idontevenknow129

[idontevenknow129]

gojo knew there was a woman under that helmet.

he knew that those movements were too fluid, to precise, to calculated to be at the hands of a man. he had seen men fight, and they did not fight like you.

it was unheard of, forbidden even, for a girl to be a part of the seven holy knights. the sacred and esteemed title was usually bestowed upon the sons who came from noble families. in other words, families who could afford to have their boys trained from birth.

as second in line to take the throne gojo didn't care much for tradition and values. his brother was going to be king in a few years. why should he bother with the weighty and unnecessary rules that he's tied to?

so he spends the rest of his time, time delegated for learning calligraphy or studying neighboring relations, with his holy knights. and half that time he spends studying you.

the knights never take off their helmets; it's part of the secrecy and significance that they hold. but gojo has been holding a sword longer than he's been holding a pen, has strummed more bows than strummed instruments. he knows this, or at least, he used to.

maybe that's why he feels such deep animosity towards you.

unlike the other knights, you don't speak or jest. you don't answer, only grunt once or twice, depending on what you want to convey. you never groan when dealt a nasty blow, and never gloat when you win the upper hand.

which you always seem to do.

you best him in sword fighting, in knife fighting, in target shooting and bow making. you're better than everyone, in all honesty, and can kill and gut an animal faster than they can haul one up the hill. it's maddening, and gojo hates being bestedat for yet another thing.

and although he'd bet his titles on your secret, he would never tell anyone about it. a part of him liked wondering who you were, liked guessing what you looked like under all that armour.

he comes to dinners later, spends more time practicing in the courtyard. he snaps at the rest of the men, blinks the bite of sweat out of his eyes. he's groan restless in trying to become the best, trying to beat you.

which is probably why he didn't see where he was walking one night, exhaustion and aching joints causing his eye sight to blur and body to sway as he tried to make his way to back to his quarters, bumping into what he thought was a statue only to find out it was a real person instead.

"shit," he mtutered, hands reaching out to steady you up, "sorry, i wasn't paying attention."

you shook your head, bowing slightly at the young prince as you kept your eyes trained on the ground.

gojo wiped at his face, hoping this wouldn't become a problem for him in the morning, coming to mind that another servant complained about his recklessness.

"it's alright," you say quietly with a small smile, "happens to the best of us."

gojo squinted, nodding as he swayed once more, steadying himself on the wall. he briefly glanced at you, noting a new face. it wasn't uncommon around the grounds, especially with how much he's been missing.

"oh...you'd might like to get your wounds checked out, my prince," you tell him, worried eyes glancing over his bruises and scrapes, all at the hands of that lady knight who keeps churning him down.

gojo looked down at his arms and hands, turning them over as if seeing it for the first time.

"right, right, thank you," he says dismally, going to leave before you shake your head, pointing to the cut along his neck.

"this one?" you say, motioning to it on your own skin.

gojo looks at you, his eyes squinting a little bit as he gives you a tight smile. with everything going on he just wants some sleep, not to be pestered by some flirting maid.

"right," gojo says between his teeth, "thank you again."

you nod, bowing once more as you leave. gojo shakes his head in annoyance, making the journey back to his room as he mutters about what new strategy he could use the next time he combats his new rival.

when he finally settles down and gets off, discarding his dirty clothes, he pauses at the mirror, his fingers lightly grazing over his neck. the blood has dried off, the wound barely even there, but that's not what catches his attention.

odd, he wonders, how could you have seen his cut under such a high collar?

[idontevenknow129]

—how to win my husband over 101

in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?

wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.

surprise pookies @vxnuslogy @luvether @knnichs @kazucee it’s finally here!!!!

PROLOGUE: HOW TO SURVIVE THE EARLY DAYS

you married a stranger to save your homeland.

there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment. 

it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.

you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.

but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.

the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.

marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.

servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.

you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.

dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity. 

“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.

“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.

“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.” 

it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”

you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.

the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.

is he drinking... blood?

your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?” 

flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”

you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself. 

for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.

his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”

you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.

with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”

you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you. 

“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.

“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”

that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination. 

you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.

yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.

ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION

over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband. 

you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him. 

you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.

all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.

(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.

there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in. 

it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.

as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest. 

the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.

"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"

ah. 

well at least he has jokes..?)

or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace. 

(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.

so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?

you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.

"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”

well that didn’t exactly sound convincing. 

“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”

and that certainly didn’t make it any better!

you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal. 

you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)

either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!

today will be different.

failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.

so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.

you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.

but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.

perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.

pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—

a sudden force slams into your back.

the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.

it’s deeper than you thought.

icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down. 

as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.

the next thing you feel is warmth.

your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees. 

you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.

his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.

for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.

did he jump in after you..?

“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality. 

your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve. 

it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you. 

he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"

the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."

his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.

“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."

mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.

your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent. 

a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—

a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.

“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”

sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.

“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him. 

his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”

there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.

he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”

and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place. 

somehow, it fits him too well.

ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR

once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.

held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.

and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena. 

the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent. 

within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.

mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.

the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side. 

phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."

mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.

“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”

phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.

alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.

exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”

but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.

the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone. 

“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.

mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.

“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”

“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”

“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit. 

mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.

the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.

and yet, here you are.

as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.

“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.

“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.

he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.

something tugs at the edge of his mind. 

you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.

so why do you still look at him like that?

his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.

“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.

you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.

you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.

“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.

but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters. 

“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”

“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.

he freezes.

he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence. 

but his darling wife doesn’t know that.

and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.

your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”

you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.

for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.

ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS

"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner. 

the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."

you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts. 

phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses. 

you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."

phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."

you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"

to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.

—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."

the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.

you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.

“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—” 

your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?

“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain. 

beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.

but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”

“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing. 

the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.” 

she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”

“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—” 

her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.

and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.

your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.

a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.

you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you. 

mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry. 

a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.

“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”

the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”

“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself.  she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.

“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward,  “take her away.”

 “y-your highness, i only—”

mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”

the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.

then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction. 

phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”

but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.

with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.

“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”

he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”

you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”

ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?

his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”

phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.

mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”

he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it. 

the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly,  as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.

it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.

the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.

at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—” “mydei.”

…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?

(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)

you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.

“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”

he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips. 

he looks good like this, you think.

with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”

a half-truth, at best.

your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.

a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.

could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.

but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”

mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.

"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."

mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.

warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.

you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”

mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.

"especially when they were a gift from you."

and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.

ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART

it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.

it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.

“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”

he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."

mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"

phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words. 

“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"

the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.

“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”

ah. that does it.

mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.

phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth. 

“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.

phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.

“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”

“i’m not mad i—”

“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”

mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters. 

phainon smiles. “then tell her.”

mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”

the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development. 

you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.

right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.

phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.

because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.

“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.

phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”

he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”

you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.

“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?” 

he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.

you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”

phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”

narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”

“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”

there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.

still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—

only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.

just your luck.

mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite. 

and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.

did he just—?

heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.

“the prince has a sweet tooth.”

for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat. 

mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—

your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.

you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.

phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.

the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall. 

seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.

you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.

before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”

mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.

(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)

you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.

rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.

it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.

…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.

so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either. 

still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.

as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”

you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”

phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”

you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble. 

oh no.

“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”

you frown. “phainon—”

he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”

he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”

“huh?”

"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.

you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.

"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"

“that’s enough.”

both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.

phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”

the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.

“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?” 

a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear. 

even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch. 

his gaze is so unbearably soft.

after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.

you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.

(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)

ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION

the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.

all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.

from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena. 

the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.

the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.

and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.

you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.

with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching. 

nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.

so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—

only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.

without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.

you blink, momentarily startled.

warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.

it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince. 

and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.

you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”

he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout. 

“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.

you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?

“... and i wanted one today.”

“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”

as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”

his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident. 

it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”

honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway. 

“if it’s for you,”

his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“i’d do anything.”

ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS

from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it. 

ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears. 

your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip. 

the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.

you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal. 

the crowd cheers for violence.

warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.

and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought. 

the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.

because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want… 

is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.

the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.

the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.

the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back. 

for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.

then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.

for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.

“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.

he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.

the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see. 

a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.

and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.

in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips. 

with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.

you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.

“you came back to me,” you murmur.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

“i always will.”

you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.

at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.

EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER

the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.

mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it. 

“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”

you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.

“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.

he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”

the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. 

you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”

you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”

with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.

you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”

“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”

he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”

you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands. 

“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.

the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.

his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.

"i love you, [name]."

and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.

thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3

MASTERLIST

[idontevenknow129]

[idontevenknow129]

Can't stop thinking about Hua Cheng in Mt. Tonglu, newly reformed and plunged into terror and blood and violence, clinging to his sanity and sense of self through his devotion to Xie Lian. Imagining his every thought being turned to prayer, carving and painting his memories to give himself something solid to hold on to and prove his own existence.

[idontevenknow129]

Nice lives au where Lin Ling grabs his cape before he falls. Miss J decides for mental health reasons, they're gonna have 2 Nices.

They have to move in together. They switch off on superhero jobs/publicity stunts. Nice can be nearly at twice as many places as long as he's not in 2 places at once. His trust SKYROCKETS.

The Enlighter tries to expose that there's 2 of them, to which people tell him he's insane, but it spawns the 'Twice as Nice' theory. The people RUN with it. The ship is born. Ao3 does what it does and suddenly, Nice and Lin Ling start catching feelings (like they weren't already.)

Enlighter cries.

[idontevenknow129]

Patiently waiting for to be hero x to become more famous so people can make fanfics.

