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cyofii · 2 months ago

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⩩﹕IN WHICH Phainon, always the playful troublemaker, decides to help his friend Mydei get closer to you. With the new library opening next to your favorite café, Mydei, the kind and mysterious owner, has been secretly watching you but has never had the courage to talk to you. Now, with a little help from Phainon, the chance is finally here. As you share shy glances and small talk, the two of you slowly begin to understand each other. Meanwhile, Phainon watches happily, believing his plan will work… eventually.

wc: 3.6k 𐔌 ᯓ modern/college au, slow burn, friends to lovers, mydei being secretly smitten, mutual pinning if you squint, might be ooc!

“I heard there’s a new library that just opened right beside the café we always go to,” Castorice said, glancing up from her book with a hint of excitement in her voice. It looked like she had been jotting down ideas for a new chapter again—her pen still hovering above the page. You looked up from your phone, eyebrows raised in confusion as you tried to recall if you’d seen any signs of construction the last time you were there.

“Really? Are you thinking of going there to look for inspiration?” you asked, slowly lowering your phone on the table as curiosity began to spark in your voice. Castorice nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face, the kind that made her eyes light up. “I thought it might be nice,” she said, “A change of scenery could help me get through this chapter.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked with a warm smile, your voice gentle as you leaned slightly forward, genuinely interested. “We could check out the library first, and then head to the café to hang out like we usually do.”

Castorice looked at you, her smile growing a little wider, touched by the offer. “I’d really like that,” she replied softly, her fingers pausing on the edge of her notebook. “It’s easier for me to write when you’re around… I feel less stuck.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, as if silently thanking you for always being there.

“No problem!” you said with a cheerful grin, flashing a smile in her direction. As you and Castorice continued chatting, the soft hum of the cafeteria around you blending into the background, a familiar figure with white hair approached, looking mildly frazzled and out of breath.

“There you guys are!” Phainon exclaimed, sliding into the seat beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Professor Anaxa just won’t let me go until I finish that one-thousand-word essay about Dromas,” he groaned, slumping forward onto the table as if the weight of academic suffering had finally crushed him. “I swear he has it out for me.”

“Well, you did turn in a blank essay before,” you said with a teasing smile, unable to hold back a laugh. “So honestly? This one’s totally on you.”

Castorice let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, clearly amused by the memory. Meanwhile, Phainon only sighed louder, dramatically resting his forehead on the table.

“I was having a creative block, okay?” he mumbled, voice muffled against the surface. “Totally different situation.”

“Whatever you say…” you said with a playful smile, shaking your head slightly. Then a thought struck you. “Oh, by the way—are you free after class? Cas and I were planning to check out the new library next to the café we always go to.”

Phainon lifted his head, blinking a few times before meeting your gaze. “Library and café?” he echoed, then gave a quick nod. “Sure! Sounds better than sulking in the dorms over that essay, anyway.”

The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden patches of light across your desk. Professor Anaxa was deep into his lecture about ancient civilizations, his voice steady as he paced across the front of the room. You were half-listening, somewhere between jotting down notes and sneaking glances at your two friends.

Castorice sat a few seats ahead, scribbling diligently in her notebook, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. It was clear she was trying her best to stay focused, though the way her gaze occasionally drifted to the window hinted that her thoughts were already wandering toward the library plans.

Beside you, Phainon looked like a tired golden retriever stuck in a history class. His head rested on his hand, eyelids drooping every few minutes, and every now and then, he’d scribble something that probably wasn’t related to the lecture, just enough to make it look like he was keeping up.

You nudged him with your elbow. He flinched upright slightly, blinking at you with a betrayed, sleepy expression.

“I was listening,” he whispered, clearly bluffing.

“Sure you were,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh.

Up front, Professor Anaxa paused mid-sentence and turned around. “Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the class?” he asked, arching a brow.

You and Phainon straightened in sync, both shaking your heads quickly like well-behaved students. Castorice glanced over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile, barely hiding her amusement.

As soon as the professor turned back to the board, Phainon leaned toward you again and muttered, “Okay, maybe I do deserve that one-thousand-word essay…”

The moment Professor Anaxa dismissed the class with a sharp tap of his pen against the desk, the three of you practically leapt out of your seats. Phainon let out a dramatic groan as he stretched, slinging his bag over his shoulder like he’d just escaped a life sentence.

“Freedom never tasted so good,” he sighed, trailing after you and Castorice as you all made your way down the hallway.

Castorice chuckled softly, hugging her notebook close to her chest. “You act like you just finished a twelve-hour shift at a coal mine.”

“I might as well have,” Phainon replied, feigning exhaustion. “My brain has withered. My soul aged ten years.”

You smiled. “Good thing we’re going somewhere peaceful. Who knows, maybe the library will help restore your ‘withered’ brain.”

The three of you stepped out into the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was quiet, lined with swaying trees and the occasional rustle of passing students. Just a short walk from the campus gates, the familiar café came into view—its windows glowing softly, the scent of brewed coffee drifting through the air. But today, your eyes were drawn to the sleek building next to it: tall glass windows, elegant wood paneling, and a freshly painted sign that read Kremnoan Public Library.

“There it is,” Castorice said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to it. “It looks so calm.”

“And bookish,” Phainon added. “Like a place where the air itself smells like old pages and productivity.”

You laughed. “Let’s check it out.”

The doors opened with a soft chime, and the scent of new books and polished wood wrapped around you like a gentle hug. Shelves stretched high and far, with sunlight pouring in from the skylights above. It was quiet, but not cold—welcoming, like it had been waiting for people just like you.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” Castorice murmured, already drifting toward a corner desk near the window.

Phainon blinked up at the ceiling. “I might actually feel inspired to write that essay…”

You raised a brow. “That’s a big maybe.”

He grinned. “I said might.”

Ignoring Phainon's words, the three of you quietly went your separate ways inside the library.

The space was bigger than it looked from the outside, with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. You wandered through the aisles, your eyes drifting over titles that sparked your curiosity, history books, fantasy epics, and scientific journals. Despite all the options, you somehow ended up in the light novel section, the one place you often found comfort after a long day.

You slowly scanned the shelves, your fingers brushing across worn covers and fresh ones alike. A few familiar titles stood out, but one in particular caught your attention. It was a book Castorice had recommended to you before. The cover looked exactly like how she described it, and just the sight of it brought a small smile to your face.

You reached out for it without hesitation, eager to finally give it a try. Just as your fingers touched the book, another hand reached out at the same time.

Your hands brushed against each other.

Startled, you looked up just as the other person did too.

A man stood across from you, tall and composed, with an unfamiliar but calm presence. His eyes met yours for a moment, sharp, golden, and strangely warm. He didn’t speak right away, and neither did you.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but still enough to make you realize your hand was still lightly touching his.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and smooth, almost too gentle for someone his size. He glanced at the book between your hands. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

You quickly pulled your hand back, heart skipping a beat. “Ah—sorry! Did you want it?”

He shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile. “No, you go ahead. I’ve already read it. It’s a good one.”

He reached up to return another book to the shelf beside you. The cuff of his black dress shirt shifted slightly as he moved, his gestures neat and practiced. Before you could think of anything else to say, he gave you a short nod and stepped away, heading toward another section with quiet, steady footsteps.

You stood frozen, gripping the book.

“He’s… handsome,” you muttered, a bit too loudly.

A soft snort came from behind.

You turned to see Castorice standing there, eyebrows raised and clearly holding back a grin. “That obvious?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

She laughed quietly, linking her arm with yours. “Come on, lovebird. Let’s find a seat.”

The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual midday chaos—clattering trays, low chatter, and the hum of students trying to relax between classes. You and Castorice sat across from each other, your half-eaten lunch long forgotten as the conversation circled back to the one thing that had been stuck in your mind since yesterday.

“I still can’t believe you said that out loud,” Castorice teased, sipping her iced tea with a knowing smile. “You should’ve seen your face.”

You groaned softly, hiding behind your hands. “I was caught off guard, okay? He was just… he had this calm aura. And his voice. And the way he just—ugh. Why are mysterious guys always so cool?”

“He was polite too,” Castorice nodded thoughtfully. “Didn’t even look annoyed when your hand touched his.”

You glanced to the side, then back at her. “I wonder who he is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around before.”

Just then, Phainon plopped down beside you, placing a few snack packs on the table. “You two are talking about Mydei, huh?”

You blinked. “Wait. You know his name?”

Phainon raised an eyebrow like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. We’re in the same Ethics class.”

Castorice nearly dropped her drink. “You know him?!”

“Sure do,” he said with a casual shrug, already tearing open a bag of chips. “Smart guy. Doesn’t talk much. Kinda intense. Has this weirdly perfect handwriting.”

You stared at him. “And you just… didn’t say anything yesterday?”

Phainon stuffed a chip into his mouth. “No one asked.”

You and Castorice exchanged a look of disbelief.

“He’s a student?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Phainon nodded. “Same year, too. He just keeps to himself most of the time. Spends a lot of time in the library ever since it opened. Pretty sure he works there too or something. Might even live nearby.”

You blinked slowly, the realization settling in. “That explains a lot.”

Phainon smirked. “What, you gonna go back to the library and confess now?”

Your hand immediately went to your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Castorice chuckled. “Be honest, if we run into him again, you’re totally going to freeze, aren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know,” you said, trying to sound dignified, “that I am perfectly capable of functioning like a normal person around handsome, mysterious guys.”

Both of them stared at you.

“…Sometimes,” you added.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself back at the Kremnoan Library, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You hadn’t borrowed anything yesterday. There was no real reason to come back. But here you were, wandering past the front desk with Castorice beside you, trying to look casual while your eyes flicked over every aisle.

Castorice leaned in slightly. “So… are we pretending this is just another visit, or are we being honest about it?”

You gave her a pointed look. “It’s a library. I’m allowed to show up and browse.”

She grinned. “Sure. Totally not hoping to accidentally run into someone.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to turn into the same section as before—the shelves filled with light novels and some fantasy titles. You pretended to scan the books, fingers lightly brushing along the covers, heart quietly thudding in your chest for no reason you could admit aloud.

Then you heard it.

“You’re back.”

You turned, and there he was again.

Mydei stood a few feet away, holding a couple of books in one hand, a calm expression on his face. His gaze met yours easily, as if you were someone he fully expected to see again.

“Looking for something specific?” he asked, voice as smooth as yesterday, but a touch more curious.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Just browsing again.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the shelf you were near. “There’s a new arrival two rows over. Same author as the one you were interested in yesterday.”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It was a good choice.”

You barely registered Castorice pretending not to hover behind you.

“Well, thank you,” you said, trying not to smile too hard. “I might check it out.”

He gave you a soft look, not quite a smile, but something that lingered in his eyes, before turning and walking past. His footsteps were quiet on the wooden floor.

Castorice waited two full seconds before whispering, “Okay. He remembered what book you were looking at, and you still think it was just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you said, trying to steady your breath.

From the next aisle, Phainon suddenly popped his head around the corner, holding a random book and grinning like he knew everything.

“Are we still pretending this is a casual visit, or are we admitting it now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How long have you been there?”

Phainon shrugged. “Long enough.”

He tossed the book into the crook of his arm and added, “Oh, by the way, Mydei and I have a class later. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “You are unbelievable.”

“But you didn’t say not to,” Phainon said innocently, strolling off like this was all a normal day.

Castorice was already laughing beside you. “We should’ve known he’d show up.”

“Mydeimos!” Phainon called out, walking toward Mydei, who was just about to exit the classroom.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with indifference.

Phainon dramatically placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by the cold reception. “When you’re talking to them, you get all soft and gentle, but when it comes to me, it’s all cold and distant!” He pretended to sniff, his eyes wide with playful sadness. “Why do you hate me, Mydeimos?”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t get all nice and soft for you like I do for others,” he said, his tone playful.

Phainon let out a playful sigh, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I see how it is. I’ll remember this betrayal.”

“You’re impossible,” Mydei muttered, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Still, though, you pulled it off!” Phainon beamed, clearly proud of himself. He hadn’t expected his little plan to actually work.

A few days before you and Mydei spoke for the first time, Mydei had already been admiring you from afar. Ever since Phainon befriended you on the very first day, he’d noticed the way Mydei’s gaze lingered a bit too long whenever you were around. It was a shame, really. Mydei didn’t even share a single class with you.

But Phainon had noticed. Whether it was in the corner of the cafeteria, walking down the hallway, or lingering near the courtyard, Mydei always seemed to be nearby whenever you and Castorice were hanging out. That’s when Phainon decided to do something about it.

He cornered Mydei one day after their ethics class.

“You like them, don’t you?” Phainon had said with a raised eyebrow.

As expected, Mydei did not give him a clear answer. He either dodged the question completely or brushed it off like it meant nothing. But Phainon did not give up. He remembered Mydei mentioning that he was the owner of the new library being built beside the café that the three of you often visited.

That’s when the plan formed.

The moment the Kremnoan Library opened, Phainon made it his mission to drag you there. He figured that if Mydei wouldn’t make a move, he’d give him the perfect opportunity: a quiet space, the two of you alone, no interruptions. Just enough to spark something... or at least get Mydei to finally speak to you.

And now, seeing how things were playing out, Phainon couldn’t help but feel smug.

“You know… I heard something new was added to the menu at the café next to your library,” Phainon said, wiggling his eyebrows at Mydei.

Mydei didn’t even hesitate, he lightly punched Phainon on the arm.

