falling-star-cygnus

[falling-star-cygnus]

said i wasn’t gonna write fanfic for K-Pop: Demon Hunters but here we are with yuri and a dream

Universal Law of Motion {ao3 fic link} SUMMARY: Rumi doesn’t know how to take a break, which is unfortunately a fact Mira and Zoey happen to be painfully aware of. Good thing there’s the tried and true method of being unable to move when something cute sleeps atop of you

+=+=+

“How does she do that?”

Rumi braces her lower arms on the back of their couch for a closer look, in wonder of the girl sprawled over the white cushions. It was almost impressive how quickly Zoey could succumb to her sleepiness when she wanted to...

When- there was nothing to attend to and no lyrics circling around her wonderfully weird brain anyway.

Heh, she was out like a light.

It was cute.

Wait-

"She didn't even take her makeup off," Mira comments drily, breaking into Rumi's thoughts before they could settle.

Her long pink hair swishes around her hips- released from their half up pigtails- and it's more than a little distracting when she strides over. All long legged like with her thigh high socks.

God.

She was surrounded by hot people. That wasn't fair.

At all.

What the f-

Mira rests a hand next to the half demon's [and it's bizarre to her that they know now] elbow to lean over the dozing girl.

"Zoey," she wheedles, prodding at her gold speckled cheeks, "You wanna go to bed?"

Predictably, their maknae simply grumbles at the prodding- and curls into herself like a little roly-poly bug. Or a turtle, heh.

"Are you even comfortable like that?" Rumi asks, reaching down a hand of her own to bump the bridge of the girl's nose- to smooth out the furrow forming.

Her skin was so soft.

"Maybe her buns act as pillows." Mira throws out, only half joking.

Maybe she wasn't joking at all- those buns were buoyant, after all.

Full of lush, silky hair.

Also Rumi never really got it when people called the tall dancer expressionless, or placid, or deadpan- or any other unfeeling adjective.

She was full of dry wit, yes, but... she was so expressive. In everything- from the twitch of her manicured eyebrows to her tone. And especially her eyes, when they were filled with adoration and love and protective fury for the both of them.

Even her dancing was chock full of emotion- of passion.

It was amazing.

Mira slips her arms under the sleeping girl with a sigh, fond and exasperated in every possible way. Written into every perfect pore.

"C'mon," she says, tucking her precious cargo close, "Let's get you cleaned up for bed."

"Mmm.. noo," Zoey mumbles, all protests made null by the way she throws her arm over the tall girl's shoulder and burrows closer, "Wanna.. cuddle... with both of you.. so much."

Dark amber eyes meet a softer hazel, both crinkled with supressed laughter.

Out of all of them, Zoey was by far the clingiest- giving her love with every squeeze and nuzzle and lean.

"Won't it be more comfy to cuddle after you've cleaned your face up?" Rumi tries to coax, instead of dwelling on the memory of such soft skin against her own.

She doesn't... quite plan on cuddling though, not really. Her mind is racing with too many thoughts to make her good company, thoughts she'll purge through training or- or a new song.

Anything.

Anything not to think of-

"And put on some soft pj's?" Mira adds, already decked out in her own knitted sleepwear.

Which- was really just an oversized top. Not that Rumi was looking further than that. No.

Of course not.

She just-

"You're both... so smart." their maknae murrs, "Wish.. I was that smart..."

"Aw, Zoey-" "You're so smart-"

She was too, is the thing. In a way that left he two of them baffled sometimes... even.. if she was easily distractable too. Something sours in Rumi's gut as a certain shaggy haired Saja Boy comes to mind.

Ugh.

Mira starts to head off towards Zoey's room, hefting the smaller girl closer, before turning slightly.

"Rumi. You coming?"

Ah-

"No- no, go ahead," she tries and waves off, "I'll.. catch up."

"Rumi."

"Seriously!"

"Rumi!" she whisper shouts, "Say it without your lying voice-!"

The half demon girls gasps- offended at the mere accusation. She did not have a lying voice. She lied to them for years!

Er- wait..

"I will!" she wouldn't, but- "I love our cuddle time, you know that!"

That was true, at least. There was almost nothing better than the warmth that came from their shared hugs and steady pulses, and soft beating souls-

"Sit down."

...huh?

"On the couch." Mira stalks over, her gaze intense even as she so gently cradles Zoey, "Sit."

Okay, well- she wasn't a dog. She wasn't just going to sit because Mira told her to-

"Rumi."

And before she knew it, Rumi had hopped the back of the couch and sat down- back straight, chin up, and shoulders back just as Celine taught her. Just as.. Celine... taught her.

She throws herself against the armrest on principle, and comfortably splays out. The picture of lazy nonchalance.

Take that.

"Great. Now open your arms."

"Um..." not Mira's weirdest request- or demand, she'll admit, "Oookay?"

It was a trap, it was so obviously a trap. And an evil one!

Before her arms are even halfway wide enough, the tall dancer plops Zoey on top of her- painstakingly untangling their maknae's arm so that it curls around Rumi's bicep.

Sticking her in place.

"Mira!" she panics, quickly curling her arm around the sleepy girl's back to keep her steady. Her face scrunches up- disturbed by the rough glitter and sequins of Rumi's jacket.

Disturbed to the point of waking, almost, "Mira!"

"Better lose the jacket," she calls, as she walks away!

Walks! Away!

The nerve! The audacity! The-

Zoey makes an uncomfortable little mip against her shoulder.

Rumi has never thrown off her sleeves so quickly in her life. Even if it's a bit awkward to prop her new koala up enough to weasel out her arms and toss the offending article aside.

Their penthouse is pretty well air conditioned, all things considered. Cool air greets her marked shoulders like greedy hands.

And then, so do Zoey's eyelashes- tacky with mascara and pointy- and her cheek and little button nose and warm warm breath. It fans over her patterns with all the gentleness of a petal unfurling.

And it's so nice. And real, her affection.

Her love.

Zoey settles into the crook of Rumi's neck like it's her birth right, and... really, it is. Only one other person could ever settle in so comfortably. So familiarly.

Maybe another, if he...

Anyway, the sleepy girl nuzzles against her- tucked between the half demon girl's legs and arms and slightly shivering from the cruel air.

Rumi rubs her hand up and down her shoulder, to chase away the goosebumps, but her brows start to furrow again..

"Rumi..." Zoey sighs, twitching in distress- distress, "Rumi.. m'sorry..."

Sorry-? Sorry for what?

She's not equipped to handle this kinda thing- it's why she wanted run away, to- to empty her head before even allowing herself to hold them like they held her. Now one of her favorite people was starting to cry.

How did- how was she supposed to fix something like this? Rumi couldn't even fix herself, for crying out loud!

"I'm so sorry.."

A single tear starts to bead on mascara heavy lashes, only stopped from falling by her Rumi's shaking knuckle. Gently, oh-so gently, she swipes it away.

Zoey's eyelashes are stiff with make-up, barely loosened by one premature tear.

"It's okay," the half demon whispers, gathering the small girl close, "You're okay.."

Normally, when the girls cry, they cried together. It was borderline instinctual at this point, to sob out their problems as one unit. One force against...

..hm.

This is a little different than singing on a rooftop, but..

Maybe-

I'm done hidin'... now I'm shinin'..

It's not hard to keep her voice soft, to mellow out the notes into something.. hopefully soothing. Something like a lullaby, because maybe the demons plaguing the sleeping girl's mind could be purged in just the same way the others were.

..like I'm born to be... We dreamin' hard.. we came so far ...now I believe..

Zoey starts to soften from nightmare edges, into that gooey spot she'd made for herself in Rumi's heart. Hopefully.

We're going up, up up... it's our moment.. ..you know together we're glowing...

Together..

..gonna be, gonna be golden...

Sometimes she wishes Celine had held her like this.. instead of telling her to toughen up and hide it all away. She thinks she might've turned out a little different.

A little kinder, maybe. A little more vulnerable.

Oh... up, up, up with our voices

A little softer.