[idontevenknow129]

Literary irony on Flame Ghost baby HuaHua trying his best to fight off the annoying 33 heavenly officials for kicking Dianxia out of the mountain and then Ghost king Hua Cheng burning down their temples

[idontevenknow129]

alley rose | k. takami

you know he's not yours, but you'd still pick him in every lifetime. the worst part? he'd let you. (2785 words)

you never meant to fall into it.

and maybe that's the problem.

because things that fall tend to break, and you? you've never been particularly good at knowing when to catch yourself.

it starts with nothing. not even a spark, not a clear moment. no dramatic beginning. no pivotal shift in atmosphere. he just... shows up one night. stands in the doorway of your apartment with wind in his hair and fatigue under his eyes and a grin that looks like it's trying to apologize for both.

you don't remember who invited him. maybe he just appeared. you wouldn't put it past him.

you only remember letting him in.

he takes up space easily. like he's always belonged there. like the couch remembers his weight. like your walls never had a choice in loving the sound of his voice.

he doesn't say much. he never really has to.

he leans against the kitchen counter while you make tea, not even asking what kind, just accepting the mug with his usual crooked smile and a quiet, "you're a saint."

he doesn't drink it.

he just holds it between his hands, steam rising between his fingers like an offering he doesn't quite believe he deserves.

you sit in silence for a while. the kind of silence that feels earned. he doesn't fill it with nonsense. he lets it exist between you, thick and soft and settled like dust on a bookshelf no one has the heart to clean.

"you don't sleep much, huh?" he says eventually, with the kind of voice that makes the night lean in to listen.

you shrug. "not when the world's this loud."

he nods like he understands. like he feels it too. maybe he does.

he spends the night—not in your bed, never in your bed—but on the couch. boots off, one arm lazily thrown over his eyes like the darkness is too much. there's tension in his shoulders even when he sleeps.

you watch him from the doorway longer than you should. tell yourself it's because he's in your home. that you're being cautious.

it's not that.

it's never that.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

he returns three nights later.

you don't ask why.

he starts showing up regularly. not every night, but often enough that you start leaving the door unlocked out of habit. he never uses a key. he always knocks, even when it's past midnight, even when you're both pretending he hasn't been there three times this week.

he doesn't talk about work. never talks about heroes or headlines or what happens after he walks out of your door and lets the world chew him up again.

you don't ask.

you offer him a space. warmth. the silence he pretends not to need.

he offers... something else. something half-shaped. a hand on your back when you pass each other in the kitchen. a smirk when you call him out on it. snacks left on the counter. a blanket draped over your shoulders when you fall asleep on the couch, though he'll swear it wasn't him.

and one night, when you're both sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with half a bottle of something nameless between you, he leans in and kisses you.

it's not hungry. not sharp. not even all that deep.

it's lazy. gentle. like he forgot himself and remembered you in the same breath.

when he pulls back, he just grins. "nice lips," he murmurs. "don't let anyone tell you different."

and then he's gone.

you press your fingers to your mouth and pretend it didn't mean anything. pretend it was just a drunk impulse. a thing he does. a fluke.

you tell yourself it won't happen again.

it does.

not the kiss—but the weight of it. the imprint.

the moments start to blur together. late night dinners. half-slept mornings. you learn the exact sound his jacket makes when it hits your couch. the rhythm of his breath when he falls asleep sitting up. the way his voice drops when he's tired, softening like he's forgotten he's not supposed to be real around you.

you learn how to love him without touching him.

he makes it easy.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

you don't talk about what this is.

not once.

not when he brings you takeout and eats with you in silence. not when he falls asleep with his head on your shoulder. not when he disappears for four days and comes back without a word and looks at you like he never left.

you tell yourself it doesn't matter.

because he's not cruel.

he never leads you on—not really. never calls you his. never asks you to stay. never says he loves you.

he just makes it feel like he does.

and maybe that's worse.

maybe if he'd been colder, you would've walked away by now. maybe if he'd kissed you like he didn't mean it, you wouldn't still taste him in your coffee. maybe if he didn't smile like you were the only person in the room—maybe then you'd be able to sleep at night without checking your phone for his name.

but he does. and you can't.

you try to pretend it's fine.

you're adults. capable of detachment. you know how this goes. some people just need somewhere to land. someone who doesn't ask questions. someone who lets them rest.

you can be that.

and for a while, you convince yourself you're okay with it.

because sometimes he looks at you and you think—maybe.

maybe this could be something.

maybe he just needs time.

maybe you're the only one who sees him like this—tired and soft and human.

maybe that matters.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

one night, he cooks for you.

it's a disaster. the pasta overboils, the sauce burns, and he sets off your smoke alarm because he forgets how sensitive it is.

you sit on the floor with him, coughing and laughing, fanning smoke with a magazine while he yells at your ceiling.

when it finally clears, he sits beside you. knees touching. arms brushing. smelling like burnt garlic and relief.

he doesn't kiss you that night.

but he falls asleep in your lap, and you thread your fingers through his hair and pretend he's yours.

he's not.

but he lets you pretend.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

"you're good at this," he says once, curled up in your blanket, the ends of his hair brushing your collarbone.

"what?"

"letting me stay."

you don't answer.

he doesn't expect you to.

˚⊹ ᰔ

you kiss again, weeks later.

it's different.

it's not light or easy or careless. it's slow. warm. aching.

he holds your face like it's glass. kisses you like he's afraid to stop. touches you like he's saying something he doesn't have the words for.

and afterward, he rests his forehead against yours and murmurs, "you always feel like home."

and you wonder if maybe this is something.

maybe this is real.

but then he gets up. leaves without looking back. and you stay awake all night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what you did wrong.

˚⊹ ᰔ

your friends start to notice.

"you've been distracted," one of them says.

"i'm fine," you lie.

they don't press. but they look at you like they know.

you delete the messages you want to send him. never hit call. never ask where he is when he disappears for days, weeks, reappears with new bruises and an easy smile and nothing in his eyes.

you pretend not to care.

but your hands shake when you wash his mug.

˚⊹ ᰔ

he shows up again.

you open the door. he looks tired.

you don't ask why.

he leans against the frame like he belongs there. like he knows you'll let him in.

and you do.

he doesn't kiss you this time. doesn't speak.

he just lays beside you on the couch. not touching. not sleeping. just breathing.

you turn your head.

he doesn't look at you.

you wonder if he's already left.

˚⊹ ᰔ

you don't remember the last time he said your name.

you don't remember the last time you said no.

˚⊹ ᰔ

there's no end. not yet.

there's just the quiet stretch of something wearing thin. the slow suffocation of wanting too much from someone who never offered you anything in the first place.

you tell yourself it's fine.

you knew what this was.

he never said it would be more.

but you wish—god, you wish—he hadn't made it feel so much like love.

because now, you don't know how to unfeel it.

you don't know how to stop opening the door when he knocks. how to stop hearing your name in the silence between his sentences. how to stop hoping.

and worst of all?

you don't want to.

not yet.

maybe not ever.

˚⊹ ᰔ

you don't talk about it.

the situation. the dynamic. the... thing between you.

there's no language for it. not really.

it's not a relationship. not a friendship. not even a fling.

but it's something. it has weight. it has presence. it takes up room in your life and your chest and your plans and your future in the way real things are supposed to. only it doesn't behave like something real. it behaves like a ghost with too much nerve. a shadow that leaves fingerprints on your heart but disappears when the light comes on.

you try to explain it to a friend once. someone who notices the way you pause when your phone buzzes. the way your smile flickers when it doesn't.

"is it serious?" they ask.

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

because how do you explain it? how do you articulate the emotional toll of being almost loved?

so you shrug. "it's nothing."

you lie.

but you shouldn't have to.

˚⊹ ᰔ

hawks—no, keigo, because he insists you call him that when you're alone, like that somehow makes him more honest—isn't cruel.

that's what you keep coming back to.

he never promises you anything. never strings you along with declarations or dates or matching mugs in the cupboard. he doesn't label this. doesn't even try.

but he lets you sit close. lets you hold his wrist when he's pacing and won't tell you what's wrong. lets you run your fingers through his hair when he comes back with blood under his nails.

he lets you treat him like someone you love.

and in return?

he lets you pretend he loves you back.

˚⊹ ᰔ

you try to find clarity in the small things.

like in the way he leans toward you in crowds. the way his eyes soften when he hands you a drink. the way he listens when you talk about things that don't matter.

but the truth is, affection doesn't equal intention.

and you're tired of translating his silence into possibility.

˚⊹ ᰔ

he disappears for two weeks.

no warning. no explanation. just gone.

the first few days you check your phone constantly. reread old messages. try to remember if you said something wrong. if you asked for too much. if he finally got bored of the emotional middle ground you let him live in.

the silence grows louder.

by the time the seventh day passes, it becomes a roar in your head.

you don't call. you don't text.

you tell yourself it's a boundary.

it's not. it's fear.

because if you reach out first, you won't like the answer.

˚⊹ ᰔ

he shows up on a tuesday.

doesn't knock. just opens your door like nothing's happened. like it hasn't been days since he last looked at you. like he didn't vanish into the wind and leave you to rot in your own expectations.

he drops his bag by the couch. throws himself down and stretches like a cat, muscles flexing under his shirt, wings shifting slightly.

"miss me?" he says with a grin.

your heart cracks. so quietly, so precisely, you barely feel it.

you sit beside him. don't say anything.

he throws an arm around your shoulder like this is normal. like you're normal.

"sorry," he says casually. "work stuff."

you nod.

he doesn't elaborate.

you don't ask.

and the silence between you stops being safe. it becomes suffocating.

˚⊹ ᰔ

you start pulling away in increments.

you don't make him tea anymore when he shows up. you don't wait for him to call. you stop folding his jacket when he leaves it draped over your chair. you stop making room in your drawer for the little things he forgets behind.

and he notices. of course he does.

he notices the tension in your jaw when he touches you. the fact that you turn your face away when he leans in like he might kiss you. the way you no longer meet his eyes when you say goodnight.

he doesn't say anything.

but one night, when you're both watching some movie neither of you are paying attention to, he speaks into the dark.

"you okay?"

you hesitate.

then: "i'm tired."

he hums. "long day?"

you don't answer, and he doesn't ask again.

˚⊹ ᰔ

your friends start asking questions. real ones.