“What are you planning now exactly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Phainon grinned. “You ask them to go on a date with you! I’ll make sure Castorice and I are conveniently busy so we don’t interrupt.”

He leaned back against the wall with a smug expression, clearly enjoying himself as he imagined how everything might play out. "C'mon, you've got the perfect setting. Just say the word, and I'll handle the rest."

It was a quiet Saturday morning when you found yourself once again wandering into the Kremnoan Library. With no classes and the weather calm and cool, it felt like the perfect day to catch up on some reading.

You were flipping through a book near the back shelves when you heard someone approach. The footsteps were light but familiar, and when you turned your head, you found Mydei standing there.

He looked a bit more casual than usual, wearing the same black dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and for a brief moment, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Do you have any plans today?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not really. Just came here to read.”

“Perfect,” he said, a little too quickly, before clearing his throat. “I was thinking... maybe we could go to the café next door. Together.”

You blinked in surprise. “You mean... right now?”

He nodded. “If you’re free. I thought... maybe I could buy you something.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that formed. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mydei?”

He didn’t answer right away, but a small, almost shy smirk appeared on his lips. “Only if you say yes.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a warmth rise in your chest. “Then yes.”

Mydei’s smirk grew just a little, and without another word, he motioned for you to walk with him. You both exited the library together, stepping into the gentle morning breeze. The café was just a short walk away, and for a while, the two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward at all.

You leaned back a little in your chair, sipping your juice as you watched Mydei quietly fiddle with the handle of his coffee cup. It was rare to see him look unsure of himself. Usually, he carried a calm, unreadable air, but right now, he looked like he was searching for words.

"Mydei?" you asked gently, setting your drink down. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. "No. It’s just..." He paused, frowning at his coffee as if it would help him gather his thoughts.

You waited patiently, a small smile playing on your lips.

"I’m not good with... saying things," he finally muttered. "But... I think you’re... nice. And... I like being around you."

His voice was quiet, but honest, almost vulnerable.

You blinked, your heart fluttering at his words. A warm feeling bubbled up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh.

"That's the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day," you said warmly.

Mydei coughed awkwardly, his hand running through his messy hair as he looked away, his ears slightly tinted red. "I just thought you should know," he added, his voice almost a grumble.

You smiled brightly and leaned forward just a little. "Well, I like being around you, too."

He glanced back at you, and for a moment, the faintest smile touched his lips, gentle and unguarded.

The sun outside glowed a little brighter through the window, but somehow, nothing felt warmer than the look Mydei was giving you right now.

Unbeknownst to you and Mydei, two very familiar figures had quietly slipped into the café. Hiding behind a menu near the entrance, Phainon and Castorice peered over the top, barely containing their giggles.

"Would you look at that," Phainon whispered, a mischievous grin on his face. "Our dear Mydei actually pulled it off."

Castorice nodded, smiling fondly. "They look good together," she said softly.

"Should we say hi?" Phainon asked, already halfway standing up.

Castorice grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down. "No way. Let them have their moment."

Phainon pouted, but stayed put, sneaking another peek at you and Mydei. The two of you were leaning closer now, smiling and talking like no one else in the world existed. It was honestly too sweet to interrupt.

With a defeated sigh, Phainon slumped in his seat. "Fine, fine. But I’m teasing both of them later."

Castorice chuckled. "Only if you want Mydei to strangle you."

Phainon snickered. "Worth it."

With that, the two of them exited the café, sneaking off down the sidewalk like mischievous partners-in-crime, already planning how they would tease you both the next time you met.

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aashwarr · 1 year ago

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The Old Salt House | Sims 4 CC Build By Ashley Plays

Once a docklands building, the Old Salt House is now a trendy coffee shop & bar in the Spice Market District of San Myshuno. The Old Salt House is the perfect space for hosting events, such as art exhibits & painting classes. Inspired by Tea at Shiloh, a teahouse in Los Angeles, CA.

Now available on my Patreon (free).

Lot Type: Bar

Lot Value: $166,796

Lot Dimensions: 30 x 30 (The Old Salt House)

DLC Used: Cottage Living, Get Famous, City Living, Get Together, Get to Work, My Wedding Stories, Moschino Stuff, Laundry Day Stuff, Toddler Stuff, Bowling Night Stuff, Backyard Stuff, Luxury Party Stuff

#aashwarr #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 aesthetic #sims 4 build

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ultimateca · 5 months ago

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Early Bird Batch for CA Intermediate Jan 2026 | Ultimate CA

🔥 Get a head start on your CA Intermediate Jan 2026 journey with Ultimate CA!

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oswanily · 7 days ago

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Sifix Dresses Medieval Recolor Dump

Yes, I know, there has been a bunch of those already… But most of them are for upper class ladies. I wanted my middle class girls to have access to these dresses too, but I doubt they would be able to afford shiny silk dresses, so I tried to make the dresses more plain looking. I did these a while ago, but I never shared them, so here they are now.

Meshes included thanks to Sifix and her open terms of use.

What you get:

20 dresses (the preview is missing one I am aware)

20 swatches each from my Medieval Mayhem palette shown under the cut (I was still tweaking the palette at this point so some might differ slightly)

Most of them don’t have shiny fabric anymore (some still do, I will eventually remove the shine, but I don’t remember which dresses still have it and which don’t and have no time to check right now)

No custom thumbnails because I can’t be bothered tbh

Each dress has the same name as the Sifix dress it’s a recolor of (with my username in front) so if you like the shape of a dress and want to get the original, fancy version, they’re easy to find!

them all sitting together like this in CAS was pure luck but I am very happy about it

These come in a .rar file, meaning you have to extract them. do not put the .rar in your mod folder!

Tag me if you use it in your screenies so I can see! And feel free to contact me if there is any issues, so I can fix them.

By downloading any of my CC, you agree to my TOU.

Download: SimFileShare

Reblogs are appreciated!

@ts4medieval @mmoutfitters @mmfinds @emilyccfinds @public-ccfinds @alwaysfreecc thank you!

Yes I will post more medieval CC in the future since apparently I am addicted 👀

#mycc #s4cc #mmcc #sims 4 medieval #sims 4 maxis match #s4 mm #s4mm #ts4 mm

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noxemma · 27 days ago

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@colorlessjay thank you so much for the awesome story idea and the inspiration for the title, I really dig the idea of a romance in reverse (I'm not a phenomenal artist but this came to me in a vision, so I had to give it a go 😂). Hopefully you enjoy this next installment (Cas POV this time) as much as the last ones

---

Steering through the Rearview: A Romance in Reverse

First comes love a kid(napping), then comes a marriage ... Yeah, they're definitely doing things in the wrong order, but maybe, if they're lucky, they can figure out how to reverse their way into something real.

---

Castiel takes the hint when Dean turns up the music. Not that he minds; he's not sure what had possessed him to say those words to Dean.

That's not entirely true, Castiel mentally chastises himself. Dean's words may have been gruff and stained with anger, but his eyes. His eyes had been sad and full of ... Caged hope? No, that doesn't sound quite right. It's not caged exactly, more like ... Castiel looks at Dean, searching for the right words to describe the beautiful and complicated man beside him.

Dean must feel him staring because he darts a quick, nervous smile his way. Hobbled, maybe. Unable to run free, but still wild and wanting inside.

"What? Do I have somethin' on my face?" Dean asks, turning the music down and letting out a chuckle that sounds forced.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, I just got ... lost in thought," Castiel rushes to explain, trying to will the heat back down that he feels rushing to his cheeks. "Sam's written several stories about traveling. Lovely pieces full of nostalgia and wonder. I assume those were trips taken in this car, with you and your father?" "Uh," Dean starts, one hand coming off the wheel to rub at the back of his neck. A nervous habit, Castiel is quickly learning. "Yeah. I guess they must be. This was the most stable home we had for a good chunk of our childhood." Dean shoots a glance at Castiel, magnificent green eyes wide, like he's confessed something he shouldn't have, or didn't mean to. "That would make sense, then," Castiel responds with a warm smile that he hopes is reassuring.

He understands not wanting to talk about rocky childhoods. Or fathers, for that matter. So, while Dean's admission only stokes his already blazing curiosity about the man, he forces himself to let it go and let whatever band Dean has playing take over the conversation. To his surprise, Dean doesn't take the out, choosing instead to continue talking.

"Uh, Sam told me he, um, well, whenever I agreed to this, he told me that he wrote a lot about our childhood for your class. He also said you were ridiculously smart, so you'd probably be able to put some stuff together." Dean's not looking at him, but Castiel can see his hands tighten on the wheel and his shoulders tense. "He did," Castiel admits. "Although it is a creative writing class so I can't be sure how much is real and how much is fictional. But, well, we tend to write what we know. I try not to read too much into them, unless of course I'm worried a student might harm themselves or someone else. However, one story of his in particular does stand out."

"Yeah?" Dean's answer is breathless and high, compressed fear dampening the sound.

"It was about a boy and his brother and their father. They lived on the road, chasing down supernatural entities, trying to get revenge for their dead mother," Castiel tells him slowly, verbally approaching with his hands raised to show he means no harm. "It was really wonderful, best in the entire class, though I'm sure it was written with a heavy dose of creative license. Or did you really hunt monsters across the United States?"

Dean lets out a whoosh of air, relaxing back into the seat and letting color come back into his knuckles. "No. And, yes, kind of. Man, Sam has one hell of an imagination," Dean lets out a relieved laugh before continuing. "Mom died just a few months after Sam was born. House fire, or well, arson. The guy they think did it was a criminal who skipped out on his bail, but the police could never track him down. I think that's part of the reason why Sam is going into criminal law. Anyway, Dad took it hard and became a bounty hunter. It gave him a sense of purpose and resources to work on Mom's case in his spare time, for a little while anyway. But, as the years went by, and the leads went cold, he started taking comfort in a bottle. He was drunk when he totaled Baby. Nearly killed Sam and I." "You were in the car with him? How old were you?" Castiel manages to bite his tongue after the second question escapes his lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry." "Nah, it's okay. It's practically ancient history now. I was seventeen, Sam was thirteen. Dad kept insisting he was fine to drive, and I tried to argue. And I know I should have tried harder, or hidden his keys or something but, but there was just no getting through to him when he got that way ..." Dean's eyes go far away and Castiel is pretty sure he's seeing something other than the road. His jaw clenches and he gulps before he blinks, eyes refocusing. "Anyway, can't change the past. Sam was in the backseat, so he was the least hurt, which was a fucking miracle." "And you?" Castiel breathes, riveted and horrified as more pieces of Sam's writing slot into place; the pretty paint facade of fiction washing away from the story, revealing the uglier truth behind it. Dean rubs his neck again, hesitating before admitting, "I was in the hospital for over a week. Bobby and his wife Karen fostered us until I turned eighteen. Gave me a job at his junkyard and taught me how to be a mechanic. Helped me get my GED and paid for me to go to trade school and get my ASE certification. Not to mention he helped me petition the state for custody of Sam once I had full-time employment and an apartment in my name." Before he realizes what he's doing, Castiel's hand is on Dean's knee, squeezing reassuringly as he says, "I'm so sorry, Dean. No child should have to go through that. I'm glad you had someone like Bobby to help you." "Thanks, Cas. Me too. But, like I said, it's all ancient history now." They both know he's lying but Cas doesn't call him on it because he's too busy trying to remain calm when Dean lowers his hand to cover his own.

"Cas?" Castiel asks, cursing how breathy his voice sounds and pulling his hand slowly back into his own space before he does something irrational like skipping the wedding and just driving around for the next few days. "You've called me that a few times now."

"Yeah. Cas. You know, the shortened version of your name or, as it's more commonly known: a nickname," Dean rolls his eyes, laughing like Cas has made some great joke. He stops when Cas just stares at him in confusion. "Hang on, has no one really ever called you that before?" "Um. No?" Dean's mouth drops open, and he stares at Cas in the passenger seat for long enough that Cas is worried they might start to drift off the road if he doesn't snap him out of it. "My parents were, um, very formal and ... strict," Cas explains quickly, pitching his voice high in a poor imitation of Naomi, "'Castiel, if I wanted you to be called something else, I would have put it on your birth certificate.'" Dean let's out a snort and the cold dread, which had begun squeezing its icy fist around Cas' chest at the memory of the woman who gave birth to him, recedes at the sound. "Seriously? Man, I can't imagine if I had to run around calling Sam 'Samuel' for the rest of his life. What kind of name is Castiel anyway? European?"

"Biblical. My parents were also extremely religious. They named all of us after angels. Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer." "Damn, and here I was feeling bad about myself for being named after my grandmother, Deanna. Although at least you aren't Lucifer. Does he really go by that?"

"He went by Nick until he died few years ago. Or at least that's what Gabriel told me," Cas admits.

Dean shoots him another look but doesn't press. Instead, he mimics Cas' action from earlier, right hand coming off the wheel to squeeze his leg. He knows the action is supposed to be comforting, but knowing doesn't stop the heat sizzling up his veins.

Cas closes his eyes to fight against the feeling. It doesn't help; green eyes and freckles emblazon against the back of his eyelids.

How long has it been since someone, besides Charlie or my students or Jack, touched me, intentionally? Months? Years?

Cas stifles a groan. Because it doesn't matter. It's clearly been long enough that his body is responding disproportionately, and he has to stop it. Now. So, he starts talking about the one thing he knows for sure will kill any errant desire he's feeling.

