notsochillnerd

[notsochillnerd]

Bothersome beast, comforting friend

[notsochillnerd]

hello!!!!!

I don’t know if this is a stupid or unnecessary ask but how would Kyle and the team react to Soap and Reader’s break up? Would they notice a difference since Soap wouldn’t be so happy and loud anymore? Maybe he would just whine and complain the whole time, and it happened too much that one of them pushed him to confess what happened (I would believe that to be Kyle since we called him and not the captain or such). I might be going off topic and beginning to rant right here, I am so sorry!!!! 🫶🏽

Enjoy this rough, continuation of Cellophane (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x POC!GN Reader

Warnings: MDNI, ANGST (racism), comparatively not as bad as the first part, Johnny still sucks however, mid-writing, abrupt ending Author's Note: You know what, I wasn't going to do a part two but I read this and boom... thoughts! Thank you for the ask, @shitaaba

Has the sun ever felt better on his skin? Gaz doesn’t think so.

What a perfect day! No early meetings or training. Sun is shining, the town isn’t too busy, and Kyle finally has time to hit that coffee shop you and Johnny showed him all those months ago. 

You and Johnny… what a beautiful couple. Well mostly you but Kyle will keep that to himself as he doesn’t need Johnny on his back for “fucking you with his eyes” again. His teammate sure is a lucky man, especially since Kyle isn’t a homewrecker, because if Gaz had his way, you’d be right next to h— 

“Ah!” Kyle quickly grabs at the poor soul that he smacked into. 

“Shit, so sorry. Are you ok… oh, it’s you!” he first apologizes then gleams. What a strange coincidence. Is this manifestation? 

You look up and immediately pull away from his grasp. Your eyes are wide as they wander for a quick getaway. “Don’t even worry about it. If you’ll excuse me,” you rush out as you side-step Kyle. 

Kyle blocks you and throws you a warm smile as an attempt to ease your embarrasment. “Woah, woah, why the rush? It’s been awhile. What, Johnny has you caged up?” Gaz laughs at his own joke. He thought that would for sure make you laugh. It doesn’t.

Your face falls, and for the first time ever, Kyle sees you shrink. Your energy completely dissipates as discomfort overtakes you. 

“Hey, everything okay?” Kyle softens his voice and reaches out, laying a gentle hand on your upper arm in an attempt to lift you up. You slowly step away from it which only worries Kyle more. “What happened? Did Johnny do something?” 

“John and I broke up.” 

-- -- --

“Up for drinks tonight boys? My treat,” announces Price at the end of the team meeting.

“Sure.”

“As long as you pay, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Can’t.”

“Again Johnny? This is the fifth time you’ve bailed on us,” Ghost remarks. 

Soap lets out a deep laugh. “You’re just bitter that I have something sweeter waiting for me at home.” Ghost rolls his eyes while Price laughs. 

“Wanker.” 

Soap, Ghost, and Price all turn towards Kyle. Did he just call Soap a wanker? Why?

“Just a wee joke. Meant no harm,” Soap yields. Gaz just rolls his eyes and continues packing his things. 

Instead of engaging with Gaz, Johnny decides to concede and continue packing. Clearly something is bothering his fellow sergeant but Soap knows it's better to wait until Kyle opens up. And if he’s honest to himself, he really doesn’t have the capacity right now for other people’s problems.  He has enough of his own. 

“Before I forget, ma has been nagging me to bring you guys over for dinner again. Worried that we’re starving or something. Think next week works for all of ya?” 

“Sure.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Your mom okay with me coming?”

Ghost and Price do a double take as Kyle’s question catches them off guard. Kyle pays them no attention as he stares down Soap who’s smile drops. 

However, as fast as it dropped, it immediately reappeared. “What kind of question is that? Course she knows,” the Scotsman smiles. 

Kyle chuckles in disbelief. “Really? So she knows about me but not your bird?” 

“What?” Soap’s entire demeanor changes. His confident, go-lucky self crumbles, now replaced with shame and discomfort. “What are you on about?”

“Mate, you can’t be serious?” Kyle barks. He takes a step forward towards his counterpart but is stopped by a confused, but attentive captain. Price steps in and asks for an explanation. 

Kyle stares Soap down and bites, “you want to tell them or should I?”  All color drains from Soap's face

“That’s enough you two,” Ghost jumps in, unable to take this anymore. “Whatever problems Johnny is having with his bird is between him and—“

“They broke up two months ago!” Kyle finally exclaims. Ghost’s eyes widened. Price’s jaw drops. That made no sense as just last week, Johnny went on and on about the perfect getaway you two went on. Ghost and Price look to Johnny for answers, but with the way Johnny is standing, head down, shoulders slumped, their questions are answered. 

“Johnny, what happened?” Price tries to comfort the Scotsman. He saw how happy you made the sergeant happy. He even had a heart-to-heart with Johnny when he expressed his desire to marry you. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’ll tell you why.” And with that, Kyle goes off. He tells the team how Johnny, despite claiming to love you more than life itself, refused to fight for you. ”I bet you’re just like your parents,” spits Kyle. 

“You don’t get it,” counters Johnny. His face twists in despair. 

“What’s not to get? Your parents are fucking racist and you refuse to do anything about it.” Kyle couldn’t believe it. Johnny is his friend, his comrade, his brother in arms; despite everything they’ve gone through, Kyle thought he could trust the Scotsman. And worst of all, he wasn’t the one who got hurt, it was you, sweet, beautiful you got hurt. “You’re pathetic. You never fucking deserved them!” 

“That’s enough,” Price puts his foot down. His face stern. He gestures to Soap and sends him to his office. Soap drops his head and nods in defeat. As Johnny walks away, Price lets out a deep breath and asks Ghost to watch Kyle before heading off himself.

The lieutenant and sergeant stand in silence as Kyle is way too angry to speak and Ghost is just uncomfortable by the entire situation. Did Johnny really lose you because of his parents? Ghost couldn’t believe it. He’s seen firsthand how Johnny furiously defended you during late nights out at the bar when other soldiers got a little too crude with the way they spoke about you. Ghost personally has had to rip the sergeant off one too many times from rude allies. What made Ghost even more uncomfortable was the amount of time he’s spent with Johnny’s family and never once got the feeling that his parents were racist. They’ve always been kind to the Lietenant. He assumed it was because of his rank or even his own past, never for… 

“Kyle?” Kyle cocks his head towards Ghost, eyes still buring with rage. “Has his parents ever…”

“No,” Kyle admits. He exhales deeply, his shoulders easing a bit. “I mean, there's been some weird comments here and there but I just assumed it was cause they’re old, never…” Kyle trails off, clearly affected by everything. 

Ghost just nods. He stays quiet for a bit until another question pops in his head. “Are they okay?” 

Kyle shrugs his shoulders. “They’re alright. Still hurt but they’ll survive” 

Ghost hums. He has a million other questions but decides to stay quiet. As much as he wants to know how Kyle found out or what (but really who) you’re doing these days, Ghost sees that Kyle is just exhausted. So with that, the two men finish packing in silence. With their bags in hand, they both leave the conference room, walking side by side in the hallway. 

Kyle pulls out his phone and lets out a small chuckle. Ghost can’t help but give Gaz a weird look. What’s so funny? 

“You know something, L.T., I don’t even feel bad anymore.” Ghost tilts his head as Kyle shows him something on his phone.

You: Saturday works for me! 

Word Count: 1246

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

[notsochillnerd]

Cellophane - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x POC!GN Reader

Tags/Warnings: MDNI, ANGST (racism), one-sided relationship Author's Note: I genuinely have no clear where this came from. I had to take a lap while writing this because wtf. Read with precaution! A continuation inspired by this ask

Johnny: Sorry about that. My phone died but on my way.

So many emotions swirl your head as you pick at the loose threads on your couch. You weren’t sure what you were feeling right now. Anger. Disappointment. Confusion. Betrayal. 

All you knew that if Johnny doesn’t have a good reason for this, it’s ov— 

Wait, don’t get ahead of yourself. This is your Johnny for fucks safe. Your boyfriend of two years. Your safety. Your home. Your heart. There has to be a logical reason for this. There just has to be. 