"is this working for you?" "what do you want out of this?" "are you happy?"

you laugh them off.

but the ache in your chest lingers.

because no. you're not happy. not really.

you're in love with someone who only shows up when it's convenient. who never shares the parts of himself that matter. who touches you with familiar hands but guards his heart like it's state property.

and you? you've built a home out of his shadows. you've memorized a version of him that doesn't even belong to you.

you don't want to do this anymore.

˚⊹ ᰔ

but you still do.

because it's better than nothing.

because the alternative is letting him go.

and that feels like losing something you never got to keep in the first place.

˚⊹ ᰔ

then one night, it changes.

not loudly. not dramatically.

just... changes.

you're sitting on the floor again, legs stretched in front of you, a blanket around your shoulders and the tv on low. keigo's beside you, but not touching. for once, there's real distance.

you glance at him.

he's staring at the screen, eyes unfocused.

you don't recognize his expression.

you whisper, "why do you keep coming here?"

he blinks. looks at you. "what do you mean?"

you shrug. "i mean... you never talk. you disappear. you show up without warning. and i let you. every time. i don't ask for anything, and you know that."

he stays quiet.

"so why do you keep coming back?"

the silence stretches. you think maybe he won't answer.

then he says, soft: "because you're the only place i don't have to lie."

your stomach twists.

because that should mean something. it almost does.

but then you realize—

he's not saying he wants you. he's saying he likes what you give him.

peace. comfort. quiet.

you're not a person to him. you're a haven.

and he never had any intention of staying.

you breathe in, slowly, and nod.

"okay."

he looks at you, confused. "okay?"

you stand. your knees ache. your chest does too.

"you can go now."

he rises slowly, uncertainty flickering across his face for the first time. "what?"

you repeat it. "you can go."

he studies you. then smiles, like it's a joke. "don't be dramatic."

you stare at him. "i'm not."

something in his expression falters. "look," he says. "i didn't mean to—"

"i know," you say. "that's the problem."

he goes quiet again.

you continue, softer now. "you didn't mean to kiss me. or stay. or sleep here. or come back. or look at me like that. or make me feel like you wanted something real. and you think that's enough. that because you never said you cared, you didn't have to."

his mouth opens, then closes.

you're tired. so, so tired.

"you never had to lie to hurt me, keigo," you whisper. "you just had to let me believe you wanted me here."

he doesn't argue. he doesn't reach for you. he just stands there.

quiet.

just like always.

you don't ask him again to leave.

he just does. eventually.

without slamming the door. without saying goodbye.

and maybe that's what breaks you.

because there's nothing dramatic to hold on to. no final fight. no angry words. no declarations.

just absence.

and that hurts more than anything else.

˚⊹ ᰔ

you sit in the quiet after he's gone. your blanket falls off your shoulders and you don't pick it up. you sit there until the sun starts to rise.

and when your phone buzzes hours later, you don't check it.

because you already know—

it's not him.

it never really was.

[idontevenknow129]

Actually, thinking that Hua Cheng and Xie Lian were not destined to be together makes me feel dazzled.

TGCF is very much about people using fate as an excuse to choose bad paths because it's just easier, about pursuing a destiny that isn't yours or about taking revenge for believing your destiny was stolen, but the HuaLian are the protagonists precisely because they are different.

They chose a third path, always, no matter how difficult it was. They are one in a million.

Actually, fate did everything it could to separate them, but that didn't make Hua Cheng give up because that was the path he chose. They ran in circles, always one step apart, for 800 years, until they managed to be in each other's arms through their own willpower.

[idontevenknow129]

she's the man! smau.

she's the man inspired au.

pairing :: itoshi rin x f!reader

synopsis :: hiori y/n is devastated after the news of the girls soccer team being cut from the sport program and unable to join the boys team. to rub more salt on the wound, she just broke off with her long-time boyfriend. devising a plan, she disguises herself as her twin brother to take his place at blue lock academy, an all-male prep school.

what she doesn’t expect is falling in love with the academy’s star player.

status :: ongoing

started - february 2, 2025

warnings :: slight crack. kys jokes & swearing

updates slightly inconsistent, aiming for weekly!

chapters ::

'☆' have written parts!

00. ☆

0.5

01. ☆

02.

03.

04. ☆

05. ☆

06.

07. ☆

08. ☆

09.

010.

011.

012. ☆

013.

014.

015.

016. ☆

017.

018.

019.

020.

021.

022.

023.

024.

025.

tag list :: @x3nafix @sugacor3 @yanderebluelockfan @lucid1tty @x-vivi-v @shydefendorcoffee @kaz-0e @sellomaybe @ovrthe-moon @nensi @90s-belladonna @chuurinnie @suksatoru @vampireg1rl @renchai @yxcntruu @yoimyas @meekydeeks @vextyyx @misscandygirl122 @iluvsuga14 @luvynii @dontmindtheevie @nevvynev @sfwrin @rreporterbby @kyutiipie @sapph1r3x @r1o0nly @noobgod1269 @koneko-dreams @bffrrufr @chiefinvestigatoremma @kaikaidenkai @ak4rishi @kaidostwin @bubybubsters @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @reekapeeka @bontensbabygirl @toastyist @ihe4rtme @luvrofthemoon @astrexn @ashiraismyname @beoms-sugar @ieathairs @kiwibirdmother @arcanaloser @kamikokii

a/n :: tag list is open! feel free to comment to be added :>

[idontevenknow129]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ IN WHICH mydei has been acting more suspicious lately, and the chrysos heirs are determined to get to the bottom of it.

content. fluff + crack! not proofread and probably ooc. happy valentines! 🫶

mydei is acting strange today.

it hasn't just been today, but the past few weeks that he's been off in his own head — mydei, who's known for bringing havoc wherever he steps, has been mysteriously off the grid.

he's only present in meetings in a physical sense, his mind obviously filled with thoughts about other matters unrelated to his job — he's not even present in the non-mandatory meetings (even though he always used to), nor does he bathe and cleanse in the palace's hero pools.

aglaea thinks a trial of judgement might have to be made, trianne thinks he's just homesick, but ultimately, the heirs decide that it's best for phainon to figure out what's going on with him.

so, he does.

mydei is always up before the sun begins to rise (that part hasn't changed for some reason, much to phainon's dismay), so he starts to tail him before it gets bright, hiding behind the tree bark as mydei gets ready for the new day, stepping out of his home and walking straight into the plaza.

things feel normal for the first few hours — his rival is meticulous in his work, so he oversees their small military force with great care, even if he looks a little out of it sometimes. phainon doesn't usually spend the day staring him down every second, so he chalks it up to the man taking small breaks when no one's watching.

the first alarm bells ring when mydei finishes work far faster than usual, and takes off as fast as he can.

the deliverer decides that a bird's eye view would be best to keep a keen eye on the warrior who seems to be in a rush to go somewhere.

he finds out two things in the five minutes he sprints after mydei: one, that running after him puts all of his other workouts to shame, and two, the place that he's so keen on going to is a chocolate store.

phainon stops in his tracks immediately, skidding on the wooden rooftop he was running on.

he takes the moment to catch his breath, huffs of air escaping his lips as he wonders what insane titan possessed mydeimos "health nut" the undying, who refused to drink sparkling water a week ago, to willingly step into and out of a sweets store of all places.

hurriedly, he pulls out his teleslate.

Phainon: He just walked out with like two boxes of chocolates

Castorice: are you sure that's the same mydei

Phainon: Trust me, I wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it either

Aglaea: Chocolates? Is he alright?

Tribbie: maybe he's just feeling sad ☹️ get better mydei!

Castorice: we're rooting for you, mydei!

unless it's to check up on his people and buy local cuisines and ingredients from kremnos, mydei rarely lets his presence made known in public, especially in the local markets where citizens are constantly crowding the booths.

that's why the second alarm bell rings when he not only confidently enters the market, but peruses the selection carefully.

mydei walks around, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes intense like a man on a mission as he glances over flowers, rings, stuffed dromas, and golden scarabs, before stopping at a second-rate shop.

phainon doesn't mean to assume, he really doesn't, but the shop looks unkempt at best, and suspicious at worst — a ratted purple tent covering the objects inside, the market is too open for him to move and find a different view, so he stays planted, crouching lower out of mydei's field of vision.

he watches with bated breath as an elderly man comes out, greeting mydei with a smile. the warrior gives him a polite one in return, bending down to whisper something in the man's ear.

phainon's too far away to hear the conversation, but the elder visibly stiffens when mydei speaks to him, immediately rushing back into the shop to grab a small box, and placing it into mydei's open palms.

mydei's gleeful smile almost looks evil when he clasps onto the box, patting the trembling man on the shoulder before heading on his way right back out.

for the second time, phainon reaches for his teleslate.

Phainon: I think he just robbed someone in the market

Aglaea: What?

Castorice: what

Tribbie: WHAT

Phainon: Should I confirm with the man or keep following him?

Aglaea: Keep following him. I'll send someone to the market, keep us updated.

Castorice: we're rooting for you, phainon!

putting the teleslate back in his pocket, he sighs, getting rather weary of mydei's incessant energy.

it's his duty as a chrysos heir to make sure another one isn't doing anything suspicious, though, so he'll honor it, even if it means stalking the man through the holy city until it's sunset.

he follows mydei right up to the edges of okhema, and the final alarm bell rings when he turns around, his eyes scanning everything on ground level as if to make sure there's no one to follow him, before slinking off into a back alley.

phainon thinks he might be going crazy. there's no way mydei of all people would be doing something shady, and much less illegal, would he?

a squeal echoes off the walls of the dark alleyway, interrupting his doubts.

he jumps into action imediately, jumping over a planter pot or two to get to the cry for help faster, his breath quickening as he sees a figure standing close to the heir. phainon automatically reaches for his claymore, his fingers itching and ready to protect an innocent before he hears the figure laugh.

it's a familiar laugh, he realizes, it's you, the regular he often sees at the baths.

he inches closer, peeking his head down past the rooftop, finding mydei opening the box of chocolates for you, an uncharacteristically soft smile playing on his features.