"My parents disowned me when I came out to them. Gabriel is the only one who still speaks to me. He would have probably been disowned too if he hadn't kept the family name and become so successful so quickly. This wedding is actually the first time I'll be seeing any of them beside him in well over a decade now." "Shit, sorry, Cas," Dean blurts before chewing his lip and darting more glances his way, clearly debating something. "You can ask whatever it is you're wondering," Cas encourages, welcoming the distraction. "Uh, why are you going to this wedding then? I mean, I get that they're family, but well, to quote Bobby, 'family don't end in blood. And it don't start there either.'"

The voice Dean puts on when quoting his surrogate father wrings a laugh out of Cas and the dangerous heat of attraction is replaced with an equally dangerous, though less embarrassing, warmth centered father up his body.

"I'm getting the idea that Bobby was a very wise man. But, to answer your question: I'm going because Jack is actually my biological nephew. I was friends with Kelly, his mother, and I raised him like my own when she died from complications shortly after giving birth. She never put Lucifer on his birth certificate and her parents never contested her choice to name me his as his godfather and legal guardian. But, somehow, Naomi and Chuck have found out about him, and they are threatening to petition for custody of him if I don't show up."

"Why? On what grounds?" Dean explodes, barely contained fury adding a growl to the words that sends a tingle up his spine and forces him to shift in his seat. "I'm a single father and a man who wouldn't be able to afford the house I'm living in if it wasn't paid for by my more successful brother, and gay on top of that," Cas ticks off, "Plus a few others, I'm sure."

Dean stays silent, but rage radiates off him in heavy waves. Cas is just about to try and call off the whole ridiculous idea, sure Dean will agree now that he knows what he'll be up against, when Dean's face brightens and he pins Cas with a wild stare, stealing the breath he was about to use to speak.

"Hey, Cas. How do you feel about being fiancés?"

Cas, ever a pillar of grace and decorum, chokes on his own spit.

"Shit, sorry. You're Sam's favorite professor and I'm pretty sure he can kill me without leaving a trace, so please don't die!"

"Why-" Cas starts, coughing and gasping a few more times before managing to get the rest of the question out, "Why would you want to be my fiancé?" "Well, you're gorgeous and kind for one, so who wouldn't want to be your fiancé," Dean says with a wink at him and Cas is grateful that his face is already red from nearly choking to death on his own saliva. "But I was thinking, we were already going to pretend to be boyfriends, right? So why not go for gold? We can knock off at least two of those reasons you mentioned. I practically raised Sam so I'm no stranger to the whole parent thing. We become fiancés and suddenly you're a two parent, dual income household. I mean, I'm not rolling in wealth by any means, but I do okay enough, though most of the money I make doing restorations goes to helping Sam out with tuition, but they don't need to know that."

"But we don't know anything about each other, how would we be able to convince my parents that we're planning on getting married?" Cas challenges, not quite daring to hope that they might have a chance at pulling this off. "Well, we've got approximately five hours to figure it out. Plenty of time, plus we already know a lot about each other." Cas tilts his head and opens his mouth, but Dean answers his question before it can escape.

"You know that I have a younger brother who I raised, that I work as a mechanic and a car restoration expert, not to mention you apparently already described me to 'Uncle Gabe,'" Dean takes a breath and hurries on before Cas can interrupt, not that he would, "I know that your parents are mega douchebags who don't appreciate what an amazing son they have. I know that you're an English professor at Stanford and that you're an amazing dad, aside from a slight oversight in the stranger danger department. But most importantly, I know that Jack belongs with you and I'm willing to do whatever I can to help make that happen."

Cas' heart thuds in his chest at Dean's vehement declaration. "I- Thank you, Dean," Cas manages before his throat closes up entirely and he's blinking rapidly to keep the moisture forming in his eyes from falling onto his cheeks. "Great!" Dean chirps, flicking on his turn signal and changing lanes to speed around a slow-moving truck. "So, babe. How did we meet? Because, somehow, I feel like telling your folks that I accidentally kidnapped your son will be counterproductive."

#still not 100% sure where this story is going but at least i'm having fun along the way #sooo they were definitely supposed to like montage/driving sequence to the wedding but I got a little carried away #hopefully it wasn't too boring #I promise next part won't be like straight dialogue (hopefully if they cooperate)#insomnia wins again so you know the drill #if you see a spelling or grammar mistake no you dont #does the title make sense? my first draft was driving through the rearview but that felt like describing a car crash #destiel #spn #castiel #dean winchester

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seumyo · 4 months ago

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DABI | TODOROKI TOUYA ✰ RESONANCE

SYNOPSIS. Todoroki Touya abandoned the bass years ago, unwilling to chase a passion that had only ever led to disappointment. Now a distant but undeniably skilled third-year, he’s pulled back into music when a persistent second-year recruits him for her struggling band. He tells himself it doesn’t matter—but the stage has a way of unraveling the lies he’s built around himself.

PAIRING. [Third Year] Todoroki Touya and [Second Year] Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT. 13k+

CONTENT. Slowburn, Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, College AU, No Quirk!AU, Unhealthy Family (because Ende*vor), Angst with Happy Ending, Music as a Metaphor for Feelings, and so on.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. Haha (hides). This took SEVEN MONTHS, oh em gee. I’m never attempting to write long fics ever again (this was so fun). For my dearest, @seneon. Your long-overdue Bassist!Touya fic is finally here. And also @suksatoru, an absolute icon with who inspired me to write for Touya this way from her Carnations series <33 Special thank you to all my beta readers: Ali, Fio, Rinne, my brother—because without you guys, I would’ve just scrapped this whole idea and never let it see the light. I hope all Touya fans are fed with this !!

“Mr. Todoroki,” the professor began, leaning against his desk with arms crossed. “You’re intelligent. That much is clear from your written work. But intelligence without effort will only get you so far.”

Touya leaned against his chair, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Didn’t realize effort was part of the grading system.”

“It is,” the professor replied. “That, and participation—which you’re both lacking. I suggest joining an organization—something to engage you beyond sitting in the back of a classroom and coasting through your courses.”

Touya let out a humorless laugh as if he just heard the funniest joke of his life, shaking his head.

“I’ll pass.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s just… not my thing, sir,” he muttered finally, his tone clipped. He didn’t need to say anything else to him.

The professor studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re only wasting your own potential, Mr. Todoroki. Though I do understand that you’re still adjusting from just having transferred two months ago. One day, you’ll realize that life isn’t going to wait for you to catch up.”

Touya didn’t respond. He just left the room once he was free to do so and didn’t bother letting his professor’s words linger too long with him.

Potential? What would his professor know about his own potential? As if the word hasn’t already been engraved in his mind from the moment he turned six, haunting him like a ghost out for revenge.

“Stupid professor,” he muttered under his breath. But even as he said it, he knew the real frustration wasn’t with the professor—or the thing that’s been holding him back, or anyone else.

It was with him.

Lunchtime was always so chaotic in this university. Touya didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But the food was good, surprisingly; he’ll give them that.

He settled into a routine. Sit on the farthest free table and have his earphones in, not because he was listening to anything, but because they were a convenient excuse to ignore anyone who tried to talk to him. He liked the solitude and how students here respected each other’s personal space.

So when a shadow fell over his table, he barely glanced up, assuming it was someone asking to join him at the table or grab the extra chair. You know, the usual stuff that happens in college—where everyone’s apparently too busy with their lives to meddle with others.

“Hey. You’re Todoroki, right?”

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was clear, a little raspy, and full of smugness that just screamed that this someone found the person they were looking for. Reluctantly, Touya looked up, locking eyes with the girl standing in front of him.

You weren’t anyone he recognized—definitely not from any of his classes. Your hands were behind your back, your posture casual yet still somewhat polite.

“And if I am?” he replied, his voice as flat and uninviting as he could manage.

You tilted your head slightly, offering him a smile. “Good. Saves me the trouble of asking around.” You bowed slightly in greeting, introducing your name and the department program you’re in. “Second year, I run the school band.”

He didn’t return the gesture, though he did raise an unimpressed eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats? Do you want a medal or something?”

“I heard you’re good at playing bass.”

The words caught him off guard. Touya’s nonchalant expression is replaced by a flicker of something sharper, something guarded. “Who told you that?”

You shrugged, the motion deliberately casual. “Word gets around. Especially when someone is as good as you supposedly are.”

“Well, whoever said that was wrong. I don’t play anymore.”

Touya clenched his jaw, looking past you toward the window. The question scraped against old wounds he thought he’d buried—memories of playing in his room, of pouring everything into the bass that he’s only ever known.

“It’s not my thing anymore,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “Sorry, kid. You’re years too late to have met me in my prime.”

“Not a kid—we’re probably around the same age,” you quipped. “And I don’t buy that.”

Your bluntness made him pause. He blinked, his head snapping back toward you. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t quit something like that unless there’s a reason,” you answered simply, your tone light but unrelenting. “And honestly? Professor Hamasaki actually forwarded his concern to me, so I think you really need it.”

Of course his professor had to have come up with an intervention for him. He spoke too soon about this new university letting him mind his own business.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening up, “you look like someone who’s got way too much going on up here”—you tapped your temple—“and has no idea where to put it. Trust me, I’ve seen it before.”

Your words hit closer than he wanted to admit, and the smug look on your face didn’t help. He shook his head.

“You’re annoying—putting your nose in other people’s lives.”

“I—”

He scoffed, raising a hand as if to stop you. “I told you, I don’t play anymore. Find someone else.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re the only bassist worth tracking down. And I’m not just looking for anyone—I’m looking for you. You ever heard of this university’s motto?”

“No, and I don’t care. Leave.” His voice was curt, unwelcoming now.

“Ut Optimi Simus.” That we may be the best.

Touya stared at you, his expression unreadable. You just couldn’t take the hint, could you? That much was clear on his end.

And to drop the school motto? What is he getting himself into?

What kind of self-obsessed students did this university have?

“Look,” you continued, “we’ve got a spot open in the band, and I think you’d kill it. Just come to one practice. One. If it sucks, you can walk out, and I’ll never bother you again. Deal?”

There was a challenge in your tone, one that sparked something dormant in him. He could have shut you down again, could have sent you packing with another snarky comment. But for some reason—maybe it was the way you spoke or the strange mix of stubbornness and sincerity in your expression—he hesitated.

Maybe you would just bother him again if he refused; who knows?

But Todoroki Touya was screwed before he realized it.

“One practice,” he muttered finally.

“Yes!” you cheered, a bit too loud, which had the other students’ heads turning toward your direction. Touya had to rub a hand over his face. Great. More unwanted attention.

“Whoops—but that’s all I need. Music room, next week, after your class. Building GENM. Don’t be late, Todoroki.”

He stared at the empty space where you’d been standing, then at the table in front of him, where his phone lay forgotten.

“What the hell did I just agree to?” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he might be walking into something worth his time.

Then again, it might be.

The week had passed in a blur for Touya. He hadn’t thought about the band—or you—much since your brief, honestly impulsive encounter. He convinced himself it was just another passing distraction, something to shrug off and forget about, like he usually did with things that demanded more of him than he wanted to give.

And yet, there he was, standing in the dimly lit hallway outside the music room, staring at the door like it might open on its own and save him the trouble of deciding whether to walk in.

It wasn’t like he owed you anything. He’d said he’d come to one practice—only one—and even then, he hadn’t really promised he’d participate. If you had any sense, you’d take the hint that he wouldn’t touch the bass.

Still, something made him turn the doorknob and step inside.

The room smelled faintly of old wood and metal, a mix of familiarity and nostalgia that hit him square in the chest. His gaze flicked around, taking in the scattered instruments, the amplifiers, and the slightly worn drum set shoved into a corner.

At the center of it all was you.

You were perched on a stool, your hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder as you leaned forward over a notebook in your lap. Your hand moved in quick, messy strokes as you scribbled notes, humming softly to yourself. A keyboard sat in front of you, the occasional sound of a chord filling the space as you tinkered with the rhymes and chords.

Your voice was soft, pleasing to hear, the kind of voice that could wrap around someone and pull them in without asking. Sort of like a siren, enchanting—bewitching.

“Damn, still doesn’t feel right,” you muttered to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips before crossing out a line.

Touya stood there for a moment, unnoticed, just… watching. There was an ease to the way you worked. Quiet and focused. He didn’t know if it was weird to just stand there and watch, but it took him a minute to compose himself.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

You jolted, nearly dropping your notebook. You glance around to face him, your eyes meeting him before recognition softens your expression into a joyful one.

“Would it kill you to knock? We should’ve really put a sign to knock first before entering around here,” you joked, closing the notebook and setting it aside. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

Touya shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “Guess I had nothing better to do.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Your teasing tone was annoying, but it wasn’t enough to make him leave. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the instruments again.

“Is that for me?” he asked, nodding toward the bass leaning against the wall.

“Yup. Freshly tuned and everything. Had to get new strings because the last idiot who used it was just awful.” You stepped aside, gesturing toward it. “Figured you’d want something decent to work with.”

It had been a long time since he’d touched a bass. Too long. But he forced himself to walk over, crouching down to inspect it. His fingers brushed the strings lightly; it felt like meeting something familiar again.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

But before he could even pick up the bass, the door burst open with a loud thud.

“[Name]!”

The shout startled you both, and Touya turned to see a tall guy—not as tall as he is, probably—standing in the doorway, a guitar case slung over one shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. His face was flushed, and he looked like he’d sprinted all the way there.

“Kaito?” you said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

This guy, Kaito, ignored your question, his gaze landing on Touya briefly before shifting back to you. “We’ve got a problem.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Of course we do. When have we never? What now?”