영원히 깨질.. 수 없는

Rumi runs the very tip of her finger down their maknae's nose, then the back of them over her soft cheek... until her thumb can tuck silky hair up and away.

...gonna be.. gonna be golden...

Now the small girl is all but jelly in her arms, a warm comfort.

Safe.

"She likes it when you sing, you know."

It takes everything in her not to throw herself and her cuddlebug off the couch at Mira's voice- coming out of nowhere, mind you.

"Mira."

"Hi." cheeky little-

A plastic bag of... makeup wipes[?] bumps at her cheek.

"Here," she says, with an amused little smile, "Went to go grab these, but- we were out. So I got the back-up pack from my room."

Ah-

"Thanks," Rumi sighs in relief, plucking free a singular wipe.

Just as she's starting to free Zoey's eyelashes and lids from their makeup shackles, Mira starts talking again- this time in a similar position to the one Rumi was in when this all started.

Leaning forward, with her lower arms braced on the back of the couch. Only this time, the tall dancer has her fingers loosely clasped together.

"I meant it, by the way."

"Mm? Meant what?"

Should she save these cute little jewels Zoey wore? Could they be reused? Or was it better to just toss them out..?

"She likes listening to you sing."

Oh-

"...and I do, too. I guess."

Rumi pauses, her chest jumping at the shy admission. They- liked hearing her sing. Well- alright maybe that was obvious.

They were a singing idol group, after all.

But still-

A sharp nail traces softly down her knee suddenly, right over-

"Heh, your patterns glow when you get all happy," Mira says, her voice almost its usual dry teasing tone but also just this side of awestruck.

Also- she glows?

Well what do you know?

Something sharp melts in her chest, something she didn't realize was broken and jagged until it had lined up with the jagged pieces of Mira.

Take that, Celine. These two love her and her patterns. Not despite of, not 'even though she has them.'

They love her with them.

And maybe she can learn to let them.

[falling-star-cygnus]

there's something about the Four Kings and Umemiya being correlated with gashadokuro [skeleton youkai] and Endo's yukata being a decrepit skeleton that eats at me ↓ also the KEEL logo is a dragon skeleton, someone needs to study his obsession with bones

[falling-star-cygnus]

okay, i'm in the process of rewatching the first httyd movie and- -> I DON'T REMEMBER IT BEING THIS FUCKING CUTE

Toothless, trying to feed Hiccup!? Toothless, drawing Hiccup!? Adorable, itty bitty Hiccup!?

ALSO how they met each other halfway!? i'm sick ↓ i also forgot how genuinely awful everyone was to him too though

Now- uh... does anybody know where i can watch the second and third movies? preferably for freezies?

[falling-star-cygnus]

telling myself that it's okay if i don't like every piece i write and that as a writer i'm entitled to writing poor stories from time to time so that i don't crash out and throw everything away

anyway- warm up fic to get in the writing mood this vacation: ↓ this was SUPPOSED to be a warm-up fic, and it warped into possibly one of the longest oneshots i have ever written

No Duh, Dumbass {ao3 fic link} SUMMARY: Shortly after his first encounter with one Sakura Haruka, Endo Yamato limps home. Turns out, ankles weren't meant to withstand the full weight of a muscled teenager when they leap from high places.

Who would've thought, huh?

+=+=+

That was... a remarkably stupid idea.

Even by Yamato's standards, and all he was willing to do, attempting to imitate action movies was.. a low point. A... very- low point.

God, he used to be a straight-A student.

Then again, he also used to be small enough to dangle from his 'friends' arms. So. Maybe this was just par for the course.

Had to trade in a few braincells to get his new physique.

Heh.

His ankles protest every step of the way home- they scream at him to sit down- though it's most noticeable in the way his right throbs and drags and lags behind like a spoiled child. Ugh..

It was nice seeing Tsubaki again, all things considered. If he had to take a little victory. They were always more alike than the other wanted to admit.

In love with someone they couldn't have.. heh. Hehehe- his chest hurt.

Rather, it was nice messing with Tsubaki again. His hair had gotten so much longer than their first [and only] year together.. and those red ends?

Ah, he should've asked what brand he'd used.. Takiishi might've liked it.

Eh, there was always next time.

Rough brick scrapes along his shoulder as Yamato stumbles into the wall.

...what a pain.. is all he can think, and it's so goddamn redundant.

His ankles, his arm where that bicolored brat got a kick in, his chest, and now his shoulder- it all seemed to permeate his very being. Bogging him down...

The sigh that breezes out of his chest is overtly underwhelming.

He should go threaten that old man before actually heading back.. then he can sleep for a week. Or until all these aches go away.

Mm.. no, Takiishi needed to eat, aaannd he tended to forget to feed himself until his stomach was empty enough to cause cramping. Maybe he could just precook a bunch of things and then sleep. And set alarms on his phone.

...actually, that wouldn't work either.. in fact, it might just end with another broken device.

Endo starts walking again, intent on finally getting off his feet for a while.

They'll just order in tonight. Well- if Takiishi didn't feel like prowling around anyway.

"We had a deal, mophead."

. . .oh, come ON-

Can he catch one break? Just one?

He tilts his head over his shoulder lazily, naturally trying to make his brace on the wall look more 'lazy' like than 'wounded animal'.

"Hey," he calls back, slipping his hands into his pants pocket, "I was just coming to find you."

The old man stalks over to him, flanked by two.. honestly less-than-impressive 'bodyguards'. Jesus Christ.. talk about throwing your wealth around.

All that money, and you go for barely outta grade school teens? From a no-name school?

Yeesh.

Though, I guess you'd be hard pressed to find someone stupid enough to do what this guy's been dealing in. Then again, what does he know?

Yamato Endo's a terrible judge of character after all.

Turning to face the irate, huffy old man is more effort than it should really be worth, but alas... he has ends to tie up. So his bitchy ankles can take a back seat.

A hand latches onto his face and tugs him down.

down

Down until he's bent at the waist and staring into the eyes of a man pushing 80.

BAD bad bad badbadbadbad bad- BADBADBAD

"I paid you to do a job," the man spits, his bitten [fuck, fuck, get it off] fingernails digging into the softer pudge of the tattooed teen's cheeks.

Just smile through it, Yamato.. just a little longer. Then you can go home.

Fuck, he's so tired. And hurt, and he just wants to settle down to the sound of Takiishi's breathing. At least until the ache soothes itself into something manageable again.

But smile he does, a familar placating curl that feels as natural to him as the tattoos on his body.

Yamato was still, and forever will be, a bastard though.

Deep breath, and-

"And I used the money to pay someone else to do that job," it's hard to talk clearly with his teeth grinding together, "Also the job is off."

Quicker than he thought himself capable in his battered state, he seizes the old creep's [because why else would he be so interested in a broke singer girl?] arm- the same one accosting his face.

The 'bodyguards' behind him jolt forward. At the end of the day, though, they're just first years. And they freeze when real danger rears its ugly head.

God, finally. Yamato works his sore jaw as it's freed from greasy fingers, adorned in trashy fake gold, until it pops with a nice little click. That's better.

"Change of bleeding heart?" the old man sneers, gasping, "I should've known you'd chicken ou- ACK!"

Limbs make such funny sounds when they bend the way they're not built to.

'Chicken out', huh? Heh. That was funny. Takiishi has beaten him within an inch of his life [a staunch three occasions] and this guy thinks kidnapping some whiny girl makes him squeamish? Makes him scared? No.

He used another word for it- he thinks it makes him a bleeding heart.

Yamato doesn't give two shits what happens to her.

"I found someone a bit more fun to play with," is what he tells this wannabe yakuza. Or would it be American Mafia...?

Italian? With the suit and trashy rings..? Mm. Well, who really cares anyway. Yamato-

crack!

-was suddenly in excruciating pain.

It knocks the breath out of him for a second- its abrupt intensity flaring up from his ankles.

His knee buckles under the weight of a cheap sneaker to his calf, sending him reeling to the.. huh. To the surprisingly clean ground. Damn, those stuffy Roppo Ichiza suits did their self-imposed jobs well. That was kind of infuriating.