"mydei," you frown, "i thought we said we didn't want to do anything special for valentines."

"i wanted to surprise you," he inches it closer to you, "don't be foolish, take a bite."

"i can't!" a small whine enters your protest, "I didn't get you anything, how could i—?"

"take it," he insists. he drops his voice lower, a softer question escaping his lips, "for me?"

you feel your face heat up at the request. how could you say no to a face like that?

you pluck a chocolate heart from the box, pointing to it's twin that lives on the other side with your pinky finger, gesturing for mydei to pick it up. "c'mon, loverboy. only if you do too."

he rolls his eyes, picking up the heart.

phainon stares in abject horror as you feed the man the chocolate, pushing the sugar against his lips as he does the same to you. you end the exchange with another excited squeal, flinging yourself haphazardly into mydei's arms — he stumbles back just a little bit, small bars of chocolate littering the streets as he stabilizes himself against the stone, one arm wrapped around yours.

phainon's teleslate buzzes (has it been buzzing this entire time?), and he gets momentarily distracted from the scene below him to find castorice sending in another message.

Tribbie: i just checked with the man, he gave him a gift for his child! i think it was handmade by mydei, and he was refining it or something

Aglaea: Oh, that's quite sweet, actually.

Castorice: aww that's so cute!

Aglaea: Any news, Phainon?

Tribbie: i think he's ignoring us ☹️

Aglaea: He wouldn't dare.

Castorice: phainon, are you there?

he moves to respond, before glancing down at you once more. you're still hugging mydei, your face buried into his chest as you mumble something under your breath. the problem isn't you, no, but the man you have your arms wrapped around making direct eye-contact with phainon.

his eyes flicker from phainon's to yours, before he delicately pushes you off his body, his expression morphing into a kinder one.

"i still have another present for you," he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, "let's leave all the single people here and go somewhere else."

"hm, what people—?"

"ugly ones." he grabs your hand, cocking his head farther down the alleyway, "c'mon, there's a way out back this way."

you agree easily, following him without a care in the world — you don't really care where you go with mydei, as long as you get to be with him.

unbeknownst to you, mydei looks back to phainon —a rival, but a friend and confidant nonetheless, someone he could always rely on in the heat of battle — with a shit-eating grin on his face, the type of smug look that only a mother (and you, apparently) could love.

single, and ugly.

phainon's eye twitches.

Phainon: It's an imposter. I'll bring you his head, Aglaea.

the teleslate buzzes once more while he readies his claymore to demolish the man that can't be more than a few blocks down — the man probably laughing his ass off with you, and doing other couple stuff that phainon couldn't even dream about.

as far as he's concerned, though, love dies today.

Castorice: we're rooting for you, phainon!

i am so tired goodnight ueueueue will be dreaming about my phainon/mydei polycule 🙏🙏🙏

divider by @/enchanthings!!

[idontevenknow129]

nowhere

[idontevenknow129]

stupid horse | kenma x reader

synopsis | stupid horse i just fell out of the porsche, lost the money in my bank account oh no!

in which you frequently visit an arcade to destress after school and have the highest score on your favorite game, until one day you don’t. someone named applepi has dethroned you and you almost go broke trying to reclaim your spot.

details | slow burn, kind of crack, rivals (?) to friends to almost lovers, possibly ooc kenma, no use of ‘y/n’

word count | 10.3k

note | for @xoxojisu and @tlissablr and all the other kenma enjoyers 🫶 anyways this is my second long fic and i kinda think the pacing sucks? the fic is mostly me yapping. also i tried to be very vague when it came to the games because i wanted you 🫵 the reader to insert whatever you wanted BUT while writing i imagined the reader was obsessed with space invaders and kenma was playing brawl stars on his phone! (random yes i know) also i literally had no idea how to end this so sorry if the ending sucks :/

You stare at the screen, hoping the reason the name ranked first is unfamiliar due to the adrenaline running through you after losing a few seconds ago.

With jittery hands you move the joystick, spelling out the name you always use to claim your spot as second on the leaderboard for the first time in ages. It was only then that you truly realized you had been dethroned by someone with an odd name.

“Who the hell is Applepi..” You grumble, taking out more coins from your pocket before inserting them into the slot.

You spent a lot of time at the arcade and therefore recognized a lot of faces, especially those from your school. Normally people used their real name or a recognizable nickname so they could easily boast about their score to their friends, so it was a bit odd you couldn’t place your finger on who the name belonged to. You could only assume they really enjoyed apple pie.

Hearing the familiar start-up tune of the game you lock your eyes onto the screen, watching as the enemies roll in. You play as usual, pushing the buttons and timing your attacks just right to gain points. It was a simple process: attack, dodge, repeat.

From what you remember his score was just a couple points higher than yours, so all you needed to do was put in a little more effort and you’d win.

As you continued to play you felt the initial hurt of losing your place in the leaderboard drift away. You don’t know why you got so bothered— you come to the arcade to relieve stress, not stress yourself out.

You were having fun again, that’s what matters now.

The game itself was pretty old, with newer games and models surrounding it it almost looked out of place if it weren’t for the fact that you were in an arcade. Due to that, it didn’t receive much attention so the leaderboard always remained stagnant, the same people had been in their spots for months without it changing and with you at the top. It’s because of this that you unofficially claimed it as your game, so when you saw someone else had taken your spot you were thrown off. Who likes losing at something they’re good at?

You huff, almost feeling angry again at the thought before focusing back on the game. The enemies were getting faster now. It was around here that you died last time, so all you need to do is survive for a little longer.

You followed the usual pattern, attack dodge repeat, before eventually succumbing to an attack.

You watched as the leaderboard came back up and just as you had predicted you were in first place again. This time you were ahead of Applepi by a couple hundred points, so you’d be good for a while in case they ever tried to take your spot again.

You looked at the leaderboard again, observing the new spots of the players since everyone got knocked down by one. The person in last place was entirely kicked out.

“Poor guy,” You mumble, reaching into your pocket for more coins. It’s then you realize you’re out, you had spent your last few on the round you just played.

Momentarily you contemplated going to the counter to buy more but ultimately settled on being done for the day. You had spent enough time at the arcade for today, now it was time to head home and catch up on school work.

You picked up your bag and walked towards the exit.

The arcade was unsurprisingly busy today.

It was the weekend, to be specific Saturday. Those free from work and students who finished their assignments roamed the streets to destress after a long week, your friend and yourself included.

By some miracle your schedules aligned and after days of not being able to hang out the two of you finally set a date. Initially, the plan was to just hit a couple of stores since your friend, Riko, claimed she needed some retail therapy after a hectic week of school combined with work. Soon clothing stores turned into food stalls, then into shoe stores, followed by stores that sold trinkets, and the list went on.

While Riko planned to spend most of her paycheck, you had different ideas. Before the day ended you wanted to stop by the arcade. You claimed it was to wind down, but you secretly wanted to see the leaderboard on your favorite game. Since she had been dragging you around everywhere she wanted to go that day and she knew how much you liked going she complied with your request.

Upon entering you noticed the claw machines had restocked their prizes and among them was the most adorable cat plush you had ever seen. The leaderboard could wait, you had to have it no matter what.

Amongst the loud chatter and music in the room, you were able to hear your friend calling your name from somewhere behind you.

“Yeah?” You answered, focusing on the task in front of you.

You had promised yourself you would only try to win the plush three times before giving up and you were on your final try. Your hand was hovering over the red button that would drop the claw when pressed, waiting for the right moment. It was nearly in the perfect spot over the plush. Just a few more taps to the left and—

“Some guy took your first place.”

SLAM!

You watched in horror as the claw swung violently left and right from your accidental jab, dropping slowly and missing what would’ve been your plush completely. You stare at the glass for a moment in sorrow before turning around and walking to your friend.

Luckily your favorite game was only a few steps away from the claw machine so you made it in time to see the leaderboard before it disappeared, and she was right. Applepi had once again taken your spot, this time by a significant margin.

“Whoa, what’s with that face? Are you shocked that someone finally took your spot?”

It was obvious you couldn’t hide the look of surprise on your face given your friend’s reaction. You quickly looked away in embarrassment. “It’s not that, this happened like two weeks ago and I just never expected they’d do it again.”

Riko’s eyes widened in surprise, before narrowing in on you. A smile slowly creeps in on their face. “Again?! So that’s why you were so insistent on coming here! I know you like this place, but I felt like this time you were being extra pushy—”

“I was not that pushy!” You gasp at her dramatics before picking out tokens from your pocket and inserting them into the machine.

She giggles before leaning against the side of the machine, watching you focus on the game. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this earlier! I feel like a boring show I was watching just got slightly interesting.”

“No way you just called me boring,” You shot her a glare before looking back at the screen. “And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered. Last time they only beat me by a few points so I never thought I’d see their name above mine again.”

“You’re not boring, but I just don’t understand how you can play the same thing over and over again without getting bored.” She sighed.

“It’s my comfort game, it helps me relieve stress. It's kind of like how you love to go shopping, if you already have a lot of everything, why buy more?” You reply, hoping you explained it in a way she understands.

It’s still a mystery how the two of you become friends when you couldn’t be more different. The two of you had different likes and dislikes, but the two of you still indulged in each other’s interests where you could. You guys understood each other and wouldn’t push each other into doing anything the other didn’t like, which is probably why you’ve remained best friends for as long as you have.

A childhood bond that likely won’t ever be broken.

“Mm, guess you have a point.” She nodded. “Or maybe you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re unemployed.”

You let out a sigh that sounded more like a laugh. “Fair point—”

The game stopped and the death music silenced you. You feel your stomach drop, you had gotten so wrapped up in the conversation that you forgot to focus. There was no possible way you could have beat his score.

“Did you beat them?!” Riko quickly invades your space, eyes looking all over the screen for a sign of your score.

You watch with her in anticipation as the screen loads, bringing up the leaderboard.