“One of the judges for the festival just backed out,” Kaito explained, stepping fully into the room. “And the committee’s freaking out. They want all bands to perform a teaser set tomorrow to convince the others to stay on board.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head, the guitar case slipping slightly on his shoulder. “I wish I was. They’re saying it’s our only shot at keeping everything on track. Rikiyama said so herself.”

Touya raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you.

“Festival?” he asked, his tone flat.

You let out a long sigh, finally turning back to him. “School music festival. Big deal, lots of bands competing for sponsorships and a chance to compete nationally. We’re signed up, obviously, but now they want us to play tomorrow. Which is insane, by the way.”

Kaito finally seemed to register Touya’s presence, his head tilting to the side. “Is this the Todoroki you were talking about, [Name]?”

“Our new bassist,” you answered breezily, grinning as if the words were the most natural thing in the world.

Touya shot you a glare, his posture stiff. “Not yet. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together, “looks like you’re about to. Lucky for us, huh?”

“Hold up,” Kaito said, stepping closer. “This guy’s the bassist? You’re bringing in someone new now? Do the others know?”

“Relax, they know,” you replied, waving him off. “Oh, and he’s good. Better than good.”

Kaito didn’t look convinced, but before he could argue, you turned back to Touya.

“Guess you’re jumping in sooner than expected.” Your statement was something that can’t be denied; even Kaito caught onto it.

Touya stared at you. He could feel the weight of the bass guitar in his hand, the pressure of the situation finally making itself known to him.

And yet, for some reason, he didn’t leave.

The day of the teaser set was supposed to be the day you reclaimed your band’s undefeated title.

The kind of event that set the tone for the upcoming music festival. To keep spectators and sponsors engaged. Not… whatever was happening backstage.

Backstage was tense. You stood near the edge of the curtain, peeking out at the crowd as they settled into their seats. The band was set to go on in less than ten minutes, but your focus wasn’t on the audience—it was on the absence of one particular bass player.

“He’s not coming,” Kaito said from behind you, his voice flat. He leaned against a stack of amplifier cases, arms crossed, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with thinly veiled irritation. “I called it the second he said he hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You let the curtain fall back into place, turning to face the rest of the team. “We don’t know that yet. He might just be late.”

“True,” Haru sighed dejectedly. He’s the one who handles the keyboard and prefers to keep his opinion to himself most of the time rather than voicing it out loud—a second-year in your class.

Kaito scoffed. “Late is still bad. This isn’t some casual jam session, [Name]. This is our shot at keeping the sponsors happy. If they pull out, it’s over.”

One of the other band members, the usually energetic drummer named Yuuma, chimed in. “Kaito’s got a point. If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not coming.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Then we’ll do it without him,” you decided, trying to mask the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

Kaito shook his head, clearly exasperated. “This is why I said you shouldn’t go scouting random people at the last minute. You can’t trust someone who’s barely committed. Plus, we could’ve offered the slot to someone else.”

“Kaito,” you frowned, your tone sharper than usual. The entire band looked at you in surprise, and you softened slightly, your shoulders relaxing. “Look, I get it, okay? But we don’t have time for this. We’ve played without a bassist before, and we can do it again.”

He muttered something under his breath but didn’t push further.

The stage manager appeared a moment later, signaling that it was time for your set. You took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your guitar as the band moved into position.

As you stepped onto the stage, the audience greeted you with polite applause, and the blinding stage lights made it impossible to see the faces in the crowd clearly. You swore someone from the technical team really wanted to blind you and your team one of these days.

You approached the microphone, your voice steady as you introduced your band and the first song. “Thanks for being here, everyone! This is a little something we’ve been working on for a while now.”

Yuuma gave the count-off, and the music began.

The first song went smoothly. Kaito’s electric guitar filled in the gaps left by the missing bassline, and your vocals were working overtime to keep the audience engaged. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, clapping along during the choruses and cheering loudly by the end.

But something felt off.

The music was fine, technically speaking. You hit all the right notes and kept the rhythm tight, but it lacked the depth that a good bassline could bring. It was like there was a hollow space in the sound, a space that Touya’s presence could’ve filled.

It should’ve felt like a victory. To be able to perform without a bassist.

You also noticed the way the judges whispered among themselves, one even talking to the university’s president.

“Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” Kaito murmured, though his tone was less than enthusiastic as you all returned back to your practice room.

“Could’ve been better,” Yuuma muttered, packing up his drumsticks.

“I guess,” Haru pouted, flicking his wrist back and forth.

You didn’t say anything. You set your guitar down carefully, your movements slow and deliberate, as if everything wasn’t real just yet.

Kaito noticed your silence, obviously, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not seriously still thinking about him, are you?”

“I’m not thinking about him,” you replied quickly.

He hummed faintly, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop.

As the rest of the band packed up their gear and got out of the room, you stayed for a minute. You found yourself staring at the bass leaning against the wall, untouched and waiting. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would’ve sounded like if Touya had been there, if his bassline had woven seamlessly into your music and added the missing piece to tie the whole performance together.

But then you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered under your breath, the words more for yourself than anyone else.

“He already made his choice.” You did sound a little bummed out about it, though.

With one last glance at the bass, you left the room, making sure to lock it on your way out, determined to push Todoroki Touya out of your mind. This would be the last time you’ll ever think of him.

Or so you told yourself.

The aftermath was everything but light. It was merciless.

The following week wasn’t as pleasant as you thought it’d be; you couldn’t walk two steps without hearing the agitating murmurs.

“I thought she said they had a bassist?”

“What happened? Did the guy just dip?”

“Damn, imagine embarrassing yourself in front of the whole school like that.”

You clenched your jaw and kept walking, ignoring the sting that settled deep in your gut. You had been prepared for some backlash, sure, but you hadn’t expected the weight of it—the way the entire school seemed to know, the way the student council president looked at you with thinly veiled disappointment when the secretary and treasurer greeted you down the hall.

You had been so sure. You had told them, had promised them that you finally had a full band, that you were ready to compete. Just like once upon a time. And now, you had nothing to show for it.

Now you seem like a liar.

And Touya just… disappeared completely from your radar.

It was your fault; you knew that now. The man hasn’t even known you for longer than two weeks, and you expect him to do something as big as perform for a teaser set? You must have been so entitled to have thought of that.

So selfish to have only thought about what you want and never thought about what he wanted.

The meeting with the president later that afternoon only made it worse.

You sat stiffly in the office, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Across from you, the president and a few teachers sat with unreadable expressions, while the event’s organizers and two members of the student council looked far less amused. Haru and Kaito flanked your sides—Yuuma called in sick on the second day of the week.

The president sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ms. [Last Name], I’ll be honest with you. This situation has put us in a difficult position.”

You forced yourself to stay calm.

“We do have a band,” you said evenly. “We just had an issue with our bassist showing up. But it’s temporary. We’ll fix it.”

One of the organizers, a woman in a navy blazer, exchanged a look with the student council members. “That may be, but you don’t have a bassist right now,” she pointed out. “And without one, your band does not meet the minimum requirements to represent our school in competition. The sponsors and judges of high authority weren’t too thrilled with your performance last week as well. We had to compromise some of them to stay for the music festival.”

Haru sighed softly. “Then what will happen to us?”

The president hesitated, as if reluctant to say it out loud. “We’re giving you until the end of the month,” he said finally. “If you can’t secure a bassist by then… I’m afraid we’ll have to dissolve your band.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Disband? Just like that?

Kaito shot up from his seat, palms flat on the table. “You can’t be serious. We’ve been working our as— very hard on this since last year, please.”

“We are very serious, Mr. Watanabe.” The president's voice was firm but not unkind. “The school’s music program is already under pressure for funding. With many bands making themselves known each year. If we can’t prove that your band is viable for competition, we can’t continue allocating resources to you.”

Haru exhaled sharply beside you, shifting in his seat.

You could feel the walls closing in, the weight of their situation pressing on your shoulders.

One month. That was all you had.

Your mind raced, going over every possible option, every potential bassist you could reach out to. But the truth was, other bands had already scouted most of the available musicians at school. If there were any other bassists capable of keeping up with you, you would have known.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

You already had the right person for the job.

You had found someone who could play at the level you needed—someone so good that even Kaito, with all his attitude, had begrudgingly acknowledged his skill.

But he was also the same person who didn’t want to play anymore. And you can’t force someone to do the things that make them unhappy.

You sucked in a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“We understand,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay calm. “We’ll find someone. Thank you for your kindness.”

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, but the weight of it didn’t leave you, even as you stepped out into the hallway. It felt like your heart was lodged in your throat, rendering you silent.

The moment the office door clicked shut, Kaito exploded.

“This is bullshit,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “All because some spoiled rich kid couldn’t be bothered to show up just for one gig?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.”

You didn’t say anything.

Kaito turned to you, eyes sharp. “Tell me you’re not still thinking about him.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m thinking about where we’ll find a good bassist. That’s all.”

Kaito scoffed. “Right. And who exactly do you think is good enough to replace him on such short notice? The others combed through almost all musicians in school.”

“Easy, Kai,” Haru told his friend.

You had no answer.

Because no matter how much you hated to admit it, there wasn’t anyone else.

Kaito must have caught the hesitation in your silence because his expression finally relented. “No. Let’s not think about it anymore.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, sidestepping the subject entirely.

Kaito sighed.

“She’s right,” Haru said. “We don’t have a choice.”

You nodded once, more to yourself than anyone else.

One month.

One month to fix this.

One month to… figure things out for better or worse.

And unfortunately, there was only one person who could.

And you were sure that he no longer wanted to see you.

But you had to talk to him one last time. For closure.

It was late. Touya’s classes usually stretched to 7 in the evening on Thursdays.

Touya was halfway down the stairs of the main building, hands shoved in his pockets, his steps unhurried. The night air was crisp, but he barely felt it. He had done what he always did—attended just enough classes to stay off his professors’ radar, killed time, and now, finally, he was going home.

But then he saw you.

You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, your bag slung over one shoulder. You weren’t blocking his way, but you didn’t move when he approached, your stance solid like you had been waiting for him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were the waiting type.”

You didn’t react to the teasing. Not even a glare.

“I get it,” you said instead, your voice unnervingly steady. “You don’t want to play.”

Touya slowed to a stop, tilting his head.

Something about the way you said it made his neutral expression turn to a simple frown—because there was no anger, no frustration, no accusations. Just a simple statement, like you had already accepted it.

Took her long enough.

He shrugged. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, and for the first time, he noticed how exhausted you looked. Not physically—no, you were still standing tall, still looking him in the eye—but there was something in your expression, something worn down at the edges.

“I know.”

Your hands are clenched at your sides, knuckles tight.

“You could’ve just said no. You could’ve told me in the practice room that you weren’t going to do it. That you actually didn’t care. That you were going to let me stand up there and make a fool of myself in front of the entire school—because at least I would’ve been prepared.”

Touya’s smirk twitched but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never promised you anything.”

Your shoulders stiffened.

“Because you didn’t refuse that day, when Kaito asked who you were. You picked up the bass, played a few chords, and stayed an hour or less than you intended to. You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.”

Touya didn’t respond.

Didn’t shift, didn’t look away, but something in his posture went unnervingly still.

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for half a second before opening them again. “Do you have any idea what it was like?” you asked. “Standing up there, knowing everyone was laughing at us? Knowing the only reason we even got to play was because the judges were being polite?”

He had heard.

He hadn’t gone to the teaser set, but the rumors had found him anyway. Your band had been the first to perform to keep the judges on board—only to be the one band without a bassist.

A missing piece in an otherwise well-practiced performance.

A joke.

The sponsors and judges weren’t happy at all.

Your laugh was quiet, bitter. “We were supposed to set the standard, Todoroki. We were supposed to show them why the school backs us—that’s why we were the first to perform. And instead, we just… gave them every reason to doubt us.”

Touya’s jaw tightened just slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “That’s not my problem.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city beyond the school gates filled the silence—the distant rumble of a passing car, the buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

Then, finally, you straightened.

“But I was happy,” you admitted. “To have seen you play in person. To have known that I was one of the first to approach you for your talent before anyone could even connect the dots with your name.”

Touya was quiet as you spoke, allowing you to tell him how you truly felt about the situation.

“Thank you for taking your time to visit our music room. And… I’m sorry, really sorry if you felt pressured to play because of my persistence. I know that now.”

Well, that took a turn, Touya thought to himself.

“I’m not going to bother you anymore,” you continued. “But I do really—genuinely appreciate you giving us your time.”

Touya felt something in his chest shift, but he ignored it.

You bowed for one last time and turned on your heel without another word.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t say anything as you walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit street.

Didn’t watch as you left him alone with the cold and the distant echoes of everything you had just said.

The house was silent when he got home.

It always was.

Touya kicked off his shoes in the entryway, not bothering to turn on the lights. Everything was still—too still.

His siblings wouldn’t be home for another hour.

The scent of old wood and polish lingered in the air, clean and sterile. The housekeeper must have been here earlier, tidying up everything that didn’t need tidying. It felt suffocating, the way nothing ever changed here.

His steps were slow as he made his way up the stairs, fingers dragging along the smooth railing. The portraits lining the walls were familiar, but he didn’t spare them a glance. Family pictures. Moments frozen in time. He knew what they looked like without having to see them—his siblings, perfect and poised; his mother, distant yet present; and his father, always standing in the center like an immovable force.

Touya wasn’t in most of them.

Who knows what he must’ve been doing—or what he’s done for him to not be included?