But not as infuriating as this ballsy punk-

God- shit- he is never attempting to imitate a movie again, fuck fuck fuck. The shitty kid doesn't lift his foot from the abused limb, but he's shaking.

He's scared.

Alright then. Okay.

He fucking should be.

Everything passes in blur after that- a haze of rage induced practicality. He might laugh like a madman- he might sob like a cornered animal.

Who fucking knows.

Who fucking cares.

All he's capable of processing is that everything hurts, and everything is closing in on him and these three are the only things standing in his way. The only things caging him in. So they're going down.

One, two- Yamato doesn't know how many times his fists connect with flesh.

Just that the bodies fall all the same.

Vaguely, maybe, the tattooed teen wonders if this is how Takiishi feels when his loyal devotee gets in his way.

He wonders if his god feels as trapped as he does now.

It's not until strong arms are hooking under his shoulders that he snaps out of it- with an inhale that feels like he was robbed of air for too long. His chest heaves, his knuckles are bloodied. With his own or the skeeze or the bodyguards, he doesn't know- but-

His ears are ringing, and his legs no longer supporting him.

"ENDO!" and, unfortunately, he knows that voice, "CALM. DOWN!"

Those arms heft him straight up- forcing his spine out of years of slouching and forcing him to think properly. It pops.

Ugh.. as if this evening could not get any worse... here he is, Takiishi's white knight. The god to Takiishi's phoenix. The one gets to stay in his world while everyone else fades away.

"Finally," Umemiya sighs, "You were really out of it, huh?"

Yeah, and he'd like to go back to it.

Yamato lets his head drop and groans- long and annoyed and tired.

To his utter humilation, the fucker just laughs at him. And then lowers his worn out body from its restrained prison- and then lifts again. Like he was some sorta cat.

What the fuck?

"Hey, you put on some weight! That's great!" and he truly sounded genuine.

....he hates him. He really, really does.

"Don't make that face," he'll make whatever face he wants actually, "It's a good thing. You used to be so small, it was worrying."

Worrying- bullshit.

"Put me down."

To his credit- Umemiya complies easily. He hefts Yamato back up to his feet with just a grunt, and the tattooed teen wastes no time in throwing himself far far away from the chipper man.

Nobody worried over him- ever.

Not even his parents cared what he got up to as long... as long as he-

His legs give way barely a second later, leaving the tattooed teen to either catch the wall or hit the blood covered ground.

Hah- not so clean anymore, is it Roppo Ichiza?

Heheheh.. ah, shit.

A calloused hand catches his wrist and hauls him right back up- before his nose can make friends with asphalt.

There are three prone bodies in front of him. Breathing?

..maybe. He's not sure, but they're probably fine if this goody-two-shoes isn't going off his rocker.

So-

"Still don't like me, huh?" that white-haired asshole muses, as he [and let it be known this will forever MORTIFY him] slips Yamato's arm over his shoulder, "And here I thought absence made the heart grow fonder!"

"Drop dead."

"Already tried that, didn't really work out."

...christ.. Yamato tilts his head to the side, just to be sure Umemiya catches the full force of his judgment, "...you're really depressing to be around."

"Heh. Sorry."

No, he's not.

But whatever. Whatever. Yamato's to-do list is done, and his couch is waiting for him. He just needs to-

"What are you even doing out here?" he finds himself huffing, his lower half like lava-filled lead.

Furin was way in the other direction, wasn't it? And waay out of this district's supervision, he'd thought. Or at least hoped.

Umemiya just hefts him closer.

"Tsubaki- you remember Tsubaki, right?" god, could he sound anymore besotted, "Tsubaki performs here sometimes."

...yeah, and his shift ended like an hour ago. Poor guy. And what's even worse is that this asshole sounds elated at the information too- like he could watch his.. what is he calling those four nowadays, his kings?

Whatever. His king.

Like he could watch his king perform. What a loser.

Yamato goes to say as much.

"So..." the top-dog of Furin says abruptly, as he starts leading them through the back-alleys, "What'd you do to your legs?"

But Umemiya is faster.

You know, there's only a centimeter difference in their height. Umemiya only has a centimeter on him. And somehow it feels like a mile when he's being hobbled along like this.

Maybe if he just ignores him, he'll drop the entire conversation...

"It didn't seem like you had a problem fighting those guys, so what gives? They get a lucky hit on you or something?"

. . .

"There was... a losing fight beforehand?"

Silence.

"Oh! Did you kick a vending machine too hard?"

Yamato will say absolutely nothing.

"If you don't answer, I'm just going to keep guessing."

...damnit.

"Why do you wanna know so bad?" Endo Yamato is a terrible judge of character, he knows, but this line of interrogation would be lost even on a therapist.

Which- he doesn't need. No matter what some of the rookies tell him.

...anyway. Umemiya finally lets him go, right onto an odd amalgamation of boxes just sturdy enough for him to sit on without them collapsing.

The relief that sweeps through him is near suffocating.

At least until he catches sight of the serious look in titanium blue eyes. And that's interesting.

Yamato tilts his head onto his shoulder, bracing his weight on his arms as a smile- more smug and taunting than placating this time- warps his face.

"Endo, you're one of the strongest fighters I know."

Wait what-

Umemiya strides [because he doesn't need to stalk- not when his presence is already drowning everything else out] closer, his hands grasping Yamato's shoulders. And-

And they're rough from gardening. He grows tomatoes and produce and gushes about them like they're his children for cripes' sake.

So why does it feel like a death sentence?

"If someone did you in this bad, I need to know." those hands aren't hurting him, they're not exerting any other force than friendly, but the tattooed teen has only ever been this struck dumb once.

Hitting has always meant love to him, or better phrased, affection. A trade for him to stick around. A kind reprimand to get him back on track.

He doesn't know how to handle touches that don't split skin.

"I need to know, before they hit Furin."

But stupidity is a better wake-up call than a bucket of cold water.

Yamato lets the tense silence linger, just to see Umemiya grow increasingly agitated and antsy.

And then he bursts into cackles.

"BWHA HAHA HA-" oh, man, that was good, "You- HA- you think a person did this to me?"

In his defense, no one's first guess to the cause of fucked up legs is someone jumping off a roof to look cool. Because that would be remarkably stupid.

And Umemiya only knew him as a straight-A student, after all.

It's flattering, really.

The tattooed teen brushes those gentle hands off his shoulders.

"Ah.. chill out," Yamato sighs, mirth drying up in an instant, "I fell."

Jumped, more like, but whatever. He's entitled to a lie to make himself look cooler.

"Your precious, boring town is fine."

For now, anyway... June 21st was coming up pretty fast. Ooh, and there was still so much to get in order.

Hm... Yamato stretches his legs idly, already bracing for the sting of overused muscles as his sneaker hits the side of Umemiya's leg.

What he's not braced for is the calloused hand that grabs it.

The punch he throws is entirely borne of instinct, and maybe that's why it gets blocked before ever making contact. His arm, the same battered arm that Takiishi first hit- that Sakura Haruka just hit- strains against the unmovable barrier of dark green fabric.

Umemiya probes his ankle with a scarred thumb.

"Doesn't feel broken, at least," he says, like this was just another fucking Tuesday- like he had any fucking medical experience, "Definitely swollen though.."

This guy.. god, does Yamato hate him. Soo much.

More gently than he's been treated in his entire life, the top-dog of Furin lets his leg drop. And then he goes for the other one, the one on his right.

"Piss- off." he snaps, but even he knows there's not much he can do but succumb to treatment. That's fine.

He'll settle the bill later- like he always does.

Another swing, another block.

Yamato gives up.

Whatever, he thinks at last, dropping his arms to his thighs. Whatever.

"...what do you want?"

Umemiya looks up at him, one scarred brow furrowed as he cradles- cradles- and pokes gently at a barely working limb.

"Whaddya mean?" the man asks, somehow even kinder as he lowers it back down, "That one doesn't feel broken either, but I'd try to stay off it for a few days."