“Fuck..” Your friend curses and you groan, throwing your head back in frustration.

Your eyes catch her various shopping bags on the dirty floor and you can’t help but feel bad. “You can head out if you want, it might take me a while to beat their score.”

Your friend, the loyal angel she is, shakes her head and crosses her arms. “No way, I’m staying with you until you win!”

You won't say it out loud but her response made you genuinely happy. Before you could say anything she held her hand up, stopping you. “Shh! Don’t say anything! I just want to see you happy, so hurry up and win so you can be happy!”

You smile and nod, sliding in another coin and starting over.

The two of you are there for nearly another twenty minutes. The arcade isn’t as full as it was when the two of you first got there, but there were still a good handful of people. Your friend continued to remain by your side but had taken out her phone to pass the time. It’s only when she hears the death music followed by your gasp that she puts her phone down and rushes to your side, grabbing your shaky hands.

“What is it?! Did you do it?!” She asks, glancing between you and the screen for a reaction that could indicate an answer.

You don’t respond, your eyes remaining fixated on the screen. You’re honestly not sure, you had been playing for a while but Applepi had gotten further than you ever have, so you were in the dark when it came to your score. When you see the words new high score pop up on the screen you and your friend squeal. It was only by a few points, but you had beaten Applepi once again. She shook you by the shoulders from joy and screamed ‘You did it! You did it!’ repeatedly. You shush her after noticing the silent glares you two were getting from other players.

“Can’t believe I actually did it,” You said shakily while plugging in your name again.

“Never doubted you for a second!” Riko laughed seeing your glare.

You quickly glance at the claw machine. One more try couldn’t hurt, and you were currently riding the high of your win. This time you’d win.

The two of you walk over with you helping carry your friend's multiple bags. Once you set them down you reach into your pocket for more coins. “Now that that’s done I can finally try and—” You pause when you don’t feel any in your pocket.

You turn to look at your favorite game, wondering just how many rounds you played.

Doesn’t matter, you tell yourself while pulling out your wallet, I’ll just—

Everything in your system nearly shuts down after seeing your wallet was completely empty, excluding your student ID. Your friend notices your silence and looks up, seeing your empty wallet.

“No cash?” She asks before pulling out her own wallet. “Don’t worry, your beautiful and employed friend has got you covered—” She gasped while peering down into her wallet. The look of horror on her face told you she in fact did not have you covered.

Just as you started to pick up her bags she stopped you. “Wait! I know I probably have something in my bank account!” She quickly tapped the screen on her phone. Her face quickly morphed into distress.

“S-Sorry.. I got nothing..”

The two of you turned to look at the plush. It sat there, stranded in the middle of the claw machine, almost beckoning you to save it from its misery.

You put your forehead to the glass. “I’ll come back for you soon..”

To keep your promise the next day once school ended you wanted to head back to the arcade to check the leaderboard and get that cat plush. As a result, your friend called you paranoid.

“Please come with me, it’s not like you work today.” You begged, tugging on her backpack as you walked together.

“I don’t work, but I have homework I gotta catch up on!” Riko argued back, quickening her pace in the hopes she’d get away from you. “Besides, I’m sure that person has a life outside of the arcade. They couldn’t have beaten your score that fast!”

When you didn’t respond she glanced behind her, which was a mistake.

Your hands still gripped her bag strap tightly, but your face held the most adorable pout. She knew she was in a losing battle with you now, you wouldn’t give up until she said yes. Besides, she stood by her point. Once you guys went to the arcade you’d see she was right and you’d stop being paranoid all the time. Hell, maybe she’d stay with you so you could win the plush in the claw machine, but that’s it.

“Fine! But I’m just accompanying you, if you stay to play I’m leaving.”

To both of you guys's surprise, your score had been beaten, once again by a significant amount, by none other than Applepi. To make things worse the cat plush you had been eyeing had disappeared too.

“I stand corrected, I guess whoever Applepi is does not in fact have a life.” Riko sighed. “Look man, I’d give you some change to play but I’m still all out, I work tomorrow though so—”

“Don’t worry about it, I brought some with me just in case.”

“… What?”

Your friend could only watch as you pulled out some coins and an extremely wrinkly bill from your pocket. She had no idea where you even got the money from, unless…

“Did you search through your couch for money?”

“.. These are desperate times..”

Your friend had no words. She can’t believe she was ready to help fund your new addiction, almost did too, until you pulled out your suspicious money. She couldn’t lie though, she admired the dedication you had. She silently watched as you inserted a coin to start playing.

“Alright then.. goodluck with your one-sided competition.” She waved goodbye and you reciprocated the action.

Normally you’d visit the arcade a couple times a week. She knew this because she would walk you part of the way before she split off to either go home or go to her job. Once, twice, on the rare occasion three times you’d go to the arcade, but now it was basically everyday. Once school ended as usual you two would walk together before you split, walking in a direction that she knew was not where your home was.

She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know how to bring it up to you without making you seem crazy. She knew this game brought you comfort, and this new rivalry excited you, but you were spending money you did not have. You were addicted, whether you knew it or not, and you needed to take a break away from the game.

And she missed spending time with you.

Luckily, as fate would have it, the opportunity presented itself in the form of a job application.

“Please help me get a job.” You placed the form on your friend's desk.

She stopped packing away her things to pick up the sheet of paper. The job application form was from her job. “When did you get this?” She asked, wondering how you got the paper since she hadn’t seen you around.

“A while ago when I went to visit you while you were working, I thought it’d be cool if we worked in the same place.”

“Uh-huh..” She eyed you suspiciously. “What’s the real reason you’re applying?”

You scratched your cheek nervously. “I told you, it’d be cool if—”

“No, the real reason.”

You sighed knowing there was no way you could lie about it when she already knew. You don’t even know why you tried to lie when the reason was so obvious. She just wanted to hear you say it.

“I want to get a job so I can continue playing at the arcade.” You sighed while looking down at your feet. Once you said it out loud you realized it was a little embarrassing especially considering the extra context.

She called your name softly and you looked up. “Listen, I love you and I’ll gladly help you get a job, but you gotta take a break from that damn game.”

If she’s telling you this, that means you’re really in deep. She’s not one to judge but when she does usually has a good reason. You take a moment to think about when this first started and do some quick mental math. It’s then you realize you’ve spent an alarming amount of money and time at the arcade.

“.. It’s gotten really bad hasn’t it?”

“I’m glad you’re self aware.” She stood up from her chair and gave you a harsh back on the back. “Now let’s go get you a job.”

“You know, I wasn’t lying when I said it’d be cool if we worked at the same place.” You said while wiping down the counter.

After school you walked with your friend to her job to submit the application. The place she worked at, a cat cafe, was run by the sweetest old lady who immediately gave you the job since you came recommended by your friend. She nearly handed you a uniform right then and there.

“I know, who wouldn’t want their best friend so they can chat while they work?” Riko laughed.

The other cafe employees were young students mostly within your age group and you’d momentarily see them when they came in for their shift before you headed out. The employee who would work during your friend’s shift recently resigned, leaving a vacant spot open just for you.

“I’m gonna go on break, will you be good out here by yourself?” She asked.

“Go for it,” You waved her off. “It’s late, I doubt any big parties will come in.”

She thanked you before proceeding to grab a snack and dashing to somewhere in the back. While standing at the register the lack of customers allowed your mind to wander. It had nearly been a week since you last visited the arcade and you missed it. What you missed most of all was playing your comfort game.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted to go back and check the leaderboard. On multiple occasions while walking home you almost ended up walking in the direction of the arcade, but your friend pulled you back every time. If it wasn’t for her, you likely would’ve ended up back at the arcade and drained your bank account.

Slowly, your obsession faded, but every so often you still wondered if Applepi had beaten you once again. You let out a frustrated sigh at the thought, you did not expect to get so invested. Now you’re dealing with the consequences and having withdrawals from the game.

Note to self: never gamble.

The gentle chime of a bell rang throughout the store, signaling someone had entered. You and your friend let out a synchronized ‘Welcome’ to acknowledge them.

The two who entered were boys around your age. One was tall with black hair styled in a.. unique way while the other was shorter, his hair bleached. What caught your eye was the familiar shade of red they wore. Then it dawned on you— they were wearing your school’s sports jackets!

For a moment you wondered what they were doing out so late since school ended a couple of hours ago, but you quickly realized they must’ve just finished with practice. Out of all the places they came here to relax? Your eyes shifted around the small store. That’s not to say the energy wasn’t nice, playing with the cats was definitely fun, but you personally would much rather spend your time relaxing at home.. or at the arcade—

“Hello! What can I get you started with?” You asked in your best customer service voice once they reached the counter.

The tall one’s eyes slightly widened once they landed on you before subtly glancing behind you, looking for something. You assumed he was looking at the menu so you didn’t rush him.

“Hi, um.. I’ll just have a green tea.” He sighs.

You try not to question why he said it in such a defeated tone while you plug in his order. “Will that be all?” You ask, eyes shifting briefly to his companion.

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie and a hot chocolate.” He answered softly, eyes quickly shifting back down to his phone.

Your eye twitches at the mention of the sweet treat. You once again plug in the order and the tall one says that’ll be all they’re having. They pay and walk to one of the furthest tables while you begin making their order.

While grabbing the cups for the drinks you could’ve sworn you heard one of the guys sniffing, almost as if he was crying. As tempting as it was to look, you decided to mind your business this time.

“Yo!” Your friend peaked her head from the back door before walking over to you. “Did you miss me?”

“That was the longest five minute break.”

“Sorry sorry, I got caught up watching my videos.” She giggled.

“Alright iPad kid, since you’re out now help me with this order.”

She rolled her eyes but helped you nonetheless. You started preparing the hot chocolate while your friend prepared the green tea. Once you finished the base drink you prepared yourself for the final step. You brought out another cup and began frothing some whip cream. Once that was done you gently added it into the drink, sculpting the froth to make it look like a cat was popping out of the drink. You then added two small drops of chocolate syrup for the eyes, completing the drink. You took a step back to admire the cat, smiling at the outcome.