His fingers curled against the wood before he withdrew his hand.

At the end of the hall, his bedroom door stood half-open, just as he had left it that morning. He pushed it open fully, stepping inside.

The room was clean, untouched, just like the rest of the house seemed to be every time he came back. Sometimes he questions if a family truly lives in this house. A house, because it never felt like home.

His gaze flickered across the shelves first. Medals hung from carefully arranged hooks, ribbons still tied neatly around them. Gold, silver, bronze—some gleaming, some dulled with time. A display case lined with trophies sat against the wall, their engraved plates catching the little light from his window.

They were proof of what he had once been.

A prodigy. A name whispered among teachers and musicians alike.

Someone who had been going somewhere.

But none of it had mattered.

His eyes landed on the bass guitar in the corner.

It rested against the wall, still in its worn case, the handle covered in faint scratches from when he used to carry it everywhere. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands again, the familiar press of strings against his fingertips.

But it had been years since he actually played.

Years since he had felt anything when he looked at it.

Touya’s throat felt tight as he stepped further into the room.

At first, he had tried so hard. He had thrown himself into music with everything he had, drowning in it, desperate to carve out a space for himself in a family that never had room for him.

And for a while—just a little while—he had been good enough.

His teachers had praised him. His instructors had fought over who got to mentor him. People had noticed him.

But then his younger siblings had grown up.

And suddenly, his achievements weren’t enough anymore.

His father had never said it outright, but Touya had known. He had felt it in the way the encouragement faded, in the way the compliments grew fewer, in the way Enji barely looked at his trophies anymore.

You should focus on something more practical, his father had said once, as if music had been nothing more than a hobby. As if Touya had wasted all those years for nothing.

So he had stopped playing.

What was the point? What was the point of pouring himself into something that didn’t matter? What was the point of trying when no matter how good he got, it would never be enough?

Touya exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging back to his bass.

Even now, even after years of refusing to touch it, something in his chest twisted at the sight of it.

He told himself he didn’t care anymore. That it didn’t bother him.

But then your words came back to him, quiet but sharp.

You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.

His jaw clenched.

You looked so—tired. Not just angry, not just frustrated, but done. Like you had spent everything you had trying to reach him.

To reach something that could never be reached.

And for what?

Because he couldn’t face his own ghosts?

Touya let out a quiet scoff, running a hand down his face.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He turned away from the bass, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You weren’t entitled to his skills.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that it used to mean everything to him. It didn’t matter that he used to love it. It didn’t matter that for a few years, music had been the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely.

None of it mattered.

Not anymore.

And yet—

Touya lingered in the doorway, staring at the bass for one second too long before finally walking away.

Dinner was quiet that night.

Touya sat at the far end of the long table, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded with the kind of exhaustion that never seemed to leave him these days. The air in the house was the same as always—too clean, too cold, too silent.

He propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching his father from across the room. Enji Todoroki, a powerhouse of a businessman, always the center of everything, even here. He ate in silence, posture rigid, movements deliberate.

Touya barely touched his food.

Natsuo sat two seats away, quiet but visibly tense. Fuyumi kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting against her utensils. Shouto sat at his usual place, unmoving, eating mechanically like he wasn’t aware of the thick tension hanging in the air.

Touya let his gaze drop to the table, to his own reflection faintly visible in the polished wood.

It was funny, in a twisted sort of way.

He used to sit here as a kid, hanging onto every word his father said, desperate for even the smallest ounce of approval. He used to listen to Enji talk about Shouto’s lessons, about the weight of responsibility, about greatness.

And for a while, he had been a part of that.

For a while, Touya had been someone his father actually looked at.

The kid who could play with instinct, who picked up the bass and made it sing like he had been born to do it.

And back then, Enji had actually acknowledged it.

Not praise, not exactly, but recognition. His father had seen the way Touya played, the way his sponsors praised his name, the way his name had spread through competitions like wildfire, and for a short while—Touya had mattered.

Until he didn’t.

Until his siblings started excelling at everything else.

Natsuo was an academic. He soared through school with ease, outpacing everyone in his classes. His teachers raved about his intelligence, his potential.

Fuyumi was diligent and capable, always responsible, always steady, the one who excelled in sports. Swimming, volleyball, badminton—you name it, she could probably learn how to do it within two days maximum.

And Shouto—

Shouto was the golden child. The one their father had molded for years. The one meant for greatness, destined to surpass even Enji himself. He had a fragment of each of his siblings’ greatness.

And Touya?

Touya played music. And suddenly music wasn’t as great as academics, or sports, or arts.

One day, his father had simply stopped asking about his lessons. He had stopped attending his performances. Had stopped looking at the trophies he brought home, the medals he placed on his shelf.

And Touya knew then.

Knew that to Enji, he had already been left behind.

He swallowed down the bitterness clawing at his throat, his fingers curling against the table.

The silence in the room was unbearable.

So he broke it.

“You know,” Touya said suddenly, voice slow and deliberate, “I’ve been thinking.”

Enji didn’t look up. “About what?”

Touya tilted his head, watching him carefully. “About how pointless everything is.”

That got his father’s attention. Of course, it would. Enji finally met his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.

“Watch your tone,” he warned.

“Or what?” His voice was light, careless. “You gonna scold me? Ground me? Tell me that I’m throwing my life away in studying politics?”

Fuyumi’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to interject. Natsuo tensed. Shouto kept eating, but Touya knew he was listening.

Enji exhaled slowly, setting his chopsticks down. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Touya dragged a hand through his hair, breathing in sharply. “Alright. Fine.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I spent years playing the bass. I was good at it. No—scratch that. I was the best at it. You know that. My teachers knew that. Everyone knew that.” His voice hardened. “And you let me. You let me believe that it mattered, that it was worth something. And then one day, just like that, you decided it wasn’t.”

Enji remained impassive. “I never told you to stop playing.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He could still remember it. The shift. The subtle, almost imperceptible way his father’s attention drifted. How the words of encouragement—rare as they were—had faded. How the pride that once flickered in his father’s expression whenever he won had dulled until it was nothing but disdain.

Because music wasn’t important. Because it wasn’t a legacy. Because Touya playing the bass isn’t important. Because music wouldn’t help him become a candidate to rise to the business world.

And that had killed something in him.

“Do you even get it?” Touya’s voice rose slightly, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what it feels like? To pour everything you have into something, to love something so much it becomes a part of you, only to have it tossed aside like it’s nothing?” His fingers clenched against the table. “What was the point? What was the point of me trying? What was the point of all the competitions, the trophies, the lessons? What was the point of any of it if you were just going to decide it wasn’t worth your time?”

Enji was silent.

Of course, he was.

Touya’s laugh was louder this time, almost incredulous. He shook his head, his grip tightening. “I should’ve known, huh?” His voice was quieter now, something bitter curling around the edges. “The moment my siblings started excelling, I should’ve known.”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t refute it. Didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

Because Touya had spent years waiting—waiting for something, anything, that told him he still was important. That he wasn’t just something his father had already discarded.

But Enji was as quiet as ever.

And that told him everything he needed to know.

His fists slowly unclenched. His expression smoothed over into something colder. He exhaled, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape of wood against the tile.

“Forget it.”

He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Fuyumi called out his name softly, but he ignored it. Natsuo watched him leave with something tight in his expression. Shouto didn’t move.

And Enji—

Enji didn’t stop him.

Touya didn’t look back.

Because what was the point in arguing with a wall?

But Touya knew the conversation was far from over.

“We need to talk.”

Touya let out a slow breath through his nose, already bracing himself. He didn’t stop to acknowledge him right away, just leaned down to untie his boots, drawing out the motion. He knew how this worked. Enji didn’t like raised voices, didn’t like drawn-out arguments, and didn’t like things disrupting his carefully maintained order. If Touya ignored him long enough, maybe he’d just drop it.

But, of course, Enji Todoroki never dropped anything. Especially not after the stunt he pulled earlier.

Touya sighed and finally straightened, rolling his shoulders as he turned. “Yeah?” He blinked lazily, voice laced with dry amusement. “What groundbreaking wisdom do you have for me this time?”

“You need to stop this,” Enji said, tone clipped.

“Stop what, exactly?” He tilted his head. “Speaking my mind?”

“Throwing a tantrum.”

“Ohhh. That’s what we’re calling it?” He let his voice drop into something almost conversational. “No, you see, I thought I was just telling the truth. You did say honesty is the best policy.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change. His silence pressed against Touya’s ribs like an iron weight.

Touya rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Lay it on me. What’s the lecture this time? That I’m being unreasonable?” He snorted. “That I should be grateful?”

Enji exhaled carefully. “I never told you to stop playing music.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“I told you not to rely on it,” Enji clarified, tone flat.

Touya clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Keep it as a hobby. Something to do on the side. Something that wouldn’t distract me.” His voice dipped into something laced with mockery. “Because that’s what you always do, huh?”

Enji narrowed his eyes slightly. “Touya—”

“No, seriously.” Touya let out a sharp, humorless chuckle, stepping closer. “First, you push me into it. You tell me I’ve got talent, that I should hone it, that I should train.” His voice dropped into something razor-sharp. “And I did.”

His gaze burned, unrelenting.

“I played,” he continued. “I trained. I performed. And I was good, wasn’t I?” His voice was laced with something bitter. “I was great.”

Enji didn’t deny it.

“But then one day, you just…” He snapped his fingers. “Checked out. Like it didn’t matter anymore.” His jaw tightened. “As if playing music was the most disappointing thing any of your children could’ve done. Or maybe that case only applied to me?”

Silence.

Touya inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But, hey, that wasn’t enough, was it?” His lips curled into something sharp, his voice laced with venom. “No, because after making it real clear that music wasn’t worth your time, you decided to shove me into something else instead.”

His eyes burned.

“Business administration.”

Enji’s face hardened.

“You actually thought I’d be like you.” Touya laughed. It was a clear joke to him. “Like I gave a single shit about your business.”

Enji exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re intelligent, Touya. If you had stuck with it—”

“If I had stuck with it? Are you kidding me?” His voice rose, heated. “I never wanted that, old man! You wanted that!” He gestured wildly. “And you shoved me into it like you do with everything else because you thought it was better than me playing music!”

He took a slow, measured breath, voice lowering into something cold.

“And the worst part? I still tried.” His lips twisted. “I spent two years in that goddamn conservative, traditional university, forcing myself to study something I hated just because you thought it was acceptable.”

His fingers curled into fists. “And the second I transferred out, you had the audacity to act like it was my decision.”

He dropped his voice into a dead-on mimicry: “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? How could you waste two years?”

“Like you didn’t push me into it in the first place. You do that with everyone—Fuyumi would’ve still been competing today if you hadn’t discouraged her, Natsuo and Shouto as well.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Touya inhaled sharply through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less bitter.

“I didn’t even want to just play music,” he muttered. “I had a plan. I was gonna study law. Be a lawyer.” He scoffed. “Did you even know that?”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Touya scoffed. “Yeah, I didn't think so.” He shook his head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be something. And I still wanted to play, still wanted to keep music as a part of my life—because it was with me for almost all of my life. But you made me feel like that was stupid. A childish dream that I was bound to let go of.”

His throat tightened.

“You made me feel like it wasn’t worth it.”

“Touya, you needed direction.”

“No,” Touya snapped. “I needed a choice. I needed support. But you never gave me one.”

Silence.

“You forced me into music. Then you forced me into business. And when I walked away from both, you just acted like none of it ever mattered. Like I had humiliated everything that you had built for this family.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change.

“No surprise, though, huh?” He tilted his head, voice dropping into something dangerously quiet. “Because Shouto could finally fill in my shoes.”

Enji’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

“Yeah, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Did I hit a nerve there, Dad?” His voice wavered, barely perceptible. “You didn’t need to focus on me anymore, so you didn’t.”

Touya’s fists clenched.

“I should’ve known better.”

Enji remained silent.

“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping out. “I’m going back to my dorm.”

And so, it did.

What used to be a room full of noise was now uncomfortably quiet.

You stood in the middle of it, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the half-empty space that had once been yours. It didn’t feel real. The shelves where you used to stack your equipment were bare. The walls, once lined with posters and setlists, were empty now—just blank, peeling paint and old tape residue. The air smelled like dust and memories you weren’t ready to let go of.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to keep moving.

Yuuma was coiling up the last of the cables, his usual easy grin nowhere to be seen. Kaito crouched near the amplifiers, wrapping them up carefully like they weren’t just equipment but something precious. Haru had already taken down the band’s old posters, stacking them in a neat pile like he couldn’t bring himself to crumple them up or throw them away.

It was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came with the weight of finality, of something ending when you weren’t ready for it to.

You bent down and picked up a box of loose sheet music, flipping through old setlists and unfinished lyrics scrawled in fading ink. Some of these songs had never made it past rehearsals. Some of them had performed on your biggest nights, your loudest wins. And now?

Now they were just scraps of paper.

You exhaled softly and shoved them into the box.

A few feet away, Haru stacked another case onto the pile by the door and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think the next band’s gonna do anything with this place?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

Yuuma snorted softly. “They won’t be us.”

No one disagreed.

Because it was true.

You had been the best. The best. Your band was the one that had carried the university through every local competition, every festival for a year straight. You have been known for your energy, your chemistry, and your sound. You were the band that made people stay even after the headliners left.

The absolute blueprint.

But now?

Now, you were just another band that fell apart because people moved on. Your former bassist chose to focus on his internship, which you respected. The others started quitting as well due to some other conflicts, and only Kaito, Yuuma, and Haru stayed. You were thankful for that.

