peachyroro

[peachyroro]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬.

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 somewhat overly specific activities that the inarizaki boys' volleyball club members partake in.

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 slight trypophobia in ginjima's part, death and burials mentioned in akagi's section (of animals)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 miya atsumu, miya osamu, kita shinsuke, ojiro aran, akagi michinari, oomimi ren, ginjima hitoshi, and suna rintarou; could be read as pre or post timeskip, 0.7k words

𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 sniffs sharpies. just kidding, but he likes to literally put his nose where it doesn't belong (and he sniffs sakura solid markers instead!) eating gross things can be osamu's thing, sniffing questionable items is his. gasoline, caterpillars, fresh layers of paint... on a slightly less strange note, he kinda likes the smell of baby powder–partly from being accustomed to putting a little in his volleyball shoes. he also tends to smell his and osamu's food before they eat—𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 would never admit that this habit stemmed from making sure the both of them are safe.

𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 tends to look up if things are edible. ever since reading a manga character quip that plenty of flowers are edible, he had a curious callous developed on his pinky finger (from extended periods in his phone). it isn't particularly shocking, but he searches up everything—from flowers, to weeds, to fish, to bugs. as much as his teammates may look at him strangely, 𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 likes to think his horizons have broadened.

𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 reads manuals and labels in languages he doesn't understand. in addition to training his english, he reads any translations that are conveniently available in the back. (he understands chinese the best due to the characters). honest, he isn't sure if he'll ever step foot in foreign soil—he's pretty sure that he'd die in this same hometown. though, even in spite of firmly planting his roots here in hyōgō, regularly seeing his former teammates on tv playing abroad got to his head. 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐚 would be the first to admit that it'd be nice to see a bit of the world outside of japan; it'd truly be a once in a lifetime opportunity.

𝐨𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧 like rehydrating rocks. kita says that it contributes and quickens the pace of erosion, but when was that ever a bad thing? the earth changes, and it doesn't hold sympathy for rocks, as formidable as they are in figurative language and the like. besides, it looks nice and shiny. 𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧 typically does it when he's alone or not engaging in conversation at the onsen—something tells him that the boulders would appreciate the nice spring water as well. 

𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢 presides over pet funerals at his neighborhood, often widely attended by children and those they invited. sure, you can't exactly place judgment on animals' behavior by the same standard of humans, but he remembers reading somewhere that some creatures that engage in pack behavior do mourn for those in-group. also, 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐢 doesn't particularly care, he treats animals with the same courtesy as humans, albeit with more treats and cuddles. 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐢 enjoys his work, but recently, some kid asked him to bury a whole colony of ants... that would definitely be a lot of work, considering the child took the liberty of naming each and every one individually... but even the smallest of life deserves to be buried properly.

𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐦𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐧 skips instead of what you could imagine to be the typical workout of a jog. what's not to love? he's able to extend his legs outside of the proper, somewhat constricting running form, he could definitely approve his vertical jump, it makes great cardio, and it's all around fun. 𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐦𝐢 wonders why he doesn't see more people, including children, participate in such a way of moving around. he should consult akagi about this form of exercise.

𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 kicks over ant hills. yes, he knows he's a monster. he isn't exactly ten years old anymore, so unless he was feeling particularly fine with being the second student body pariah next to the starting setter, he tends to do it in private. it's the holes without reason, 𝐠𝐢𝐧 swears, that really bother him. he respects all the hard work and cooperation these little ants have against the world of titans like him that kick over their strongholds, but 𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐚 hopes evolution happens a little faster so they could change up their architecture.

𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 is quite partial to walking around in the complete darkness. a part of him was surprised there was any spot in japan shrouded in completely darkness, but all it took was a brief walk a bit of ways away from his home and boom—he was practically in a void of his own even though civilization was a few steps backward... or maybe forward? diagonally? ...see that sparkle in the dark? in spite of his stationary exterior, the sense of slight adventure is something that get's anyone riled up. now to find his way back home...

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐚, i thought of a fun brainstorm for headcanons! if you got the vague reference in osamu's, congrats!

[peachyroro]

sae with a coraline-ish au where your boyfriend whose bluntness and impudent personality has led you to wondering if this relationship is even worth suddenly goes missing and miraculously comes back to you, but with a peculiar fix to him.

he’s… different now. in a good? way, though.

he’s softer, that condescending edge to his tone gone and replaced with something artificially warm.

he doesn’t flick your forehead anymore when you’re being slow. instead, he’ll press a quiet kiss to it with cold soft lips as an act of endearment.

and more often than not, sae smiles at you now. much more than he used to. every time you catch a glimpse of his face, there’s always that little lilt of a smile attached placed on to it.

he speaks to you pleasantly—asking about your day and murmuring scripted words of encouragement when you need it. rarely do you argue now, the once-awkward silences now being filled with conversations you thought you’d never would stretch out before.

but when you try to ask about what happened to him, sae merely stills and stares at you—a smile still on his lips. you don’t see the peculiar four button-like indents embedded into his pupils.

you’ll try to press onto the subject, but all he’ll do is say, “we’ll talk about it next time…” and leave the room.

[peachyroro]

Invisible String

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 - The act of falling

Had Aran not gone outside during lunch break, his pre-prepared lunch sitting cozily at home, he’d not have seen a familiar car.

But he does, and this is how he finds you, in the passenger seat of Suna’s minivan, staring back at him.

Aran hasn’t spoken to you since he made a fool of himself, exactly two weeks ago.

You didn’t text, and he didn’t have the strength to do it either. 

He’d called Kita and taken the blame for it all, though he probably would have preferred the twins' anger over Kita’s quiet disappointment.

But after that, it had been quiet. Lonely, too.

He misses you. And he hates that he still does.

You get out of the car. Suna makes no move to do the same, though he pulls out his phone, pretending to scroll. Aran has no doubt that the camera is on.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you say, with red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands. “Do you have a minute?”

The plastic bag in his hands crackles in the warm breeze. He nods. Leads the way to a nearby park. You don’t take his hand on the way there.

Not that you’re supposed to. Aran can count the times you’ve touched like this, and the list isn’t long.

But it would mean something now, wouldn’t it?

He fights against the urge to turn around and look for Suna. Surely there’s a reason he’s the one driving you. 

“I-” You stop, shuffle your feet against the asphalt. Your voice is caught up in your throat. “Tsumu’s jealous,” you finally manage to croak. “Just so you know. He said to tell you.”

Aran blinks. Gestures to a bench you can sit on, though you refuse to move.

Instead, your hand takes hold of his right sleeve, pulling forth a memory of the first time you spoke alone. 

“I do love you,” you say, your voice catching on the third word. “I really do, I-”

“It’s okay,” Aran lets his left hand rest on your head, like a blessing, or a last goodbye. “I understand. You’re the pearl.”

“No,” you shake your head. “Or maybe, yes, I don’t know. Samu said,” you laugh wetly and wipe your nose with your sleeve, “Samu said I’m the mayonnaise.”

“What?” Aran blinks. 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Cause they’re both bread and without me, a sandwich just isn’t the same.”

Aran nods, understanding. “Right. I get it.”

“Right?” You nod. “A-and Tsumu said that a couple is like a setter and a spiker, but you always need someone on the other side of the net, but we decided that didn’t make any sense, so-”

Aran chuckles. “Right.”

“Well,” you pull on his sleeve once more. “I thought about it a lot, you know? About the mayonnaise and volleyball and everything. And… if I’m the pearl, then… then there comes the time when I have to slip out, right?”

Aran swallows thickly. “If you want?”

You purse your lip, fighting the tears. “I wish I could have both things, but I can’t… so… I asked Suna to drive me. Cause Samu would have cried… And Tsumu’s a shitty driver. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why are you here?” Aran asks, his voice wavering. He doesn’t dare to dream or doubt.

You smile despite the tears streaming down your cheeks and shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit with a wet hiccup. “I’ve been miserable these two weeks. I didn’t tell the twins,” You wipe your nose on your sleeve like a little kid and try to smile up at him. “So when I said Tsumu’s jealous, he’s jealous because you went out to eat with me. I don’t think-” You hiccup once more. “I don’t think he knows you like me. Or that I like you.”

Aran’s heart leaps up into his throat. He has to swallow three times before he can speak again.

“You like me?” He asks, cautiously.

You nod. “I like you. Samu knows, course, cause we talk about these things, but-” You wipe your nose once more. “I haven’t told him either.” You look up at him. “I didn’t want him to be sad, o-or worse, tell me that I should choose you. He would, wouldn’t he?”

Aran tries to think. Would Osamu be that selfless?

“But you came-”

Your hand fiddles with his sleeve. “I wanted to talk to someone about this. But the only one I want to talk to is you.”

“Not even Kita?”

You blink. “Kita’s a little scary,” you admit. 

Aran laughs. Freely, even though he still feels a little chained. But he’s chained to you, so he supposes that’s fine.

“Sit,” he says and guides you to the bench. “Eat. Drink. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

“See,” you whisper. “I told Suna you’d know what to do.”

“What’s that about anyway?” Aran asks, keeping his voice carefully calm. “Why did he drive you?”