Your friend was quick to notice. “Wow, I think this is your best one yet.” She smiles.

As you two finished up the drinks the dreaded final item came up. “.. Can you grab the last thing we need?” You ask.

Your friend checks the order to see what’s missing and lets out a loud laugh. “No way, don’t tell me you’re that triggered by it?”

“Don’t start..” You sigh.

Thankfully your friend complies without much more teasing. “Help me take these to their table?” You ask.

Your friend agrees and you both make your way to the table. The tall guy seemed to be sulking, sadly moving around a cat toy that didn’t catch any cat’s attention while his friend’s eyes remained glued to his phone.

“Sorry for the wait!” Your friend apologized while placing down a drink.

Like a switch was flipped his demeanor completely changed. Suddenly he was cheerful, looking at your friend like she made the drink personally for him. Oh, you understand now.

You resist the urge to laugh as you place down the other guy’s order, hearing the two converse. The guy with bleached hair perks up seeing his food and you feel a twinge of pride when you see him snap a quick pic of your drink.

Your and your friend head back behind the counter. Not caring about being ‘professional’ you pull a chair up to the chair and sit while your friend leans against the counter. You eye the distance between you and the customers before mentally declaring you’re at a safe enough distance that they won’t hear your conversation.

“So..” You start.

Your friend raises an eyebrow, but decides to bite. “So?”

“You and that guy?”

“I knew you were gonna say something.” She laughed. “He’s just a frequent customer. Him and his friend would come in all the time after practice, but once you started working they stopped. I asked him about it and apparently they’ve been practicing extra ‘cause they have a big game coming up or something.”

You eyed her suspiciously, taking note of the slight blush on her cheek. “Alright if you say so..”

Work went by fast after that. Later that night the two of you decided to hang out a little bit before parting ways. Your friend, noticing how antsy you’d been, suggested playing Roblox.

The two of you were holed up in Riko’s room, deciding on which game to play. The initial idea was to bully kids on Brookhaven, but a popular show involving surviving kids games had inspired many to create their own version on Roblox.

This you settled on the game, Shrimp Game.

Trial after trial both of you survived. When it was time for Mingle the both of you were doing good the first couple of rounds, occasionally getting separated but surviving nonetheless.

Once you reached the center of the stage the music started up again. You stared at the screen, anxious to see the number of how many could be in a group.

The music stopped and the screen flashed. 3 players.

You and your friend immediately raced to an empty room, hoping a single player would follow. As soon as the two of you entered another two player group followed suit.

“What the,” You grumbled, “Get them out, we were here first.”

You go to push one of the players but one of them had the same idea, reacting quicker and instead pushing you out and shutting the door.

“What the!—” You sat up in a panic. “Riko open the door!”

“I can’t!” She panicked. “The other guy pushed me down and I can’t get up!”

You quickly looked around seeing players scrambling to get into rooms, the only open one was across the stage from you. The countdown began, you knew you wouldn’t make it if you ran. You accepted your fate.

There was a player standing at the door, looking through the peephole almost as if he was taunting you that you couldn’t get in. It was then you noticed the username.

Applepi.

“No way,” You gasped. “Riko it’s them!!”

The countdown ended and your avatar was shot.

Your friend dramatically calls out your name and hugs you tightly. “I’ll never forget you!” She gave you a side hug while proceeding with the round.

“Quick turn on voice chat so I can cuss them out!—”

“No way!” She pulled back, “You’ll get me banned!”

You were tempted to spend money (now that you had it) to revive yourself but ultimately decided against it. You’d get your revenge in a different way.

“Want me to leave?” She asked since you guys were only playing to play together.

“No,” You flipped through the perspectives and landed on Applepi’s, “I’m gonna spectate.”

They played a couple of more rounds before moving on to the next game. You watched, unable to take your eyes off the screen while you thought about the possibilities.

“You think that’s actually Applepi?” You asked your friend.

“Dunno,” She mumbled, concentrating on the game. “What are the chances someone else uses the same username?”

The sound of her frequently tapping on the screen is dulled once you begin to think. She was right, what are the chances? This couldn’t be a coincidence, they were spelled the same odd way. Plus, it's very common for a person to stick with the same name, almost like they’re marking their online identity. It seemed as though the universe was pointing you in the direction back to the arcade. First the guy from work who ordered an apple pie, now this random with the same name.

“Damn!” Your friend groaned, putting down her phone. “I’m out.”

This was a sign. You were going to the arcade tomorrow.

“I think I’m finally gonna go back.”

Your friend looked at you, puzzled by your sudden declaration. “Go back to the arcade?” She hesitantly asked.

You nodded, confirming her statement.

“Well, it has been almost two weeks. I’m surprised you lasted this long without going.” She leaned back against the bench, basking in the sun while she clutched her juicebox.

It had been a week since you played Roblox and possibly met your archnemesis. You mimicked her and leaned back, staring up at the clouds. Somewhere in the distance you could hear the sound of squeaky shoes echoing from the gym. “I surprised myself too, but you made me realize I was obsessing over the competition too much for it to be healthy, and my wallet was really suffering…”

She smirked and ruffled your hair. “See what happens when you listen to me? You evolve as a person.”

You groan and gently push her away, attempting to fix your hair. She was right, but you’d never say it to her face. She knows she’s right most of the time and you saw no need to boost her ego at the moment.

“So, why go back now?”

“After we played Roblox I swore I was gonna go check the next day, but once school ended I didn’t feel like rushing to see the leaderboard and ruining my mood. Since I don’t work today I figured now’s a good time, I can relax and play the game how I want. Also, I really want to see if they restocked the claw machine for that plush.”

Your friend gasped. “Oh wow, you’ve really changed!”

Suddenly she engulfed you in a hug, ranting about how proud she was of you. “I would go with you but I picked up an extra shift today,” She pulled away and looked at you with a pout, “But text me how it goes!”

“I will.” You laugh.

Soon after the school bell rings, signaling the end of your lunch break.

The rest of the school day goes by quickly, but not without a small hitch. During your final class your teacher announced a pop quiz. You would’ve been fine, except you quickly realized you had lost your only pencil sometime throughout the day.

You quickly look around to see if anyone had their pencil pouches out, subtly turning around to look at the back of the class, only to see a familiar face you weren’t expecting to see. You don’t know how you didn’t realize he was in your class earlier since he stood out because of his hair. In a sea of mostly black hair, his bleached blonde hair and overgrown roots caught your eye since it reminded you of pudding.

You gulped, feeling anxiety creep in. You didn’t know him well enough to casually ask for a pencil like you would with Riko and you didn’t want to seem like one of those classmates who’s always mooching off of other’s supplies, but you had no choice since he was the only person you sort of knew.

“Excuse me,” You whispered, catching his attention. “Could I borrow a pencil?”

He blinked at you, golden eyes staring at you momentarily in confusion, almost as if he was surprised you were talking to him. He says nothing though, only nodding and pulling out a second pencil for you to use before handing it to you.

“Thank you! I promise I’ll give it back after class!” You smile and quickly turn back to face your quiz.

Minutes pass and miraculously you finish just in time. You let out a sigh of relief as the teacher takes away your exam, relaxing into your seat. You think you had a solid chance of passing this quiz.

You hear a scuffle behind you and turn around to look, only to see your blonde classmate getting dragged away by his tall friend from the cafe. You could only stare in shock as they quickly disappeared into the halls. You looked down at the pencil in your hand, wondering how you’d give it back to him.

As you pack away your things you remember he was on a sports team— possibly the volleyball team. Should I quickly pass by the gym or just give it tomorrow? You ask yourself. You were in no rush to get to the arcade and you knew if you waited until tomorrow you’d likely forget to give it back and end up keeping it, making it seem like you’re the type of classmate to never give stuff back.

You shiver at the thought— a quick trip to the gym wouldn’t hurt.

The walk doesn’t take long, but once you reach the gym you’re confused to see it’s empty. Since the two players rushed out of your class you assumed they were in a hurry to get to practice. Had you gotten the sport wrong? For a moment you thought maybe he was on the soccer team, but he didn’t exactly seem like the running type. You try knocking and jiggle the doorknob, only to see it’s locked. It isn’t until a random student passing by lets you know the boys volleyball team practiced earlier in the day.

You sighed, guess you’d give it back tomorrow after all.

Without any more distractions you began walking towards the arcade. As you walked the familiar path you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Maybe this time you’d go around the arcade and play some games you haven’t tried yet. The familiar neon lights eventually came into view and you smiled at the sight. It had been a long time.

You made your way inside, avoiding multiple running kids when you saw people standing in front of your favorite game. It was the two from the cafe!

You watched as the blonde one fiddled with the keys for a moment, before receiving a game over. He briefly looked at the screen before walking away from the machine. Instead of taking this opportunity to look at the leaderboard you followed behind them, ready to give back the pencil when they began talking.

“So, anything?” His companion asked.

The blonde shook his head, brows furrowed with what almost looked like a pout on his face. “No, it was boring today too.”

You paused in your tracks, his answer echoing in your mind before you rushed back to the game. Just as you had arrived the top scores disappeared, going back to the title screen.

“Dammit,” You mumbled to yourself, pulling out your wallet to take out some change.

You entered the token and began to play. Could it be a coincidence seeing that guy here at this machine? Possibly, but what could he have meant by ‘it was boring today too’? It had been a while since you played, could he have been referring to that? Not to mention when he came to the cafe he ordered an—

Your eyes widened, you had connected the dots.

At that moment you received a game over. The screen dissolved briefly before revealing the list. Your eyes raked through the lineup, not shocked to see you were still in second place with Applepi at the top. It had been awhile since you played, but you knew his score was different. You’re not sure of the exact numbers, but it was slightly higher from the last time you played.

You glanced at the exit. Had he been coming here to see if you had beat him?

Part of you felt bad, he probably thought you stopped trying to beat him when you were actually in rehab (work), but you were happy to know the competition wasn’t one sided.