He rolls his eyes, so- so tired, "I mean, why're ya helping me?"

Nothing.. except- maybe the dull sound of eyelashes blinking in surprise. Maybe what he wants is obvious and Yamato was just- not getting it?

"Because you need help?"

No the fuck he doesn't. Not from this guy.

Not from anyone.

"And?" there's always a cost for help, there always is.

Yamato didn't get this far in life without paying his toll. When he looks up, Umemiya is gobsmacked. And confused.

"Nobody helps someone for free."

"I do."

"You're an idiot."

"I'm not the one with two sprained ankles," there. That's something he's more familiar with. Assholery.

He's halfway to throwing another punch, just for the hell of it, when he catches red on the hem of his white flannel. Fuuuck, are you kidding? He liked this one... it was soft and worn on the inside and soothing on new tattoos.

Shit.. one rotten occurance after another... today was reeally not his day, was it?

"Cold water and lemon juice will clean that right out."

God, this guy just could not shut up, now could he? But... that.. did made sense for him to know, considering white shirt dress code of Bofurin. Ugh.

Has he mentioned how much he hated this guy?

"...I'm not going to say thank you."

"I didn't think so."

+=+=+

Home sweet home.

At long fucking last.

Climbing the stairs to his and Takiishi's apartment is a nightmare and a half on his busted up legs, but in the end it just makes sinking into the couch that much sweeter.

He doesn't think his roommate is home, even if his keys are in the little bowl by the door. The redhead forgot them sometimes.

So, with the door unlocked just in case [he does NOT want to replace it again], Yamato settles in with his throbbing legs thrown over the opposite armrest.

Shit, he's so done.

But he also needs to get the blood out of his flannel.

Yamato rakes his palms down his face with a quiet groan.

"Come on.." the tattooed teen mutters to himself, "...come on, one more task and then you're done.. just... one more. And then you're done."

He's had to carry on in worse conditions, after all. This is nothing. This should be nothing.

So it is, and so Yamato Endo forces himself up to stagger into their kitchen. Lemon juice and cold water and.. was that really all? Did he have to scrub it too?

Could he just let it soak for a little bit?

His ankle chooses that moment to give again and send him into the wall- jarring his scraped up shoulder.

...he'll let it soak for a little bit.

It's a remarkably simple affair, all things considered. Glass bowl, ice, water, lemon juice. Annnd some lemon slices against the stains for good measure.

There.

Yamato lays back down on the couch and passes the fuck out.

+=+=+

Chika's roommate is hogging the couch.

He never does that.

Endo Yamato always seemed to be hyper aware of his limbs, at least when around the redhead- mostly keeping to himself, even if only physically. It was anybody's guess what would come out of his mouth.

Though, after so many years orbiting each other, Chika sometimes liked to make a game of guessing.

When he came home, he'd expected the usual. Endo typically cooked them something on weekdays- unless he was out and about with Chika himself- so their house was almost always filled with the nice smell of spices.

Those smells still linger, ingrained in each surface and microfibre. But there weren't any new ones.

And no lights were on.

The door was unlocked though [small victory, considering he forgot his keys again] so that at least meant Endo was home. But then why...

Ah.

He's sleeping on the couch.

At least, Chika thinks he's sleeping- his tattooed arm is thrown over his eyes, and his lanky legs are thrown over the cushions- but he looks remarkably uncomfortable.

Still- right now Chika wanted to sit down.

So, as his his tried and true method, he rears back his fist and-

His roommate dodges.

"What the fffu-" Endo sputters, blindly throwing a punch of his own.

That's new. The dodging and the fighting- even if the punch misses when Chika tilts his head and instead hits his hair.

With enough force that the duel-colored strands fly into the air.

Endo Yamato has never tried to hit him before.

Not even when, admittedly, Chika went too far in beating the shit out of him. He always just laughed.

This was kind of exciting.

But this was also kind of annoying.

He wasn't acting like his roommate.

Alas, the sleep clears from.. algae hued eyes. Huh. Before he can dwell on it further.

That was a pretty color. Maybe after he was done with reds and yellows, he'd change it to blues and greens. His roommate blinks hard up at him, feeling up synthetic strands of hair, before his body loses its hard lines of tension.

"Taki- ishi?," he wheezes, dazed as the yellow ends of his extensions drape over his palm, "AH-! Shit."

There he was.

Endo sits up so fast he almost rams their skulls together- if it weren't for Chika's stunning reflexes [and experience] in avoiding such things.

...so he liked to watch his roommate sleep sometimes, who cared? Not like he didn't get watched in turn. Fair is fair.

Whatever.

"Sorry, sorry, Takiishi," Endo's smooth voice isn't as smooth as it usually is, but he swings his legs back to the floor to make space, "You wanna sit down?"

He did, but also what the fuck.

Why was his roommate acting so weird? Weird-der than normal.

There's blood crusted on his shoulder now that Chika cares to look, and he's not wearing the flannel he went out in. Which is weird, because he went out to get his tattoos darkened and he always wears that flannel when he does that.

Every single time.

Something unpleasent starts to brew deep in Chika's gut.

He prods at the crusted blood, vaguely daring it to be his roommate's and not someone elses. It better be somebody elses.

Only Chika should be allowed to make him bleed.

Alas, it's entirely Endo's- proved by the jolt and cringe he gets- and the tattooed teen stares at it like it had just betrayed his bloodline. Did he... not know it was there? Did he forget about it?

"Where's your jacket?" such thoughts left him feeling rankled, so it was time to switch topics.

"My what? Oh." Endo drags a hand down his face with one more hard blink, "Kitchen."

...that was a weird spot for a jacket.

Regardless, Chika strides over anyway. For some reason, his roommate was.. not in pique performance. Hurt on a level that was deeper than physical.

Why did that bother him so much?

Because he couldn't bring him things like this, maybe?

Tucked away in their kitchen is a glass bowl of... slightly opaque liquid. It's not really brown, and it's not really clear- and it has bits of yellow floating around on the top and.. oh.

It's the flannel.

Floating with lemon slices and rusty red particles. Hm.

"Did you get into a fight?" without him? Rude.

Endo ruffles his curls, only visible to him as he strolls past into the tatted teens room, "Eh.. kinda?"

Kinda? How do you 'kinda' get into a fight? Whatever, Chika didn't stick around to care.

Now where did he keep his...? Ah.

His roomate had a lot of jackets, most of which he had free reign to snag from... aaall except for two. Not that Endo ever explictly told him not to wear them.

It was just clear he had his favorites.

A white flannel annnd... Chika nicks black fabric from its hanger.

A white flannel and a black yukata, adorned on the back with a deconstructed skeleton.

And sakura flowers.

The redhead isn't known for his gentle behavior, obviously, but he knows how to take care of clothes. He knows they stayed most comfortable with a careful hand.

When he ventures back into their living area, overwear hung over his arn, his roommate has one knee tugged up to his chest- his eyes on his phone- as he massages-

. . .

As he massages very, very, swollen skin.

Another detour then.

But first, Chika throws the yukata over Endo's head.

He needs his hands free.

"Ack- what?" a sharp inhale as he, presumably, registers the material.

Chika doesn't bother listening to see if he says anything else.

For sprains... you needed ice, right? Or something cold? And elevation. Which- certainly explains why the tatted teen had had taken up the entirety of their shared couch. Meh.

It looks like all their ice was put towards the bowl of flannel, though, so what else would work?

"Hey, Takiishi?"

"Mm?" Chika eyes a bag of frozen vegetables they're probably never going to eat. Ever, really, if he has a say in it.

"I don't think I can cook tonight," no duh, "Do you wanna get take-out instead? That place you like is delivering."

Obviously.

His answer is so blindingly obvious, he doesn't respond again.

No, Chika Takiishi doesn't bother with questions that have clear cut-out endings. He doesn't bother with people who get in his way, or interrupt him.

What he apparently does bother with is stupid, tattooed, roommates who bring him stuff that he likes. That can't take care of their own injuries to keep doing their self-assigned jobs.