Your front door suddenly opens and interrupts your thoughts. 

“Mo ghradh! I’m home!” announces your lover. Normally, his arrival brightens your day but right now, it just reminded you of the growing tightness in your throat. He rushes past the couch, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading to the bathroom. “Was really worried that I wasn’t going to make it,” he jokes. 

You give him a half-hearted laugh as your heart nearly jumps out your throat. It was now or never. 

“So how was dinner with the boys?” Your mind races with what your question implicates. If he comes clean, crisis adverted. 

Wiping his hands on his pants, Johnny breaks your heart. “Pretty good.” He walks over to you and pulls out a bill from his pants, boasting at how he was able to swindle 50 pounds from Gaz. 

Funny how the world works. Here’s Johnny dragging the same man who gave him away in his lie. If your heart wasn’t actively breaking right now, maybe you could have laughed at the irony. Instead, you’re recalling the fact that after three failed attempts in reaching your boyfriend tonight, you called Kyle in the hopes that he could tell your Johnny to check his phone. 

“You know I would, love, but he already left.” “What do you mean “he already left”? I thought the team was grabbing dinner around 7. It’s barely 7:15.” “Tonight? I thought Soap was grabbing dinner with his pa—“

A hand waves across your face, bringing you back to the present. “Sweetheart, you okay?” Johnny’s voice is laced with worry. “You don’t look so good.” Your Scottish lover takes a seat next to you and presses the back of his hand across your forehead. 

You grasp his hand and hold it down in your lap. You take a deep breath and rip the bandage off. 

“I called Kyle today after I couldn’t get a hold of you.” Silence filled the room. Johnny’s face went blank. “He told me where you were.”

“And?”

And? You let go of Johnny’s hand, shocked by the coldness in his voice. 

“And?” You repeated back incredulously. “Is that really all you have to say?”

Johnny stands up and paces in front of the couch. His neck turns red but you’re not sure if it’s out of nerves or anger. “What do you want me to say?” he shoots back. Anger. 

“Why?” He pauses to look at you. You both stare at one another, shocked by the reality of the situation. 

“I don’t know.”

Your body goes hot. “Johnny, that’s not good enough.” You stand up. “We’ve been dating for two years. For fucks safe, Johnny, you’ve met my parents,” You fight against the tears. “So why, why didn’t you invite me tonight to meet yours?” You must look crazy right now as your chest heaves with anger - probably even more since Johnny stood so composed. 

But in actuality, a storm brewed inside Johnny. The moment that he hoped would never come has arrived. Delusional. He knew it was inevitable. After he met your parents a few months ago, he knew this was going to happen. After he said “I love you,” he knew this was going to happen. After the the first date, he knew this was going to happen. But, he wasn’t - they’re weren’t - ready yet. Just a little longer and then it can happen. He just needs more time. They need more time. 

So like an interrogation, he’ll stay quiet.

“I don’t know.” It’s clear you don’t like his answer as you take a step back away from him. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Now you begin to pace. “Johnny, I know how fucking important your family is to you. It's important for me too.” Your face contorts as you find the right words. “You even said how you couldn’t marry someone who doesn’t get along with your parents.” 

Johnny can’t help but wince which only startles you. The entire room goes cold. You freeze completely and your body slumps at the insinuation. 

“Oh.” You take a deep breath in and in your plain voice, you conclude, “you don’t plan on marrying me.” 

The Scot’s heart pauses.  No! He rushes towards you and grabs your head, immediately cradling it. You’re clearly in shock. If I don’t say anything, I’ll lose them, he realizes. So in an act of desperation, he tells you the truth.

“You not meeting my parents has nothing to do with you.” He stares deeply in your eyes, hoping you’ll stay after this. “They just want me to marry someone… like us.” He internally cringed at his words. He knows his parents are in the wrong here, but he knows they'll come around to it. They're good people, right?

Emotion, specifically confusion, reappears on your face. Standing face to face to him, you push his hands away and ask, “didn’t your little sister marry a Frenchman?” 

Johnny normally loved how you saw the cracks in people’s facades but right now, he wished that beautiful brain of yours would just stop. “Yes bu—“

“So what’s wrong with me?” As soon as those words left your mouth, your eyes widened as you realized the stark difference between you and Johnny’s brother-in-law, Johnny, and his entire family. You recall the picture Johnny had showed you early on in your relationship of his family - a big family with one similar characteristic. 

You fall back to the couch. Johnny falls to his knees before you and begins to ramble about how his parents aren’t necessarily bad people, just stuck in their old ways, but you really don’t catch his words. You couldn’t believe it. Your boyfriend of two years won’t introduce you to this parents because of something you can’t and didn’t want to change. You couldn’t believe this was happening…

again. You promised yourself that if you ever found yourself in the shadows because of someone’s inability of loving you in the light, you would…

“It’s over,” you gently announce. John immediately goes silent. He probably wasn’t expecting that and you can’t blame him, you really didn’t think this conversation would be the end. 

With red ears, the Scott begs you to reconsider. “It’s not like you can’t meet my parents. I’m just asking you to wait. Give it some time. I know they’ll come around it. There’s no need to rush—“

“Do they know that I exist?”

“…”

“Do they even know that you’re dating someone?”

“…”

You couldn’t believe it. While you were proudly parading and even defending your love for him, he hid you out of shame. 

You shoot up from the couch, desperate to leave this man and, really, this relationship behind. Unfortunately for you, John is right behind you. 

“Mo ghradh, please,” he begs. Mo ghradh - my love… just not in front of your parents, you bitterly think. Your face felt tight as you fought against the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. After giving everything to him, you couldn’t believe that Johnny John played you as a fool. You stopped and turned around, startling your “fearless" SAS sergeant. You just had to ask one question.

“John.” Johnny’s eye widened. You never call him John, not even when you’re mad. “If your parents never change, would you pick me over them?” John gasps and stutters for an answer. That was enough for you. 

You march off again, but before you leave your own apartment, you gave him your heart once more, “Just so you know, I would have chosen you.” And with that, you shut your door behind you, leaving the stuttering soldier behind. 

Word Count: 1350

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist - Continuation

Author's Plea: Please, please, please - if you ever find yourself in a situation like this, choose yourself and leave. Everyone deserves to be loved under the Sun.

[notsochillnerd]

If you’re still doing requests… "I hate knowing that you're hurt and there's nothing I can do." With Ezio pls? :3

pairing: Ezio Auditore x Reader

word count: 0.5k

☾ ⋆ﾟ  MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

I hate knowing that you're hurt and there's nothing I can do

You were still whimpering in pain with every heavier breath you took. It was terrible: having to focus on breathing shallowly in a way that made you feel as though you were suffocating but the satisfaction of your lungs came at the cost of irritating your broken ribs. Your head was spinning with the opium that the doctor had administered and the only thing that helped you to not feel trapped in your injured body was the firm weight of Ezio’s hand in yours as you laid on the cot. You could barely feel his thumb caressing your knuckles and he would periodically bring a cup of water to your lips when your eyes would lazily roll in the direction of where it rested on the table beside the two of you. 

He felt responsible for your injury. The assassin had liked you for months now and he wanted to see if you felt the same so he had been showing off a little, wanting to impress you. It made him careless and you had seen the archer before he had. You had lunged forwards to successfully shove him out of the way but, in the process, you had lost your footing on a tile that you had not noticed was loose. Your balance was entirely thrown off and you tumbled sideways off the roof, falling through the support of the climbing plants in someone’s garden, breaking the flimsy, criss-crossed wood before hitting the concrete beneath. You were lucky that you had fallen through that or else you would be facing injuries far worse than broken ribs. 

For this reason, he refused to leave your side. He had fallen asleep with his head propped in his hand at one point as he watched you rest, elbow leaning on the table beside you and waking up with a terribly stiff neck. He walked around the infirmary a little to try and stretch his stiff joints but never straying too far from you, wanting to watch over you to try and erase his guilt by assuring you were safe and recovering without any setbacks. 

The next day, the doctor gave you a smaller dose of opium and checked your bruising. You could talk now but found it easier to do so in whispers and slowly so that you could keep your breathing slow and shallow. You and Ezio spoke like that for hours but, after a while, he grew quieter and you could tell that something was on his mind. 

