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Another little redraw hehe ✨

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medic. manga episode

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“it’s circus work.” not to me. not if it’s my monkeys.

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"You've never seen it?"

In spite of your incredulous tone, it's not actually that hard for you to believe that Sakura has never seen the movie currently advertised on the screen of your television—the promotional still splashed across the surface, waiting for you to either hit play or navigate onward to the next option in the seemingly endless (though often lacklustre) selection of media available for your ready consumption.

Sakura Haruka has not seen most movies, you've found out since the two of you started dating. Nor the shows you've asked about, but that's sort of par for the course. And forget about music or—heaven forbid—a podcast.

Sakura shakes his head a little, tipping his beer back towards his lips. He's not much of a drinker (that's another thing you've learned about him) and he's been nursing that one drink since you finished eating dinner and curled up in your living room to watch a movie a few hours ago. "I've heard the guys mention it."

"It's a classic," you remark, reaching for the remote. "We've gotta watch it."

Your eyes flicker to the screen of your cellphone, left largely abandoned on the coffee table, as it lights up with a notification. You don't care much about the text message, but the time does draw your attention.

"Aw," you say sadly, more to yourself than anything. "It's getting kinda late."

Sakura glances at the time too. "Oh, shit. Yeah. I should probably go."

"I really wanna watch that movie."

You trail along behind Sakura as he rises to his feet from his seat on the living room floor and makes his way to your kitchen.

"The trains are gonna stop running soon." He carefully pours the last few mouthfuls of beer into your sink and then rinses out the can.

"You could stay over?"

You watch as pink diffuses along the back of your boyfriend's neck, staining even the tips of his ears in the pretty hue as his shoulders go a bit rigid.

"I gotta work early. So do you," he grunts out, a bit gruffly, shaking off the momentary stiffness in his frame. "'S not a good idea."

Sakura had been adamant when he came over for dinner that he couldn't spend the night, because the two of you are notorious for getting very little rest on the nights he sleeps over, and you both have important workdays ahead of you. He'd been firm, but not unkind, when he made this condition clear to you at the outset of the evening.

You pout a bit as he tucks his beer bottle into the recycling and then dutifully ties up the bag. "I'll toss this on my way out," he says, glancing over at where you're watching him from the doorway. He sees the pout on your lips and groans. "... That's not fair."

"What's not fair?" you ask, looking away as you feign ignorance.

"You—we—t-the plan was that..." Sakura ruffles the hair at the back of his neck as he stumbles through his argument. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a little breath. "We can just watch it next time, right?"

You catch the inside of your cheek between your teeth, holding it there to stifle the smile you feel threatening to overtake you at how cute Sakura looks like this: blushy and a little awkward, his hair sticking up at the back, holding a bag of trash he's offering to take out for you in your kitchen.

"Okay," you concede, but not without an exaggerated sigh. He opens his eyes, and looks a bit relieved at your relent. "When's your next day off?"

"Day after tomorrow," Sakura answers, heading towards your door. You follow along behind him again, standing within arm's reach as he pulls on his shoes in the genkan.

"You should come over tomorrow night, then," you reply.

"Thought you were working late?" Sakura asks, casting a fleeting glance up at you while he ties the laces of his sneaker.

You hum, you'd forgotten about that. You light up a moment later, reaching past Sakura towards the key rack just inside your front door. "Here!"

Sakura watches with wide eyes as you pluck the spare key you keep in case of emergencies and hand it to him.

"You should probably have this anyway," you tell him as you pry the little silver key off the novelty keychain it's affixed to. It only makes sense, Sakura's a regular fixture at your place these days—he ought to be able to come and go as he pleases. "You don't have to stick it through the mail slot when you leave either. Just keep it."

Sakura is frozen, bent at the waist, with his shoelaces in his hands.

"K-kee-k-kee-ke-keep it?"

Oh, his face is the most adorable shade of red you've ever seen.

"You want me to,"—Sakura stands almost unnaturally upright, his shoe still left untied, his eyes wide—"keep this?"

You laugh lightly, hiding it in the sleeve of your oversized sweatshirt. "Well, yeah. You can just come and let yourself in when you get off work tomorrow, and I'll see you when I get home."

He hasn't moved a muscle.

"Maybe I could grab us dinner on my way?" You remark, pointedly ignoring your boyfriend's petrified state. "What do you think about—"

Sakura is suddenly rifling though his various pockets with an urgency unbefitting of the stillness of your entryway. His pants, his hoodie, finally his jacket—still hanging on the coat rack at your side. Eventually he finds what he's looking for and he turns to face you, holding his keys in his hand.