But that's fine. For now.

Chika knows how to treat his things with a careful hand.

[falling-star-cygnus]

finally succumbing to the httyd agenda after YEARS of indifference and i need fanfic like NOW

specifically- are there any fanfic where Hiccup can like.. actually talk to dragons? bc it seems like he is SCARILY in tune with those little buggers

[falling-star-cygnus]

oh fuck ooofff -> it's the same goddamn arm.

Endo blocked Sakura with the same arm he blocked Takiishi, with borderline the same expression. and Endo fell for both of them, i'm ill ↓ he has a type and it's 'can wreck my shit'

[falling-star-cygnus]

Endo Yamato's introduction in WinBre is so amazingly done tbh -> i love that he's not presented as this infallible obstacle for Sakura yk?

like- yes, he's unbelievably strong and adept at fighting, and he's got shady connections and an unsettling presence... but he's also literally just a guy

he can't do impossible things like jumping from a two story building without damage, or dodge every hit, or subdue the present group by himself

however he's still undeniably terrifying enough that Sakura has no choice but to let him walk away ↓ and THAT'S how you write a big bad in a realistic setting

[falling-star-cygnus]

people on TikTok are so relentlessly wrong and loud and rude oml 😭 -> made a video about my tattoo Endo post, bc i was excited to yap about more Endo lore [because i'm hardcore fixated on him rn, n @orewing so graciously corrected me]

and this one person was like 'no, he's 18, you clearly don't know how manga works'

HE'S SEVENTEEN ↓ he's two years older than Sakura, who's birthday has already passed in the manga, and November has not happened yet. ↓ making him still 17 until November

which means he got his tattoos illegally. ↑ and another person was all like 'who cares?' I DO!!! BECAUSE CHARACTER DESIGN//LORE IS MY PASSION

[falling-star-cygnus]

someone really needs to bully me into writing the fics i already have started...

The Cuddlebug {ao3 fic link} SUMMARY: Charles is the agency's people person. Obviously he is- he loved people! And he loved being around people. ...sometimes. Other times.. other times he just wanted to tuck himself between Edwin's ribs and make a new home.

+=+=+

It was one of those days.

Charles noted the signs with a curl of muted displeasure. These days were always the worst. Everything felt... fuzzy, somehow. Like he was looking at things through a dusty lens.

Or one of those- fucked up mirrors. Funhouse mirrors?

Not to mention, his reaction time was always sluggish in this state. And that was dangerous- he couldn't keep Edwin safe like this.

All he did was worry him.

Even now, as their little group traipsed through the streets of London, Edwin held onto his hand to guide him. Which- was bloody ridiculous, because even all mucked up like this he could follow a person. Most... of the time.

It was nice though, he could admit that much. Just to himself.

Couldn't really bring himself to admit it out loud even if he wanted to anyway, could he? Talking- even smiling- felt like a chore.

How was he supposed to keep spirits up like this?

"M'sorry," he mutters still- right into Edwin's shoulder as the girls stop to peer into a shop window- and just quiet enough only his best mate can hear it.

The mashed word tastes like tar and sand on its way out- sticky behind his teeth.

All he gets is that gloved hand kindly squeezing his, "None of that, Charles. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for."

Didn't he? He's gotta be absolute rubbish to be around right now.. all gloomy and quiet like this.

"Truly," Edwin doubles down, just as soft, "It's no different then when you tuck me away in your bag."

No- no, that was so different! It was always nice and quiet in the bag, so it's perfect for when 'Win.. well, you know. When things are too loud 'round the office on the bad days.

Warranted bad days, mind you, because he'd gone through literal Hell! Hell that had a spider thing made of- of bloody babydoll heads.

Meanwhile there was no reason for Charles to- to just shut down like this!

Edwin's thumb strokes along the cut out of his glove, the pressure firm and pleasant.

"Besides," his best mate tacks on, as the girls start forward again, "I suppose you could say it makes me happy- being able to protect you like this."

Protect.. him? But-

Niko gasps from right beside him before he can respond, the intake high and sharp.

It's the kinda gasp that makes Charles' hackles rise instantly, the kind that makes him tighten his grip on Edwin's hand and budge between him and whatever potential danger there-

...might.. be.

It was a small dog.

...alright, maybe he was a little jumpy.

"Oh- sorry, Charles," the bone-haired girl says, though her eyes only glance at him fleetingly- trained as they are on the tiny animal.

Her hands are all bunched up under her chin as she does little hops in place, with the biggest smile he'd seen on her since Esther. And that was... nice, he decides.

Niko deserves to look that happy all the time.

"Cuteness aggression?" Crystal asks drily, as though she already knew the answer, and the bright girl nods so fast that Charles is vaguely concerned her head might fly off.

It loosens up the heavy feeling in his chest, somewhat, though. Like the sun peeking out through the clouds. Except the clouds are.. you know, in his brain.

"Cuteness.. aggression?" Edwin asks him, on instinct, and then turns his questioning gaze to the ladies of their group.

They're still holding hands..

"It's like- when something is so cute you just want to," Niko slowly crushes her palms together for emphasis, "You know? So it will stop being cute."

Slowly, she seems to calm herself down, before-

"Oh, I just want to squeeze him!"

"Yes, I gathered," his best mate nods, but not in his uppity- rude client reserved voice. Or his Crystal reserved voice. This one was just- bafflement that such a term existed in the first place.

Charles opens his arms to Niko, his twitchy hand still gently wrapped up in Edwin’s [he doesn't want to let go, and it's not like hugging really requires much more than his arms] and tries to configure his expression into something inviting.

It’s so much work though.. still, it’s almost worth it when the cloud-haired girl looked absolutely elated.

"Are you sure?" she asks, suddenly serious.

He kinda liked that about her. Granted, anybody that Edwin liked was bound to be brills. But there was something about Niko that just felt good to be around.

Maybe it was the way she took every possible feeling into account, or maybe it was just her accepting nature. Maybe it was just because she was good.

Good in a way Charles could never be.

He swallows down the tar in his throat.

"Can't exactly hurt me by squeezing too hard, now can you?" the ghost cajoles, and shit is that his voice?

Blimey...

play it off with a joke, Charlie

"Unless you've got iron on you in all that pretty jewelery."

...alright- that was.. fine. Not a joke, but maybe she'd like the compliment instead?

The unneeded air gets knocked from his chest as the girl winds herself around him like a vice- or one of those really cool beetles with the pincers. Mn... maybe she wouldn't like being compared to a bug though.

Either way, Niko burrows in. Her hands slip beneath his jacket and around his back, as he carefully tucks his own arms around her shoulders.

This might've been a bad idea- days like this, when his everything was bogged down- he tended to get cold. Colder.

Couldn't be very pleasant for a human. Especially a living, breathing one.

Or- living adjacent. They weren't really sure what Niko was anymore, since dragging her back to their sides.

"You're like an ice cube.." case in point, "Are all ghosts this cold?"

Edwin takes point from where his partner has [mostly accidentally] wrangled him behind the poor, probably freezing, girl by their joined hands.

"Charles is exceptionally cold for a ghost," he informs her, "Most of us don't feel like anything at all."

Unless, of course, you died from a freezing lake.

And because no one could ever accuse Niko of not reading between the lines, she pieces that together in the next instant. Though no one could accuse her of being predictable either.

Instead of pulling away, like he might expect, her hands start rubbing between his shoulder blades. Then his shoulders.

Then down his arms.

Like..

...like she was trying to warm him up..

Something seems to crack almost violently in what's left of his ribcage.

+=+=+

Something is... wrong, with Charles.

Very wrong- in a way Edwin had very scarcely seen in their years together. But he has seen it before, and thus- he can.. help. Hopefully.

God he hoped he could help- Charles always seemed to know how to help him. To not be able to return the favor... if he couldn't return the favor just once, what kind of best friend was he?

A bad one.

So far, holding his hand- leading him gently around their home city- seems to be working. Marginally. He's still unbearably cold, though, his fingers stiff.

And then he doesn't feel like anything at all.