“I needed an excuse,” you admit quietly as you sip from the bottle of water Aran has handed you. “I owe him now. But that surely won’t be that bad, right?”

-

Two weekends later, Aran drives back to Osaka. 

It’s far from perfect, what they have now, but it’s also the most he’s ever had of you.

Your voice in his ear, every night. Your picture as his background, his lockscreen - his teammates have started joking about it, but he does not care - and one in his wallet, just in case.

“Aran!” You wave as he steps out of the train. Your voice isn’t loud enough to cut through the noise, but he still catches it, maybe because he’s been made just for that reason alone.

“So,” he asks after he’s pulled you into a hug, “What are we doing today?”

“Samu wants to make us food,” you mumble into his chest. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t say no.”

“Is Tsumu coming too?”

“Probably,” you admit. “Though Sakusa said he’d try to keep him at practice a little longer.”

“Let me guess,” Aran asks with a chuckle. “You owe him now, too?”

-

Weeks turn into months.

Sometimes he sees you every weekend, sometimes just once a month.

It’s not perfect, far from it, but he can tell that you’re growing up and into yourself, learning to be the person you’ve always wanted to be.

“I’ve got an offer,” you tell him one morning, the sun rising outside the windows of his flat. “Red Falcons. You don’t have anything to do with that, hmm?”

“Maybe,” he admits, pulling you in. “I might have let it slip that I only take offers seriously that include my girlfriend.”

You’re quiet for a while. He lets you. You need room to breathe, to think. God knows you’re still a little scared of it sometimes, not quite daring to trust your own decisions.

“We’d only be one hour away from Osaka,” you contemplate quietly, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. “And Samu could open a food stall at our games too, right? Twice as many sales.”

“Twice as many sales,” Aran agrees. “And have you seen the team? I heard they’re getting a new Opposite Hitter. He’s a little scary, but I think you’ll be able to manage him well.”

“Idiot,” you hit him softly, giggling. “It’s not you I’m scared of.”

“Oh?” He nudges your cheek with his nose. “Pray tell?”

-

“Here,” Aran presses a key into Samu’s hands. “Don’t lose it.”

Samu eyes it, the silver glinting in the sunlight. “Is that what I think it is?”

Tsumu reaches for it, but Samu is faster, pulling his hand back. “Get yer own, idiot!”

“Not fair, I-” Tsumu stops dead in his tracks when Aran hands him a key as well. “Don’t lose it, I mean it.”

“I’d never,” Tsumu promises, though he drops it immediately, blushing as he bends to pick it up. 

“These are for emergencies only,” Aran reminds them, though he knows it’s a lost cause.

Samu’s eyes are already glazed over, no doubt thinking about all the late-night dinners he will make you host at your new place. 

“I’m done,” you call out from behind them, stepping out of the building with one last bag over your shoulder. Your cheeks are tear-streaked, though you seem composed right now.

That changes quickly, though, when your eyes meet those of the twins. 

Aran pulls you in with one hand, lets you soak his shirt with your tears even as he gingerly puts his other arm around Samu’s shoulders. The boy used to be smaller than him, but he’s all grown up now.

“Don’t leave me out of it,” Atsumu sniffles, stepping into their circle. Their group hug is a little awkward and watery, though Aran can tell it is necessary.

“We’ve got a present for you,” Samu croaks after a while. “Onigiri for the ride,” he offers you the package, the edges crinkled where he fidgeted with them.

“And a Volleyball,” Tsumu pulls it out of his bag. “We signed it, so you don’t forget us.”

Your lips wobble dangerously, so Aran steps in, one hand on the small of your back.

“You’re at our place next Sunday, right? Dinner?”

“Course,” Tsumu wipes his eyes. “But it’s not the same.”

You smile. “Right. Now I don’t have to tell you to put your dirty underwear away.”

Tsumu’s tears stop abruptly. “I’m not the only one who forgets.”

Samu snorts. “But you’re the one who forgets the most.”

“At least I don’t use all the kitchen utensils!” Tsumu barks. 

“At least I know how to cook,” Samu shoots back.

You get up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to Tsumu’s cheek, then Samu’s.

“I love you,” you whisper into their stunned silence. “I’ll see you next Sunday.”

-

“Tsumu! Samu!” You call out, waving your hands in the air to catch their attention. “We’re here!”

Aran follows after you, smiling at your energy. It has been a long flight, but he wanted to gift you something special for your honeymoon. Though he can tell, coming back home is the greatest gift of all sometimes.

“Oh my god, what are you wearing?” Tsumu shrieks, his voice carrying through the busy airport. “Are those real pearls?”

“Don’t you like them?” You ask, your voice turning a little wobbly. “I think they’re pretty.”

“I like clams, they’re tasty.”

Aran snorts out a laugh, catching Samu’s comment as they pull you into a group hug..

You cannot separate the Miya triplets.

-

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[peachyroro]

“open wide, sweetheart.”

you weakly open your mouth as ᴋɪᴛᴀ feeds you some hearty chicken and rice soup. his gaze is soft as he gently guides the spoon between your lips.

no matter how delicious it is, though, guilt quietly eats away at you.

“ya got work, shin,” you weakly protest as he settles in bed. despite wearing his usual, clean work attire of long sleeve overalls, he makes no notion that he’s leaving your side. waking up with a 38 °C fever and a pale, sickly complexion, you couldn’t quite hide your ailment from your love.

his brows knit together as he lets out a breathy, slightly disbelieving smile. “the farmhands got it for the mornin’. i’m doin’ somethin’ more important right now.”

and oh boy, kita absolutely loves to take care of you.

you welcome some more spoon-fed soup in your mouth, and no matter how much you wanna force him out for work, you secretly relish the attention. you secretly savor his gentle touch of moving your hair out of your face and tucking behind your ear.

“the soup’s good,” you murmur, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

he softly shushes you with a kiss to your sweaty temple. “my granny used to make it for me every time i got sick,” he explains, “always helped me.”

after you finish some soup and water, he helps you swallow some flu meds. “you’ve been workin’ too hard, angel,” he whispers as he watches you try (and fail) to fight sleep, “just rest for me. ‘s okay to rest, ya know.”

so as you finally concede to sleep, you can’t help but already feel a little better from the soup he made with love, and the warmth of his comforting arms around you, holding you close.

a/n: to my dearest fellow kita lover, @bakery-anon ᢉ𐭩

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please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2024.

[peachyroro]

Invisible String

Part 1 Part 2

Please, everyone, say thank you to @whisperofwonder for requesting the next part of this series!

Part 3 - To hold on and to let go

It would be easier to deal with if nobody knew.

But Aran can tell. It’s the worry in Kita’s eyes. Ōmimi’s less-than-subtle glances. Even Suna tried to pat him on the shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he insists, even though he knows he’s not. 

It’s hard, leaving high school, home, and everyone he knows behind. It’s even harder thinking about what could have been.

“I think you did the right thing,” Kita tells him quietly on the way back home. The Miya triplets, as they’ve grown to be called, are walking ahead, Suna in tow. “Confessing would have complicated everything.”

Aran knows he’s right. It’s what he told himself, after all.

But it’s different, hearing it from Kita.

He knows it’s not fair, but just once, he’d like the other boy not to be sensible. If Kita told him to go ahead and risk it all, he’d do it, but-

Kita would never do such a thing.

Aran’s hand closes around the button he ripped off this morning. It’s cool to the touch, just like the pearl he saved up for, though this button has a different meaning. 

“Do you think she’ll write?” Aran asks, despite his best efforts. He’s not in the mood for a different topic. 

Kita’s quiet. 

Another question, heavier this time, lingers on the tip of his tongue. Aran checks his surroundings before voicing it, trusting Kita to keep it to himself.

“Do you think she’ll… pick Suna?”

Kita’s eyes flicker to the group ahead of him.

“Not if the twins have any say in that,” he thinks aloud. “And not yet, at least.”

“Right,” Aran nods, repeating the one thing that had made his decision. “You can’t separate the Miya triplets.”

-

Tokyo is exactly what he needs to forget you. 

There’s training and work and all those things in between. He’s always been good at making friends, and it’s easy to connect with all those like-minded people around him. Volleyball, college life, there’s always something to talk about.

One month goes by, and he’s got a group of friends. Some of them are girls, though he’s hesitant to let them get too close. 

The new month brings a package from home. A shirt he’d forgotten to pack, homemade snacks, a candle he’s probably never going to light, and a letter from you.

He takes two days to open it, only to find that you write the way you talk.

Life at home, he finds, has not changed much since he left.

The twins are still getting into fights. Suna’s not much help.

But there are new first years that look up to you, and graduation is a threat on the horizon.

“How did you figure out what you wanted to do, Aran-Senpai?” You write and he takes three days to come up with an answer and two more to figure out how to bring that answer to paper.

In a world where loving you isn’t possible - yet or maybe never - he’d still like to be your friend. The one you go to for advice, though he knows Kita is much better suited.

You keep on writing letters. Not regularly, though often enough that his new friends notice.

“Not a girlfriend,” he promises. “More like a little sister.”

If only his heart would listen to his words.

-

Aran studies hard. He trains harder.

All he needs to do is get his degree, and he can start playing professionally - and if he decides to throw in the towel, he can start playing professionally right away.