“What troubles you?” You asked softly and he felt even worse at making you worry for him when you were in such a state. 

“I hate knowing that you’re hurt and there’s nothing I can do.” He murmured, sorrow flooding his tone. You weakly squeezed his hand in yours. 

“I’d be much worse without you here.” You reassured him before beckoning him closer with a turn of your head. He leaned over you. “Closer.” He did so until his cheek was hovering mere millimetres away from yours. While he expected you to whisper into his ear, he was surprised when you turned your head just enough to leave a tender kiss on his cheek, your lips there far too long for it to merely be a friendly gesture. “There is none other I would want by my side.” He pulled away from you slightly, looking down at you with a soft smile and blush-dusted cheeks before gently brushing some hair away from your face. 

Perhaps he still had a chance after all. 

☾ ⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee? ✧⋆.・゜Want to be tagged?

🏷️@gojohater101 @writing-noah @havatnah @ayameiris4 @veryfancydoilies

[notsochillnerd]

Hi! How about some headcanon for Ezio and the reader sitting on the rooftop of a building, star gazing and Ezio decides to declare his feelings for the reader?

Oh confessions are always my favourite and seeing as insomnia’s hitting me rn, night is a perfect setting!! <3

Rooftop Confessions

Neither of you really knew what you were looking at, you hadn’t ever taken time to study maps of the stars. But you didn’t need to in order to appreciate them. It was a mostly warm and clear night — not a cloud hung over Florence and you were grateful for it.

You were laid on your back upon a rooftop, Ezio beside you while a black, plush blanket was laid out under you, the half-empty bottle of red wine since forgotten.

The whole city was illuminated by moonlight with the odd window still being full of the illumination provided by the flames of fires or candles at this late hour.

“I like that really bright one over there.” You hummed and he stole a glance in your direction, trying to follow your eyes.

“Which one?” He quizzed and you shuffled closer to him, pointing your finger up at it in the hopes he could follow your gaze.

“That one.” You spoke softly but he had a hard time admiring the star when you were so close; with a voice like soft cotton and smelling sweetly of vanilla, your hair falling like silk over your shoulders, you were a work of art in his eyes.

When you went to lay back down again, he had outstretched his arm under your head and you hummed as you relaxed against him, his arm curling in to draw you against his body, head resting on his shoulder. You took in his scent of sweet wine and blood oranges, closing your eyes to enjoy the warmth he provided, even through all your layers of clothes. “You’re warm.” You hummed, feeling your cheeks heat up a little at your sudden boldness. His eyes were still focused on the sky, flickering between the silvery stars that peeled out from the navy expanse of sky when he replied:

“And you’re beautiful.” Part of him hadn’t quite noticed the impact of his words on neither himself nor you until he glanced to the side, faintly able to see your hot cheeks in the darkness.

“You really think that?” You struggled to not stammer over your words. He leaned up, pushing himself up on his forearm to glance down at you.

“Of course I do. How could I not?” And his fingers gently went out to brush some hair away from the side of your face, watching your glimmering eyes look away from his own dark ones.

“Rekindling your conquest to claim every girl in Florence?” You giggled, hoping to change the subject, feeling far too hot under his intense gaze and those loving eyes.

“No. . .” He sighed, hand softly cupping your jaw, “I’ve set my eyes on someone and I’d like to settle down with her if she wishes the same.” His thumb caressed the softness of your cheek as you nervously licked your lips.

“She’s a very lucky woman then.” You whispered, unable to find your voice as your chest shuddered with a shallow breath.

“Come, carissima, you know who I’m talking about.” He smiled softly and you sat up, looking away from him.

“T-this is all very sudden, Ezio.” You stammered out.

“It’s not, though.” His tone seemed pleading almost, desperate to dismiss your doubts. “You worry that I’ll move on as quickly as I did with the others, no?” He watched you gently nod your head, casting him a glance over your left shoulder as your hand rested on your arm. “I’ve been avoiding telling you because of this. It’s been so long since the last I’ve been with a woman because I wanted to prove myself to you. (Y/n), I’ve been admiring you for a long time and I can’t keep it in anymore. I want to give you all the love I have to offer and so much more.” His hand reached out to delicately skin down your back, feeling the touch of his fingertips through your shirt.

“Ezio. . .” You scrunched up your eyes, “I want this but I don’t want the hurt that could come with it.”

“Then give me a chance and I’ll prove to you that you’ll have the best of me.” He spoke softly, “Please?”

“Ezio, if I accept this, I don’t want the best of you, I want all of you.” You turned to face him, delicately reading for his hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, his hand much bigger than your own. “I want to be there for you, even in the lowest times when you don’t even want me to see you. Can you promise me the same? Those are the only things I want — undying loyalty and transparent honesty.”

“They’re all yours, carina.” He whispered, losing his voice at seeing you in the moonlight, placing your trust in the palm of his hand. Your eyes flickered from his down to his lips, seeing the scar that dissected them on the side of his face and slowly leaning foreword, nose brushing against his gently as his hands case to rest at your waist. “You won’t regret this, lo prometto.” He sighed as his lips met yours — soft and hot, slow and sweet, working out contented hums from you and feeling you melt against the gentle touches of his hands.

“I’m counting on it.” You smiled widely as you pulled apart ever so slightly, holding each other close.

[notsochillnerd]

Robby who gets so used to slapping your ass at home when he passes behind you that he accidentally does it at work

You freeze

He freezes

Santos CACKLES

[notsochillnerd]

[notsochillnerd]

observation: among a certain subset of tumblr users, the term “blorbo” has become unchic, but the concept it describes is still important; and so it has been replaced with “The Character”

[notsochillnerd]

john (price) hitting on the barista at is fav coffee shop !!!

John wasted no time in meeting the “cutest barista on earth” his men were raving about. He took his coffee at home but he can stop by real quick and see what the big deal is!

And a big deal you were! Charismatic, funny, and you’d convinced him to buy the most foul tasting sweet he had ever put in his mouth. He didn’t even like sweets. But he paid for it, smiled through the first bite, and didn’t complain!! Because you’d recommended it with such enthusiasm, and hell if he was going to ruin that smile on your face.

John could see exactly what was driving everyone crazy.

He told himself it was a one-time visit, just curiosity. But then he found himself back the next morning. And the one after that.

Each time, he ordered something he didn’t need just to watch you light up when you spoke. Like you hadn’t already worked a full shift, like you weren’t surrounded by a dozen other people demanding your attention.

You still always managed to give him your all and, sometimes, even a little more.

He wasn’t used to that. And that was what really got him.

You caught on quick.

...

“Back again?” you teased one morning, not even looking up as you slid a cup across the counter. His usual, like you’d memorized it.

“Convenient location,” he replied, leaning casually on the counter, trying not to smile too much. As if you’d fall for that lie.

“Right…the middle of nowhere. So convenient.”

He laughed, and that was when it happened. The first real moment.

You looked at him. Not through him, not past him, and it felt like, to him, something shifted.

“So, John,” you began, folding a napkin absentmindedly. “You got a lady?”

That threw him.

He blinked, then leaned in just a bit. “A lady.. A girlfriend?” 

You nodded, folding the napkin to death. Slightly taken aback by your forwardness.

He hesitated, then said, quieter than usual, “No. No girlfriend.”

A beat passed. He didn’t break eye contact. “Why? Want my number?”

There was a pause. A soft one. Your smile came slow..shy. “Sure.”

It wasn’t a grand gesture, no sweeping confession. Just a moment.

But for John? It was the start of something.

the others:

simon

gaz

johnny

[notsochillnerd]

johnny hitting on the barista at his fav coffee shop !!!

A mocha caramel latte-chino, made with skim milk, no whipped cream, in a grande cup BUT using the amount of coffee you’d put into a tall! That way there’s about an extra inch of room on top to stir in his own nutmeg without spilling any coffee at all.

The large Scotsman rattled this off to you every single time he came in. It’d become such a routine you’d start to make it as soon as you saw the mohawk floating towards your entrance. 

You actually enjoyed the man. His order was oddly specific, but that made your job easier! And you certainly enjoyed his attention.

To say Johnny was smooth would’ve been an understatement.