Kaito let out a slow breath and leaned against the table. “We really thought we could hold out, huh?” He smiled, but he was tired, resigned. “Guess we were all kinda stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you corrected. “We just… we wanted it to last.”

And for a while, it had.

For a while, it had felt invincible.

Until it wasn’t.

Kaito didn’t argue. He just nodded, pushing another box toward the door.

You glanced around, taking in the room one last time. The cracked stool where Kaito used to sit when he got too tired standing. The corner of the room where Haru always left his water bottle. The space near the set of drums where Yuuma used to zone out between rehearsals. The spot where you had spent so many late nights rewriting lyrics, surrounded by the sound of your friends messing around, playing half-finished chords, and making stupid jokes.

It was hard to believe that by next week, another band would be standing in this same space.

That this room—your room—would belong to someone else.

“Alright.” You clapped your hands together, forcing a small smile. “Let’s finish up.”

No one argued.

Because there was nothing left to fight for.

So you worked.

Packing up the remnants of what used to be something grand.

Touya wasn’t used to asking for things. Not from other people. Not from institutions. Not even from himself.

But here he was, sitting in the suffocatingly sterile office of the university’s administrative staff, pushing down every instinct that told him to just walk out and let things be. He couldn’t let things be.

The chair was stiff. The air was too still. His leg bounced impatiently under the desk, but he forced himself to keep his voice even.

“I’m here about the band that oversees the music club.”

The staff member—a woman who looked about one budget cut away from quitting her job altogether—barely spared him a glance as she shuffled through a stack of papers. “The band that was dissolved?”

Touya clenched his jaw. Yeah. The one I fucked up.

“…Yeah,” he muttered.

The woman sighed, rubbing her temples. “If you’re here to file a complaint, I’ll stop you right now. The rules are clear—without a complete lineup, the band can’t maintain active status, but the club is still available for students who want to learn to play instruments.”

“No, no. I’m not here to join the club,” Touya exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. “And I’m not filing a complaint about the band,” he said. “I’m fixing it.”

That got her attention. She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “You’re fixing it?”

“Yes.” His fingers dug into his palm. “Reinstate the band.”

The woman stared at him for a long moment, then let out a dry chuckle. “It’s not that simple, kid.”

Touya hated that. Hated how she dismissed him so easily, like he was just some desperate student throwing a last-minute plea.

But, to be fair, he was desperate. He’s never been this desperate before, but the moment he saw another band in your practice room, he couldn’t leave it as is.

He swallowed back the frustration rising in his throat. “Look, we need a full lineup, right?” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ve got one. I’m playing bass.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Touya nodded.

She tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. “…And this isn’t just some last-ditch effort to get back on a technicality?”

“No. I was just… a little late due to some… personal conflicts.”

She gave him another long look, then sighed, shaking her head. “If the band can prove they’re competition-ready by the end of the month, we’ll consider reinstatement on a probationary basis.”

Touya exhaled, relief flooding his chest. “I’ll take it.”

The woman slid a stack of papers toward him. “Then fill these out.”

The first thing Touya did after leaving the office was find you.

It wasn’t hard—because he asked a few students from your department where you usually stayed. The rooftop, they all said.

“What now, Todoroki?” you asked, not even bothering to look at him.

“I was going to play.”

The words were soft. Too soft for him.

Your hand stilled, pausing from rewriting your notes.

Touya let out a slow breath, stepping forward, leaning against the railing a few feet away from you. He didn’t look at you. Just stared out at the view below, where the campus stretched out in the afternoon light.

“I was ready,” he said. “That night. Before the music fest. I had my bass; I was going,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And then my old man showed up.”

Touya rarely talked about his father. Much less to anyone—especially you. You had heard things, of course—whispers, rumors, the kind of stories that floated around when a family name like his carried a reputation. But you never asked. It wasn’t your place.

And your priorities lie elsewhere.

You stayed silent, letting him speak.

“He told me to drop it. Said there was no point. That I was wasting my time.” Touya’s fingers curled slightly against the railing. “And I don’t know why it got to me. I thought I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. But right then, it was like I was a kid again, standing in that room full of trophies that didn’t mean anything to him.”

His voice was quiet. Not bitter, not angry—just honest.

“And I got scared.” His jaw tensed. “Because what if he was right?”

You blinked at him as he turned to face you, though you were quick to avert your gaze.

“What if I was wasting my time?” Touya said more than asked. “What if I walked into that music fest, got on stage, and realized I didn’t have it anymore? What if it wasn’t worth it?”

He got a bit closer to where you sat.

“So I didn’t go.” He glanced up at the sky. “I stayed home. Didn’t answer my phone. Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

You stared at your notes, but the words were starting to blur.

“You were right,” Touya mused after a long pause. “Giving you hope was the worst thing I could’ve done.” He sighed. “You should’ve hit me for that one.”

You finally turned to look at him, and for the first time, he actually met your gaze. His eyes weren’t cold or distant, not laced with sarcasm or carelessness.

They were just… open.

You swallowed and looked back down.

“You used to love it,” you concluded. It wasn’t a question.

Touya gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”

The wind was the only thing that spoke for a while.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to that. To him.

But…

You could hear it in his voice. The regret. The way he hated himself for it more than anyone else ever could.

That didn’t change much. Your band was still dissolved either way. And you’ve been drowning yourself in your studies to ignore the ache.

But maybe—

Maybe it meant something.

His hands were still in his pockets, his shoulders tense like he wasn’t used to saying things that actually mattered. Like he had already braced himself for whatever you were going to throw at him—anger, disappointment, indifference.

But instead of waiting for you to say anything else, he spoke first.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His voice was steady, quieter than usual. “And I’m not asking you to.”

You blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the edges of your notebook.

He sighed, shifting his weight. “But I talked to the organizers, professors, and staff. The university president, too.” He glanced at you, searching for a reaction, but you just stared, waiting. “The band’s registered again.”

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable—but he caught it.

“As long as you want to have a band,” he continued, his tone more certain now, “it’s yours. I’ll play.” He tilted his head slightly, something almost pleading flickering in his gaze. “I should’ve played from the start. So if you’ll let me, I’ll do it now.”

He was serious.

There was no sarcasm, no deflection, no half-hearted attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t doing something that mattered. He wasn’t trying to be cool or detached.

For once, Todoroki Touya wasn’t running.

“And if I say no?”

Touya smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in it—just something quiet, maybe even hopeful.

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to convince you.”

You looked at him, your knuckles white where they pressed against your closed notebook. The wind picked up, rustling the pages slightly, but you didn’t move. You barely breathed. Forgot to, maybe.

God, you hated him.

You hated how genuine he was being.

But more than anything—

You hated that you wanted to believe him.

“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask. It’s soft this time around.

“No.” Touya’s voice was level, calm. “But it’s a start.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me. I’ll listen.”

You couldn’t tell him.

Because the truth was, you believed him.

And that was the worst part. You’re too hopeful again, and what if this time around, the damage would be even more severe?

“You don’t have to do this.” Your voice was steady, but underneath it was something raw. “You don’t have to do all of this because you feel bad. Because you suddenly decided it mattered to you again.”

Touya didn’t flinch. He just listened.

You wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Something. Because how dare he stand there so calmly while you were unraveling all over again?

“I believed in you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t have. Even when everyone told me not to.” You had to clasp your hands together and take in a steady breath.

Touya was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly—

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice was lower this time, more certain. “I know because I did the same damn thing to myself. To be scared of something inevitable, I chose to run.”

That stopped you cold.

This made you realize—

This wasn’t easy for him, either.

The exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands curled into fists in his pockets—

He wasn’t just standing there expecting you to forgive him.

He was waiting for you to tell him no.

Waiting for you to tell him he had lost his last chance. To tell him to stop bothering you.

To leave you alone.

And you should.

God, you should.

But then there was the way he looked at you—

Not with pity. Not with indifference.

But like you were the only person in the world whose opinion could ruin him.

And you had never seen anyone look at you like that before.

Practice ran late. Not that anyone was really complaining—well, except for Kaito, who kept muttering about how his fingers were cramping up, but nobody paid him much attention. You were all riding the high of a solid rehearsal, the kind where everything clicked, and even though Touya would never admit it out loud, it felt good.

Really good.

It had been so long since he played in a group like this, since he let himself enjoy it instead of overanalyzing every note.

And then Yuuma, with his usual lack of impulse control, had to break the comfortable silence.

“Okay, but seriously,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers as he leaned against the wall. “How the hell did we get you?”

Touya, who had just been double-checking the tuning pegs on his bass, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “Huh?”

Kaito grinned. “He’s got a point, man. You’re Todoroki Touya.”

Touya frowned. “Yeah. I know my own name.”

“No, but seriously,” Yuuma insisted, gesturing vaguely. “You’re like—this mysterious, untouchable figure on campus. The guy who doesn’t show up to class half the time but still somehow passes. The guy who sits in the back of the room and barely talks to anyone. And now, suddenly, you’re our bassist?”

Touya exhaled through his nose. “You make it sound like some divine intervention.”

“It is,” Yuuma said, completely serious. Then, without missing a beat—“Do you have a girlfriend?”

…

“What?”

“Yeah,” Kaito snickered. “That would actually explain so much.”

You, on the other hand, were completely distracted with your phone to even pay the boys any attention.

Haru, who had been silently observing the conversation like he was watching a wildlife documentary, finally chimed in. “Are you implying that Touya was bribed into joining the band?”

Yuuma nodded sagely. “Exactly. Like—imagine he’s secretly dating some hardcore musician chick who was like, ‘Touya, babe, you need to do this for me,’ and he just couldn’t say no.”

Touya gave him the flattest look imaginable. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” Haru asked, adjusting his glasses.

Touya sighed, already regretting all of his life choices. “No.”

Yuuma snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes that theory.” Then, after a beat, he turned to you. “By the way, do we have a budget for a talent fee?”

You glanced up. “Huh?”

Yuuma jerked a thumb at Touya. “I mean, we basically landed a celebrity. Should we be paying him or something?”

Touya scoffed. “You can’t afford me.”

Kaito snickered. “Damn, that’s bold.”

“What?” Yuuma grinned. “I’m just saying, we might as well treat him like a high-profile guest artist.”

Touya smirked. “You should be honored.”

“This is dumb,” you laughed.

Yuuma, still grinning, slung his bag over his shoulder. “But for real, you’re actually sticking around this time, right?”

Touya hesitated.

The question felt heavier than it should’ve. Because a few months ago, the answer would’ve been an easy no. Why would I waste my time? This wouldn’t matter.

But now?

He exhaled, shifting his bass case higher on his shoulder.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “All the way.”

Kaito whooped, slapping him on the back. “Hell yeah.”

Yuuma smirked. “Good. Because if you did bail again, I was fully prepared to start charging you a dropout fee.”

Touya snorted. “You wish.”

You, who had been watching him carefully, finally exhaled and gave him a slight nod. “Then don’t be late tomorrow. Same time.”

Touya smirked. “No promises.”

You gave him a knowing look.

Yuuma grinned. “Alright, then—welcome to the band, officially.”

And for the first time in years, standing there with his new bandmates, feeling the weight of his bass strap across his shoulder and the lingering buzz of rehearsal in his fingertips—

Touya actually felt like he was home.

With the recent turn of events, jealousy is an apparent feeling for those who aren’t as privileged to have snagged Todoroki Touya.

And it all started as whispers.

Small, snide comments whenever you walked past the other bands in the music hall. Barely-there smirks, little glances, and the occasional scoff from some second-rate bassist who thought they were so much better because they had never once lost a performance slot.

You ignored them.

You had better things to do. Your band was back, and with Touya as your bassist, things were better and stronger than before. You were making up for lost time, running setlists late into the night, writing new songs, fixing old ones. The fire was back in your chest, the thrill of the stage creeping closer.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

And eventually, they weren’t whispers anymore.

You were passing by the courtyard, Touya trailing half a step behind you, when a group of students—members of another well-known band—let their conversation just slip into earshot.

“She’s lucky, isn’t she?”

“Right? If we had a prodigy like Todoroki, we’d be unstoppable.”

“I mean, let’s be real, he’s the only reason they even got reinstated.”

“I wonder if she realizes how much she’s riding on his talent. Kind of embarrassing if you think about it.”

Your steps faltered, just for a second.

But you didn’t stop.

Didn’t give them the satisfaction of giving them your time.

Touya, though—he did stop.

You had taken another step before you realized he wasn’t beside you anymore. You turned, frowning, just as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head at the group, expression unreadable.

“Oh, sorry,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize I had groupies.”

The students stiffened. “What?”

“You’re talking about me like I’m not right here.” His tone was light, almost amused. “That desperate for attention?”

One of them scoffed, recovering quickly. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious [Last Name]’s band wouldn’t stand a chance without you.”

You clenched your fists, but Touya—he laughed.

It wasn’t a friendly laugh.

It was sharp and unimpressed.

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, amusement fading into something colder. “Then why is it that even before I joined, they were the best band on campus?”

The students shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, that’s what pisses you off, right?” Touya continued, taking a slow step forward. His presence was overwhelming, gaze sharp as he looked them over. “They were already winning before me. [Name] built that band from the ground up, and everyone knew they were the ones to beat.”

No one said anything.

He smirked. “But if it makes you feel better to pretend it’s all me, go ahead. Must be easier than admitting you just suck.”