"You take this one," he says, strangely ardent, but he barely meets your gaze as he says it. He puts his entire key ring into your hands with his head bowing down, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing.

"Haru," you barely manage to get the words out, "this is your key. How will you let yourself in once you get home?"

Sakura looks up, slightly shocked, as though this is the first time it's occurred to him. The blush on his face only intensifies.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I guess you're right..." he mutters, obviously sheepish.

You step towards him, pressing the keys back into his own hand and letting your touch linger there.

"Why don't you make me a copy after work tomorrow, and give it to me when I get home, hm?" you ask him, close enough now to press your body into his and lean into his warmth. You watch as he swallows, and then dutifully nods, his eyes trained on your face all the while.

Exchanging keys is a big step in any relationship, but a huge one for you and Haruka. Everything with him feels like a milestone, because you know that these sorts of things don't come naturally to him—aren't familiar to him. You celebrate these moments whenever you can, because you know how much they mean.

Sakura seems to hesitate for a moment, then he dips down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You can feel the heat of his cheeks when he's this close to you. Can almost hear how quickly his pulse is pounding.

You smile against his lips, reaching up to cup his burning cheek in your hand.

The touch seems to finally break him, and before you can even gain your bearings Haruka has you pressed against the wall of your entryway, kissing you breathless.

You can taste the beer he'd barely finished on his lips. Can feel the way his hands shake when he touches you.

"Haruka," you murmur against his eager mouth, pulling away slightly and brushing your nose against his. "What about the train?"

He pants against your lips, the breath hot as it breaks against the sheen of saliva that coats them. He makes a broken little sound, and his grip on your hips tightens.

He inches forward again, and you almost miss it when he whispers—"can I stay over?"

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Dabi sketch by Shun Shibata x

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thank you for the venom ♱ pt. i

— vampire!oliver aiku x f!reader

There are worse jobs than working as a human at a vampire nightclub. It pays well enough to help you keep your head above water, at least. As long as your clients don't try feeding from your neck. But when the last person you're expecting to see comes walking in during your shift one evening, every long-forgotten feeling you've spent years putting behind you flares to life again under the familiar, careful gaze of your older brother's best friend.

word count ; 2.9k

content ; 18+, vampire!oliver, brother's best friend!oliver, feeder!reader, childhood friends, blood drinking, (eventual smut in later parts)

THE REUNION. —

“We’re up.”

You glance over at your co-worker, Hayami, who’s currently nodding in the direction of a table of clients that just sat down. 

It’s not exactly what you’d call fun—working as a human at a vampire nightclub. 

But the night shifts fit with your class schedule, the pay is generous, and you no longer have to miserably juggle three jobs to pay for tuition and rent. It’s been working out for you well enough in the six months since you started here. Blue Lock is also, arguably, classier than most places that you’d find on a random street corner in Tokyo. For one, you’re not expected to fuck the clientele. 

You just have to feed them.

–

“Wrist, please,” you murmur quietly to the man whose lap you’re currently sitting in, trying to carefully adjust yourself away from the lips hovering near your neck as you lift up a hand, letting him see the delicate gold bracelet that hangs from your right wrist. 

Blue Lock is strict about giving staff the autonomy to choose where they are and aren’t comfortable allowing clients to feed from, with gold jewelry used as a subtle signifier. Guests who choose to ignore it are typically thrown out without preamble. 

Most of your co-workers are fine with neck feeding, some even prefer it, but it’s just too intimate for you. Not with a complete stranger. 

The vampire grumbles, glancing over at one of his companions with thinly veiled jealousy as she sinks her teeth into Hayami’s neck, drawing a shameless moan from your co-worker’s lips.

You shudder, wincing only slightly at the prick of pain as your client bites you as well, albeit on the wrist like you’d instructed. 

It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, now that you’ve grown used to it. 

–

It’s early still when the first group of clients strolls in through the doors on Friday evening, pink and orange staining the lower edges of the sky as the sun lazily eases its way down into the horizon.

Your boss motions for you and Hayami to take care of them, as most of your other co-workers aren’t due to start for another hour yet. 

Waltzing directly ahead of you and swinging her hips in anticipation, Hayami gets a clear view of the vamps before you do, and she spins on her heel to turn back to you and whisper, “You know, I wouldn’t mind if fucking customers was a part of the job if they all looked like that.”

