judging the passersby with the way their eyes followed anyone who looked worthy enough to gossip about, while some were warming up their limbs in an attempt to ease out their nervousness.

Nonetheless, the brightness in their eyes relieved your own discomfort and you briskly walked towards them. But the duffel bag on your shoulder containing your own outfit unexpectedly hooked into someone leading you to lose your footing and their arms to wrap around you before you fall face flat on the ground.

"Hands off of me," you barked. The mischievous looks that your co-members threw your way vexed you even more, despite the supposed cheerful mood you should be possessing. "I said, fucking hands off of me."

"So rude," he mumbled. Before releasing his hold on you to reach for your hand instead. You avoided it, quick as a lightning, and hiked up your bag higher on your shoulder, all the while glaring at him as though it was his fault that you stumbled and not yours. "Why the hell are you even mad at me?"

You snorted as an answer, because how oblivious could this guy be? He forgot your fucking birthday, damn it. You even made plans together, only for him to forget it. He was such a royal pain in the ass that you didn’t feel any remorse when you ordered food and celebrated all on your own. You didn’t call for your friends simply because you didn’t feel like celebrating if it’s not with him. It hurt and pissed you off, but you allowed him some time to remember it himself.

However, it has been torturous days of you avoiding him and up until now, where the most anticipated cheerleading dance competition of top universities was about to commence, Peh-yan hasn’t had a clue on why you do so.

Of course you won’t tell him about it right now. You knew you had to say your piece, but you wanted to focus more on a pressing matter which were reaching your crew. You promised yourself that later on, when everything is done, you would give him an ear-numbing lecture so he won’t ever forget your birthday again.

Turning around and sending a menacing look his way, you ran to your teammates leaving Peh-yan behind who were scratching the back of his head before deciding to also meet up with his team.

The cheerleading dance competition is a legendary custom for the top universities to fight for the best cheerleading squad. You, yourself, wanted to bring home that title and get some valued memory out of your terribly hectic college life. It was a dream to be called as the year's cheerleading champion, pressuring you that you almost throw up.

You quickly changed to your skin-tight outfit and the color of your university was proudly displayed even on your hair strands. You breathed in and out and you saw that the others did as well. Giving one of them a pat on the shoulder, you signalled for your captain to gather all of you once more for another boost of morale.

While they finished their words of encouragement, you felt less jittery and more hyped up. You wondered if you should watch the other universities' performances, but you decided against it since it will make you notice the little flaws in your own dance routine.

The name of your university was called after some time, and you heard the loud cheers and yells of the crowd when you entered the bright stage. You focused in on the certain part of the arena, where the proud color of your university was bundled together and you waved your arms high up in the air, completely forcing yourself to relax and enjoy the moment while it was still happening.

Tons of cameras pointed at you in every angle, compelling you to plaster a grin on your face as wide as you could before placing yourself in position, and your university drumline finally started their forceful and violent beatings.

Peh-yan didn't feel nervous about the whole event at all, seeing he was just part of the eager crowd who wasn’t the main focus of such a pristine occasion but you. Whereas, if you ever did one little misstep, it would actually lose your university winning points.

He played his own large drum in parallel to the movements that the cheerleaders routinely practiced and the currently yelling ball of sunshine, that was you who’s dancing on the stage, urged him to pound his percussion harder to cheer for you. Even though he’s absolutely clueless as to why you’re currently angry with him.

He saw how the formation shifted and transformed, and how you jumped and were lifted while you scream bloody murder for your university's name, and for the first time, ever since he became a member of the drumline, felt genuine goosebumps run along his sweaty forearms — all because of you.

He wanted to point out it was because of the intensified school spirit, but it undeniably wasn’t. Seeing you on the stage, causing a passionate effect out of everyone made him slam his own fist on the rim of his drum, though he knew you wouldn't hear it, with the loud chants of the students and your own ones as well, that he felt frustrated at himself for not making amends while he still could.

Peh-yan watched you flip in the air and his heart stuck in his throat, fearful if you would land safely in the arms of your own teammates — in which you did. He then beat his drum harder, almost parallel to the same one inside his chest and he wondered why. Why is he feeling this about you so wildly now?

He regarded you as you tumble and jump and dance to the beat of the drumline — to his fucking beat — and once the designated time for the normal music for the cheerleaders to dance to, he shook his hand of sweat and nerves but kept on observing you from the crowd.

You were majestically graceful, to the point that he felt the urge to dance in his position as well, and he deemed it was because you always possess that magnetic impact — the familiar one he got enticed for when he first met you.