He’s got good marks - not the best, but he’s not Kita - and good friends and even some girls that try to flirt with him, even though he never takes one home.

But there’s still a part of him, longing for something, someone, back home.

Aran can’t make it to your graduation. He managed to attend nationals, watching Inarizaki play instead of standing on the court himself.

How strange it is to see Atsumu serve from up here.

How exhilarating it is to find your face in the crowd.

-

Next week, you’re following the twins to Osaka. At least that’s what you wrote in your last letter.

Though Aran has learned to read between the lines.

Atsumu is good enough to have a few teams lined up. So, if he picked Osaka, he must have had a reason. 

And then there’s Osamu, who can’t wait to start cooking. Surely there are other places to start. 

He finds the answer to his questions at the bottom of the page. A short, simple sentence that holds more meaning than you know.

“Coach got me a job at MSBY Black Jackals.”

Of course, Atsumu would pick the one team that had you.

And where Atsumu goes, Osamu follows.

You cannot separate the Miya triplets.

-

“Hungry?” Osamu asks, offering him a perfectly formed Onigiri.

And isn’t that the perfect greeting after so much time spent apart?

Aran is glad that he meets him first. Osamu is calm, despite the onslaught of people, even though he is supposed to be working.

“Thanks.” Aran takes the food, surprised by its complexity. What he knew as a snack has become a hearty meal.

“You’re good at it,” he comments, astonished.

“Course,” Osamu wipes his hands clean and starts making another. “Said I’d do it. Why would I half-ass it?”

“That’s not fair!” Atsumu’s voice cuts through the chatter of the growing crowd.

Aran can’t see the blonde, but that has never stopped Atsumu from getting the attention he needs.

Osamu’s shoulder tense, just for a second, before he sighs. “Whatever,” he grunts, finishing up another Onigiri. “She’s got it under control.”

“Right,” Aran swallows dryly. “I should get going.”

Osamu eyes him warily. For a moment, it feels like they’re back at Inarizaki.

Like that one time when Osamu caught him looking after you, a little lost in that warm feeling in his chest. Or that one time when he brought you home - both twins had caught a persistent cold - and Atsumu had been waiting by your front door, sniffling and coughing, just to ensure you got home okay.

He feels helpless and vulnerable, as predictable as Kita on his best days and as stubborn as Suna on his worst.

But then something flickers over Osamu’s face and the moment is gone and Aran, at twenty years old, remembers that he’s here for a reason.

He lifts the bag on his shoulder a little higher. “I hope Tsumu’s not going to be mad when we beat him.”

Osamu snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”

-

Aran asks you out after the match.

Not in the way he wants to, not in the way he’s dreamed of.

But he promised himself, all through the last set, that he’d be brave enough to ask.

You meet him halfway, smiling despite the tears still clinging to your cheeks. He reaches out to dry them with his thumb, and your lips quirk into that funny smile he’s gotten used to. The smile he misses most.

“Sorry,” you sniff. “Old habit. I promise I’m not mad that you beat us.”

Aran chuckles, his heart twice the size it should be. “I’d be worried if you didn’t cry. Do you want to grab a bite after this?”

You blink. “Oh, the team always has to stay longer for a Post-Match Analysis, and I don’t know when Osamu is done, but-”

“We can start without them,” Aran shrugs as if it doesn’t quite matter to him. “I’m sure you know a decent place to eat.”

He has his own Post-Match Analysis to sit through, but he excuses himself from it, promising to make up for it later.

Later, when you’re out of reach again.

“So?” He falls into step with you much too soon, his body still used to your presence, the length of your steps. “How are the MSBY Black Jackals?”

You shudder. “They’re a lot.”

“Pray tell.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” you pout. “I was scared of Meian for at least a month until I warmed up to him. Inunaki is the most fun, but don’t tell Atsumu, he’d be jealous.”

“Does he have a reason?” 

“A reason for what?”

“To be jealous.” Aran’s heart beats painfully as he waits for an answer. Your lips form words only for them to die on your tongue.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, “that was a weird question.”

-

The lights outside look like stars clinging to your hair. Your laughter pools around him like warm summer rain. The past is sitting in his lap, and the future seems to have run off; the present the only thing that matters.

Aran’s hands long to hold yours. 

He thought he’d gotten used to it, but he finds himself unspooling in your presence, all the tight-knit worry suddenly let loose.

Later, he will blame it on the missing twins. Had they been present, he’d not dared to bring it up. 

But he knows it had only been a matter of time. 

He’s only human, after all.

-

“What do you miss most?” You ask as you wait for dessert to arrive. It had been a joint decision to order it, knowing full well that he shouldn’t, and you’re too full already to fit another bite. But it’s dessert. And like you’ve always used to say: Dessert is not for the stomach, it’s for the heart.

“You,” he says, without missing a beat, the single word answer out of his mouth before he has a chance to think about it.

You blink.

Silence settles as if the restaurant, all those strangers around them, have decided to stop talking just for them.

Aran thinks about denying it. Making up something else or covering it with a joke.

But your eyes rest on your fingertips. and he’s suddenly too tired to keep going, no longer able to keep denying himself the truth.

“I miss you,” he repeats, and even though he wants to busy himself with the napkin, he doesn’t. He lets his eyes rest on you, the curve of your nose so well-known it feels like home. Like his heart rests in between your lips when you breathe, in that shallow pool that only ever holds words of kindness, or love.

“But I know,” he adds, because you keep staying silent, “that you cannot separate the Miya triplets.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, your voice a little wobbly. He knows that tone and reaches out without thinking, catches the first tear with his thumb against your cheek.

“I’d never ask you to leave them behind,” he admits. “But I’m also just… I’m human too. I’m weak. I needed to tell you, I think.”

You cry without a sound. Fat tears drip down your cheeks even as dessert arrives. 

“Do you wanna go home?” Aran asks, not helplessly, but knowing when he’s gone too far.

He asks for dessert to be packed up. Pays the bill. Holds your hand all the way back to your apartment.

And he lets you cry into his shoulder one last time, outside your apartment in Osaka, wondering if he’ll ever get to do this again.

His team is leaving tonight. The next game against MSBY is so far out that he doesn’t even know a date yet.

But you cannot separate the Miyas, he learned...

-

Part 4 coming soon

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[peachyroro]

Invisible String

Part 1

Part 2 - oh, to love and be loved

- 16/17 -

“Manager-chan! The kids are at it again!”

You drop the water bottles you’d been filling up and rush back inside. 

The sight is not unfamiliar, sadly so.

Osamu and Atsumu are fighting and Suna is filming the whole thing.

“Will you stop?” You ask, exasperated, your hands grabbing the collar of Osamu’s jacket, pulling him back. “Please?”

“He started it,” Osamu pouts, puffing out a breath. “I just finished it.”

“You finished nothing,” Atsumu spits out some blood. “I could have gone on for days.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?” You ask, pushing your thumb against Atsumu’s split lip, wincing when it bleeds. “Ouch!”

“It’s fine,” he grumbles, softening under your attention. “Samu looks much worse.”

He doesn’t, but you’ve learned not to point it out. 

“Why were you fighting?” You ask, leading them back to the benches where your first aid kit sits. It’s well-used, unfortunately. 

At the last step, you turn to glance at Suna. “And why were you not helping?”

“I was helping,” he insists, waving his phone, walking over. “I got it covered. No need for witness reports, this is the real deal.”

“You know what I mean,” you say, disappointment weighing down your vowels. Suna’s mouth opens, no doubt with a witty remark on his tongue, but he closes it and nods.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, patting your shoulder lightly. “I’ll go clean the floor.”

“Thank you,” you turn back to the twins. “Now… What was that all about?”

-

You like being a manager. 

Despite all your doubts, despite the hard work it is most days, you like it. Like caring for those boys, handing out water bottles and towels, an energy bar, or a well-meaning word. 

You like staying late with Kita, disinfecting the volleyballs, or playfully fighting with Aran over who gets to carry the equipment bag. 

You like it in the summer when you save up your pocket money to buy ice pops after school, one for each of them, and the ice melts in your hands, stains your skin and your tongues.

You like it in the winter when you save up your pocket money to buy steamed buns. When at least one of them burns their tongue by biting into it a little too early. When you can hear Kita’s voice carrying over the ruckus, asking to be patient, to have some manners. 

You like this time that you get, before and after school, to sit and stand and run around, with the twins and their friends, who have turned into your friends as well.

Some of them call you Manager-chan. Kita calls you by your last name, with the proper suffix. Suna calls you crybaby - but only when the twins aren’t around, because Atsumu hit him on the nose for that once - and Chipmunk, and Aran, with a twinkle in his grey, gentle eyes, calls you by your first name. 

No suffix, just an exasperated Miya that he adds whenever the twins cause the most trouble.

-

“Let me carry that,” Aran grabs the equipment bag from your shoulder, hoists it up on his like it weighs nothing. “Need help with the water bottles?”

“It’s fine,” you try not to let the bag swing into your legs. “One of the first-years can help. Atsumu’s probably too nervous and I don’t know where Osamu is.”

“Eating,” Aran explains with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll lend you a hand. Atsumu’s nervous, you said?”