Rolling your eyes is a knee jerk reaction to her salacious tone—she enjoys flirting with clients far more than you do. But any response quickly dies on your lips when you actually see the group as they settle into a private booth. 

More specifically when your eyes land on one of them in particular—a tall man with two different colored eyes, a jaw shaded ever so slightly with stubble, and a flash of green tucked beneath the lower edges of an otherwise dark head of hair.  

It’s been a very long time since you’ve seen him in person, but you’d recognize him beyond a shadow of a doubt anywhere.

(Your stupid heart would, anyway.)

Oliver.

Your brother Haru’s best friend. 

Oliver and Haru played soccer together in high school, and they were virtually inseparable for years. Most days, he could be found at your house after school, kicking around a ball in your backyard and teasing you as you labored over homework assignments at the kitchen table. 

And most days, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about catching the interest of any of the boys in your grade, not when your thoughts were constantly tangled up in the way Oliver sent your heart spinning off its axis with every stupid grin and wink. 

Realistically, he was only two years older than you. 

But even if he had seen you in that way, Haru probably would have wrung his neck if he tried anything, given Oliver’s downright awful reputation with girls at school. 

(A reputation that’s only become more notorious in the years since he skyrocketed to soccer stardom.)

But a girl could certainly dream. 

The long-buried crush rustles awake in the depths of your chest cavity now, unfurling warmly as you stare at him, rooted to the spot. Feelings greet you at the door like an old friend, the brush of a cat’s tail at your ankle, a dog’s cold nose nudging at the back of your hand. You want to reach out, to grasp them—

But the longer you look, the more unsteady you become on your feet as your heart remembers the weight of it, of this near-magnetic pull that used to always exist behind your ribcage in his vicinity.

It’s not news to you that Oliver was Turned—it happened years ago, according to your brother. But it sends a shiver down your spine all the same to see him here. Now.

Of all the places…

Hayami’s quick to busy herself chatting with three of the men in Oliver’s group. Meanwhile, Oliver remains engrossed in conversation with the other one; he’s yet to notice you. 

The man he’s talking to does, though, and his lips quirk upward when he meets your eyes. “Well hello beautiful.”

You offer him a polite smile in return, shoving aside the distracting wave of nostalgia gripping at your ankles as you remember that you have a job to do. 

Pining doesn’t pay the fucking bills, after all. 

“What can I get for you tonight?” you ask. 

It’s a bit of a joke, because there’s really only one reason vampires come here.

But it lands, because he doesn’t miss a beat as he laughs, “Well, my friend here says he likes to take his partners home to feed, so I think he might just be a boring cuck and watch tonight, but—”

He’s cut off suddenly by the sound of your name, and he whips his head sideways to look at Oliver, who’s currently staring at you with a completely bewildered expression on his face.

It would be cute, almost, if your heart wasn’t violently lurching in your chest. 

You breathe in through your nose, trying to steady the way the room threatens to sway beneath your feet. “Hey, Aiku.”

He physically recoils at your use of his surname; you can’t remember the last time you called him that, not even when you were teenagers. 

The man beside him raises a brow, looking between you and Oliver in blatant confusion. “Do you two know each—”

“Yeah. So you should go and find somewhere else to be, Sendou,” Oliver answers pointedly as he cuts him off again, eyes still locked with yours.

Sendou scoffs under his breath, “You can’t just hold one of your fuck buddies hostage if you’re not going to feed, I’m sure she wants to make money tonight.”

Oliver looks over at him, unimpressed and blinking slowly, before he turns back to you. “She’s my friend’s little sister.”

Sendou snorts. “Sounds like something you’d do, Aiku.”

The gap between their bodies closes quicker than you can blink, and the size difference between the two becomes wholly apparent as Oliver leans in close, all traces of amusement wiped from his face when he slowly rasps, “I’d watch your mouth if I were you.”

Something akin to surprise works its way across Sendou’s face, which then morphs into pinched annoyance as he subtly shrinks away from Oliver’s form, dragging a hand through his strawberry locks and petulantly letting his gaze fall back on you. “Yeah, well I’m hungry, and I have money.”

He thumbs at one of his fangs, frowning. 

“Not my goddamn problem, Sendou. Go find someone else to feed on,” Oliver flatly replies to him as he lifts his hips slightly to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, though his eyes are solely focused on you. “And I never said I wasn’t paying for her time.”

Sendou collapses backward on the couch, blowing his hair off of his forehead as he crosses his arms and huffs, “Well if you’re paying anyway, doesn’t it make sense for one of us to at least feed on—”

“Sendou,” Oliver says his name calmly, despite the way the dangerous look in his eyes betrays his tone entirely. He smiles, and it’s more a show of dominance than anything else as the whites of his fangs flash against his lips. “Get the fuck out of here. Now.” 