But he was sure that the effect you have on him right now came from an entirely different reason and Peh-yan did his best too, seeing you give your own when he realized, as the ruckus came to a loud end, the sole reason on why you were so angry at him in the first place.

You and your colleagues wrapped up the routine and you beamed one last time, accepted the rapid pounding of your heartbeat and you didn’t worry at all because this point in time should solely be for euphoria. All of you hastily exited the stage, sweat and grins on your buzzing forms, hugging each other and proclaiming how it was an honor to glorify your university’s name. That is until someone cleared their throat and disrupted the small gathering.

It was Peh-yan, both sweaty and breathless as though he dashed quickly just to find you. Your merriment earlier became a salty taste in your mouth and you tried again to ignore him, but your sly teammates didn’t allow you to do so, seeing they swiftly moved past and leaving the two of you behind.

“I know why you’re mad now,” he blurted out. You instantly shot him a look but kept your mouth shut.

“I’m sorry, okay! I didn’t fucking realize that day!” Peh-yan even had the audacity to throw his arms too, as though that would explain his lame excuse all the better. Still, you kept quiet and glaring.

“I mean I wanna celebrate with you too! And who knows if I might get lai—!”

Hearing him utter those words, you hurried to cross the distance between you and rudely slapped a hand to his mouth. “What the— Peh! We’re not alone!”

He looked at you confused. Because for him, isn’t getting laid already normal for college students? And who the fuck cares if someone hears? “Mmhmmhmm?!”

“You owe me a fucking cute date, Peh-yan,” you threatened instead. And you almost castigated yourself, since you could never be truly angry at this idiotic boyfriend of yours but you terribly missed him. You missed him so much that you would set aside your exasperations because you knew he would make it up to you — in a rather unconventional way. Plus what’s the point in staying mad when he finally apologized anyway?

You removed your hand from his face and Peh looked at you, both relieved and sheepish, until it slowly turned wicked that you already got a gist of what he’s about to say. “Yeah! And a good lay!”

Chuckling at his horrible antics and because he’s still the same Peh-yan you love despite his idiocracy, you realized once more that you’re also stupid for being so into him. “No! No sex for a month!”

taglist. @mrskisski (sorry it took me a while to write your request hehe), @togacaffe, @nervouscreatorflower, @baji-san and @manjiroarchiviste.

[annieboop]

SECRET ADMIRER

— ran haitani x reader

— fluff

— idea by @togacaffe

ran haitani was the type of person that absolutely struggle demonstring and showing his feelings for someone, it is hard even when it comes to his brother, so don't expect him to be a clear and readable person.

but he always, always loved writing. he started a secret journal when he was younger to write the things he was insecure to say out loud. his writing skills are so passionate that you can't even imagine that he is the actual writer. but he hides it as he's hiding a government secret, absolutely no one has any clue of his skills.

but he got a feeling for you, he made sure to sit behind you when you had classes together, that way he could tease you and admire how cute you looked angry at him. he knew you were just pretending cause when you could not hide the fact that you were smiling.

everyday he wrote a little letter and put it on your locker when no one — really, he stayed there for minutes waiting to be completely alone — was seeing.

you didn't knew who was your secret admirer that would put a love letter in your locker everyday, but you were so afraid to reject whoever this person is, cause you started to get feelings for the teasing bastard that sits behind you. you only found out when you saw him putting the daily letter there.

he completely widened his eyes when he saw you, and you where in relief that you wouldn't need to reject your secret admirer, cause he was the person you were falling for. he stayed as a statue as you approached your locker, and he only relaxed when you gave him a kiss on his cheek, picking the letter from his hand right after that.

[annieboop]

a character taking their lover's hand during a stressful situation + Izana pls💗

Piece of Heaven

Warning: Major Spoilers Ahead!

Pairing: Kurokawa Izana x Reader

Izana could feel blood rush into his head,his body becomes incredibly hot with anger and he clenched his teeth. “The heck you say to me?!” Izana screams.

A child around his age,sticks out his tongue. “I said you got creepy looking eyes!” Other children surrounds the duo in the playground of the orphanage some looking at them in horror with others looking with interest.

However none of them tried to step in and stop them. How could they? Every child in the orphanage was scared of this tall lean boy named Kurokawa Izana.

Izana takes a step towards the other boy before he feels someone hold his hand. He turns to find another child holding him back.

“You’ll get hurt,Izana!” You frown as you shook you head,trying to make the boy from taking another step. Izana noticed you were clenching your jaws and eye brows furrowed.

But he did not care.

Instead takes his hands away from you,hitting you face in the process before he flies towards the other boy,a children’s fight going down.

That day was the first time you held Izana’s hands.