“Yeah,” you thank him when he opens the door for you and follow him through. “You’re playing Karasuno today, right? Atsumu played against their setter during the All-Japan Youth Intensive Training Camp.”

“What a mouthful,” Aran groans and you giggle. “It is. But aren’t you worried? About Karasuno, I mean?”

“Not really,” he shakes his head before reaching out and patting yours, his hand gentle as it pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, don’t you worry instead of me, okay?”

You pout. “But that’s my job.”

“No, that’s Kita’s job. Or Coaches. But not yours. You’re just here to manage us. Make sure we’re all properly hydrated and all. And well, keep the twins from fighting.”

You sigh and he picks up on it immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing, just…” You shrug before deciding to confide in him. “That Training Camp changed something. In Osamu and Atsumu. I’m worried.”

“Ah,” Aran nods. “Well, they’re going to graduate next year. I suppose it had to happen somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he stops, the hallway stretching out in front of you and behind you, a stretch of empty grey wherever your eyes stray. “Do you think Osamu’s going to play Volleyball forever?”

You hesitate. “N-no, I mean, well-”

Aran adds, his voice soft. “Do you think Atsumu is ever going to stop playing Volleyball?”

You suck in a breath. Tears well up at the thought of what surely can only be inevitable. “But-”

“Ah,” Aran taps your shoulder, pulls you gently toward himself until your face is pressed into his shirt. “No crying yet. The twins will beat me up if they think I made you cry.”

“Sorry,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes. “I don’t cry as much as I used to, I promise.”

“I know,” he smiles down at you as you step back. “I hope it’s because you’re happier with us. But I mean it. There’s no need to cry yet. They have you.”

“That’s not going to help,” you tell him, mournfully. “You can’t separate the Miya twins.”

“What do you mean?”

You tell him. All those years of being squeezed in between them, in the tiny crack that only fit so much of you. Of all the people that tried to separate them, teachers, wannabe girlfriends, students that wanted to be friends, none of them could separate a bond as tight as theirs. Not even the twins themselves.

“So why are you still there?” Aran asks, pushing you forward, down the hallway. You still have stuff to do.

“I think,” you hesitate. “They’re like two sides of an oyster. If you separate them, they’ll die. But I just made myself really small, so they don’t notice me much. And if I’m lucky, I’ll turn into a pearl in the end.”

Aran laughs, a deep belly laugh that shakes his whole body and brings tears to his eyes.

Surprised, you look up at him, watch as he wipes his face and snorts out one last chuckle.

“You’re probably the only person in the world who thinks the twins don’t notice you much.” He’s chuckling still. “And while I like that allegory, I’ve always felt like all the twins did was look at each other only to compare themselves. They’re very competitive, you know. With you in the mix, they have something else to compare themselves with. Someone else.”

“Compare themselves with me?” You furrow your brows. “That’s not very flattering.”

He laughs softly. “I don’t think so. I think we all got a little softer since we have you on the team. Allow ourselves to be a little more honest with our emotions. Allow ourselves to cry.”

You purse your lips. “I hate that I cry so much.”

“Ah,” Aran nods. “You cried for all of us. Now we can at least do a little of the crying ourselves.”

You snort at the mental picture. “You better. I don’t have that many tears inside me. I’ll run out.”

His hand lands gently on your lower back, guiding you forward.

“Now we can’t have that, can we?” 

And although you feel like he wants to add something, he doesn’t.

-

“Sit next to me?” You look up from the bag you’ve just double-checked. 

You’re leaving Nationals early this year, defeated by Karasuno in a breathtaking match. You’re still reeling from the loss, and you’re surely not the only one.

“Eh?” You blink back at Aran. 

“Sit next to me?” He repeats, nodding in the direction of the bus that’s waiting outside. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m the one asking,” he tells you with a smile. “We can talk a bit more about you being a pearl if you like. Or listen to that audiobook you mentioned.”

Your heart beats gently against your ribs and you leave your bag where it’s sitting innocently in the middle of the hallway.

“I’ll ask Osamu if I can,” you press out hastily, backing away. “Wait just one second!”

-

You fall asleep with your head on his shoulder.

Suna took a picture of it, no doubt to rile you up. You need all your pocket money - and some of your mother’s fancy tuna - to bribe Osamu to make Suna delete it.

“Here,” Osamu hands you his phone, an Onigiri in his free hand. “Send it to yourself. I know you probably want it.”

“That’s not true!” You claim, though the lie breaks apart under Osamu’s calm gaze.

“I think he likes you too,” he points out quietly as you busy yourself with his phone. “Tsumu was jealous as hell when he asked to sit next to you on the way back.”

“He’s always jealous,” you point out. “Remember when Kita sat next to me?”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re Kita’s favorite and Tsumu hates that.” One last bite and the Onigiri disappears. Osamu wipes his hands on his trousers.

“You’re not going to leave us though, right?” He asks then, his voice turning a little higher. You’ve only heard him sound like this once, when he held the funeral for Tobio, your pet turtle.

“Never,” you promise. “Why would I?”

Osamu frowns. “Cause you’re gonna like someone more than us one day, right?”

The thought of it is scary. Too scary. 

Tears well up in your eyes at the thought of living without them, and Osamu starts crying along, no doubt fueled by his own anxieties.

This is how Atsumu finds you. 

-

“Here,” Aran presses something into your hand. It’s small and cool to the touch and for a heartbreaking, panic-inducing second, you think it’s his second button.

But when you open your hands to look at it, it’s a pearl, a little uneven in shape.

“Thank you?”

“I was thinking about it,” Aran says, his tone even. “What I’m going to do after school. I got an offer for a team, though I think I should go to College first.”

“What College are you thinking?” You’re a little surprised he’s telling you. But the topic, as strange as it is, is casual enough to calm your frayed nerves.

“Ah,” he rubs a hand over his neck. “I was thinking something close by at first, but I was accepted to a College in Tokyo. And I’m not sure I have a reason not to take that offer.”

You wonder if he’s trying to tell you something.

But you think of Osamu, crying. You think of yourself, living without the twins.

And your heart squeezes tight as you think of Aran, far, far away in Tokyo.

“I’ll write you letters,” you promise, your voice wobbly against the onslaught of feelings. “So you don’t miss home too much.”

“You’d do that for me?” His voice is gentle, just like his eyes. “I’m flattered.”

“Only if you write back.”

“Always.

-

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[peachyroro]

KITA SHINSUKE HCS ⋆˚࿔

was scouted for pro volleyball and multiple other high paying jobs but turned it down because he wants to spend the rest of his grandma’s life by her side

even after graduating, he still trims his hair and nails like theres weekly checks. 

the only man in the world who actually uses real bookmarks in his books

once went a whole week without realizing he had a fever because he thought he was just “a little off.”

stress baker

doesnt really believe in astrology but will listen and keep it in mind if someone tells him

sudoku warrior. doesnt actually like playing it but is deathly afraid of dementia/alzheimer's

not competitive in the traditional sense, but sets high standards for himself and feels guilty if he doesn’t meet them.

also has mildly toxic standards, such as not celebrating when he gets a high grade/wins a match because he feels thats his ‘responsibility’

the equivalent of the modern tote bag girl. has everything you could ever need in his bag 

has never bought anything full price ever in his life, and only gets rid of clothes when they dont fit him anymore

either donates them or turns them into rags

has really warm hands. theyre calloused, but somehow the softest anyone has ever felt

self-sufficiency is very important to him.

will sit at the same place every single time and if his ‘seat’ is taken at a restaurant he’ll straight up leave

talks to his grandma about everything. she’s the reason he’s so emotionally aware.

has the worst sense of direction ever like he’d probably use google maps in his hometown if he knew how to

once had a dream where he lost all his teeth. woke up and brushed them three times.

actually the best person you could ask to cover for you

not even a dnd warrior he just straight up turns off his phone when he doesnt need it

sometimes stands outside in the rain barefoot just to feel something

double knots his shoelaces

doesn’t really know how to flirt. says what he means and means what he says.

never takes the last serving, even if someone forcibly puts it on his plate

calls his grandparents every sunday

once nursed a stray kitten back to health and gave it to a friend because he knew he didn’t have time to care for it long-term.

still misses that kitten.

post timeskip, his whole house is basically like a zoo because he takes in any hurt or stray animal, but doesnt force them to stay if they dont want to

has a natural instinct for when someone’s lying. doesn’t call them out unless it matters.

holds his breath when he passes a graveyard

says ‘i love you’ at the end of calls and doesnt understand why his teammates think its weird

doesn’t like clutter but keeps a single drawer of things too sentimental to throw away.

[peachyroro]

Invisible String

You cannot separate the Miya twins.

Part 1 - finding yourself

-8-

“Osamu! Atsumu!” Sekiguchi-Sensei has lost all her patience, as she tries and fails to stare them down.

“Enough,” she decides, calling your name. “Switch seats with Osamu, please. I cannot handle this any longer.”

So you shuffle in between them, head bowed in the hopes of not getting noticed.

You’re barely eight years old, still trying to adjust to the reality of school and homework and eating a provided lunch instead of your mother's cooking.