His friend rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath about wasting your time before eventually getting up moving over toward the rest of their group.

“Is it Aiku now?” Oliver finally asks when you’re alone, head tilted slightly to the side as he stares up at you. 

He says it like it bothers him. 

You shrug, sitting down on the couch beside him but leaving a respectable amount of space between your knee and his. “You don’t have to pay if you’re not feeding.”

He ignores you and says again, “Aiku, really?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “How long has it been, six, seven years? It seemed impolite to assume—”

“It’ll always be Oliver for you,” he interrupts, though not unkindly. “And do you know how much money the league throws at me? I’ll pay if it means you’ll sit here with me instead of letting one of those idiots feed from you.” He jerks his head toward the other guys that Sendou went to join. 

Warmth churns again in your gut, whether you want it to or not. 

“Oliver,” you nod, trying to fight the smile tugging at your lips.

His lips quirk upward in turn, a real smile this time, and you try not to think too hard about the fleeting sensation that dances up the notches of your spine at the sight of the white points of his fangs that rest against his bottom lip when he does it. 

It’s easier than you were expecting—catching up with Oliver. In a way, it feels like no time has passed at all as you slip back into the familiar, easy comfort of conversation with him. He asks what you’re majoring in, if you still hate math. If you’ve been traveling at all like you always said you would.

If you’re seeing anyone.

(Your stomach flips at the question, even if there’s nothing suggestive in the way he asks it.)

He asks if it bothers you—the fact that he was Turned. 

(It doesn’t.)

Oliver doesn’t look at you with pity or judgement on his face when you tell him that you started working at Blue Lock to help pay for your tuition—he knows that your mother had enough trouble sending your brother to university. Though he does ask about the gold bracelet on your wrist. This must be his first time here. 

“This is the only place I let clients feed from me.” 

You nod toward Hayami, who’s currently straddling Sendou. He makes eye contact with Oliver as he nudges aside the gold chain around her neck and sinks his fangs in. She throws her head back, burying her fingers in his hair. 

Yeah, she may very well end up fucking him tonight.

Oliver looks away, expression wholly impassive despite their near-vulgar display, and you continue, “My neck is off limits at work.”

Unconsciously, you rub your collarbone, and Oliver’s eyes track the movement. Your skin feels hot in the wake of his gaze, even if it only lingers for a moment. 

He quirks a brow. “Only at work?”

You blink at Oliver several times, a sudden flash of heat searing its way between your legs at the boldness in his question.

He laughs then, shaking his head, as if thinking better of it. “Sorry, ignore me, that was inappropriate—”

“No, it’s okay. I…just feel like neck feeding should be reserved for romantic partners,” you tell him, and saying that to Oliver of all people makes you feel somewhat embarrassed. “Or sexual partners, whatever. It’s just too intimate for me to let a complete stranger do it.”

You shrug, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist. And out of the corner of your eye, it looks like Hayami’s dry humping Sendou as he continues to feed from her (clearly he’s tipping her well, if she’s yet to slide into the lap of another one of Oliver’s teammates yet). 

Case in point.

It’s probably a trick of the light, but you swear Oliver’s eyes darken for just a moment as your words sink in.

Hayami outright moans, but Oliver doesn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“So you don’t sleep with vampires,” he says, more a statement than a question.

It feels layered, thick with something you’re not sure you want to peel back and inspect too closely. Not when Oliver’s proximity alone has desire creeping its way through the slats in your ribcage like greedy, reaching vines. 

You wonder if he knows—just how much you used to think about him.

How badly you used to want him.

(How badly you might still.)

You wonder if he still sees you as his best friend’s little sister.

“I haven’t,” you tell him. 

(Not “I won’t.”)

Oliver tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t.”

Your lungs burn on a silent inhale as the two of you stare at one another, and your lips part, as if to say something—until a raucous outburst of laughter nearby distracts both of you momentarily, and the moment collapses like a deck of cards.

The charged feeling in the air ebbs (if only to find shores at the base of your ribs). 

You blink, and Oliver coughs. “Hey, remember that old abandoned building your brother swore was haunted?” he asks, changing the topic abruptly without missing a beat.

And you don’t know whether to feel thankful or regretful for it as you try to reconcile the disorienting feelings stirred up inside of you.