One of them clenched their jaws. “What’s your deal, man? You don’t even care about bands or competitions.”

Touya rolled his shoulders, casting a glance back at you.

You hadn’t said a word, but he could see it—the way your grip on your bag had tightened, the way your jaw was locked. You weren’t going to defend yourself.

Which was fine.

Because he would.

“I didn’t care,” he admitted, looking back at them. “Didn’t give a fuck about any of this.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp.

“But I do now. And you know what I found out?”

The weight of his words sank in, and no one had a response.

“I actually kind of like it,” he hummed. “So try to keep up. Because for the remaining two years, we’ll never lose as long as [Name] and I are onboard.”

With that, he turned back to you, nodding toward the path ahead. “Come on. We’ve got practice.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a slow breath and walked beside him, leaving the others behind.

They didn’t talk about it and didn't bring it up again.

But as you headed toward the music room, Touya nudged you lightly with his elbow.

“They’re just jealous,” he said, voice quieter now. “You know that, right?”

You exhaled, then, finally, nodded just a little.

“Obviously.”

“Alright,” Yuuma had said one afternoon, spinning a drumstick between his fingers, “hypothetically, if you were going to make it up to [Name]—properly, not just half-assed—what would you do?”

Touya, who had been tuning his bass, barely spared him a glance.

“I already apologized.”

Kaito snorted. “Yeah, and she tolerated it. Barely.”

“Then what do you want me to do? Write her a sonnet?” Touya asked.

Haru, from where he was perched on top of the amplifier, added, “Not a sonnet. A song.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuma grinned. “Dude, it’s perfect. She’s all about the band, right? Music’s what she actually gives a damn about. So if you really want her to believe you’re in this for real, show her through music.”

Kaito nodded. “Exactly. Words don’t mean shit to [Name] unless there’s proof behind them.”

Touya frowned, fingers idly running along the strings of his bass.

Writing a song.

It had been years since he’d tried—since he let himself create rather than just play. Back then, his notebooks had been filled with half-finished compositions, lyrics scratched out and rewritten over and over again. He had loved it once.

He was conflicted.

Yuuma clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You in?”

Touya exhaled sharply. “…Fine.”

Yuuma grinned. “Good answer. It’s sooner or later that you’ll learn that we actually can’t take no for an answer here.”

The first problem?

Touya had no idea where to start.

Sure, he knew how to write—he knew chord progressions, rhythms, and structure. But what the hell was he supposed to say?

It wasn’t like he was about to write some sappy, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole.’

The actual writing process was a disaster in itself.

Yuuma wanted a fast tempo—something that hit hard and kept the energy high.

Kaito argued for something more melodic, something with room to breathe.

Haru, the only one thinking practically, kept reminding them that it had to fit your vocal range.

Touya, meanwhile, wanted to strangle all of them. It’s hard to believe that he and Yuuma were in the same year because the latter acted so childish—so energetic.

It took days of back-and-forth, of testing out different riffs, of scrapping entire verses because they weren’t good enough.

But eventually, they had something.

Something undeniably theirs.

Now all that was left was playing it for her.

Practice started like any other day.

You arrived on time, as usual, already flipping through your notebook and mumbling about setlists before anyone could even say a word.

Touya, despite knowing what was about to happen, stayed silent.

It wasn’t his place to introduce this.

It had to be them. All of them.

And, sure enough—

“Actually,” Kaito cut in, casually adjusting his guitar strap, “we’ve got something new to go over today.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What?”

Yuuma grinned. “Surprise.”

“If this is another one of your pranks—”

“It’s not,” Haru assured you. “Just listen.”

You sighed, clearly not in the mood for their antics, but you leaned back against the chair anyway, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if this sucks, we will proceed with the hardest entry as our warmup song.”

Touya smiled. “Noted.”

And then they started playing.

The first few notes were soft, subdued—a simple melody carried by Haru’s keys, the kind of sound that felt like waking up from a long dream. Then the bassline came in, low and steady, grounding everything. Touya’s fingers moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over, like the song had always existed in him, just waiting to be played.

Kaito’s guitar layered over it, bright and sharp, a contrast to the weight of the rhythm section. And then Yuuma’s drums kicked in—fast, insistent, alive.

The song had movement.

Had feeling.

It wasn’t an apology.

It was a promise.

By the time the last chord faded into silence, [Name] was staring.

Not in shock, not in disbelief—

But something Touya couldn’t quite name.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, avoiding your gaze.

“Well?”

“…You wrote this?” you asked.

Touya nodded, feeling strangely exposed. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and for a second, he thought maybe this had been a mistake. That maybe you’d say too little, too late.

But then—

“…It’s good,” you told him, laughing quietly. “Is this our entry for the Music Mayhem Event?”

Yuuma grinned. “Hell yeah, it is.”

Touya smiled, nudging at you a little. “So. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“I… actually forgave you when you sought me out on the rooftop.”

“Wait, really?:

“Yeah, I— really don’t hold grudges for long.”

Yuuma clapped him on the back. “Dude, that’s so romantic.”

Kaito laughed. “Congrats, man. You got to apologize twice and wrote a song for the competition. Killed two birds with one stone.”

Haru just nodded, satisfied. “Saves us the trouble and time, then.”

Yeah.

Looked like it was.

The venue was packed.

Touya rolled his shoulders, gripping his bass a little tighter than necessary. The strap dug into his shoulder, grounding him, reminding him that this was real. No running this time. No excuses.

You were beside him, your fingers tapping against your mic, an old nervous habit you refused to acknowledge. You exhaled through your nose, a slow, measured breath, but Touya could see it—you were excited. No, more than that—you were ready.

Kaito was tuning his guitar, barely holding back a cocky grin. Yuuma stretched his arms, rolling his neck, hyping himself up under his breath. Haru was calm, adjusting his keyboard settings with precise movements, unreadable as always.

“Make sure your voice doesn’t crack, Todoroki,” you commented.

Touya chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Then the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers:

“Next up—give it up for—”

The crowd erupted.

Lights flooded the stage, hot and blinding.

And then, it was just them.

If you told Todoroki Touya that he’d be playing the bass again after eight years, he would’ve laughed right in your face.

(Mm, yeah, I know how this goes…

You stand in the light, I fade in the smoke…)

He would’ve told you that he didn’t care how good he used to be. He’s lost interest, to put it into simpler terms.

(Didn’t ask you to chase me down—didn’t need another fight…

But there you were, reckless and loud, saying we could get it right…)

He would’ve told you that he had better things to do.

But now, he did. Touya was playing the bass.

Touya didn’t just play—he felt it. His fingers moved on instinct against the strings, like they had a mind of their own, like he was carving out something raw, something familiar, something that had been trapped inside him for too long.

Then came the pre-chorus. The tension built.

And that’s when he came in.

(Yeah, I left you hanging, left you cold—swore I’d never play that role…

But damn, you still play me like a note…)

His voice was rougher, rasping with emotion, clashing with your smoother tone in a way that shouldn’t have worked—but it did. You turned toward him, stepping closer, your voices winding together like opposing forces caught in the same storm.

And then—

The chorus hit.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

You and Touya met in the middle of the stage, mic stands forgotten.

You were fire; he was smoke.

Then came the second verse, and it was yours to claim as his voice faded into the background.

(You don’t beg, you don’t plead—

But I hear it in the way you breathe…

Sick of ghosts and dead-end dreams—

But somehow, you still look at me…)

Your gaze caught his. And Touya—he didn’t look away. He looked at you because you were the only one he could see—that he wanted to see.

The music dipped again, shifting into the bridge. Everything stripped back—just the bass and your voice.

(You don’t get to walk away, not this time…

Not after leaving me behind…

You play ghosts, I play fire…

But even flames need something to burn inside…)

The way you sang it—low, steady, sharp as a blade—it sent a shiver down his spine. It tugged at his heartstrings in a way that didn’t feel like him.

Then—

The build.

Drums creeping back in. Guitar humming under the surface. The energy climbing—

And then everything crashed into the final chorus.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

It was undeniable. It was everything.

As the last note hit, ringing through the venue, the whole place seemed to hold its breath.

And then—

The deafening eruption.

Viewers screamed. Hands shot up. The cheers were deafening. Even the judges looked impressed, their quiet conversation lost under the sheer force of the audience’s reaction.

You stood at the front, chest heaving, sweat beading at your temple, but your eyes—your eyes—burned with something victorious.

Touya, gripping his bass, let out a slow breath.

This was it.

For the first time in a long time, he felt it.

Not just the music. Not just the stage.

But the want.

The need.

The need to keep playing.

You had done it.

Done this to him.

And it was only the beginning.

Todoroki Touya never thought he’d come to this point.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dripping down his temple, his adrenaline spiking so hard that he could barely stand still. The entire band was high off the energy, voices overlapping as they half-shouted, half-laughed at each other, Yuuma swinging an arm around his shoulders while someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands.

“That was insane!” Your guitarist, Kaito, was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. “Holy shit, did you see how the crowd lost it when we hit that last chorus?”

“Dude, [Name] killed that bridge,” Yuuma added, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Touya? Bro, your bass solo? I felt that in my soul.”

Touya barely registered the words.

Because across the room, you were glowing.

To Touya, you had this look about you, the way you always did after a performance—flushed cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin making you radiate under the dim backstage lights. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing breathlessly, one hand gripping the back of your neck as you spoke with their events coordinator, your body still thrumming with the rush of the performance.

Touya swallowed.

There was something clawing up his ribs, something tight, something desperate, and before he even realized what he was doing—before he could stop himself—he moved.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm but not rough, and you barely had time to react before he was pulling you with him, slipping past the others and into the dimly lit hallway behind the stage.

“Hey—Touya, what—?”

You didn’t finish.

Because the second you were out of sight, the second you two were alone, Touya turned, one hand still gripping your wrist, the other lifting without hesitation—

And he kissed you.

It was instinct, thoughtless and reckless, but it felt right.

You went rigid.

For a single, heart-stopping second, you didn’t move, didn’t react—so still that Touya almost panicked. Almost pulled away, almost started to stammer some kind of half-assed explanation, almost—

But then you inhaled sharply, and your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like you were trying to ground yourself.

And that was all it took.

Touya’s grip tightened, his palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek. His lips moved against yours with the feeling of overflowing feelings that are just too good to put into words.

The music, the rush, the way your voice had wrapped around his on stage like you had been made for this, for each other.

Whatever this feeling was, it had been simmering beneath the surface, lingering in the way he always found himself seeking you out, the way he stayed just a little longer after practice, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And now—now—it was spilling over, like an overfilled cup, impossible to ignore any longer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless; Touya didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your face, fingers brushing along your skin.

You were staring at him, wide-eyed, your lips parted in shock, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“Huh..?”

Touya exhaled sharply, trying to steady his pulse, trying to make sense of the mess in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough, strained.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breath still mingling with yours, but one thing’s for sure.

“But I think I wanna do it again.”

358 notes · View notes

raysrays · 2 months ago

Text

Don’t Be Ridiculous. Part One

Modern AU Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku x Fem! Reader

18+ MDNI‼️

CW: Possessive behavior, Yandere, Jealousy, Obsessive Behavior, Light Dom/sub, Domestic, Established Relationship, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut, Angst, Stockholm Syndrome, Controlling, Toxic Relationship, Vaginal Sex, Marking, Biting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Stalking.

Y/N perspective

-Authors Note and update at the bottom :)

Since I was young, I never considered myself particularly interesting. It’s not that I hated myself, quite far from it. It’s just that my life lacked the excitement and drama I often heard about from friends and classmates over the years. I had a typical friend group throughout grade school and high school, one free of major conflicts, no serious boyfriends, and filled with ordinary moments. There was nothing to hate, but nothing to write home about either. And honestly, I was completely fine with that.

No one ever bothered me, and I never really felt lonely. Being ordinary, in a weird way, kept me just exempt, safe from the critical gaze of others. My life may not have been the most eventful, but it was peaceful. It was mine.

College, though, was different. Becoming an adult taught me independence. I learned to rely on myself and was doing pretty well, until I met him.

Him.

What were the odds that a random October day would trigger the downward spiral my life has become? I remember every detail of that day.

His smile. The way his amber eyes seemed to glow in the sunlight. That striking blonde and red hair. His face is etched into my memory. And the scent of his vanilla and cedarwood cologne still lingers in my nose, like it never left.

I don’t think we were supposed to meet. It was an accident. I was running late, panicked, and took a different route to class, one I’d never taken before. He was just there, talking with his friends, following his own routine. I was the anomaly. The one who went off script.

As I crossed that courtyard and our eyes met, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to class. It didn’t matter. I had already accepted the absence. What I didn’t know was everything else I was about to lose that day.

“Kyojuro. Kyojuro Rengoku!” he said with a bright smile, extending his hand to me.

I was still a little breathless from all the running I had done in vain. When had he even approached me? And why?

It was then I really took in his appearance for the first time. He was beautiful. The sharp cut of his jaw, the structure of his face, the way his biceps showed beneath his compression shirt… This man had the physique of a Greek god.

It took me a moment to respond, but I finally managed.

“Y/N. Y/N L/N,” I said, taking his hand and shaking it politely. His palm was callused. As I looked up to meet his gaze, I was struck by the intensity in his eyes, so full of passion, it was almost overwhelming.

How could someone’s aura be that strong? Was he like this with everyone?

I wish I could say that was the last conversation we ever had but I guess, after years of a boring, predictable life, the universe decided to throw me a curveball.

Turns out, I’m terrible at playing catch.