A note lands on your desk.

“Pass it on,” Atsumu hisses on your left. He’s taller than you, even at eight years old. And he’s scary, with his dark eyes and loud voice, but not as scary as Sekiguchi-Sensei. Last time she caught someone with a note, she gave them detention. And read the note out loud.

Your hand curls around the note, your hands clammy as you try to follow the lecture.

If you pass it on and Sekiguchi-Sensei notices, you’ll get detention. If you don’t pass it on, Atsumu will be mad. But if there’s no note-

You lean forward, eyes on your Sensei’s back as she turns, and stuff the note into your mouth.

This is how you find out that paper is hard to chew.

This is how you find out Atsumu can’t handle your tears, sniffling along despite his best efforts to stay mad.

“It wasn’t that important anyway,” he tries to stop your crying, wiping his eyes. “Really, it’s okay!”

“Why did you write it then, if it wasn’t important?” Osamu asks, offering you candy. You wipe your eyes and take it, the familiar taste calming you down.

“Shut up, Samu!”

-

Sekiguchi-Sensei must have told the other teachers.

Soon you find yourself sitting between them, every day of the week.

And where they’d always been looking at each other before, ignoring the world around them, they’ve suddenly found something else to look at.

Atsumu likes doodling on the edge of your notes, tongue between his teeth as he tries to make his characters distinguishable. He beams when you giggle and cries when you cry, blaming it on a variety of allergies he claims to have. 

He’s louder than Osamu, talks more than Osamu, is scarier than Osamu. 

He’s the one who beats up the guy from the soccer team, the one who’s been trying to trip you in the hallways lately.

Osamu hooks his foot around your ankle when he wants your attention and sneaks candy into the pocket of your cardigan, his fingers cool in the summer and warm in the winter. 

He’s the quieter one and even though you feel guilty, you love the days when Atsumu is home sick because you take twice as long to get home, stopping every few steps to look at a flower and talk about something, anything really, just to talk. Just to hear his voice and yours intertwine.

-

-12-

“You’re always with the Twins, right?” Etsuko, one of the popular girls, asks during P.E.. The boys are on the other side of the net, playing volleyball.

You nod, pulling your head between your shoulders. You just want to get this class over with, please, and thank you.

“Which one of them is single?” She asks next and you stare up at her with wide eyes and bated breath.

“Single?” 

“Yeah,” she catches a ball between her hands and rolls her eyes at your hesitation.

“You know, like, are they seeing someone? Do they have a crush on someone?”

“I don’t know,” you tell her because you haven’t thought about that before. “Atsumu likes Volleyball.”

“And Osamu?”

You can’t help yourself, your eyes flickering over to where they’re standing. Right now they’re fighting again, bickering over something. “Osamu likes food.”

She leaves you alone after that, alone with your thoughts and the feeling that you did something terribly wrong.

You try to keep it a secret, ashamed of your own anxieties, but Osamu is too good at reading you and Atsumu is too good at not giving up.

“Come on,” he whines, one arm slung around your shoulder, his voice loud in your ear. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“If it’s bothering you, you should tell,” Osamu points out, hooking one foot around your ankle. “And if Tsumu gets angry, I’m going to kick his ass for you.”

“Try it!” Atsumu barks, chest puffed out. 

Osamu raises one fist and you start crying.

And it’s not like you want to cry all the time. Quite the contrary. 

You want to be strong, like them. Fearless, like Osamu. Cocky, like Atsumu. You want to talk back to the teachers when they’re being unfair and not flinch back at the mere thought of getting hurt.

Instead, you cry. Watch as Atsumu sniffles in sympathy. Take the candy Osamu offers. The sweet, familiar taste always dries your eyes.

“Now?” Osamu asks, voice low, his fingers warm as they circle your wrist. “Tell us?”

So you do.

-

Despite their obsession with volleyball, the boys are well-liked.

Etsuko, clearly trying to get on their good side, fills you in.

“Don’t pick a boy who’s too obsessed with something,” she tells you in the changing room after P.E. “Because he won’t have time for you.”

“But don’t pick a boy who doesn’t have any hobbies,” Akiko adds, her pigtails swinging. “Or goals in his life. He’s just going to hold you back.”

“It’s good when they know how to flirt, like Atsumu,” Etsuko picks back up. “But it’s better when they don’t flirt too much, like Osamu.”

You let them talk on, not quite following.

But you tell the boys on the way home, dragging your feet as you near the bakery, the sweet smell distracting you as always.

“Who’s better looking?” Atsumu asks. “Me or Samu?”

“They didn’t say,” you pull your wallet out of your bag. “How much Yen do you have?”

You count. And count again. It’s enough for one sweet bun, but only if you all chip in.

“You should have it,” Osamu declares. “You bought us curry buns last week.”

“You’re just saying that so she’ll give you half of it!” Atsumu barks, ready for a fight.

“She’d give you her half if you’d be nicer!”

“I am nice!”

“We can share it,” you interrupt them. “Right? I’ll ask them to cut it into three pieces.”

And with your heart in your throat, you walk past them, hand over the money, and whisper your request, not quite daring enough yet to speak loudly.

You eat quietly, lick your fingertips when you’re done, and look from left to right and right to left, from Atsumu to Osamu and Osamu to Atsumu.

“What do boys like in girls?” You ask, surprised that neither of them has an answer.

-

-15-

“Aran! Aran! Over here! Aran!” 

Atsumu’s voice cuts through the chatter of the students, a third of them nervous first-years, like you. Well, not all of them are nervous.

“Who’s he talking about?” You ask, your left hand circled around Osamu’s right wrist, not quite holding hands but not quite letting go either. 

“Aran’s the guy we met at the Volleyball Workshop,” Osamu explains quietly, opening a package of milk bread with his teeth. “We told you about it.”

“The tall scary one?” You remember the pictures.

“Isn’t everyone scary to you?” Osamu jokes and lifts his free hand to wave when a figure approaches. “Hey, Aran!”

Aran is huge, with broad shoulders that tower over everyone but the twins, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket. 

You swallow at the sight of him, though his eyes, gentle and grey, remind you of Osamu, and your anxious heart calms a little.

“So you followed me here as well?” Aran asks, pursing his lips as if in thought. “Am I nowhere safe from you?”

“Who said we followed you?” Atsumu asks, pushing out his chest for another challenge. “We were asked to come.”

“I was asked to come,” Osamu preens. “You just followed me.”

“That’s not true!” Atsumu pants, half-mad, half-panicked. “Don’t believe him, Aran!”

“It’s not nice to lie, Samu,” you point out quietly, ducking your head when Aran’s eyes wander over you, curious. 

“Sorry,” Osamu rubs the back of his neck. “But I got my invitation one day earlier.”

“And who are you?” Aran asks, interrupting what could have been another fight. “I haven’t seen you around before, I think?”

“That’s because she always hides,” Atsumu blunders on. “She’s at all our matches.”

“She’s our-” Osamu stops, blinking. You wonder what he wanted to say.

“Sister,” Atsumu finishes his sentence without thinking. “She’s our sister. Can’t you see how similar we look?” 

And you know it’s meant as a joke, because you look nothing like them, soft where they are firm, short where they are tall. But they’ve never called you anything as dear as a sister before and tears are starting to well up in your eyes again.

Even after all those years, you’re still a weepy one.

-

“Can I ask you something?” Aran stops you in the hallway, towering over you with the afternoon sun casting a halo around his head.

The twins are nowhere to be seen - racing each other to the gym, probably.

“S-sure.”

“Have you ever thought about managing the Volleyball Team?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“I’ve known the twins for a while. Not as well as you, I’m sure, but… I’ve never seen anyone manage them so well. It would do the whole club some good to have someone like you there.”

“Someone like me?”

“Yeah,” Aran nods. “Think about it.”

He moves to walk away. You’re not sure what possesses you, but you reach for his arm and catch his right sleeve, holding on tight.

“Yes?” His eyes, grey and gentle as always, soothe your nerves.

“But I’m not doing anything,” you insist. “I’m not… You said I manage them, but I don’t. If anything, they always tell me what to do.”

Aran laughs, the sound warm and friendly, surprisingly so. He still looks a little scary, but you can feel yourself easing up more.

“They can be very convincing, but somehow, I feel, you won’t do anything you don’t really want to do. Just think about it.” He looks at his wrist, checks the time. “If you want, come along and watch us train. If you don’t like it, no harm will be done.”

This is how you become the second manager of the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.

This is how you meet Kita, and Ōmimi, Ginjima, Kosaku and Suna.

-

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[peachyroro]

Newlywed chaos

“Did you hear about Akagi? He married his co-worker! But you didn't hear that from me!” – @peachyroro for my Gossip Event.

word count; 314 – f!reader

On the first day back to work after your honeymoon, Michinari’s ties were still messily bundled into his drawer and your three most used pairs of pants were still in the hamper. You were hit with hurricane get-ready-for-work.

It was pure chaos, you trying to find a clean pair of pants and running around in just your panties and a blouse, while Michinari stood in the bathroom with your hair straightener to try and iron his tie, totally ignoring the fact that his hair looked like it could double as a bird’s nest.