It was like he lived for the chance to fluster you, every smirk, every offhand compliment perfectly timed to catch you off guard.

And damn it, it worked. Every single time. There was just something in the way he watched you work, listened when you spoke. Something about how he managed to slip in a “ye look gorgeous today” like it was just part of the order. 

Somehow, he made it all feel more charming than obnoxious! Effortlessly attractive in a way that made you stumble over your words a bit. Honestly? It surprised you that a man like that could be interested in someone like you. But he was. And he didn’t exactly hide it.

He’d asked for your number the very first time he laid eyes on you. You’d laughed it off, assuming he was just another flirty customer looking to pass the time.

But he came back. Again. 

And again. And again.

And always with that same question. 'Can I take ye out?'

Until, finally, you said yes.

...

You found him waiting outside the café as you locked up for the night, holding a ridiculously large bouquet and wearing that usual cheeky grin. “Can I take ye out?”

You blinked, your hand frozen on the key still inside the door as you took in the obnoxious amount of flowers in his hand. “Johnny?”

He took a small step closer, a nervous grin tugging at his lips, a side of him you hadn’t seen before. “A bit much.. figured if I was gonna shoot my shot, I’d go all in.”

“Johnny–”

He cut you off, stumbling over his words. You could see the anxiety painted on his face.

“I haven’t been pursuing ye properly! Just one date? That’s all I’m askin’ ye, bonnie.”

And honestly… how could you say no to that?

the others:

simon

gaz

price

[notsochillnerd]

gaz hitting on the barista at his favorite coffee shop !!

Gaz doesn’t like coffee, he much prefers tea. But, he sure does like you. 

He’d only stopped in to grab a coffee for his mate Simon, but the moment he saw your warm smile behind the counter, he suddenly decided he might just need a cup for himself too. And, apparently, a chocolate croissant, two cake pops, and some type of limited-edition cookie?

You were a damn good upseller. 

He was surprised on his way home, juggling two drinks and a neatly folded bag of ridiculously overpriced sweets. Surprised at how much he’d spent, but even more surprised by how flustered you’d managed to make him in under five minutes.

What surprised him most, though, was that he came back the next week. And the next. And the next.

Every time, he ordered the same thing: a simple black coffee that tasted like absolute shite. But he kept coming back. Because he loved to watch you make it.

He loved to lean against the counter and chat you up while the cup brewed. Staring at your fingers writing his name on the cup. K-Y-L-E. Melt a bit when you added a little doodle right under. He loved the way you’d grin as he sipped the foul liquid and offered you a long “mmmmm!”

It had taken him a ridiculous amount of courage to finally ask you out, his fingers trembling as he slid his phone across the counter, sipping nervously from his cup.

He watched you with bated breath as you looked down at the screen… and then broke into a grin.

“I knew you didn’t come in every week just for the overpriced black coffee.”

“I actually hate coffee.” He admitted as he took the phone back from you. “I prefer tea.”

“Kyle, we sell tea.”

“...you do?”

the others:

simon

johnny

price

[notsochillnerd]

simon hitting on the cashier at his fav coffee shop !!!

 Simon was *your* regular.

You were 99% sure Simon only visited the little café if you were on shift, that he came there just for you. Though... that seems a bit delusional.

Simon—spelled S-I-M-O-N— you always made sure to spell it correctly on his cup because in your head it mattered to him. He exclusively let you take his order, ring him up, and hand him cash.

It was the same routine; his usual grunts, his VERY intense eye contact, a $5 tip, and a gruff "thanks." Every single time you saw him.

...

"There's something wrong with the cup today."

His eyes locked on yours as he handed it over, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

You raise a brow as you investigate the cup and there on the back, in chicken scratch.. is his phone number. 

“Oh..” You had to bite back a grin, fearing he'd think you were laughing at him. “Oh, I see.. Let me make you a new one and I will just..keep this.”

You could see his chest puffing up in satisfaction as he grunted a quick “yeah.”

the others:

gaz

johnny

price

[notsochillnerd]

Going back in time - Ukai Keishin

part 1

Part 2 - Tokyo

It’s strange to be back. 

Hardly anything has changed in your street, at least as far as you can tell. The sign above the 7-Eleven is still missing one letter, your neighbour still puts out plates with cat food to feed the litter hiding behind the flower shop, and the old lady from downstairs still hangs her underwear out to dry.

You can’t help but compare it to the feeling of home. The slow sunset that had you mesmerized is replaced with an advertising sign for a sports drink, and where the nights in Miyagi are quiet, if only for the sound of crickets, a group of teenagers had been fighting below your window for hours after midnight.

You used to love it here, you know, but it’s gotten hard to remember why.

-

“Do you have a minute?”

Your boss stops you on the way back from the break room. The bottle of chilled water is sweating in your hands, droplets hitting the floor.

“Sure.”

She leads you into her office, offers a cup of coffee, that you recline. You’re wired enough.

“I got your request for Remote Work. I take your mother isn’t doing too well?”

You’ve always known she wasn’t one for chitchat, so this direct approach isn’t surprising, though you could have done without it. You swallow.

“As good as can be,” you answer. “It wasn’t a severe heart attack, but it took us by surprise, and she’s going to have to be careful going forward. She’s living alone, so she doesn’t have any help, and I know she’s not going to take it easy without someone there to remind her.”

“Your father-”

“Lives further away, they separated early on in their marriage. They get along, but that’s it.”

“I see. Well, as you know, remote positions are rather rare in our business. We don’t want to encourage people to take them when they can come into office just as well. Would a mixed position work for you? Two days remote, three days in office? Since Thursday and Friday are usually slow, I think these two would work best. This would give you a chance to drive home for the weekend.”

You know it’s a good offer. The bullet train needs about ninety minutes to get there and you’ve been stuck in traffic far longer than that.

But you think of your tiny apartment, the sleepless night you’ve had, your mother's friendly face every morning, the golden sunrise peeking over the hill, and Keishin’s yellow car blinking back at you.

“I’m actually thinking of relocating,” you admit with a conviction that surprises yourself the most. “So I was thinking of a full remote position. Most meetings aren’t necessary for me to attend, but I’d be here for the monthly report.”

The monthly report is the thing everyone hates the most. Vacations are scheduled to include it, sick days are used to avoid it, and yes, you are guilty of having done both. But it’s one day a month and free food on top of that.

Your boss sighs. She’s your mother's age, you guess, no children at home. You wonder if she still loves the city as much as you did coming here, or if that passion has dwindled over the years. Has she ever been to the countryside before? Does she know its beauty?

“I’ll consider it,” she says. “You do good work, and it would be a pity to lose you.”

“I understand. Thank you for your consideration.”

-

You hide from the rain in a bus stop that’s going to get you nowhere. You fidget with your phone, your mind still caught somewhere between here and there, unable to go either place.

Before you know it, you’ve typed familiar numbers, pressed a little too hard, your fingernail bending.

Keishin picks up on the first call, his voice a little breathless.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” You straighten. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have called, I-”

“Are you okay?”

“Cold, but okay,” you admit sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. No one’s at the story anyway.” There’s a sound you can’t quite place.

“Are you smoking?”

“Yes, sorry, I know you told me to stop, but-”

“When did you start it up again?”

Silence.

“You never quit, did you?”

“It’s not like you were around to keep pestering me about it.”

There’s a pout in his voice, the sound so familiar you can’t help but guffaw, then laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you’re still giggling. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“I have,” Keishin disagrees. “You wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Try me.”

“Uh,” he hesitates, clearly lacking examples, you think. “I do my own laundry now.”

“Wow. I’m blown away.”

“Shut up,” he snarls, though not mean-spirited. “I’m not a bad cook either.”

“You’ve never been a bad cook.”

“You were better.”

“Yeah, because you let me cook all the time. I had more practice.”

“And more passion.”

“You would too, if you had a partner sitting at the table, singing praise for every bite.”

“I never made any of it up.” His voice is warm now, full of affection.

You squint up into the sky, feeling like the sun has peeked out from the clouds, but no, it’s still all grey.

“Did you change?” He asks, using your hesitation against you.

“Sure, I did.”

“Mhm? I don’t think so.”