……

“Mikey..Mikey…Mikey!” Izana walks around. “Why does he never stop talking about him?”

“I’m the one he is talking to! Shinichiro should be focus more on me!”

Izana recently came into contact with Shinichiro,his older brother and had been exchanging letter with him. Shinichiro was happy at first but then his older brother started mentioning his younger one,Mikey, a strong feeling rushed within him.

You watched Izana walk in circles, eyes burning with hatred towards this Mikey person. You let out a silent sigh as you then walk up as your hands reach out to grab his.

Izana stops talking as he looks at your hands wrapped around his for a brief second before he pulls away. This makes you heart drop as you look at Izana’s figure who was walking away from you.

…..

Izana was currently the person leading the 8th generation Black Dragons. A gang feared by most.

But just because the gang was powerful doesn’t mean everything went smoothly. Despite being a symbol of power,having authority to rule of other, there were times where Kurokawa Izana looked so vulnerable.

And today was such a day. The rain poured making rattling sounds on the umbrella you were holding. You looked down at Izana who was sitting in front of a tombstone which read Sano Family Grave.

This belong to Sano Shinichiro. Although Izana expressed hatred to Shinichiro at times there was no doubt on how much Izana actually adored him. The times they spent on their motorbikes, hair messed by the wind and laughter in the air was still a fond and fresh memory.

“Y/N.” Izana said,his eyes which were empty looked at the grave infornt of him. You hummed in reply as you proceeded to lean down to match his level while still holding the umbrella. The rain made it hard to hear what Izana was speaking.

“You’re not allowed to leave me like him.” Izana gestures,his eyes still not meeting yours. “You’re the only part of heaven I have left, a part which had been with me from the very start. You can’t leave me.”

You nod as you reach out your empty hand to hold Izana’s. His hand which was cold,maybe it was due to the weather, gave your hand a gentle squeeze as the both of you proceeded to stay there in silence.

…..

“Izana! Kakucho!” You huffed as you rushed into the field towards the two boys who were laying on their back,both incredibly here.

Kakucho sees you from the corner of his eyes,he speaks in a raspy tired voice. “Y/N?” His voice indicated that he was surprised.

“Why did you come here,Y/N?” Izana speaks as he turns to your voice. “It’s dangerous…I told you not to come here.”

His vision was not clear at all during the final moments of his life, how he wished he could see your face. But at the same time he wondered if he had to courage to see your tearful face.

“Izana…” Your voice cracked when you spoke,you bit your lower lips as you sucked in a breath. Your eyes continuously formed tears as they fell. “Please…please don’t leave me.”

Your hands tightened to a fist on the ground,collecting the sand unconsciously. “You told me to stay by your side!”

“Hey?”

Izana’s gentle yet weak voice makes you raise your head to look at him. Izana was facing the sky with his eyes closed,but his lips were made into a smile. And by his side his hand was raised,facing yours as if waiting for you to hold his hand.

You sniff as you reach out. Izana entangled your hand with his yet his grip was weak. Your hand was incredibly warm as compared to his. Izana let’s in a deep breath his smile never leaving his face. “Thankyou,my dear piece of heaven.”

That was the last time Kurokawa Izana held your hand.

[annieboop]

PAPER RINGS

— shinichiro sano x gn!reader

— fluff <3

"where do you want to go now, babe?" Shinichiro asked you, you two were hanging out all over the city, going to everywhere you said you wanted to go, doing the things you loved. that fact made you question if something was wrong, why was your boyfriend making such an effort for you? not that he doesn't do that, but something seemed different, and you were worried about that.

"shin, wait, may i ask you something? why are we hanging all over the places i love? it's not a commemorative date for us, did something happened?"

he stopped and struggled with his actions, acted like he was looking for the exact words to answer you. he was nervous, and that made you start to get nervous. so you were right, something did happen.

"i- i bought you a ring, remember that rapunzel ring you were dating when we passed by that jewerly? i wanted to make a surprise for you, but yesterday when i was coming back home i lost control of my bike and the little box went flying, it fell on the river. i know how much you wanted that ring and i'm feeling so stupid right now, i'm sorry."

you coundn't contain a smile as he told his story. god, you were so in love with him, and every little action he made was so adorable for you. you hold both of his cheeks and gave him lots, lots of kisses, not caring that you two were in public. he laughed and when the attack came to an and, you held his hands together. "you don't need to worry about that, really. i'm happy that you told me the truth, i'm not mad with what happened, i would love you forever even if you bought me paper rings made with post-its."

he looked you with wide eyes and starting looking for something on his pockets. as it was meant to be, he handed you a pink paper ring and placed it on your ring finger. "why do you keep reading my mind? i told the issue to my friends and takeomi made me those rings, isn't it perfect?"

you chuckled and admired the ring on your hands, thinking about how delicated it was. "i wouldn't ever imagine that takeomi was able to do something like that."