At some point, about eight minutes later than planned, the two of you hurried out the door, only to run back because a) you walked out in your house slippers and b) Michinari forgot to put a jacket on. Maybe you had honeymooned a bit too hard.

As you separated at the school entrance, he headed up the stairs to the third-year wing while you took the short walk to the first-year wing, and the refreshing smell of sweat and cheap perfume welcomed you back to work.

The first day was tough. You were so used to relaxing and seeing your husband all the time now that you forgot the tough life of teaching high school students. The new first-years were especially rowdy, and you taught one of the classes that were typically expected to get lower grades, so the number of groans in math class wasn’t exactly encouraging.

But a small motivation came in the shape of your husband, who just happened to pass by as you headed to the break room and smiled brightly. “Mrs. Akagi,” he greeted you, making numerous students stop and whisper to each other.

“Mr. Akagi,” you responded, tipping your head politely and giving him a subtle wink. You’d sort out your everyday lives eventually, but right now you’d enjoy the thrill of being newlyweds.

masterlist

/thank you to @cottonlemonade because I could not have worked this one out without her and it was pretty much all her amazing idea<3 this was the last request from my gossip event, thank you all so much for sending in requests and/or reading my fics!!

[peachyroro]

[peachyroro]

haikyuu angstober

day two: iwaizumi hajime

art: oracle of black enchantment by mildred payne

soundtrack: ignorant piece of shit by carissa's weird

word count: 700

warnings: implied terminal illness, death, hospital setting, religion, grief, unhappy ending, i cried while writing

taglist is open, complete this form to be added

Iwaizumi does not have a relationship with God. His parents never cared, so he never learned to care. He never learned how to pray, and he’d never needed to.  

The stagnant, sterile smell of the cramped hospital room fills his lungs, and he holds onto her hand, limp and weak. His breathing is shaky, and each inhale is interrupted by a cutting sob. Iwaizumi does his best to hold his breath as he looks down at her, laid out in a hospital bed, eyes shut and gently snoring, IVs tying her down like overgrown vines.

He’d been warned that this was coming. Iwaizumi had been given ample time to prepare; whether that be to cut and run or prematurely grieve or prepare himself for this eventual reality. But instead, he grit his teeth and dug his heels in and pretended that everything she gave him was endless.

Iwaizumi doesn’t let go of her hand as he kneels at her bedside. It’s cold, and he holds it between his own hands as he cups them together in prayer. He doesn’t know how to pray. He doesn’t know how to ask for what he needs. So he starts with a choked up, broken exhalation of, “Please.”

Please, he says again in his head, eyes screwed shut. Please don’t take her away. Please give her another year, at least. She deserves a hundred. She deserves so much more than what you’ve given her. Please don’t take her from me. I’ll do anything. I don’t want her to die. Please. She can’t die. Please, please, please.

The weight of a world without her in it is pressing down on his chest, and he can feel in encroaching, getting heavier and heavier with each plea that echoes in his head. It’s starting to devolve, spinning out of his control and Iwaizumi has to bite down on his tongue and hold all the air in his lungs so his sobs don’t wake her.

His wet eyes open and look up at her, and he exhales slowly, carefully and controlled. She doesn’t look like herself, lips chapped and cheeks hollow with deep, purple bruises under her eyes. She looks like half of her is somewhere else.

Please, he says internally again, lifting her hand slightly to place a kiss on the curve of her finger. Please, he pleads as one hand reaches up to smooth out the ends of her tangled, brittle hair. Please, his thumb traces the outline of her jaw, just slightly trembling.

When the sun was high in the sky and she could still stand steadily on her own two feet, she had taken a hold of Iwaizumi’s hand and drawn patterns on his palm. The air smelled like the salt of the sea. “When the time comes,” she had asked, quiet and unsure, “can you be there with me? I don’t want to go alone.”

Iwaizumi turned his head at the time. He regrets this now. He wishes he had taken hold of her then and looked her in the eye when he said, “Of course I will.”

Please, Iwaizumi thinks, like it’s the only word left that he knows. He bites down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. Please.

When it happens, it’s uneventful. It’s quiet. Iwaizumi is sitting by her side, in the same spot he’s occupied for weeks, tangling his fingers with hers like he was trying to tether her down.

He almost doesn’t notice it, when the constant beeping off the heart monitor slowly starts to fade, and then peters off. Iwaizumi was focused on her hand, how it felt in his, how cold it had gotten. It takes a few moments for the silence to settle over him.

And when it catches up to him, he raises his head to look at her, half-expecting her to be sitting up, the wires that connected her to the monitor ripped off and hanging limply in her curled fist. But she’s just lying there, still, like sleep.

Iwaizumi stands and leans over her. His hand is shaking as it reaches down to caress her cheek. He doesn’t notice he’s crying until it drips onto her hospital robes. Her snores stop, and her chest doesn’t rise.

if you enjoyed please consider reblogging or sending in an ask <3

taglist: @hiraethwa @lale-txt @kr1nqu @angee444 @psychedellyc @geektastic84 @solzscribblez @asrinchin @nyxlai @miiyas @wyrcan @chocolains @tsumuus @kameyyy

[peachyroro]

haikyuu angstober

day four: kita shinsuke

art: the ghent altarpiece by jan van eyck

soundtrack: gnaw by alex g

warnings: toxic behaviors, self-destructive behaviors, unhealthy copy mechanisms, arguing, drinking, reader is kind of cruel (why would u do that to kita omfg)

word count: 1.3k

Kita sits at the kitchen counter, hands knotted neatly together, and he stares at the clock as it passes. Each minute goes by slower than the last, and there’s this growing sense of unrest in his chest. He bounces his knee. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

She should’ve been home by now.

She always does this. Slinking out the door of their shared apartment when the sun’s still up and not coming home until well into the next day, traces of strangers she met that night left all over her. And it always bothers him, not knowing where she is, what she’s doing, if she’s safe, if she needs his help. It always leaves him unsettled.

But tonight, he finds it unbearable. He’s not sure if his usual abundance of patience has ever run so thin.

He shifts in his seat, and tries to take, slow, deep breaths to quell the nerves that have settled in his gut. He closes his eyes, which is a mistake, because the second he does, he sees her face, resting on his pillow, shoulders bare.

Kita opens his eyes again and tries not to think of it. He fails immediately.

All he can see is her, underneath his sheets, He can feel it as she reached around to drag the tip of her finger along the back of his spine, goosebumps sprouting up on his skin then and now. He can hear her when she said, “There’s no one I care about like you,” and he can hear himself say back, “I’m in love with you.”

The door is flung open. Kits swivels around on his stool, and watches as she stumbles through the entryway, immediately kicking off her boots and losing several inches. He looks back at the clock. It’s nearly four in the morning. He turns his attention back to her again.

With her comes the smell of sharp, heavy alcohol. She’s shedding herself, tossing her purse onto the coatrack, shrugging off her jacket and letting it fall to the floor, ripping of the bands of fake eyelashes and stepping in the kitchen to leave them on top of the counter. Kita ignores it. “Why’d you wait up for me?” she questions as a greeting.

“I was worried about you,” he answers, standing from his stool to face her.

She stops moving. She places a hand against the counter and leans against it. “And why would you be worried about me?”

She’s in one of her moods, Kita can tell then. Belligerent and argumentative. He’s used to seeing her like this. In the last few months, it’s gotten worse, more frequent, more aggressive. And if he was feeling more like himself, if he wasn’t filled with this anxious sense of worry, if he had the sense of self-control he usually has, he would say okay, you’re right, I’ll go to bed, and he’d leave her alone.

But he doesn’t. Despite knowing better, he pushes on.

“You were gone,” he tells her, and he notices that his hands are shaking slightly. “I didn’t know where you were or what was going on-“

“And why would you care?” she cuts him off, tilting her chin slightly, like she’s challenging him. “I go out all the time, I don’t understand why it would make a difference to you.”

Kita sighs. His desperation to make her understand is outweighing his logic, and he thinks that maybe he just loves her too much for him to make any sense. “Please don’t act like you don’t know why.”

“I don’t know why,” she counters, voice hardened. “You don’t need to know where I go. I don’t owe you anything.”

He supposes that’s true, in the most technical of senses. She’s not his girlfriend. She’s not technically anything to him but a roommate. But he can’t let go of the image of her, soft and in his arms, telling him how much she cares, how much she wanted him, how much she needed him. And Kita can’t get past it.

He doesn’t want to think she didn’t mean it. He doesn’t want it to be a lie. But she stands there across from him, shoulders tensed and stare harsh, and Kita can’t help but feel like he’s supposed to believe it was.  

“You can’t just leave and disappear for hours without saying anything and expect me just not to care,” he says. “It’s not fair to me.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re not my dad, Shin. I can do whatever I want without having to answer to you. I can go out and drink and hook up and smoke and do whatever I want, and it’s not of your business.”

She drops it inconspicuously in the middle of her sentence, but Kita doesn’t hear anything after it. She stands there for a moment, like she’s waiting for a response, but Kita is silent, trying to process, trying to sort out this aching in his chest.

Her eyes roll, and she makes a move to walk past him, and retreat to her room. But Kita’s too far gone, too far in his head now, and he’s out of patience and control. His hand hooks around her elbow as she passes him, stopping her.