“What’s my favorite food?”

“That’s unfair, you never had one growing up, just what was popular at the time.”

“True,” you admit. “Sorry.”

“You’ve always been a cheat, too, so this is spot on.”

“I am not!”

He laughs fully, quieting suddenly. His voice shifts, sounding further away and you realize belatedly that he put the phone away to talk to someone else.

“Yes, of course. Look around. Feel free to ask if you need something.”

“Should I hang up?” You ask when his breathing sounds closer again, a shiver running up and down your arms at the sound. You try not to slip back into your memories.

“No, it’s fine, I-”

“You’re at work,” you interrupt him, suddenly much too aware of what you’re doing. “I’m keeping you. I’m sorry.”

You hang up before he has a change to get a word in. 

You keep your phone in your hand, all the way home. It doesn’t vibrate with a call from him and you know, because you keep looking down at it, even as you get soaked to the bone.

-

This time, Mom picks you up from the train station. 

You can tell she’s doing better, and she can tell you’re doing worse.

“Oh dear,” she pulls you into one of her signature hugs, rubbing soothing circles over your arched back. “Let’s get you something warm to drink. Nothing ever gets solved without a cup of tea.”

You’d like to disagree, but she’s got much more experience under her belt.

And there truly is some wisdom to her words, you think, as the warmth seeps from the cup into your fingertips, trickling up your arms and down into your heart.

“I’ll be fine,” she reassures you, as you haltingly tell her about your work situation, still waiting for an update. “I have friends that look out for me. This scared me too. I’ve started going on walks again. Short ones, don’t look at me like that, I’m not training for a marathon.”

“With whom?”

“I have friends,” she reminds you gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just because I never remarried doesn’t mean I’ve been lonely. But I wonder if you have been, lost in that big city.”

You wonder too. Have you ever been home, or just making your way round, trying to find a place to rest for a while, like all those tourists crying happy tears when they finally spot a bench after a tiring day.

She lets you drink your tea in silence, knowing not to bother you while you’re thinking, the thoughts too much of a burden to speak them into existence yet.

But she’s also your mother. 

“You never told me about Keishin,” she points out when the cups are empty. “Have you ever told anyone?”

-

“I can’t believe he broke up with you,” Bunko says, pulling her ponytail tighter. “He was obsessed with you.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t obsessed with him,” you drawl, hoping she’ll drop the topic. 

You can’t blame Dai for calling it quits. 

Calling him Keishin by accident had been a funny mistake at the beginning, but it’s no longer funny when you’re three months dating.

Not that Dai looks like him. You know better than that.

“I wish I was like you,” Cho whispers from where she’s perched on your bed, fluttering her eyelashes as if she’s making it up right now. “A femme fatale who doesn’t care about men.”

You laugh. “That’s pretty far from the truth.”

“Shush!” Cho puts her hand up to silence you. “You’re disturbing my daydream.”

Neither of them knows Keishin. It’s a gaping hole in your friendship that you don’t know how to fill.

-

The redhead sits in front of the store when you reach it, munching on a Curry Bun.

“Hinata, right?” You ask, anxious to step out of the shadows where Keishin can’t see you. You still know the blind spots by heart from when you used them to sneak in a quick kiss during his break, or where to find him when he went off to have a smoke.

“Do I know you?” He’s got the awkwardness of any teenager you’ve ever met, though his fluffy hair and bright eyes tell you that he’s probably going to grow up into someone gorgeous.

“No, I just happen to know Keish- Coach Ukai.”

“Oh yeah!” He nods eagerly, connecting the dots. “You’re his lady friend!” He grins. “Are you coming to our next game?”

You’re left speechless. “I’m his what-”

He opens his mouth to speak but is immediately distracted by something on the other side of the road.

Two more teens have turned up, the two of them tall and gangly, one blond, one dark haired. 

“Tsukishima, Yamaguchi! Wait up!” He’s gone without another word and you’re left standing there, freezing when the door is pushed open a second later.

“Are you going to come in?” 

An unlit cigarette is tucked between his lips. You take it out of instinct, tucking it behind your ear.

His eyes flicker up to it, but he says nothing, letting you walk past him and into the store.

When you don’t hear his footsteps, you turn around once more to find him staring down the street.

“You okay?”

A figure appears, approaching quickly.

“Am I late?” The boy asks, dark hair tousled from the run. Keishin grunts. “That’s not you, Kageyama. They went ahead already.”

“Damn it!” The boy curses, picking up speed again. “My sister kept me!”

“No excuses!” Keishin calls after him, before closing the door with a chuckle. “Mad boys. Training even on their free days.”

You watch him, your insides feeling unsettled, like puzzle pieces that have been scattered wildly. 

“What?” Keishin gives you a look. “Are you going to throw up? You look sick.”

“I’m fine,” you insist, but he’s already pouring you a cup of tea, plating you some of the ginger biscuits his mother always makes. It’s supposed to help a weak stomach, though you suspect it appeals more to a sweet tooth.

“How’s your Mom?”

“Good,” you deflect. “Nosy.”

“Ah,” he nods. “Sounds like her. Always knew who you got it from.”

You know you’re supposed to joke along. Pretend you’re not nosy when you’ve never been anything but.

But your lips won’t do the thing they’re supposed to do, or maybe it’s your brain that’s not working properly. Truthfully, you suspect it’s been your heart all along that’s messing it all up.

“Do you still have my ring?”

His head shoots up, his eyes wide. He can’t even speak.

“Not that I want it back or that I think you should have it, but I thought I knew you and I’m not really sure anymore, so I’d know if you… if you kept it.”

“What do you think?”

You drag your foot across the cheap floor, swallow done what could be nerves or butterflies or the beginning of some awful heartburn.

“You should have sold it.”

“But what do you think I did?”

You can’t look at him and you can’t look at anything else.

It’s funny, really, how a person can change and still be the same. How the little things can suddenly matter more than anything else.

The shape of his eyes and the curve of his mouth have you mesmerised still. There’s still parts of the Keisin in there, the one that you knew and loved and-

“I think you kept it,” you admit. “Or at least I hope you did.”

Keishin doesn’t smile as he pulls at the hem of his shirt, pulling out a thin necklace you hadn’t spotted before. The ring glints in the fluorescent light like it has been waiting for you to notice it.

“You’ve been wearing it all that time?”

“No,” he admits, something shifting in his eyes. “I couldn’t, for a while. Too much-”

You nod. “I get it.”

“You do?” His voice sounds weird. “I don’t think you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know what it means to give up everything you’ve ever dreamed of because you cannot bear with the guilt of not doing the responsible thing?”

You swallow thickly. Keishin waits for you to answer.

“Do you know what it means for your dreams to shatter because the only person you’ve ever loved couldn’t bring themselves to be honest with you?”

The ring drops against his chest as he lets it go, reaching for you instead.

You take a step back.

“I need a moment,” you tell him, your voice barely working. “Mom asked for onions.”

-

“Why are you hiding?” Keishin slides into the spot on your left, nudging your leg with his. “Mom’s looking for you. She made ginger cookies.”

You wipe your face hastily, though the tears are persistent.

A wrinkled napkin appears in front of you and you take it, grateful as well as embarrassed.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“You suck at hide and seek,” Keishin points out, leaning into you. “Is it because of your Dad?”

You suck in a breath. He’s hit the nail on the head.

“It sucks that he’s leaving,” Keishin points out the obvious, tugging on a loose thread on his trousers. “But you haven’t been happy lately, with him and your Mom fighting.”

“How’d you know?”

“Cause you always sit at your window when you’re sad. I can see you from my bedroom.”

You wipe your nose once more. “Are you a pervert?”

“Do I look like one?” Keishin glares at you angrily. “Besides. There’s nothing to look anyway.” He shakes his head. “If your Dad leaves, they’re going to fight less.”

“But I won’t be seeing him, like, at all.”

“You’ll see him all summer.”

“How’d you know?”

“Your Mom told my Mom and I’m smart enough to listen.”

“You’re just smart enough to be nosy.”

“Smart enough is smart enough.” He nudges your knee with his once more. “Why’re you really sad?”

You burst out crying again. Keishin surprises you by putting an arm around you, just holding you.