The next hour goes by without incident. Oliver talks about himself and what he’s been doing with his life, what it’s like playing soccer in a vampire-based league these days. You learn that the rest of the men with him are on his team as well. Professional sports leagues for the Turned have become more popular in the last decade or so. And when you heard the news about Oliver—that was your first thought. Because you knew how much he’s always loved soccer.

The rest of his group eventually stands, cheeks flushed in a way that only happens when a vampire feeds, and Oliver hands you his phone, silently asking for your number.

Somewhere, your teenage self is flopping back in bed and screaming into a pillow.

You stifle the foolish thought as the pads of your fingers tap the screen, hand briefly brushing against his cool skin when you give the device back to him. 

Oliver goes to slide his phone into his back pocket, and for whatever reason, you blurt out, “Are you sure you don’t need to feed?”

He freezes, gaze slowly returning to yours, and he stares at you for a moment before he finally responds, “When I feed, it’s in my bed.”

You remain rooted to the spot long after Oliver leaves with a wave and a smile that once again shows the barest hint of his fangs, not trusting your legs not to give out on you. 

And when you eventually go to head to the back for a break before entertaining another group of customers, your boss catches you and tells you Oliver paid for you up through the end of your shift. So you can either take another client and earn extra for the evening, or head home early.

You choose the latter with a knot of warmth in your chest, electricity fizzing at the edges of it. 

–

Later, tucked beneath a blanket on the corner of your couch with some awful reality show playing quietly in the background, you hate the way you find yourself staring down at Oliver’s Instagram profile.

It’s been a while since you’ve let yourself peruse his posts.

The grid of photos is mostly a mixture of professional shots from his games and promotional ones, with some various shots of food, city landscapes at night, and a rare selfie here and there. 

You panic when your thumb slips and you nearly like a shirtless photo of him standing in his bathroom mirror, too focused on the large, dark bruise that blooms across his ribs.

oliku23: note 2 self, don’t block sendou’s penalty kicks at practice from 3ft away 

After that, you decide it’s safer sticking to the thumbnails, but still you find yourself unable to resist the urge to carefully tap open another selfie—he’s grinning in this one, nose, cheeks, and teeth covered in blood, and a red-stained soccer ball perched in one hand.

oliku23: promise i didn’t bite anyone

Snorting softly, you put your phone down on the couch beside you, resting your chin on your knees. It doesn’t look like he has a girlfriend, or if he does, he’s completely private about her. Either that or—judging by Sendou’s comment earlier—he’s probably the same Oliver you used to know: a professional at sleeping around and not getting attached.

Your phone lights up again from where it’s perched on the cushion beside your socked foot, a notification hovering on the lock screen.

Unknown: it was nice seeing you tonight.

♱ TO BE CONTINUED.

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Gojo with a tongue piercing recently requested 🙏🙏🙏

Commissions Open!

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the good ending ☀️

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Haikyuu fans where you at?

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Magazine covers for fun!

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rabbit ?̶ ̷e̶s̴ca̴p̴e̵

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choso and this took so long cause i finally drew my husband so it had to be right and im really happy with it!!!

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Papi💕 wip

Might delete later to post full version

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for 75 day 💕

happy 75 day! i know for sure they're having the time of their lives in malaysia rn 😌

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you pretend you can't see your house keys in your tiny little purse, taking your sweet time rifling through the handful of personal items you carry around with you as though thoroughly searching for them.

in front of you, sakura stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders lifted up a little bit closer his ears than is natural. he's looking around your neighbourhood outside your apartment door—up the road, down the road, and then back again—his lips pursed slightly like he's thinking hard about something. or like he's trying hard not to think about something.

fuck, he's so cute.

"ah!" you slip your pointer finger through the key ring you've had your hand on for the better part of a minute. you fish them out, and your keys and various chains and charms jingle as they swing from your finger. "here they are."

sakura looks over at you, his mismatched eyes a little wider than a moment ago. he looks away after only a brief moment of eye-contact, inching away slowly. "'kay. well... night, then."

"don't you wanna come in?"

sakura looks like he's about to experience some kind of cardiac incident.

"come in?" he asks, and his voice is more strained than it was before. almost like he's angry, or frustrated, but you suspect that's not the case. he's just startled is all—and as cute as ever. "wh-why would i come in?"

"well, do you want the truth or do you want me to lie?" you ask him, and your tone is sincere. he looks perplexed by your proposition.

"the truth obviously—why would I want you to lie?"