Niko goes straight through him- into Crystal's arms- and that's not like Charles at all. He likes being physical- and touching things he can't feel and hugging, so... so why does he look so completely.. gutted?

"Hey!" Crystal snaps at him, guiding the girl up to standing again, "A little warning before you go all- intangible- maybe!?"

Irritation licks up the Edwardian's spine.

"Clearly he didn't mean to," he snaps back, ever the defender of his best friend's- his partner's good character.

"Is he okay?" Niko interjects before a true fight can brew, "I didn't mean to-"

Didn't mean to what?

Edwin turns on his closest living friend, his expression maybe a little too severe for someone so kind, but she meets him head-on and reads his urgency for what it truly is.

As she always does.

"Well- you said he was 'especially cold' for a ghost," she explains, dark eyes flitting worriedly up and down Charles' catatonic back, "So I thought could maybe-"

And here she pantomimes something- maybe. It's an odd motion, where she rubs the air in front of her very briefly. Like someone trying to throw their hands up in exasperation and losing steam halfway through.

"-maybe warm him up?"

..oh... and what a Niko thing to do. And it might've even worked too, had Charles been in literally any other headspace.

This Charles.. admittedly scared him a little bit, if only because Edwin was so out of his depth in means of helping him. This Charles was quiet, and jumpy, and- and scared looking.

He didn't like it.

Obviously he didn't like it- no one should like when their loved ones were scared.

Edwin carefully leans down to examine Charles' face, where those lovely puppy eyes were wide and unseeing. Unfortunately, it made too much sense why he'd shut down like this- so abruptly- in the face of their human friend's kindness.

There were tears beading on his lash line.

"We're going back to the office," he announces, straightening up in an instant. The girls flinch at his sudden volume.

He'll apologize for his rudeness later- when his chest doesn't hurt and when Charles can make light fun of him for holding his hand. For now, the Edwardian simply takes the limp limb again and hurries off to the nearest reflective surface.

"Come along, Charles," he says, much softer now, "We're going home now."

"...'win?" the younger ghosts asks, his voice watery on the edges.

HIs hand is getting watery too- instead of feeling like static-it felt.. damp almost. At least- as damp as a ghost could feel.

This wasn't good. Death states weren't exactly rare for a ghost to enter, but for Charles to be under enough emotional duress... it made something ugly bite at his insides.

"Yes," Edwin nods, desperate to keep his friend responsive, "Do you remember where I put that new book I found?"

For a moment, there's only sticky silence- the kind that clogs up your throat until breathing is almost impossible. Not that he needed to breathe, as a ghost 'n all. But the metaphor stands.

Charles pipes up again only after the older ghost has successfully located a suitable mirror, "On.. your desk, innit?"

Close enough, really, it was on his chair behind the desk.

He'll take it.

"Our desk. We'll check there first then."

Edwin steps through first, making sure to keep a good gentle grip on the shaking hand in his grasp as he pulls him through.

Finally... quiet.

He turns around to better assess the situation.

And he's met with unbelieveably soft curls nudging against his jaw, as Charles buries himself in the Edwardian's shoulder like a puppet with its strings cut.

It's unfair really, how adorable the action is.

Barely a foot away from their mirror, too.. mm. They should really move to somewhere more comfortable- like their couch. But, well... Edwin very carefully settles his hands above his friend's elbows.

Whatever Charles wants, as his mind so often says.

"Will you talk to me? Please?" there's a fairly low shot of his plea working, he knows.

Talking has never quite been their strong suit. Maybe it doesn't have to be, with how well they know each other's comforts and discomforts.

Maybe it could be there new normal- one day.

But for now: "I could read to you, perhaps?"

There's another length of quiet- wehre Edwin simply rocks from his heels to his toes just the slightest bit.

Charles eventually nods without lifting his head.

For now, they'll stick to their old ways. To curling up on the couch in the dim light of their lantern.

To a voice that doesn't need air and a body that's no longer dying.

But maybe they'll add some new things too. Like a blanket over a body that still shivers and a head upon a chest that doesn't beat anymore- save for the one silly boy it fell in love with.

They'll talk, eventually.

But for now, they read.

please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!!!

[falling-star-cygnus]

my favorite thing about wbk rn is that Endo was canonically pretty tiny compared to his peers

-> LOOK AT 'IM

like it's not a huge difference, but the fact that he went from itty bitty to being so tall baffles me

[falling-star-cygnus]

more Endo Yamato thoughts! -> edited bc i just found out he’s not even 18

He's 17 and he's got a lot of tattoos ↓ now, i'm not saying it's surprising he's got illegal tattoos [especially considering Chika canonically likes to watch him get them] but also HOW yk?? and WHEN?

like we see in flashbacks that he was tiny compared to his peers [idk what happened] and then he had an awkward growth spurt, and then he was all muscled and tall ↑ so HOW did that happen, actually?

[falling-star-cygnus]

bug boy Charles is actually so important to me y'all don't even KNOW

we only really see him interact with the jar of bees, fair, but i truly think he would LOVE the little things -> like- just imagine him finding bugs to show Edwin and being so gentle as he cradles them. or being ELATED that he doesn't have to worry about being poisoned anymore

imagine Edwin hunting down books on entomology so he can share fun facts about them and share in his best friend's interest [even if he personally doesn't like them]

ALSO LIKE-??? CHARLES WOULD BE SUCH A GENTLEMAN TOWARDS THEM??? ↓ saying things like: "alright, little lady, out you go" when he needs to take care of wayward spiders? or "well aren't you a proper sight?"

just- Charles n bugs that's all

[falling-star-cygnus]

more on Endo being the first person in Chika's world- ↑ i'm pretty sure he was also, the first person to ever actually take one of Chika's attacks???

and not take in a 'oh you can beat me up idc' way -> he blocked that shit, full stop

↓ at this point, literally nobody has been able to withstand Chika yet [they hadn't met Umemiya]

EXCEPT ENDO- ENDO WAS THE FIRST PERSON TO GIVE CHIKA SOMETHING NEW [man's had to hit him again just to make sure that shit really happened]

[falling-star-cygnus]

i love the way they animated Endo, truly i do [especially with how his tattooes are very consistently detailed, and how his hair is noticeably curly] BUT GIVE HIM BACK HIS SQUISHY FACE DAMNIT 😭 

i knew something looked OFF but everything else was done so well that i couldn't place it... -> it's his squishy cheeks, they're GONE

now imagine after the Noroshi arc, instead of hitting Endo: Chika just really aggressively squishes his face to vent his displeasure

[falling-star-cygnus]

should i be starting a new fic with all the half-completed ones in my drafts? no -> but live laugh love EndoChika

Sakura Haruka's Romance Sensor Against the World! {ao3 fic link} SUMMARY: Sakura's friends worry about his health far too much, in his opinion. So it's raining, so he got a little wet, big deal. They didn't need to peer pressure him into a shower.

But apparently they do, and so he does. Why the fuck are Endo and Takiishi at his door the minute he gets out!? And was no one going to tell him that they've got some... weird romantic tension?

+=+=+

Why the hell... are they at my house-!?

Haruka's hair drips down his neck, still damp from the semi-warm shower his- friends had bullied him into taking. As if a little rain was going to be the thing that did him in.

"We don't want you to get sick again!" BAH. He was tougher than that!

You get sick from worry one time and suddenly- suddenly... you've got a weak immune system.

Sick from worry.. that's what it had been, hadn't it? Or maybe it was just the more palatable answer- aka the mold still growing in the corners of his house that got damp in the rain.

Rain that was currently dripping onto his floor.

...sighing isn't enough. Haruka vaguely feels the need to remove his lungs entirely and leave them outside to be washed clean.

Can you even get sick from mold? he finds himself thinking, looking around his sparse belongings for something to gather up the droplets.

Moldy food, yes. He'd learned that the hard way when a bout of food poisoning left him bed bound in a house with no air conditioning. Could it even be called a house..?

Voices had drawn him to his door, had forced him to hastily throw on his boxers and shirt lest he suddenly find himself in the company of everybody in his goddamn class. Again.