Inserting another token you prepare to try your best this round. You’re about to make this a little less boring.

You open the door to the cafe, the smell of caffeine and sweets hitting you in the face. You made your way to the counter where your friend stood as the cashier. She lit up upon seeing your face, waving excitedly. “I thought I told you to text me! You didn’t have to show up during my shift!”

“Thought it’d be better if I told you in person,” You giggled. “I have some slightly crazy news.”

“Oh!” She raised her eyebrows, curious as to what you could mean by that before gasping. “You got the plush!” She exclaimed while glancing at your backpack, expecting to see it bulky or misshapen.

“Ugh don’t remind me,” You sighed. “Turns out it was some super rare limited edition thing so I doubt I’ll ever see it again.”

“Damn, that sucks. Anyways, are you gonna order something or are you just here to gossip?”

You briefly remember the guy you loaned you a pencil and how his hair resembled pudding. As slightly embarrassing as it was to admit you had been craving the sweet treat ever since.

“I’ll have the caramel custard pudding.”

“Ugh,” Your friend made a face as she tapped the screen for your order. “Can’t believe you actually like that, tried it once while on my break and just couldn’t finish it. You and that guy over there would probably get along.”

You look up from your wallet and shoot her a confused look, “What guy?”

You gestured to someone behind you. Slowly you turned your head, only to see the duo from earlier. You quickly look back at her, trying to hide your shocked expression. “Damn, do they come here everyday?” You whisper, trying to act as if that was the reason you were surprised.

“I guess? I think their schedules cleared up a bit so now they’re coming more often.” She responded, not even noticing your panic. “Anyways your order will be out in a sec, I’m gonna take my break and go sit with you after it’s done.”

“Thanks,” You nervously laugh and go to the cat area to sit. You take a seat at the furthest table away from the duo, wondering if it’d be possible to talk about your discovery without them overhearing. You take a quick glance at them, noticing how the tall one frequently looks over at your friend and decide it’s too risky.

You spend your time scrolling through your phone, occasionally giving affection to any cat that brushes up against your leg when your friend approaches your table with two plates. “Alright,” She starts, placing the plates down before taking a seat. “What’s up? Did you end up spending all your money again?”

You can’t help but laugh at her comment. “No Riko, I’m not bankrupt just yet,” You reply while taking a bite out of your pudding.

You don’t know how she sensed it, but she was almost right. While playing you got a little too into it, inserting token after token. Without realizing you had spent a little more than what you planned on that single game alone. Seeing the numbers go higher and higher was addicting, you almost fell back into bad habits before pulling away and trying other games. You weren’t going to tell her that though.

The sudden sound of chairs being pushed out caught your attention. You looked back to see the duo were packing away their things and couldn’t help but feel joy swell up in your heart. They were leaving!

You went back to happily eating your pudding, unaware that they were making their way to your table until someone cleared their throat.

Both you and your friend turn to look at the tall man. “Hey, thanks again for the discount.”

Your friend waved her hand. “It was no problem! I feel bad you keep spending all your money here.” She laughed. You couldn’t help but notice the tint of red on her cheeks before hiding your smile behind your hand.

“You should come to our game tomorrow,” He suddenly suggested, looking eager before turning to you. “You too, we could use the extra support.”

“Mm, volleyball right?” You asked, really hoping you hadn’t gotten the sport wrong. It would’ve been embarrassing if you ended up going to the wrong place earlier.

“Right,” He clarified. “Think you guys will be able to make it?”

Before you even had a chance to respond your friend quickly answered for you. “We’ll be there!”

“Great! I’ll let the team know, they’ll be super excited,” He smiled before waving goodbye. His friend peaked from behind him and waved a reluctant goodbye which made you immediately remember.

“Oh before I forget!” You rummage around in your bag before pulling out the grey mechanical pencil, handing it to the blonde. “Here’s your pencil! Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

He looks at you surprised, almost like he had forgotten he gave you the pencil. “Oh, thanks.” Is all he said before gently taking it back.

During the brief moment he was up close you got the chance to observe him. His hair was long, but it framed his face nicely. His eyes were gold and catlike, fitting given your school’s mascot was a cat. You would’ve admitted he was cute if it wasn’t for the fact he’d possibly been the one tormenting you.

They left the shop after that, leaving you and your friend alone in the room. “Thanks for asking me if I wanted to go.” You broke the small moment of silence.

“Ok listen, me and Testurou—”

“Testurou?” You asked, both shocked and confused at the fact they were on a first name basis when you didn’t even know his name. As far as you know the two only interacted when he came to the cafe, just how often was he visiting? And dragging his poor friend with him to third wheel?

“Yes, his name is Testurou Kuroo.” She sighed dreamily while resting her cheek on her hand, enhancing that ‘totally in love’ look.

“When did this happen?!” You gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?!”

“Ok first, calm down,” She giggled, acting as if she wasn’t hiding any big news from her best friend. “Nothings happened yet, we’ve just been talking when he comes in. I was literally planning on telling you when I told you to text me.”

You eyed her suspiciously, taking another spoonful of pudding into your mouth. “Ok, if he means that much to you I’ll go to the game tomorrow,” You give up, not wanting to put up much of a fight.

“Great! Now what about you? How do you know Kenma?” She smirked, hoping to flip the tables on you. So that’s his name, you mentally note. You open your mouth to explain the situation when she holds her hand up, silencing you. “Nevermind, what did you want to tell me earlier? About the arcade?”

“Actually, it’s about Kuroo’s buddy and the arcade.” You quickly looked around, eyeing the exit to make sure the duo had truly left.

She looked at you confused, gesturing for you to elaborate. You recount how you had seen the two of them at the arcade and how Kenma was playing your favorite game. You make sure to include his comment about how boring it’s been lately, leading you to your highly believable theory.

“I think he’s Applepi.”

“That.. actually makes some sense.” She nodded in agreement, surprising you.

“Really? Just like that?” You ask, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. She’s normally so quick to call you delusional— maybe you actually have a point this time.

She nods, “Tetsu usually visits me alone, but when he visits with Kenma he’s always late. I’m guessing that extra time is them being at the arcade. Plus, Kenma’s always playing games on his phone while they’re here so he’s probably a little nerdy, just like you.”

You ignore the nerd comment and focus on the facts she just presented to you. Everything lines up, but there’s only one way to confirm his identity.

“Just ask him about it tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow?! Are you crazy?!” You panic.

“Relax, just be casual about it.” She says in an attempt to calm you. “It’s not like you’re confronting him, just asking him about it. Who knows, maybe you guys can bond over that stuff.”

Casual, yeah, like this guy hasn’t been driving me insane for weeks.. you roll your eyes. She had a point though (lately she’s been having many of those), if you didn’t ask him you’d be stuck wondering forever.

It’s decided, you’re going to ask him tomorrow.

Tomorrow came sooner than you would’ve liked it to. Without knowing the school day quickly passed and you had arrived at the gym, your friend dragging you alongside her.

Inside there were a handful of people eagerly chatting and rushing to their seats to watch the teams warm up. You were anxious, but not about the game’s outcome. You were worried about making a fool of yourself in front of Kenma when it came to asking him about his possible secret identity.

“Remember, just be casual about it,” Your friend attempted to soothe you, but it didn’t help much.

She led you further into the gym until you stumbled upon a group of kids wearing your school’s volleyball jackets. You're quick to notice the duo that frequent the cafe. Ok, just keep it casual.

“Hey!” Your friend calls out, catching the attention of the captain and his friend. She drags you closer to the group before letting go of your hand, a quiet signal to leave so they can talk privately.

You take the hint, walking away with Kenma wordlessly. He walks towards a wall and you essentially follow him, trying to figure out a way to talk to him. If he notices your inner turmoil, he doesn’t say anything. He leans against a wall and pulls out his phone, tapping away at his screen. It isn’t until you hear a familiar sound coming from his phone that you look over, recognizing the game he’s playing.

“You play that game?” You ask, genuinely surprised seeing another person play.

Kenma briefly looks over at you, almost as if he was surprised to see you next to him, before quickly looking back down at his phone, “Yeah.”

Simple and quick— you should’ve expected that given what you see during your shifts. He didn’t seem like the type for conversations with people he didn’t know well. In fact, if you looked close enough, it seemed he’d rather be anywhere but here. Silence ensued and only the sounds from his phone could be heard.

“Have you had the chance to check out the arcade a couple blocks from here? The one in front of that one restaurant?” You nervously ask, fiddling with a loose end at the bottom of your shirt.

He stops and for a moment you think you’ve distracted him and accidentally killed him in the process, but he nods. “I have, it’s fun. I only really play one game though.”

Your eyes widen at his comment and you try your best to compose yourself. “By any chance.. are you Applepi?”

That gets him.

He stops moving again and you look over at his screen— this time it seems you did kill him. He looks at you with confusion swirling in his eyes. “How do you know that?” He asked hesitantly, almost like he was afraid of your answer.

You tell him the name you use when playing, one he quickly recognizes. “For the past couple of weeks you’ve been beating my score and I finally found you.” You laughed, partially because you found the situation funny and partially because you were anxious about his response.

When he didn’t respond you got nervous. You looked over at your friend and found she was still talking to Kuroo. You internally groaned, there was no way for her to come save you. You slowly turned your head to face Kenma and saw him looking at you with an unrecognizable look in his eyes. It was almost akin to sparkles— but there was a hint of something else.

“How’d you know?” He asked, keeping his eyes on you. It was the first time he ever really looked at you directly, like he was curious about how you figured it out.

“I saw you eating an apple pie once at the cafe.” You responded honestly before realizing you sounded crazy for remembering what he ate. “Then I saw you at the arcade after you finished playing.”

He hummed and looked down at his phone despite it being turned off. You pretended not to notice the tips of his ears turning red.

“You said it had been boring, so let’s make it interesting and place a bet.”

That caught his attention. “A bet?” He repeated, eyeing you nervously.