"well, the truth is i'm asking you if you want to fuck me," you explain, your tone still conversational. sakura nearly jumps out of his skin. "but i figured if i told you that the answer was to fu—"

sakura rushes forward, stepping into your space and placing a hand over your mouth. he's surprisingly gentle about it.

"would you stop saying that?" he asks you, his pitch high and tone exasperated.

you can't say much at all with his hand over your mouth like this, but you wonder if he can tell you're smiling under the cover of his palm. wonder if your eyes give you away, and if that's why he's having such a difficult time meeting them.

"if i take my hand away you're not gonna say... that again, right?"

you nod obediently.

sakura sighs, letting the warmth of his hand slip slowly away from your lips. he immediately rakes his hands through his hair, and the strands stand up in a way that makes him look even more frazzled than he already did.

"i can't believe you said that," he mutters, mostly to himself you think.

"why?" you ask. "i meant it."

his attention snaps back to you, panic in his eyes—like he's worried you're on the bring of saying something untoward again.

"you... y-you can't just say it like that!" his voice is a frantic whisper now, and he looks furtively up and down the hallway of your apartment like he's worried about being overheard. "we're in public."

"that's why i asked you if you wanted to come in," you shrug, batting your lashes demurely. "you're the one who made me explain why."

sakura is too sweet for his own good. you know this about him, even though the two of you are only superficially acquainted. the fact he'd walked you all the way home from the bar, in spite of the two of you not being particularly close, is another testament to this truth.

down the hall, the lock of one of your neighbours doors clicks and sakura's head whips around towards the sound. he looks back at you frantically. he nudges you in the direction of your front door, his expression conflicted. "fine, fine. just... let's talk inside."

inside your apartment things are no less tense. sakura has himself pressed back against the door, as though refusing to step even an inch further into your home than absolutely necessary. his cheeks are flushed bright pink, and he seems a little mortified about the whole ordeal.

you're trying very hard not to giggle.

"do you do this a lot?" he asks you, and he sounds thoroughly exhausted.

"proposition people?" you ask him, setting your purse down on the narrow table against the wall in your genkan. "not frequently, but not never, either."

"i meant put people on the spot like that," he hisses.

"i didn't mean to put you on the spot," you reply, bending down to unbuckle your heels. "i just wanted to know if you wanted to have sex with me."

"i don't do this," sakura snaps, his cheeks a furious shade of red now.

you peek up at him, still bent down towards the floor. "have sex?"

if humanly possible, you think sakura's cheeks would light up your genkan with a neon glow. he sputters indignantly, "i have sex!"

you lift a brow, toeing off your unbuckled shoes.

sakura pouts slightly, ruffling his hair. "i mean... i've had sex, or whatever."

you don't doubt he's telling the truth. though he doesn't seem a lothario by any stretch of the imagination, you don't doubt that there's no shortage of women just like yourself who are hoping to catch sakura's eye.

"i just don't... this isn't how... i don't just get right into bed with the girl i like for no good reason."

you pause.

he freezes.

your grin is unsuppresible now.

"sakura-san," you purr, stepping up towards him slowly. the height difference between you has changed now that your shoes are off, but you don't mind it. sakura has nowhere to run (though you suspect he wishes he did, if the look on his face is anything to go by) since he's still firmly pressed against your door. "do you like me?"

he looks like he wants to disappear. "i didn't—that's not what i—"

"you don't like me?" you ask him, standing toe to toe with him now, your head tilted slightly. he's visibly at war with himself, internally. his eyes don't know where to look now that you're this close.

"i didn't say that," his voice cracks halfway through the words. he immediately covers his face with his hands. he hides from you for a moment and then lets out a long, low groan. "this is so fucking embarrassing."

you disagree. it's extremely charming, but you spare him that remark because (strangely) you don't think that will make him feel any better at the moment.

sakura's fingers split, and a flash of his gold iris peeks out from between his knuckles. "this is all your fault."

"my fault?" you ask him, playing coy. "how so?"

"you... you can't just ask random guys if they wanna... y'know."

"fuck me?"

"c'mon!" sakura throws his hands up in exasperation, and you have to press a hand over your mouth to hide your laughter. he looks at you, still annoyed but somehow deflated, like he's wordlessly asking you to put him out of his misery. you reach out, toying with the zipper on sakura's jacket idly, mostly just as an excuse to stay so close.

"but you're not just 'some random guy'," you murmur softly, peeking up at him through your lashes. sakura's cheeks are still pink, but his gaze has considerably softened. you're fairly certain he's holding his breath. "so can you really blame me for asking the guy i like if he wants to come in?"