It takes a while for the tears to dry and you leave snot stains on his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You can have half of my Dad,” Keishin promises quietly. “And half of my Grandpa too, if you want. He’s a little mean, but he likes you.”

Neither of you acknowledges your intertwined hands, resting gently on your knees. 

It is what it is.

-

“Why are you hiding?” Keishin asks, rounding the corner, nuding your leg softly. “I thought you stopped being scared of me.”

The joke doesn’t land well. You try to wipe your cheeks, but the tears won’t stop coming.

A handkerchief appears in front of your face, the embroidered initials familiar.

“Your Mom made these?”

“Nah,” he slides into the space on your left. “Takeda did. He’s got a knack for these things.”

“Someone I should be jealous of?”

He grins at your poor joke. “I don’t know. We do spend a lot of time together.”

You blow your nose instead of reacting and Keishin pulls a cigarette out, lighting it. He blows the smoke out slowly before snubbing it on the ground.

“You’ve the only person I’ve ever loved, too,” he admits quietly. “I’m just smart enough to know that.”

“Smart enough is smart enough,” you respond and his knee nudges yours, years of separation not enough to take these memories from either of you.

“Back then,” he mutters softly, “why were you really sad?”

You still. The truth feels heavy like a cloak, yet paperthin. You could poke your finger through and maybe you should.

“Dad wanted me to move with him,” you admit. “They’d been going about it for weeks. He earned more.”

Keishin doesn’t answer, so you continue.

“I love my Mom. But back then I didn’t want to stay for her. Some days we barely got along. I just…” You look at your knees, touching. “I wanted to stay for you.”

“And I fucked it all up.”

“We fucked it all up,” you admit, feeling lighter for finally doing so. “I do realize I played a heavy part in it, too.”

“I was the one who bought the promise ring.”

“No, you were the one you handed it over.”

He stills. “What?”

You can’t bear to look at him. “I bought you something. You wouldn’t be able to wear a ring, so I found you a necklace-”

“I’ve only been a benchwarmer through high school.”

“Yes, but you love Volleyball. You would never stop playing!”

Keishin laughs. It’s hoarse, an awful sound, like it should have been a cry instead.

You’re not sure what to say, so you put your arm around his back, press your face against his shoulder and close your eyes.

“If we could only go back in time.”

- - -

“Could I have a minute?”

A perfectly plucked eyebrow raises before she nods. You follow your boss to her office, your knees like jelly but your heart strong.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to resign.”

She seems surprised. “Is your mother worse?”

“Unchanged. But I know where I want to spend the rest of my life and it’s not the City. If a remote position isn’t possible, I will have to live with that.”

“Miyagi, right?” She folds her hands on the table. “We don’t have any offices there. Would you work at a competitor?”

“There’s a store up the street,” you tell her. “They’re hiring. And even if they didn’t, I used to work at a Diner there. I know they’d take me in.”

She’s quiet for a moment. 

“You’ve thought about this?”

“Ninety-minute ride from Miyagi to Tokyo,” you reply calmly. “I’ve had all the time in the world to think it through.”

“Alright. We’d hate to lose you, but if that’s your decision…” She raises and you do the same, though she doesn’t walk from the table, seemingly lost in thought. “Would you still be willing to take the remote position? Monthly meetings in office?”

You hesitate. It’s a good offer, you know. And she must be thinking she’s calling your bluff when in reality you never thought you’d get this far.

“You can think about it, if that’s what you need.”

“One year,” you tell her. “Then I’ll reconsider. But I think I’ll manage monthly trips for a year.”

When she shakes your hand you’re still not sure what she thinks about you.

But you find you no longer care.

- - -

You spot Keishin before the train fully stops and your heart beats hummingbird fast against your ribcage, wishing to be let out.

He’s holding flowers, though he’s trying to hide them behind his back like a fool.

“Hi,” you approach him cautiously, unsure of yourself and what this is all about.

“Hi,” he scratches his neck awkwardly. “I had this idea and maybe it’s stupid, but I thought we could… turn back time. Meet again for the first time? Your Mom asked my Mom to have me pick you up and I’m Keishin, nice to meet you.”

“I don’t want that.” You lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, to tend his wounded ego. “It’s sweet, but I don’t need to fall in love with you again… I never fell out of love in the first place.”

“Don’t lie,” he whispers, his hand reaching out to grab yours. “You have, for a little while.”

“Maybe,” you squeeze his hand when it takes hold, the callouses on his fingertips familiar and unknown at the same time. “Or maybe I was just hurt.”

His temple rests against yours. He smells like smoke and mint chewing gum, like past, present and the bittersweet, not so distant future.

“You’re going to take me home now?” You ask, when he hasn’t moved for a while and he nods without moving. 

“Just trying to decide which one.”-

- - -

Miyagi

It’s strange to be back. 

Hardly anything has changed in your street, though that’s to be suspected. You’ve only been gone for a fortnight.

You can’t help but compare it. The beach still holds a different spell over you, or maybe it had been your company. Sunburnt skin and warm sand against your toes, salty kisses after a day spent in the surf and holding hands, mesmerized by two matching rings glinting in the bright sun.

You couldn’t sleep last night, dozed off around midnight, and woke up before the sun had risen.

You’ve been sitting on your windowsill for hours now, watching the sun climb over the horizon, the coffee in your cup long gone cold.

At the end of the street, a door opens. Your mother walks out, stretches and moves to grab the newspaper.

She stops at the top of the steps, putting a hand out to shield her eyes.

You’re not sure if she spots you like that, or if she knows you’re home because of Keishin’s bright yellow car parking out front, but she waves and you can’t help but wave back.

You’ll go by later. Ask if she wants to come over for Dinner. Chat about the nice guy she met for coffee the other day. Deflect her questions about how many grandchildren she’ll probably get and how soon.

Behind you, movement catches your attention.

You turn to watch Keishin pat around your side, clearly looking for you even half asleep,, his hair a mess. He’s thinking about growing out the blond and you wonder how much you should encourage that. You’ll miss the color on him, you know.

“Hey,” he blinks, rubs his eyes, smiles boyishly up at you. “Isn’t it too early to be out of bed?”

“You tell me,” you get down from the windowsill, laugh when he starts making grabby hands and slip back into bed with him.

Keishin’s hands are warm as they pull you in. He lets your head rest on his chest, his heartbeat steadfast and calm. 

“I miss being on vacation,” he admits as you rub your hand over his stomach, the little weight he put on. “I wish we could go back in time.”

“Just think of everything we’d miss,” you whisper back. “Living in the past instead of the present.”

-

“Wait up!” You call out, though Keishin’s got longer legs and more often than not, a stubborn streak.

You only catch him at the top of the hill, though it soon becomes clear that had been his goal entirely as he sinks down onto the bench there.

“What are you doing?” You ask, still a little breathless.

“You’ll see,” he pulls out a knife and digs it into the soft wood of the backrest. 

He tucks his tongue between his teeth as he tries to get it right and you love that enough that you lean in to kiss it, still reveling in that warm fuzzy feeling of being allowed to do it. To kiss him. Whenever you want. 

Okay, maybe not whenever, because your parents still don’t know and the teachers are pretty strict about this kind of thing, but he’s yours and you’re his and there’s nothing sweeter than the way he blushes everytime you lean in.

“Don’t distract me,” he begs. “This is hard enough.”

“What are you trying to do anyway?” You ask, expecting another “You’ll see.” but earn a curse when the knife slips and he almost cuts himself.

“Thsi is hard,” Keishin claims. “It’s supposed to be a heart.”

“Let me,” you ask, knowing to be gentler with the knife. “You can hold me hands, so we’re doing it together.”

It’s crude, one side dug much too deeply into the soft wood, and too small to fit your initials, but it’s yours. Forever.

“I wanted to do something special,” Keishin declares. “So you’d want to say you love me.”

“I would have done it without,” you admit. “But it’s nice.” You touch it once more. “I love it. I love you.”

His arm is warm as he pulls you in, his face pink. “I love you, too.” he insists. “Forever. I promise.”

And when he kisses you under the setting sun, it feels like a promise that can only come true in the end.