"i'd say that his sister told him how to, but she is so feral that coundn't be true. this man knows a little bit of everything, it's amazing." he laughed and took your hand, both of you exhibiting your pink paper rings as you walked the streets together.

[annieboop]

[ 09:07 ]

Muffled breaths and the sound of pecking were the only things that could be heard inside the cramped closet, given you were currently lip-locked with Imaushi Wakasa.

His warm hands were at least proper, set firmly on your hips while yours were placed atop his shoulders, though you silently itched to run them through his hair and down to his solid chest.

“I think time’s up,” he whispered against your lips.

“I didn’t hear any sound.”

“Hm.”

You continued on kissing then. Gentle, considerate but with enough pressure to let the other person know there’s something more to it than just being dared to kiss.

A faint alarm followed by a loud cheer was heard from the outside, and you gingerly pushed Wakasa away. “Act cool, okay?” You demanded from him, although a bit breathless yourself.

“Did you enjoy it?”

You sensed the more flushing of your cheeks because of his invasive question, and you hissed at him for being so composed. Unlike you, who were close to exploding, in the best way possible that is. “Ssh, I just said act cool!”

“All right,” he conceded. “It was a nice kiss though.” You heard the subtle pride laced in Wakasa’s voice and it aggravated you why the time had to fly so fast.

self-indulgent scenario with the loml…as per usual <3 i think i have my best writing game when it’s wakasa lmfao jk. excuse le grammar.

taglist. @sugokawata, @baji-san, @saturnmitsuya and @manjiroarchiviste.

[annieboop]

CHEERS DARLING

— in which timeskip!mitsuya says the things he knows he could be.

genre. angst.

contains. fem!reader, possibly ooc and language errors.

word count. 1.7k.

note. i re-wrote this fic a lot of times lmfao so some stuff would probably be out of place. i’m sorry haha. inspired by a song that’s dear to my heart. tysm damien rice. lmk your thoughts :D

The slightly drawn curtains of your apartment’s window showed it was already nightfall and the wall clock indicating the late hour also attested to that. An old movie was playing on your television screen but you paid it no mind, too caught up with the rambling purplenette beside you as though you haven’t seen each other in decades when it’s only been a few but hectic weeks.

Keep reading

[annieboop]

"Old Love Letters, Old Feelings" (Ran Haitani x reader) ♡ᵎ

Notes: I didn't proofread this that's why grammatical errors ahead.

It was late at night when someone knocked on your door. You could see a familiar silhouette from the window, god please not him. You hesitated to open the door but you feel bad for him leaving there, it was raining to make it worse. Slowly pulling the door in, you saw the person you thought you would spend your whole life with it.

"Ran, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

Based on your experiences, Ran didn't talked to you and felt cold in his presence. Maybe he needs something from you?

"U-um you see.."

Ran looked at the right, scratching his head thinking back what he was going to tell you in the first place. You noticed a familiar bottle to his free hand.

"Oh I see what's this going, please get out off my sight before I tell your friends to fetch you."

In those strong words, fear and pain never left you.

"Y/n it's been years, why are you still acting like this? You know I didn't mean it when I fell in love with another girl while we're together. I-i... could have stopped it. I love you so much, I don't want to lose you."

You really wanted to close the door and just forget these lies, it's always been like this regrets keep following.

"Ran, you're drunk I get it. Just please leave me alone? I don't want to say anything because I don't want to be responsible for it. Don't disturb me again, don't you know how hard it is for me to the pain you engraved in my heart?"

"It was an accident, why can't you trust me? After you broke up with me, my life turned into hell. I needed you, god if you only knew. I was young, I didn't mean to put my eyes to others. I was wrong, okay?"

Ran finally stopped, clenching his fist because he knew from the start he's a bastard and he shouldn't have visited your home. Even though you knew how he acted before, tears are flowing worse that you could imagined.

"I'm sorry..I don't have time for this. I'll just call Rindou to fetch you here."

Just before you click the call button, Ran spoke his last words.

"I never thrown your love letters. I read them all one by one. I know we didn't talked after what I did and you chose to express yourself in these letters instead. You can't say it directly because you're kind to think it can be harder for me. Maybe in another life, we could have started a family that we promised together."

[annieboop]

✙ — see you again ; smau series

+ pairings. sanzu x reader

+ summary. in which, you and sanzu are in a very chaotic arranged marriage.