...Haruka really needed to fix his lock.

Though his door was so rotted, it probably wouldn't even matter.

The shiver that goes down his spine is entirely due to the weather- due to the cold drop of rain that gets his hand when he's settling a plastic bag under the leak.

Nothing else.

It doesn't keep him up at night, wondering if the creak outside his door is just a stray cat or footsteps- he's made of tougher stuff than that. He's had to be. His curtains [star patterned things- a gift] aren't kept cracked for the lingering shadows of strangers.

Haruka has them like that so the sun wakes him up on time.

That's it.

Would Umemiya know how to fix-?

Anyway- the voices are only getting closer. And his hair's not any drier than it was before he'd heard them. That was annoying...

Why is it raining in summer, anyway? That didn't make any sense at all.

Nirei would tell him to go get his towel- or worse get it himself and absolutely smother him- but..

He edges closer to his window to peek out. There's no curtains on these ones, so he's gotta be a little more careful to stay out of sight. And isn't that a fucking thought- hiding in his own goddamn house.

Ugh.. at least this window has those odd wooden slats on the outside. Spaced just enough for a clear glimpse inside or out.

Should he- text someone?

Well- no, because those someones might be right outside his door right now. Maybe he missed a text, and that's why they were here. Except they were all just hanging out not even an hour ago.

Before the rain had hit.

Bright red hair swings into his line of sight. Bright, waist length, red hair. With yellow ends.

Haruka's never hit the ground faster.

His mind's racing, so fast and hard that he almost doesn't catch the conversation that had lured him in the first place.

"Woow, that rain came out of nowhere.."

Because of course.. of course... he was here too. God-fucking-damnit. Package deal motherfuc-

Endo freakin' Yamato doesn't get a response- not much of one anway. Chika Takiishi [he threw a desk off the roof, fighting Umemiya] just makes a noise at him.

Phantom aches crawl up Haruka's throat- far too similar to the ones that attacked his scalp from time to time, when he got too deep into his thoughts. The weight on his sternum is an almost physical thing.

Quiet- quiet- be quiet...

His hand clamps over his mouth and nose.

Maybe he was just seeing things!

Yeah.

Another glance.

It's still Endo Yamato and the man he's obsessed with enough to start a war for.

They're

Haruka should text someone. Should get to someone before this became a fight. Endo- he could take Endo again. Probably, if he had to. If it was one on one.

But Takiishi too?

They're both tucked flat under the barely there- awning..? The thing over his door. The rain's light enough that it's enough cover, at least until it either clears up or gets heavier.

They haven't knocked, at least. Or announced their presence.

...he could always pretend he's not here and hope they go away.

That seemed so cowardly though. And he's not a fucking coward. He just... didn't think he'd have to face them again so soon.

Shit.

"This rain's pretty light," Endo eventually says, again to what might as well be thin air, "We could probably make it home without getting drenched. If we ran, anyway."

Predictably, no response.

Haruka chances another look.

. . .

THEY'RE NOT EVEN FACING HIS DOOR-!

Were they seriously just there to hide from the rain!? What were the odds they'd stop at his house!?

Suo.. could probably tell him. Though, that would mean grabbing his phone from his room and leaving his door unattended.

He finds an angle that lets him see both men at the same time, just in case of- something happening. Maybe he couldn't take both of them, not at the same time at least, but... well, he could probably surprise them and then book it.

Umemiya was probably still at the school somewhere.

Endo's got a white bandage taped to his throat- which is weird, because how did that happen? Who the hell got the drop on Endo?

Takiishi is glaring at it with enough hatred to stop someone's heart. And Haruka would know, because he's seen that look many many times. Mostly at his old town.

That's not as weird.

"I know, I know," the tattooed man tries to appease, "You wanted to go see Umemiya. Sucks the weather had to change so suddenly."

...is he-

Is he serious?

That's not what-

SMACK

Haruka jumps- quickly ducking down again.

"Ow- what did I do!?"

Another, cautious, glance shows him Endo rubbing the back of his curly hair- bent forward at the waist just the slightest bit. Though held away from the drizzle by the same hand that, presumably, smacked the back of his head.

"You're not supposed to get it wet," Takiishi- surprisingly- answers, narrow eyes narrowing even further.

"...oh."

Endo's hand comes up slowly, to the very edge of the damn thing. And then he laughs. Cackles, actually. Like- a fucking hyena. It's creepy.

"Were you worried?" he asks, leaning forward for a glimpse at his... are they friends? More..? Stalker and stalkee?

Point is- he tries to look at the other man's face, "Takiishi-"

"Chika."

"Chika," eugh.. it sounded all- punched out of him, "It was just a little ink poisoning-"

Alright, that made a lot more sense. Was he getting another tattoo? His neck was already full of them.. where would it even fit?

"You threw up on my shoes."

"Okay, well- technically they were my shoes. So.."

Takiishi looks down at his feet, clad in- honestly impressively chunky heels. Where did he get those? And then he looks back at Endo, his face even more deadpan. [If that was possible]

"Don't you remember? You said your feet hurt, and we switched." the tattooed man explains.

A golden blink.

"...oh."

These-!

Haruka doesn't need a mirror to know what his face is doing- crouched as he is and spying on the two people that beat the shit out of him and Umemiya. He can feel it.

His cheeks burn, right up to his ears and right down to the tips of his fingers.

These- idiots!

How truly hopeless do these two have to be, that he can call them out on it!? Alright- Haruka knows he's naive on most things concerning... people..

But seriously!

What! The! Hell!

It's due to this rather all encompassing bafflement that he almost misses the fact that the rain has stopped. The sun peeks out from the clouds, oh-so similarly to how he's peeking out his own goddamn window.

Ugh, now he's the spy.

And they're- not friends. And not lovers yet either.

Endo and Takiishi start walking away from his door after noticing, after Takiishi is sure Endo won't suddenly die getting a little water on his bandage.

That man almost choked him out.

Why was he holding his hand out to Takiishi like the redhead was a princess? Why was he helping him down rickety stairs? WHY WAS TAKIISHI LETTING HIM!?

"I feel bad for whoever lives in this building," is just barely heard from this distance, "Can't imagine it's very safe to walk up and down everyday."

Haruka makes a mad dash for his phone. Then back to his window.

This is by far one the most stupidest things he's ever done, but:

To: Endo Yamato Sakura Haruka: Fuck you 15:58

Endo pats his pocket- still just barely in viewing distance- and pulls out his phone. Much to his companion's [lover's?] brief ire.

To: Sakura Haruka Endo Yamato: !? 15:59 Endo Yamato: Where did that come from!? 16:02 Endo Yamato: Sakura!? 16:05

[falling-star-cygnus]

windbreaker fandom, i know i have only written ONE FIC for you guys... but i'm here to redeem myself -> i am SO SORRY, i genuinely don't know why it took me so long to pump out another fic for these sillies

A Bloom by any Other Name {ao3 fic link} SUMMARY: Names carry a certain type of weight. Endo never really believed such a thing- it was just a name after all. Not until Takiishi said his, and then kept saying it.

alternatively: Endo contemplates another tattoo, and Chika doesn't like not being his sole focus anymore

+=+=+

"SAKURA-SAN, IT'S ONLY FOUR SYLLABLES!?" Akihiko can't help but shriek completely baffled that this is what stumps his captain.

Suo-san snickers somewhere behind him, which- is not helpful!? But it's Suo-san so why is he surprised.

"I'M TRYING MY BEST OKAY!?"

+=+=+

Endo Yamato doesn't know why he says it, initially.

Chika Takiishi certainly doesn't care what he gets up to his free time, let alone what he does to his body. As long as he keeps bringing him things he likes and- keeps a roof over his head.

Maybe it's just him trying to fill the quiet with chatter, instead of rain and sizzling pans.

"I'm thinking about getting another tattoo," right along the side of his neck and back of his shoulder, maybe, opposite the FRANK tattoo.

Or maybe his ankle would be better? There's not a lot of tattoos on his legs.. could be special...