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[notsochillnerd]

Going back in time - Ukai Keishin

Part 1 - Miyagi

It’s strange to be back. 

Hardly anything has changed in your street, although the cars out front have different colors, they still look as banged up and used as they did when you left.

You can’t help but compare it to the feeling of the city, everything new and shiny, and the air filled with so many different smells, whereas Miyagi just smells like open fields and gasoline.

You couldn’t sleep last night, dozed off around midnight, and woke up before the sun had risen.

You’ve been sitting on your windowsill for hours now, watching the sun climb over the horizon, the coffee in your cup long gone cold.

At the end of the street, a door opens. Blond hair catches a ray of sunlight, and your heart skips a beat as you watch Ukai Keishin walk down the steps to a small, yellow car.

No one comes after him. No wife and no children. Not even his mother, though she might still be asleep.

As he reaches his car, he turns around. He’s facing you, as if looking for you, just like you’re looking for him. But you remain still, unmoving, hoping he won’t see you in the shadows.

He drives away.

-

“Don’t,” you stop your mother from stepping into the kitchen. “You know what the doctors told you! You should be resting.”

“A little housework isn’t going to do me any harm.”

“It might,” you push her away as gently as you can. “I’m going to do the dishes.”

Your mother tutts. “Don’t be so worried about me.”

“I will be as worried as I please. No, go and lie down for a bit, will you?”

She sighs. “Fine. I will.”

“And I’ll make Dinner.”

She beams. “Oh, that’s lovely. I haven’t had your cooking in ages. What will you make?”

Guilt burns in your stomach. You usually eat out when she comes to visit you in the city, your apartment too small to cook comfortably in. Besides, she’d always been so in awe at all the options.

You name her favorite, though you regret it later after you check the cupboards. There are a few things missing. 

Your mother is still resting, so you write her a note and trudge up the street, the afternoon sun burning onto your back.

You’ve spent the morning driving your mother from one task to the next, the doctor, the dry cleaner, an aunty she wanted to visit. You’re tired in a way no coffee can fix.

You stop in front of the store, regretting your decision.

The Ukai name stands proud above the door, a reminder of things past.

You squint through the glass, sighing in relief when you spot Keishin’s aunt Momo at the register.

“Welcome to-” She squeaks in surprise as she recognizes you. “It’s you! You’re home!”

“Course,” your smile is more like a grimace. “Mom’s not doing so great, so I came to check in on her.”

“Oh, I heard. How’s she doing? What did the doctors say?”

You’re glad about the interrogation. At least this way, she won’t be talking about other topics.

“I’ll have to tell Keishin that you’re back,” she says then, as if reading your thoughts. “Our boy is going to be so happy to see you again.”

“Right,” you clear your throat. You can’t very well tell her that you don’t want to see him and that he probably doesn’t want to see you either. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying, so…”

“Ah, you should come by around noon,” Momo declares with a friendly smile and a wink. “Or later in the evening, then you get to meet his boys too.”

Your stomach churns. Kids. You knew it.

“I should get going,” you insist, blindly patting around. “Mom’s waiting for me at home.”

“Of course, of course-” The doorbell chimes behind you, and she leaves you to look around the shelves, your stomach still upset from the revelation.

There’s a little jewelry box sitting in your room, your name stitched into the velvety fabric. 

You couldn’t bear leaving it in your childhood home, though taking it with you has always come with certain drawbacks.

You think of it now, of the awkward teenager who had handed it over with sweaty hands.

“The real present’s inside,” Keishin had exclaimed. “It’s not much, but I saved up for it, so-”

The ring is dainty, a simple band with no engravings.

“It’s a promise,” Keishin had muttered, his cheeks red. “That I’ll buy you a different one when we’re older.”

A child’s cry pulls you out of the memory.

You traipse around an aisle, half expecting to find Keishin with a toddler in tow, but it’s someone you don’t recognize. 

You pick up your speed, willing to get away from here, where all the memories sit around in the open, ready to be picked like ripe apples on a tree.

-

Keishin’s car returns late at night, his headlights cutting through the dark.

You know it’s him because you’ve memorized this street long ago.

A lightbulb over his door goes on, catching his movement. He stops there and turns to face your house, the darkness that it’s enveloped in.

You know he can’t see you. So why is he still looking for you?

- - -

“Please?” Your mother looks up at you with a smile. “I’d really miss it for dinner.”

You sigh, parking the car on the side of the street. You know she’s won, but you’ll always put up a fight. “It’s pouring outside.”

“And you’re made from sugar?”

“No,” you scowl. “But you could have thought about it while we were in town.”

“You know, the town confuses me. Besides, the Ukai’s make the best. You always said so yourself.”

You did. You just don’t want to admit it.

“Fine,” you huff, unbuckling your seatbelt and keeping your head on the store in front of you. A few teenagers are milling around, clad in the black jackets you remember from your days in Karasuno. You wonder what sport they’re in.

“Awful weather!” One of them calls out to you, his greyish hair sticking to his head from getting caught in the rain earlier. “Sadly, the umbrellas are all out.”

“Don’t lie to my customers, Sugawara-” A familiar voice calls out, stopping short when you shake the rain out of your hair. 

Keishin is behind the register. Your stomach drops at his sight.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grumbles, shooting a dark look at the boys milling around the open door. “Anything you need?”

“Mom wanted Curry Buns for dinner,” you tell him, your hands finding purchase in the hem of your shirt. “Sent me in to get them.”

“Doesn’t change, does she?” He asks, his laughter flat and awkward.

“Hmm,” you shrug noncommittally. Behind you, the boys have started to whisper.

“Will you stop?” Keishin barks at them. “I’m nice enough, letting you hang around after training. You should get home and get a proper meal!”

“But it’s raining!” A few of them whine.

“So?” Keishin asks back. “It’s not my fault you keep forgetting your umbrellas.” He glowers at them, though there’s no real sharpness in his gaze or his words. 

A few seconds pass. “Fine,” he sighs then. “I want all of them back by tomorrow. In one piece. I’m looking at you, Hinata.”

A small boy with bright red hair blushes as he dashes forward, grabbing an umbrella out of the box Keishin has lifted onto the register.

“Thanks, Coach!” He’s out the door in a heartbeat, a flash of orange and black, though you’re too distracted to notice much.

Coach?!

It doesn’t take long for the store to empty out, although a few of the boys linger on the steps outside, trying to sneak in a further glance. 

You’re still at a loss for words as Keishin packs up your order, taking longer than necessary.

He’s still got his piercings in, the metal glinting in the bright fluorescent light.

You remember well how he got them.

“It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?” Keishin asks, staring up at the writing over the door.

“What? Are you scared?” You laugh at the unease on his face and lean in to whisper something like a kiss onto his lips, a tease if you have ever been one. “I can kiss it better if you want.”

He grimaces. “I don’t think kissing my bloody earlobes is going to be sexy. No offense.”

You snort. “You’re so romantic, Keishin.”

“Hey!” He protests. “I was the one coming up with the idea! I would have gotten a tattoo for you-”

“And I’m pretty sure that hurts even more,” you remind him gently, pushing him forward and through the door. “So be glad I didn’t accept that proposal.”

He’s grinning. “That makes it sound like we’re getting married.”

“Aren’t we?” You joke, sauntering up to the register. “We called ahead. We’re getting matching piercings.”

“Wait,” Keishin blinks. “Matching?”

“Oh, baby, do you really think I’m going to let you go through this alone?” You link your arms and smile up at him. “You can watch how they do it on me first, if you want. I’ve already done it once, I’m not afraid of a second poke through my earlobe.”

“Now you’re making me look like a wuss,” he grumbles, but he squeezes your hand still, a sign he’s grateful.

Back in the present, your fingers find the small stud in your earlobe. It’s not the one you got back then, having gone and lost it one summer night long ago. But it still holds meaning. Keishin bought the replacement.

“Here,” he offers you the bag. You have to walk the short distance to the register to take it, trying your hardest not to brush his hand. 

“Aunty told me you’re back,” he mentions quietly as you can’t seem to unstick your feet from the tile. “Said you didn’t know how long you’d be around.”

“Right,” you say. And then. “Mom wants me to stay.”