+ tags. romance, fluff, heavy (?) angst, modern au, smau, arrange marriage au, college setting, use of profanities, eventual smut, 18+

+ status. on-going

+ playlist by erisamorette

+ smau series masterlist.

see you again i

see you again ii

see you again iii

see you again iv

see you again v

— more chapters to be added.

profiles and information are below!

+ profiles and information.

yours and sanzu's twitter profile.

+ informations.

you and sanzu + all the characters here are in college. senju too, but she's in a lower level. all of the characters are aged up.

no one knows about the marriage except for your family and friends.

your circle are hina, emma, yuzuha & senju.

sanzu's circle are the haitani brothers, koko and mikey.

timestamps aren't important! there would be times that i would write this series in a paragraph form because there are scenes that needed to be written in that form, hehe

if you want to be added to the taglist for this series, pls send me an ask! ;)

[annieboop]

36 + Mikey from the prompt list pleaseeeee uwu 🥺🥺

YOU'VE SHOWN ME WHAT LOVE CAN FEEL LIKE

× characters. sano manjiro x gn!reader

× contents. 0.7k words, fluff, just a tiny bit of angst, mild spoilers, mentions of character deaths, drabble

× a/n. prompts list, anyway mikey deserves everything !! not proofread don't come after me, thank you for requesting bae <3

Laying on the freshly cut, dry grass of the bay surrounded by familiar surroundings, Mikey enjoyed the solitude, but also felt an extreme amount of longing and nostalgia as flashbacks of his friends hanging out at the same spot appeared when he looked around.

It was hard to come to terms with the realisation that yet another important person to him was gone, disappeared in an instance, even more so, because this time it was his childhood friend with whom he had made countless memories.

Still, he kept his exterior as calm as ever and left it to his hidden side to make a ruckus of his overwhelming emotions.

Sitting up, he rested his hand on the grass below him and looked ahead onto the spreading blue horizon, seemingly lost in thought as his eyes became unfocused, staring into nothing, too immersed with the inescapable thoughts that were slowly becoming more and more of a burden to handle.

Feeling a presence approaching from behind him got him out of his head, turning it around and proving his suspicions to be true when he saw you walking towards his side, greeting him before taking a seat beside him.

Taking a look immediately after you got a clear view of his face, you realised it was as consistent as always, however, his seemingly content smile didn't reach his eyes as his lids stood lower than usual. It was a small detail, but enough to let you in on his real state of mind.

Not knowing what to say out of the fear you might mention something you'll regret, you looked for ways to start a conversation that will hopefully take his mind off of unpleasant thoughts.

"I bought you some taiyaki," reaching behind you and took a bag you had recently picked up from a food stand before going to meet up with him, giving him his share of the little cake.

Thanking you before taking the bag from you, he - surprisingly - didn't immediately take one into his mouth, rather just leaving the bag into his hands, clutching it tightly.

Instead, he shifted a bit so his back was facing you and plopped his head on your lap, something both of you had gotten accustomed to by now.

At first, he was quiet, just laying with his eyes closed to the point you thought he might've been close to drifting off to sleep, and it wouldn't be quite the unusual occurrence, seeing as that has happened before.

However, as you glanced at him, your eyes met his squinting ones and upon making the contact, his lips spread into a smile once again before he opened them and called out your name, leaving your attention solely on him.

"... I really appreciate you," he begun, hesitation evident in his voice, "I'm glad you're still here, with me..."

Looking away for a brief moment, he abruptly sat back up and returned back to his previous position next to you.

It didn't take you too long to realise the true reasoning behind his behaviour. Mikey doesn't prefer to say his true feelings, rather opting for showing them, but today it really seems like he has to admit his feelings verbally, otherwise, there might be a time he regrets not saying anything to you. His current change of approach is a result of the guilt he feels for never doing this to people he won't have a chance to meet anymore, and while it was saddening, you were somewhat glad to be coming to that realisation.

"I'm sorry it's just that... ever since I met you it's like I've experienced many things I've been missing..."

Turning his head back towards you, he gave you a boyish smile, one you treasured very deeply, "You've shown me what love can feel like in a special way I don't think anyone else could've done so."

Hearing every word he had to say up until now has made your heart skip a beat after each little sentence, and you couldn't be more thankful to be the person he's telling that to. Now stunned at the sudden confession, you felt as if your countless emotions for him doubled, a thought of how lucky you must be crossing your mind.

"I'll always be here, Mikey, that's a promise," you placed your hand on his own that rested beside you and guided your head onto his shoulder, "I love you."

That's a promise, too.