"Sakura blossoms," he tacks on, after what he's almost sure is a hum that he imagines. But it's probably just popping oil, if he's being realistic.

Ah, but no one could ever accuse him of that- now could they? Falling fast and hard for the unattainable- tying himself to the unreachable- has always been his thing.

The war he orchestrated really only proved that.

This would be the... second tattoo he'd get with intent, he thinks, instead of just letting himself be used as doodle practice.

...letting himself be used..

Yamato refocuses on the food he's supposed to be cooking. Urgh, he's been dwelling too long... the rain is making his thoughts all depressing-!

Really, he's happy to let himself be used in any way that keeps him tethered to his love's side. To his god.

If he burns the food, Takiishi will get grumpy with him. Yamato really doesn't feel like going out, not in his headspace and not in this weather, sooo it's really just better to get it right in one.

At least it's not a hard dish to prepare- he's finished quick now that he's set himself to it.

The stove is turned off, the food plated, but Yamato has only just barely turned around when he's cornered by two deceptively muscled arms.

Takiishi's hands clamp down on either side of him, white knuckled on their counter. And- look..

Yamato was tall. He hadn't always been, of course, there was a time when he was much shorter than his peers- before he'd started putting work towards his physique. Much shorter than the golden eyes baring into him.

And it kinda feels like he's that small again now- even as Takiishi glares up at him.

Er- is it a glare? It feels like a glare.

It's definitely not pleased- not with the way his brows are pulled ever so slightly together.

Ordinarily, they're around the same height- Yamato beats him only by an inch or two- but with the way the redhead has arched..

"Uh- everything alright?" not the time to think about the way Yamato's jacket rides up his roommate's back. The way it exposes even more of his spine.

"You keep talking about him," he says lowly, and- okay, yeah, that's a glare. What had he done again?

"All week... it's him."

His head might be a little fuzzy from the proximity.

...honestly, though, this might be the most emotion he's ever seen on his face since fighting Umemiya. Sudden- electric thrill zips up and down Yamato's spine unbiddenly. Because that an expression... his anger was just as beautiful as his elation, who would've known?

Yamato would've known, he should've known. Short hair, long hair, fury, ferocious glee, clean, covered in blood, he'd never seen anything that could compare.

Not a sunset, nor an art piece, or any other thing people found comparable to their loved ones.

"Who?" he finds himself asking, his voice far weaker- far higher- than he'd prefer talking to one so beautiful. To one that was Chika Takiishi.

The redhead's golden eyes narrow further- barely- before he's pushing himself closer. Before he's straightening up until his next words are practically against his roommate's lips:

"Good."

Ah? What..?

"Endo Yamato..." Takiishi pulls away, though his arms linger around the taller man for just a second.

For just a second, it seems like he wants to say more. And then his stomach growls. Loudly.

Yamato hands him one of the prepared plates without truly thinking about it- his mind almost completely blank as he watches the love of his life walk back towards his prior perch. But the man stops- fork between his lips as he looks over his shoulder.

"Don't get that tattoo."

He's gone in the next instant. The tattooed man finds himself slowly sliding to the floor.

That was about Sakura?

+=+=+

Chika Takiishi doesn't like the rain.

It's deeply unpleasent weather, where you can't see fireworks or go for walks without getting sick or do anything. The only good thing about it is the smell afterwards.

Oil sizzles somewhere farther into the house. Farther than he wishes to dwell, admittedly, when he's cozy in a sweater that's... not his, he doesn't think.

But he's also never seen him wear it. Has he?

It was big on Chika, draping over his knuckles yet not covering his midriff. Hm... no, he probably would've remembered that.

Maybe it was new.

Whatever.

Rain keeps beating against the windows.

Annoying...

"I'm thinking about getting another tattoo," Endo Yamato pipes up, after what seems like endless ambient noise.

Chika glances over, trailing over the exposed tattooed skin of his arms and upper back. He was just wearing a tank top and thin sleep pants... which meant the tattoo [Chika's tattoo- his- m i n e] on his shoulder was just barely visible.

Where would a new one even fit... with all the ink on his torso and wrists..

...mm.. his eyes drift lower. His legs maybe? Endo Yamato didn't have any tattoos there yet.

"Sakura blossoms," he explains.

...fury coils deep in his exposed gut.

Sakura.

All week, all the time since his birthday, it's been that name.. and it had to be a name, because the flower couldn't possibly do things like give the curly haired man a good fight or blush or whatever else Endo Yamato wanted to gush about.

He used to only do that about Chika.

Why was that changing? Why- was he suddenly so interested in this Sakura character?

Chika didn't like it- hated it almost with the same passion he did the rain.

And now Endo Yamato [his, his, his] wanted to get a brand new tattoo for him?

He's up and moving before his thoughts catch up with his body. And then it does and then he decides it's a necessary corrective course of action anyway.

How to, though... hitting him too hard would probably wreck the food [and admittedly he was trying not to cause him too much pain anymore] so...

Endo Yamato clicks their oven off after plating up their meal, turning around with obviously no knowledge of Chika's proximity.

How dare he, he was probably distracted thinking about Sakura.

Sakura, Sakura, Sakura.

Chika closes in- slamming his palms on either side of that trim waist as his... borrowed[?] sweater rides up his back.

Ugh.. it was cold... how was he not cold? Wearing just that tank top.. hm... a memory itches from deep in the recesses of his brain. Why did he have to look up at him..

That didn't use to be the case, did it? No... he vaguely can picture a much smaller curly haired clinger. One without the spirals of ink. Hm.. the eyes are familiar though..

Bluish green.. kinda like algae.

Endo Yamato shudders between his arms. Right.

"Uh- everything... alright?" he wheezes out, one of his eyebrows raising.

Sakura, Sakura, SAKURA.

"You keep talking about him," Chika's well aware his voice comes out more like a growl, but he doesn't quite care at the moment.

His face is red. Like his hair, like fireworks, like ume blossoms. Like-

SAKURA, SAKURA, SAKURA!

"All week... it's him."

SAKURASAKURASAKURASAKURA-

He has half a mind to go back down to Furin, to make Umemiya tell him who this- this Sakura is so he can remove him from the equation. To put Endo Yamato's attention back where it belongs-

But then...

"Who?"

Those algae eyes are focused only on him. On Chika Takiishi. His voice is a wheezy sorta thing- breathless.

Satisfaction curls in his gut, smothering the rage clouding and burning inside him like.. like his sweater on rainy days. Because he's the one that's got it. Not this Sakura.

Chika pushes himself up, suddenly much closer to his roommate's mouth.

"Good." something, something- Umemiya said positive reinforcement? Whatever.

He doesn't want Sakura on Endo Yamato's skin. Doesn't even want him thinking of Sakura.

Only him.

The satisfaction goes sour suddenly, as his hunger makes itself known in the small space of their kitchen. A warm plate is guided into his hands on instinct, along with a fork.

Mm... it smells good..

Alright then.

Chika turns on his heel, already piling a bite into his mouth. It tasted good too.

Oh right.

He looks over his shoulder, where the curly haired man is still red-faced and dazed and propped against the counter.

"Don't get that tattoo."

Chika doesn't stick around to see if he agrees.

There's a good meal to be had, after all.

+=+=+

"Ak-Aki.. hiko..." Sakura mutters, like it physically pains him.

Well.. his face is certainly red enough to be painful- but there's a certain kinda thrill in hearing his name on his captain's voice, even if it's broken up. So... Akihiko finds he doesn't feel too bad.

He claps gently, "You did it, Sakura-san! Maybe.. try it all together now?"

Suo grabs onto the back of the bi-colored boy's collar before he can run off.

Ah... well. Maybe next time.

please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!!! you're hopefully dear author is back on their wbk bullshit

[falling-star-cygnus]

no bc it's literally the way Arima is almost always protecting Kanuma's back actually

and the way he's tall enough to lean all the way over him -> why don't more people write fics of these two, EVERYTHING IS THERE!!! send in requests, i'll do it. i volunteer