Keishin nods, avoiding your eyes as he scratches his neck. “Makes sense. She misses you. She always talks about you when we meet.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. I like hearing about you.” He freezes. “Not that I’m asking, or anything. It’s just nice, you know, to know you’re doing great.”

“Right,” you interrupt his rambling again. “She never tells me anything about you, though, so I assume you’re doing well?”

“Yeah,” he nods before shaking his head. “I mean, I’m doing okay. I work at the store, I coach Volleyball at Karasuno.” He laughs, scratching his neck once more. “Those were my boys just now. A handful, I tell you. But they’ve got potential.”

“Your… boys…” You repeat slowly, your brain trying to wrap itself around it. “So you don’t have children of your own?”

“What? NO!” He bellows, his cheeks a fiery red. “Who told you that? Me and children? Not that I don’t want them, but you know, I’m me and all, and after everything- I mean, what about you? Do you have children by now? We’re still so young and-”

“No,” you interrupt him, your heart doing something like a cartwheel in your chest. “No children. No husband either.”

You don’t know why you added the last part. But you catch the way his eyes widen at the statement, that burst of relief in his eyes that mirrors your own.

“Great. I mean, not that I don’t want that for you, but great that we understand each other, I-”

“I should go,” you tell him, your hands sweaty. “What do you get for the Curry Buns?”

“Nothing. It’s on the house.”

“Keishin, you can’t-”

“It’s on the house,” he repeats, his voice firm and soft at the same time. “It’s good to have you back.”

You walk out like a robot after that, fighting for your life, trying not to look back. You only do so when you’re back in the car, your mother grinning from one ear to the other.

Keishin’s still at the register, and he’s still looking your way.

-

Mom is already in bed by the time Keishin returns.

The rain has cleared by now, the sky above you bright with stars.

He parks, gets out of the car, and walks up to his door, stopping only to look up at your house.

You wonder how often he does it. Is he doing it because he knows you’re back? Or is it a habit that has been ingrained in him for far longer?

“Fancy a walk?” You step out of the shadows. Keishin flinches in surprise, cursing under his breath.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks, passing the bags he’s carrying from one shoulder to the other.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admit. “The stars are too bright. I was thinking about walking to the bench down the hill.”

You turn and walk away, unsurprised to hear him follow you.

Keishin has always followed you. Until he didn’t.

Everything about him is crumpled, from the furrowed brows to the line of his mouth. 

You can tell he’s hurting, but you can’t focus on him right now.

“You knew all this time?” You ask, your voice breaking. “You knew the whole semester that you weren’t coming along, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want-” Keishin’s folding under your gaze. “I can’t let my family down.”

“But you could have told me,” you cry. “I would have- I could have-”

“No,” Keishin shakes his head. “No, you need to go. It’s your dream to go to Tokyo.  You’ve got the marks, the drive, it’s your dream.”

“It’s our dream,” you whisper. “Our dream, Keishin. We wanted to go and see the world, remember? Have a tiny apartment. Get married and live off instant ramen. N-not stay here. What are you going to do?”

“I work at the store,” he says, hands pushed into the pockets of his trousers now. He only does it when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. The well-known habit should endear you, but it only enrages you further.

“At the store, right,” you scoff. “Because you have no goals in life.”

“That’s not fair. I do have goals.”

“Yeah?” You level him with a glare. “And what are they? Tell me, because I’d really like to know.”

He’s quiet. An admission of guilt, perhaps. 

You slip the promise ring off your finger and slap it against his chest.

“Here. So much for your promises.”

It’s the last time you speak.

“Are you happy?” You ask him, halfway down the hill. “Here in Miyagi, coaching Volleyball?”

He’s quiet for a moment, walks beside you like a ghost of times past.

“I am, yes,” he admits. “I wasn’t before. Grandpa’s health has gotten worse and worse over the years. Grandma died, as you might know. The store is doing well, but it gets boring after a while. All the aunties asking me to marry their daughters or nieces or whatever. And I missed-” He breaks off, starts anew. “I missed Volleyball. I play with the Neighbourhood Association, but the games are not the same when you have nothing to lose.”

“When did you start coaching?”

“This year,” he laughs. “Grandpa did it for ages, but when he fell off, the kids had to rely on their own. They’ve got a very dedicated teacher who came begging day after day until I relented. That redhead you saw earlier, he reminds me a lot of the Little Giant.”

He sounds honest. Relaxed. He’s home, you can tell. 

“Do you regret staying?” You ask, regretting the question but knowing you need to ask.

“Sometimes,” he admits, hands pushed in the pockets of his trousers. You pass the last streetlight and fiddle with your phone until the flashlight is on.

“Do you regret leaving?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, easier to say it now that he’s done it too. “But for different reasons, I think.”

“Yeah? What reasons?”

You’re quiet for a while, follow the beaten path along the fields. “I miss my Mom,” you admit. “We still have a good relationship, but calling her each day isn’t the same as having her sit with me at the table. I miss… I miss cooking, which is a surprise to me, because I hate doing it at home. But I think that’s because my kitchen there is shit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe a little easier now. “The apartment is tiny, but I’ve got a great view. Had to live on instant ramen the first month or two, until I got another promotion.”

“You enjoy your work?”

“Most of the time. I-” You shrug. “But that’s what work is, right?”

“Right.”

You stop in front of the bench. You grab the backrest, let your fingers move across it until you find it, the heart you dug into the wood all those years ago.

It’s too small to contain your names, but the sentiment was there, at thirteen years old and in love for the first time.

“You’ve ever had a relationship after me, Keishin?” You ask, feeling like you’re stabbing yourself with that question.

“A few,” he admits quietly. “Not that any of them lasted. They wanted to settle down and have children, and I-” He hesitates, looking away. “I think I was just waiting for you to come back home.”

“You broke my heart back then.”

“You broke mine, too.”

The walk back home is quiet. You feel like it’s easier to breathe now, but you’re still not sure what you’re going to do. With him, your life, all those decisions you never thought about having to make until now.

“Do you want-”

“I leave for Tokyo tomorrow,” you interrupt him, sensing a question you can’t yet answer.

The second the words leave your lips, you know you’ll come back. You just don’t know what for.

“I’ll be back in a month or so,” you add, not daring to look at him. “To look after Mom.”

“Of course.”

Silence settles. You want him to say something, though you’re not sure you could handle much. 

Eventually, you reach your house, and he waves his goodbyes, picking up speed for the last stretch to his house. He’s got longer legs and is soon out of sight, though you can’t help watching him go.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” Your mother asks, wringing her hands in the kitchen.

You’ll miss her, you know, but not as much as she’ll miss you. 

Tokyo is waiting for you. 

“I did,” you point out, dragging your suitcase down the stairs. “We went to Grandma’s place yesterday. And I saw Dad at the graduation.”

“What about Keishin?”

You freeze, the suitcase dropping heavy on your left foot.

There is a kindness in her eyes you cannot stand. You’ve cried enough already over him, there can’t be any more tears to shed.

“He made his decision,” you point out. “He has to live with it.”

“But you’ve always been such good friends. Don’t throw it-”

“I didn’t throw it away!” You interrupt her, tears burning just as fiery as your anger, “He did! He knew for months that he wouldn’t be coming along, and instead of telling me, he had me make plans! I bought a stupid-”

And you break down once more.

Your mom drives very slowly past his house. You can’t help but look, but you don’t spot him. Not on the doorstep, or the windowsill, not even with his face pressed against the glass like he used to do when you left for your Dad during the summer holidays.

The gift is still in your nightstand, where you left it.

You had splurged on a leather necklace, knowing he wouldn’t be able to wear a ring as often as he’d liked. 

Like your promise ring, it would have been a promise for the future ahead. First, the necklace, then the ring to add onto it.

The wrapping paper is wrinkled now, having been pushed around, with the tape loose in some corners. 

You think about throwing it away, but you still can’t bring yourself to do it.

If only you could go back in time.

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[notsochillnerd]

i don’t know how to explain to you people that no matter what a country’s government is like i do not and will not support the US indiscriminately bombing that country’s civilians and i don’t know why that’s a controversial take tbh

[notsochillnerd]

Redrew seb as this scene from the kpop demon hunter movie

[notsochillnerd]