You nodded. “A bet. We continue doing what we’ve been doing but at the end of the month whoever has the highest score wins.”

He looks at you with suspicious eyes. “And what does the winner get?”

“.. Did you by any chance happen to win a calico plushie at the claw machine? One with a yellow spot over its eye?”

A surprised look quickly comes on to his face again. “..Yeah?”

You feel your eye twitch at his answer. “I want that.” You quickly stated. You know you sounded demanding, like a spoiled child crying about wanting something they didn’t have, but you had been eyeing it for so long you couldn’t help but want it. You feel it’s only right too after all the emotional and financial damage he caused you.

Kenma hesitates, but ultimately gives in to your request. “Then what do I get?”

“Well, what do you want?” You ask, not knowing him well enough to suggest anything. Hopefully it’s not money. You shiver at the thought. Your bank account just recovered, you couldn’t go back now.

He doesn’t answer, looking away from you. “I’ll think about it.” He mumbles.

“Alright then!” You cheer, excitement filling your body. “So it’s a bet?” You ask, extending your hand.

Kenma looked at your hand, slowly reaching out and accepting. You couldn’t help but notice how warm his hands were.

After your little bet the two of you had exchanged numbers to settle some things.

Something you were quick to notice was how much of a dry texter he was, though it wasn’t surprising given how he was in real life. During a conversation (that you initiated) Kenma commented on how it wasn’t fair that you’d have more time to spend at the arcade than him because of his volleyball practice, but you reassured him that you wouldn’t spend all day there since you had work (and homework) to focus on.

Now if this was the old you participating, you would’ve immediately headed straight to the arcade after school to rack up as many points as you could and get a head start, but you had changed for the better. This was a little friendly rivalry, it wasn’t anything too serious.

But you still planned on winning to maintain your title as number one and get that cat plush.

The two of you also decided not to tell each other when you’d be at the arcade. Your schedules had to remain a mystery just as they had always been.

“It’s not like we don’t already have a general idea of each other’s schedules.” Kenma mumbled, picking at his desert. “I’m basically here everyday now.”

You nodded in agreement, eyes shifting over to your friend and Kuroo’s table. After the game they had officially become an item. They were giggling together and on their table was a single drink containing two straws— truly a romantic sight.

“Yeah, but without confirming anything neither of us really know, it makes this a little more exciting.” You smiled at the scene before turning to look at Kenma. “Wait, why do you even come anyway? You don’t need to third wheel Kuroo anymore since he’s with Riko.”

You saw his eye twitch and held back a giggle. You knew he’d say the same thing back to you if it weren’t for the fact you worked here.

It was currently about halfway through the month and you and Kenma had steadily become friends. With his frequent visits you noticed him becoming more expressive, he was almost like a cat. As long as you fed him treats he’d keep coming back, despite what he says.

“Kuroo still drags me along, he says I need to go out more.” He mumbled, taking a small bite of his pie.

“And he’s right, you need more sun.” You giggled, ignoring the glare he sent your way. “Can’t have my favorite cryptid hiding away forever.”

Lately this has become the norm. The two of you would share playful banter while your friends flirted just a table away. You bonded over both being the third wheel and lately, video games.

“Who do you think is gonna win?” You asked, genuinely curious about his thoughts.

He continues playing with the food on his plate, pushing around small pieces with his fork. “.. I don’t know. You’re actually pretty good at the game so it’ll be close.”

“Wow, is that a compliment from the Kenma Kozume?” You gasp dramatically, but your shock was genuine. If you had learned anything from spending time with him it was that it wasn’t common for him to praise someone so openly.

What caught you off guard was the smile he sent your way. “It was boring at first, especially when you stopped playing, but you made it interesting again.”

It was almost unsettling, he smiled as if he had something up his sleeve— no, he was enjoying this, and you were too.

Everyday you woke up you felt the thrill of the rivalry gnawing at your bones, making you excited to get through the day and head over to the arcade to see where you two stood. It wasn’t until a day before the competition ended that you remembered what your friend had said back at the arcade and realized what she meant.

She was right, this had gotten interesting.

A month had officially passed.

It was easy to see your excitement throughout the day. While on your way to school you nearly ran the whole way there as if rushing to school would make the day go by faster. During lunch you talked Riko’s ear off to the point where she traded you for Kuroo, leaving you with Kenma. He didn’t seem to mind as you talked, just nodded and continued playing on his psp. During the last class of the day Kenma was quick to notice you bouncing your leg, fidgeting with your pencil, and tapping your fingers on the desk.

He was surprised to see how this was affecting you. While he was excited to see the results you were clearly more eager than anyone to see who took the top spot. For a moment he questioned why this mattered so much, but then he remembered how you told him he’d been the only one to beat your score and held back a chuckle. He couldn’t lie, he enjoyed seeing you like this.

Once the bell rang you quickly turned around in your seat to face him, a common occurrence since the two of you became friends. “Are you ready?” You asked, placing your arms on his desk and leaning in close.

The giant grin on your face was contagious, he couldn’t help but let a small smile slip through. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He responded, grabbing his bag and standing from his seat.

Unlike in the morning this time you slowed your pace (mostly because Kenma refused to walk any faster than he needed to).

“You didn’t bring the cat plush,” You pouted, gripping the straps of your bag tightly to keep it in place.

“Are you that confident you’re gonna win?” He raised a brow. “Why are you obsessed with it anyway? You never told me.”

You shrug, “I don’t really have a reason, I just thought it was cute. I just remember the day I was gonna try and win it I didn't have any more coins left because I spent all my money trying to beat your score.”

He quickly whipped his head to face you. “You seriously have a problem..”

“Well it’s partially your fault, you made me competitive.” You crossed your arms.

The whole way to the arcade you bickered about whose fault it was until the bright neon lights came into view. You couldn’t help but grab Kenma’s arm to drag him inside faster, sprinting further inside until the game came into view.

You slowly approached the machine, still slightly anxious about the outcome. Kenma nudged your shoulder with his, catching your attention. He held up a coin in his hand, giving it to you. “Play a quick game, but don’t go crazy.”

You felt your heart do a small flip at the gesture. Kenma often came off as uncaring, but the truth is he cared a lot about those he was close with. You accept the coin from his hand, ignoring the brief skin contact before quickly shuffling towards the machine in hopes he wouldn’t see your expression.

You play a quick round, making sure not to go all out like Kenma said. Moments later you take a hit and lose the game, watching the screen shift. You take a step back and stand side by side with Kenma, eyes unblinking as the leaderboard pops up. Your eyes quickly glance over the names until they land on yours and Kenma’s.

“No way,” You mumble, clutching on to Kenma’s bag.

He said nothing at the action, only staring at the screen for a couple seconds before turning his head to face you. “Congrats.”

You cheered, shaking him from the joy you were experiencing. Kenma tried to lean away from you, especially after noticing the stares you were getting. He didn’t want to ruin your fun, but he seriously didn’t like the attention.

You notice and let go of his backpack. “Should’ve brought that cat,” You giggled.

“There’s no way I was going to carry that all day,” He sighed before pulling out his phone to check the home. You look at his screen and see it’s still early in the day, it would be a waste to leave.

“Hey since we’re already here, why not play a few games?” You ask, silently hoping he’d agree.

He shrugged and you took his answer as a yes. The two of you went around playing most of the two player games you could find. It was nice, most of the time you didn’t get to play these because Riko didn’t want to (she was extremely bad at them and hated losing).

“You’re actually kind of good..” You laughed after seeing both your scores on the screen.

“I play a lot,” He responded, taking a quick look at his phone. He gestured towards the exit and you nodded.

“I know you do,” You laughed. “I hear you all the time before class playing on your phone. It’s almost like you have an addiction..”

Kenma huffed at your claim. He never denied it, you held back a giggle. Once the two of you exit you see the sky is darker than it was when you first arrived. The two of you spent a lot of time there and you didn’t even realize it.

“I’m curious,” You start, catching his attention, “if you had won what would’ve you asked for?”

He didn’t answer right away, remaining silent. The sounds of footsteps were the only thing that could be heard between the two of you. Maybe he never decided what he wanted, you told yourself. You couldn’t blame him for it, you were mainly doing this to win and to keep your spot at the top. Though you were glad you won because you couldn’t risk him asking you for money (especially with his addiction).

Kenma cleared his throat, grabbing your attention. He avoided your gaze, keeping his eyes down at the ground before turning to look at you.

“I would’ve asked to keep playing with you.”

Extra:

You laid on Kenma’s bed, happily fidgeting with the cat plush you won against him. You sit up and see him sitting on the floor, his posture reminding you of a shrimp. Suddenly a thought crossed your mind.

“I have a question,” You start. Kenma hums from below you, acknowledging you but keeping his eyes glued on the screen in front of him.

“When you were playing Roblox, specifically Shrimp Games, why did you push me out?”

He quickly looks at you, confused, before looking back at his game. “Well obviously I didn’t know it was you back then, but I did it because I wanted to win and you were the closest to the door.”

You huff and lay back down. “Ok, well if you did know it was me would you still have pushed me out?”

He didn't respond and from this angle you couldn’t see his face. When you hear the sounds coming from the TV you turn your head and see he’s paused the game. He’s looking at you, a small smile on his face, almost like he wants to laugh.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

thank you for reading till the end! reblogs are greatly appreciated :D

masterlist

[idontevenknow129]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[idontevenknow129]

"Hmm... Something tells me I need to tread carefully here... Let's see, it's got a lovely color, but how about the taste?"

[idontevenknow129]

caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.

caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.

when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.

he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.

caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.

"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."

"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"

he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.

when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.

two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.

but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.

"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.

"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.

he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.

it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.

he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.

all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.

caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.

he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.

even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.

when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).

but he stays. because it's you.

you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.

he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.

caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.

you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.

how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.

you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.

whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.

he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.

the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.

he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.

"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."

caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?

slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.

you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.

caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.

wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???

i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.

also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.

[idontevenknow129]

he lived, served cunt, died, got resurrected, served even more cunt