She glares up at him. Kita stares down at her with an empty, slightly agape expression. “You slept with someone?” he asks.

She jerks her elbow away. “It’s not of your business.”

“Yes, it is,” Kita insists, tilting his head down towards her. “You know it is.”

“Fine,” she relents. “Yeah, I slept with someone tonight. I met someone at the bar, and we went back to his place and hooked up. Anything else you need to know? Do you want his ID next?”

He doesn’t know why she does these things. He doesn’t understand it. How she can have something good and just ruin it, for no other reason than because she can. Kita feels like the wind’s knocked out of him. He takes a step back from her. “Why would you do this to me?”

She sneers. “I didn’t do anything to you. I’m not your girlfriend.”

Kita thinks of her in his bed. Warm, smiling. There’s no one I care about like you. He thinks he’s going to throw up. He thinks his heart is broken. “I told you I love you.”

It was so good. He should’ve known it would’ve have lasted. Kita knows her well enough to know she doesn’t let herself have good things; she doesn’t let herself have anything. He’s watched it, watched her burn down bridge after bridge. He doesn’t know why he thought he would be an exception.

It’s silent for a moment. Kita listens to his own breathing and tries not to cry. He doesn’t want to let her see any more of him.

“You think just because you said you love me it means you own me now?” she questions, low and slow. “You think I owe you anything?”

No, he figures. No, she doesn’t owe him anything. Kita doesn’t say anything.

“I know what I means when someone says they love you,” she continues on. “It just means they’re going to hurt you, down the line.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Kita protests. “I wouldn’t do to you what you’re doing to me.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. She takes a step back from him, eyes wet. He knows she’s drunk. He knows she says things she doesn’t mean. He knows he shouldn’t have pushed her.

In the morning, she will be softer. She will be gentle with her words and she will regret the way she spoke to him and she’ll apologize, say she didn’t mean it. But right now, she is mean and she is angry. She’s not gentle and she will keep saying things she doesn’t mean just to say them, just because they hurt.

“Well, I don’t love you, Shin. I slept with you because I could, and it didn’t mean anything to me. I don’t care that you’re in love with me. So just, fuck off, okay?”

She turns on her heel, and retreats to her bedroom. Kita lets her, standing there limp, watching her as she goes.

taglist: @hiraethwa @lale-txt @kr1nqu @angee444 @psychedellyc @geektastic84 @solzscribblez @asrinchin @nyxlai @miiyas @wyrcan @chocolains @tsumuus @kameyyy @sirhamburrger @kenmaria @recordsndreams

also @nectardaddy happy kita angst we’re having fun

[peachyroro]

great regular flavor

if kita is the boy next door, you’re the wild child always running after him.

where you were scolded, kita was lauded for his model behavior; where your knees were scraped, he was always unmuddied and unhurt. the initial sting had always been the worst of it, anyway, because as soon as you fell he was there on his knees in front of you, little antiseptic wipe and frog band-aids at the ready.

“this might sting,” he’d always tell you first, so serious in his little-boy lisp.

“i know,” you’d say, putting on a brave face, tensing your leg so you wouldn’t flinch when he pressed the cold wipe to the broken skin. it was never as bad as you thought it would be, because kita’s hands were gentle and careful, and he applied the bandage by peeling back—not off—the paper, pressing the cloth center down first and then efficiently taking the paper off and pressing down the sticky part at the same time. you’d never seen anyone do that before—after a while, you got annoyed if anyone but kita bandaged your battle scars.

as you aged, your wild ways calmed, and kita stayed regular. you followed him to inarizaki, to the volleyball team as a manager from your first year, and you learned to love the routine and the note taking and the meticulous research. in a team of prodigies and monsters, kita was notably normal, overwhelmingly average.

to you, in love with the boy next door from the time you could barely begin to understand it, he was amazing. though he never seemed to display insecurity next to his teammates, you were always there to remind him of his value. kita was a grounding force, a thoughtful friend, a model man. from the time you told him that you’d signed up to be the v-ball manager, a smile like the dawn breaking over his face, to the moment you’d found yourself unable to look him in the eye as you held out a box of chocolates, you knew kita was special in a more subtle way than most could see.

even now, you watch him from your spot on the bed, broad back turned to you as he brushes his teeth, swishing the minty paste before spitting soundly into the sink. he splashes water on his face, pats it dry with a towel, and turns to you, the slightest of smiles gracing his face.

“you’re like mint toothpaste,” you tell him as he pads across the floor, roll over to him as he slips beneath the sheets.

“is that so?”

“classic. regular.” you brush your lips against his and he reciprocates eagerly. “taste clean.”

“mm.” you roll back to your original position, hissing as you bump your knee against his. “what’s wrong?”

“oh, nothing. remember, i tripped getting out of the truck earlier this evening?”

“oh,” he says, and that’s it, but he’s getting out of bed.

“no, shinsuke, you don’t have to...”

he shushes you as he returns, antiseptic and bandages in hand. “what kind of husband would i be if i didn’t?”

and you have no answer to that, your insides melting into cotton-candy pinks and blues, so there’s nothing left to do but to thread a hand through his hair as he kneels before you, pressing a kiss to the wound when he’s done with it. you expect him to get up and go back to bed—he has an early morning tomorrow, always has an early morning—but instead he puts rough palms on your legs and separates them slightly, shuffling forward on his knees to lean his head on your inner thigh, adoring expression on his face as he looks up at you.

leave it to shinsuke—ordinary, average, regular shinsuke—to fall for the dreamer, the one who lagged behind to admire the world passing by. leave it to shinsuke to drop everything he’s doing and wait for you to catch up.

[peachyroro]

happy belated birthday aran!! the goat of goats

[peachyroro]

Castle of love - Kita Shinsuke

Pairing Kita Shinsuke x Reader.wife - Relationship established

Summary Kita and his wife being cute and showing their love

The sun was already hiding behind the horizon when you leaned on the wooden fence, looking out over the golden fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. The gentle breeze brought the smell of wet earth and the memory of everything you and Kita had built together. Your house, simple but cozy, was more than a home - it was a castle built with love, patience and the effort of each day.

You smiled to yourself, remembering when it all began. Kita always had a firm manner, but her heart was generous. When he decided he wanted to build a life with you, he spared no effort to make every dream come true. He wasn't rich in assets, but he was a man of his word, and every promise he made was kept with his own hard-working hands.

The first few years weren't easy. You shared a small wooden hut, which creaked with every gust of wind. On rainy days, you had to mop up drips, and the winter cold seemed harsher without the comfort of a decent fireplace. But between muffled laughter under the blankets and hot coffees at dawn, you were weaving a story that no luxury could replace.

It was almost night when you heard the familiar sound of Kita's boots crunching on the gravel of the path. He was coming in from the field, his cotton shirt folded up to his elbows and his straw hat shading his sun-scorched face. When he saw you, a discreet smile played on his lips.

"Thinking of running away?" he joked, leaning against the fence next to you.

"If I ran away, where would I go? I belong here." You replied, feeling the warmth of his body spread over yours as he slipped an arm around your shoulders.

"Good." Kita sighed, squeezing your shoulder lightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You stared at him, your eyes reflecting the golden sunset. You knew his words were true. It was by your side that he found rest after a long day; it was for you that he woke up every morning ready to start again. Every piece of that home, from the bookshelves he made himself to the garden you tended together, was proof of a love that didn't need ostentation to be great.

"Remember when you told me you were going to build a castle?" you asked, your voice carrying a sweet tone of teasing.

Kita laughed softly, shaking her head.

"I said I was going to give you the best I could." He looked around, observing the house, the corral and the land that stretched out under the orange-tinted sky. "It may not be a queen's castle, but it's ours. And I'd do it all over again."

Your heart squeezed in your chest when you heard those words. You moved closer to him, letting your head rest against his broad shoulder. You felt safe there, as if nothing could shake you as long as he was by your side.

"I wouldn't trade this castle for anything in the world." His voice came out in a sincere whisper, and you noticed how Kita's eyes shone, filled with something that even words couldn't describe.

The night came slowly, and you stood there, enjoying the simplicity of what you had built together. It wasn't the walls or the fields that made that place special - it was love, cultivated with patience and care, like the most precious of crops. And under the stars that began to light up the sky, you knew that no golden palace could replace the castle of love that you had built with your own hands.

[peachyroro]

Noticing a pattern that in most smutfic of Kita I've read is involving breeeding kink and it got me like "Huh guess rice seed isn't the only thing he'd plan to plant properly" (not that I'm complaining LOLOLOL also I easily got baby fever and just saw a baby kita fanart it's soooo)

18+, MDNI - minors and ageless blogs do not interact!

kita has definitely heard the old inarizaki crew talking about this kind of stuff when they all get together and have a few drinks. they're all adults. they're men. it's somewhat to be expected. though, for the most part, the boys leave him out it—even in their inebriated state recognizing that the crude conversation was below their beloved former captain—he still occasionally overhears the things they'd say.

but he honestly never really got it.

one night, gathered in an izakaya in the town they went to school in, atsumu is the one who finally asks the question—thanks, in no small part, to the half-dozen drinks he's already downed.

"kita-saaaan," atsumu slurs, leaning forward across the table with raised eyebrow. "what'er yers?"

"my what?" kita asks, having only been half-listening to the former second years' conversation while aran and omimi had been speaking at his side.

atsumu gets a little shifty-eyed, leaning in with a hand covering his mouth like he's telling a secret and doesn't want to be overheard (though the gesture is largely useless considering he conceals his mouth on the opposite side to where everyone else is seated.)

"y'know... yer kinks."

kita pauses.

"my kinks?" the elder of the two repeats it back, a lilt of confusion in his tone.

it's not lost on him that suddenly the group of men has gone strangely quiet.

"yeah!" atsumu nods his voice still a laughably unsubtle whisper. "like what yer into, 'n stuff. the kinda... sexy things ya like."

kita's fairly certain he spots a that a trickle of beer slip out from ginjima's gaping jaw from his peripheral vision.

shinsuke takes a moment to contemplate what his former junior has just said, and then nods.

"i like my wife."

theres a chorus of sounds from around the table—though the resulting sound is largely reverent.

"kita-san," atsumu bows his head. "i'm not gonna lie to ya, that's the sweetest thing i've ever heard—"

kita tilts his head in confusion.

"—but!" atsumu slams his hands down on the table. "s'not what i meant!"

atsumu points down the table, his target ginjima who stares at his two former teammates like a deer in the headlights.

"gin's into older women. that's his thing."

ignoring gin's resulting sound of protest and furiously blushing cheeks, atsumu directs his attention towards suna next.

"this guy's into feet," he says with a clearly judgemental tone.

suna shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

"we've all got one 'er two, see," the blonde goes onto explain, his lips pursing pensively. "some of 'em are a bit weird though. omimi told me once that he really got off on his wife bein' pregnant."

"atsumu!" omimi snaps from kita's side, and shinsuke genuinely starts to worry for the fate of the man in front of him if he keeps talking.

"and," tsumu leans in again, his voice dropping low, "don't tell 'im I told ya, but one time I found a bunny costume under samu's bed..."

kita blinks.

"... in his size."

"tsumu, shut yer fat mouth!" osamu squawks indignantly from the other end of the table. "'n i told ya to stop snoopin' around my place!"

atsumu dodges an empty beer can hurled his way, but soon his twin is on top of him. the rest of the inarizaki boys watch on as the brothers roughhouse with each other, largely refraining from intervening because atsumu deserves it.

kita sits quietly on his side of the table, considering everything he's just learned.

he thinks about it for longer than he cares to admit.

on the drive home.

as he crawls into bed beside your sleeping form.

as he stares up at the ceiling of your shared bedroom while he tries to fall asleep.

as he makes his way out to the fields the next morning just before dawn.

shinsuke decides, after all that consideration, that he can say with a fair degree of certainty that there are lots of things he isn't particularly into: feet and osamu-sized bunny costumes included.

but that night, when you meet shinsuke on the back porch once he makes his way back from a hard day's work, greeting him with a kiss, he thinks about the dress you're wearing and what it would look like with a little bump beneath it.

after a bath and a quiet dinner, he kneads his calloused fingertips into the soft soft skin of your thighs—which part to welcome him eagerly.

as he presses kisses down your neck, his hands travelling to all the places he knows you like, he can't help but think about it again. about starting a family with you. putting a baby inside of you.

the thought makes heat sear through his cheeks. makes him almost dizzy with want. makes him unable to resist the urge to fuck you—slow, and deep, and close just how you like it—until the early hours of the morning, even though he knows he'll need to be up at dawn again.

and next time, when the boys get together for a couple of drinks, he won't just have something to contribute to their conversation...

he'll have exciting news to share, too.

[peachyroro]

Figures – Bokuto x reader wc 1148 – f!reader hockey player x figure skater au

When their hockey training finished and the figure skaters took to the ice, Bokuto constantly got distracted. While the rest of his team shuffled out, he leaned on the edge of the rink to watch you, completely mesmerised.

Everyone knew he wasn’t there for figure skating. He was there for you.

“He’s watching you again,” one of your friends hummed while skating past you as you all warmed up and got used to the ice roughly scratched up from the hockey practice. Another skater passed on your other side, muttering “Figures…”

You glanced over your shoulder, hesitating to make eye contact with Bokuto. The man flushed at the returned attention and stumbled when his skate fought against his attempt at a smooth exit. With a little snort under your breath, you continued warm-ups like usual, flicking your hair as you turned back to your friends. “Whatever.”

It’s no use getting involved with those puckheads anyway.

Kuroo patted Bokuto on the back. “I know I’ve asked before, but shouldn’t you try talking to her?”

Bokuto gasped and looked at Kuroo in disbelief. “As if I could ever be on her level. I’m a mere peasant watching her regalness from afar.”

The expression on Kuroo’s face was a mix of sympathy and scowling. “Okay, Shakespeare on ice.”

As they exited, Bokuto loosely pushed Kuroo’s shoulder, grumbling something about him being unromantic. “Doesn’t matter, she barely looks at me.”

Little did he know that destiny had taken the wheel and was driving full speed forward.

As they finished their next training, Bokuto hung around the goalie for a while longer to tease him for the last puck he got in that day, skating circles around him as he tried to make his way off the rink.

So Bokuto didn’t see when the pristine figure skaters came on and, spoiler alert, destiny crashed his car straight into you.

He just barely found the time to catch you, twisting so he and his equipment could take most of the fall. You ended up halfway on top of him, eyes wide open as you registered what had happened.

“You-“ You puckhead! is what you tried to sputter, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, you just stared with the sudden realisation that he was so… pretty?

“Hi,” he said and giggled, lips splitting to show the brightest, most blinding smile like he hadn’t just landed harshly on the ice.

You returned the smile, only to realise where you were and how exactly you were positioned. Scrambling off him, you sat on your knees and hid your face in your hands while your friends whistled.

Bokuto got up on his feet, cheeks burning at the attention from the rest of your group. He held out his hand, clearing his throat. “I’m so sorry, let me help you up.”

You took his hand and let him, very thankful that your coaches called on each of you so you could skate away, pretending your heart hadn’t skipped a beat from a stupid hockey player.

As the hockey players filed out, you straightened your back as you got on the ice. One of the last ones out was Bokuto, and you smiled fondly at the memory of the last time you two interacted.

“Hi, Bokuto,” you greeted him with a nod before moving on with training like usual.

“Hi!” Bokuto almost yelled, eyes following you dreamily. You noticed him voluntarily!

Kuroo urgently held out a hand, as if that would help, only to realise his warning was much too late. “Watch out!“

Bokuto tumbled off the ice in the least elegant way possible, but he couldn’t even feel the pain when he landed. All he could do was smile while staring at the ceiling from his spot on the ground. “She said hi.”

“I heard.”

There was no stopping Bokuto. He was developing into one of the most powerful players in the league, and scouts were watching him like hawks at games.

But he celebrated just as loudly at training.

“WHOOOHOO!” he hooted at his own goal, spreading his arms as he glided across the ice in victory. He was just about to focus back into the game, hoping to score one more in the last stretch of their practice, when he found you.

So this is how you felt when he stuck around to watch you. You were leaning on the palm of your hand, eyes following him from the second closest bench. In his mind, he could even see your eyelashes batting when you blinked.

Now, he wasn’t getting another goal in, so flustered he could barely stop giggling inside his helmet. Might as well accept defeat since you had him putty in your hands.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at you in passing, but you pretended to be checking your nails instead. Well, until an owl hopped over at least.

“Were you waiting for… someone?” he asked, hoping his burning cheeks could be blamed on the climate.

You shrugged. “I just got here early, no big deal.”

It was just an act, but you pursed your lips when you saw his smile falter with a small muttered “Oh.”

“I saw that goal.” You smiled, happy when he returned it. “It looked cool.”

When you walked past him, his heart was running faster than it had been all practice, and you mentally scolded yourself for matching his heartbeat.

Which one is his? you muttered under your breath, crouched over by the hockey team’s bags to try and find Bokuto’s.

In your hand was a note asking him out on a date, despite your better judgment. It’s sealed safely inside an envelope marked for Bo in cursive because even when you’re making questionable decisions, you’re doing it in style.

You always told yourself that being involved with something as brute as a hockey player would never do you any good. It became a practised sentiment until you finally noticed Bokuto for who he was.

His smile, his enthusiasm, his dedication, his biceps…

Slowly, despite your efforts, he crept into your heart and crushed it. Wait, that’s not what I mean. You developed a crush, is the more appropriate way to put it.

So you tucked the letter into a bag with a familiar hoodie hanging halfway out of it and an owl charm clipped onto the main zipper.

The damage had been done.

Later that evening, about ten minutes into your practice, you looked up to find Bokuto at the entrance. He jumped up and down until you noticed him, then pointed at the opened note in his hand and gave you a thumbs-up.

You returned it as subtly as possible, but of course, your friends saw it.

“You’re getting distracted again,” one of them hummed while skating past you. You rolled your eyes and tried to skate away when another friend passed by your side, muttering “Figures…”

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