What started as occasional run ins on campus turned into studying together in the library. The studying turned into grabbing coffee. Then dinner. And now… here.

Kyojuro has been my boyfriend for over three years now. To the outside world, he’s the standard: the healthy gym guy, a Dean’s List education major, always smiling, always positive, the kind of person people are drawn to without even trying.

That’s what they think.

The truth is, my boyfriend is probably the most mentally unhealthy person I’ve ever met.

A few months into our officially labeled relationship, I started noticing subtle shifts in his behavior. He kept up the cheerful, bubbly front, but small red flags began creeping to the surface slowly, but unmistakably.

“You shouldn’t go to that,” he said plainly, taking a bite of his lunch.

We were sitting in the campus cafeteria, eating together like we usually did. I had just told him about an invite I got, some girls from my class were planning to go out to dinner.

“What? Why not?” I asked, confused by his sudden shutdown. “It’s that nice place downtown. I haven’t had the chance to go yet.”

Kyojuro chewed slowly, then set his fork down. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said, voice calm. “You don’t really know those girls.”

I frowned. “I mean, we’ve had three classes together this semester. They’re nice.”

He gave a small, tight smile. “Nice doesn’t mean safe. You don’t know what kind of people they hang around with. You’ve told me yourself how spontaneous and unpredictable they can be.”

I blinked. “Okay, but its not like we are going to some frat party. It’s just dinner.”

He tilted his head, and his eyes softened, almost a little too much. “I know, love. I just… I worry, that’s all. You’re too trusting sometimes. I don’t want you getting caught up in a situation you didn’t ask for.”

His words were gentle, but I felt a strange knot forming in my chest.

“I can take care of myself, Kyo,” I said, a little more firmly than I meant to.

His smile faltered for a fraction of a second before returning. “Of course you can. I didn’t mean it like that.” He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I just want you safe. With me, you’re safe. That’s all I want.”

I nodded slowly, but the lingering unease stayed with me long after lunch ended.

That should have tipped me off. I’ve always prided myself on being able to see people’s true intentions, even without knowing them for long. But with Kyojuro, it was different, almost impossible. Whatever role he was playing, he played it too well.

And that’s how I ended up here.

Staring at the text on my phone, one I’d become all too familiar with receiving lately.

Kyojuro | 5:30pm: “Saw on Life360 that you’re still on campus. Everything okay? I’ve been waiting at the apartment for a while now. No text. No update. Just kinda wondering what’s more important than keeping your word.”

I feel myself grip the phone a little tighter out of frustration.

Is he being serious right now? He knows some of our classes are running over because of finals. I’ve told him that. More than once.

As I start typing a response, another text from him comes through.

Kyojuro | 5:38pm: “I just don’t get why you couldn’t shoot me a quick message. You have your phone clearly, since you’re still on it.”

I wanted to throw my damn phone across the parking lot.

You’d think that after three years of this nonsense, I’d be used to it by now but I’m not. Kyojuro never fails to find some ridiculous reason to take issue with whatever I’m doing. It’s like he’s always looking for a problem.

Y/N | 5:45 PM:

I’m leaving campus right now, Kyojuro. My class ran over by 30 minutes. I told you that might happen with finals coming up.

Before I put my phone in my pocket it chimed again.

Kyojuro | 5:47 PM: “Got it. Would’ve been nice to know sooner. I’ve just been sitting here waiting. Hope it was worth it. Drive safe.”

I rolled my eyes and didn’t bother responding.

The drive home was frustrating. Honestly, I wanted to cancel on Kyojuro and just head back to my apartment to relax. My head was pounding from all the finals stress, and now he was just piling on with his usual nonsense.

I don’t even know why I’m acting surprised. None of this is new.

Around our second year together, the mask started to slip. The version of him I first met, the golden boy, the charming, upbeat boyfriend started fading. And yet, he still plays that role perfectly in front of other people. It’s almost impressive how well he keeps up the act.

But when we’re alone? He switches.

That warm, genuine smile he used to give me gets replaced by this hollow, rehearsed one. It’s like he’s performing for someone who’s not even there.

The sweet texts I used to get, morning check ins, and just little compliments after class turned into subtle interrogations. Questions laced with suspicion any time I was even slightly late to respond.

It’s a mess. Yet I’m still here.

I pulled into my usual parking spot at his apartment complex. When I got to the door, I unlocked it with the key he gave me, one of those small gestures that once made me feel special.

The moment I stepped inside, I was hit with the warm, mouthwatering smell of food and the cozy ambiance that always seemed to wrap his apartment in a calm, inviting glow.

I can say what you want about Kyojuro, he might be a crazy person but his apartment didn’t reflect that. It was clean, thoughtfully decorated, and somehow always smelled like cinnamon and fresh laundry.

Too bad the peace never lasted once he opened his mouth.

I shut the door behind me and slipped off my coat and shoes. When I looked up, I saw him standing at the stove, stirring the beef stew he’d made us.

He didn’t turn around.

“You made it,” Kyojuro said, his voice too calm to be casual.

“I told you I was coming,” I said as I stepped further into the apartment.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Thirty five minutes late, but yeah. Better late than never, right?”

I paused, crossing my arms. “Okay, but you do remember finals are next week, right? It’s not like I was out partying.”

He finally turned to face me, ladle in hand, a tight smile on his lips. “I’m just saying, it would’ve been nice to get a heads up.”

I sighed and dropped my bag by the couch. I never win this game so I’m not even going to try. “You’re right. I should’ve texted you sooner. My bad. I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

He watched me for a second longer than necessary, then nodded slowly.

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice softening. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Smells amazing,” I offered, stepping into the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

Kyojuro’s shoulders relaxed a little, and the tightness in his jaw eased.

“I used extra garlic,” he said, setting the ladle down and reaching for the bowls. “The way you like it.”

That made me smile, just a little. “Thanks. I could honestly eat a whole pot by myself right now.”

He chuckled under his breath and handed me a bowl. “Then I’m glad I made extra. Thought we could eat on the couch tonight. I got out your favorite blanket.”

I blinked. “You did?”

“Of course I did.” He gave me a softer smile this time, one that almost looked like the old Kyojuro I used to know. “I know things have been stressful for you. I just want you to feel better.”

My chest tightened a little, conflicted by the warmth in his voice and the sting from earlier. “I appreciate that.”

We carried our bowls over to the couch. He grabbed the blanket and tucked it around my legs before sitting down beside me, close but not pressing.

“I missed you today,” he said quietly, almost like a confession. “Even if I don’t always say it the right way.”

I looked over at him. “I missed you too.”

We watched TV and talked while we ate. The stew was really good, comforting in the way only a home cooked meal can be. Kyojuro told me about his classes and what he did at the gym today. The conversation flowed surprisingly well. It felt… normal.

At least, until it was my turn to talk about my day.

Kyojuro has my location 24/7, yet somehow still gets irritated when I don’t verbally walk him through every place I go. I started telling him about my 9 a.m. class, then mentioned the break I had afterward and how I went to that café near campus since he had class at the time.

The moment I said it, I saw his expression faltered, just for a second. Barely noticeable, but I knew him too well by now.

I kept going, acting like I hadn’t noticed the shift. I talked about the rest of my classes, a quiz we reviewed, and a project I was behind on.

But I could feel it in the air. That quiet tension creeping back in. Like he was waiting for the moment to bring it up.

He nodded along as I talked, eyes on me but distant, like he wasn’t really listening anymore, just waiting for his turn.

When I finally paused to take a sip of water, he spoke, his voice calm and casual.

“That café again, huh?”

I glanced at him. “Yeah, just grabbed a tea and studied for a bit. It was quiet.”

He gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You go there a lot when I’m not around.”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s close to campus, Kyo. And you were in class.”

“Right,” he said, nodding. “I just think it’s interesting you never mention it unless I ask.”

I blinked. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head. “It’s not. It’s just… you used to tell me everything. Now I find things out after the fact. Makes me wonder what else I’m not hearing about.”

There it was.

“That’s not fair,” I said quietly. “I’m not hiding anything. I just didn’t think every stop I make needed to be reported.”

He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over my knee. “I’m not accusing you of anything, love. I just want to feel like I’m still part of your world. Lately, it’s felt like you’re keeping parts of it to yourself.”

His touch was soft. His words were gentle. But underneath, I could feel it, the way he twisted the conversation until I was the one who had done something wrong.

Like I said, when I first came to college, I had this strong sense of independence, relying solely on myself. In a weird way, it gave me a sense of pride. Freedom, even.

But Kyojuro had made it his personal mission to tear that independence down. Piece by piece. He knew everything about me, where I was, who I was with, what I was doing at all times.

At first, I was okay with it. I told myself it was just him caring. That it meant he loved me.

But these dumb, petty conversations, the passive jabs, the subtle guilt trips were starting to wear me down. They crawled under my skin in ways I couldn’t ignore anymore.

And tonight, I could feel it building.

I was about to lose it.

I took a breath and forced a smile, trying to keep my tone light. “Kyo, can we not do this tonight? I’m exhausted, and I really just wanted to eat and relax.”

He leaned back against the couch, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Relaxing’s easy when you don’t have to worry about keeping someone in the loop, I guess.”

My smile dropped.

I stared at him, stunned for a second, because really?

“Are you serious right now?” I said, the heat in my voice rising before I could stop it. “I told you exactly where I was, I told you I had class, and you still find a way to twist it into something shady?”

He blinked, caught off guard, but I didn’t stop.

“You have my location constantly, Kyojuro. You get real time updates on my every move. What more do you want? a written itinerary? A timestamped photo every time I grab a coffee?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I never said you were doing anything wrong—”

“No, you never say it. You just imply it. You act like I’m lying or sneaking around when I’m literally just living my life. You say you trust me, but it feels like I’m always under surveillance.”

The room went quiet.

I could feel my heart pounding, my breath shaky. But I didn’t take it back.

For once, I wasn’t going to.

Kyojuro sat back slowly, his hands folded in his lap. From the outside, he looked composed, calm, even but I could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his eyes didn’t blink, the way his fingers twitched ever so slightly.

When he spoke, his voice was low. Controlled. Too controlled.

“You’re really talking to me like this?” he said, eyes fixed on mine. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was too busy watching the walls go back up behind his eyes.

“I give you everything, Y/N. My time, my attention, my effort. I put you first always. And now you’re standing there accusing me of trying to control you?” He let out a short breath through his nose, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

His voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t have to.

“I guess I was wrong about you,” he added, quieter now, but it landed like a slap. “I thought you were different. I thought you wanted someone who actually cared.”

I felt that twist in my gut again the one he always managed to find and press on just hard enough to make me second guess everything.

My heart dropped.

There it was, that quiet, cutting disappointment in his voice that always found a way to wrap around my throat and squeeze.

“I… I’m not saying you don’t care,” I said, my voice faltering as the fight started to leave me. “I know you do. I know you try.”

Kyojuro didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, that wounded expression on his face like I’d kicked him.

“I just…” I rubbed my hand over my forehead, trying to steady my breathing. “I’ve just been stressed. Everything feels heavy right now and God, maybe I am being defensive, I don’t know. But it’s not because I’m hiding anything.”

My throat tightened, and I felt the sting behind my eyes. I hated crying in front of him especially like this. But the pressure had cracked something open in me.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re not enough, or like I don’t appreciate what you do. I do, Kyo. I swear I do.”

I looked at him, waiting for any sign that he heard me, really heard me.

Kyojuro finally moved.

He reached out, cupping my cheek with a tenderness that almost made me flinch. His thumb brushed just under my eye, catching a tear before it could fall.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice soft soothing, almost. “I knew you’d understand once you calmed down.”

I nodded slightly, unsure if it was agreement or just surrender.

He leaned in, pressing a light kiss to my forehead. “You’ve just been overwhelmed. That’s all. Finals, stress, all that pressure it’s been messing with your head. Making you say things you don’t really mean.”

I felt my stomach twist, but I said nothing.

“You don’t have to carry everything on your own, Y/N. That’s why I’m here,” he continued, brushing his fingers through my hair. “To protect you. Even from yourself sometimes.”

His words settled heavy on my chest, and before I could respond, he gently pulled me into his arms.

“Let’s not fight anymore, okay?” he whispered against my temple. “I hate seeing you upset.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

He had me right where he wanted me, folded back into his arms, quiet, guilt ridden, and wrapped up in the illusion that this was love.

A gasp escaped my lips as he pinned me down to the mattress, his bed had always been so comfortable. Before I could say anything he silenced me with his lips on mine. He wasn’t going easy on me tonight, I must have done a number on him.

Kyojuro broke the kiss and started to trail his lips down my neck, stopping at my collarbone to kiss and suck there too. He made quick work of removing my shirt and panties. I undid my bra and tossed it across the room.

He kissed down my stomach and settled right above my pussy, he didn’t even waste time teasing me tonight, he dived right in, burying his face in and going to town like he was starving for me. My breath hitched as he licked his way up to my clit and wrapped his lips around it, sucking it hard. I couldn’t help but moan out louder than I should, he alternated between sucking my clit and lapping me up. And he was too damn good at it.

I was so wet already, I knew I wouldn’t last long against his tongue. He was doing exactly what I needed. He looked up at me and I was immediately lost in his eyes, he looked so good between my legs.

I knew he was this crazy manipulative bastard, I knew he was a stalker and he wasn’t mentally stable, I knew none of this was smart. He had me exactly where he wanted me and I had no intentions of leaving right now.

I came hard in his mouth, my legs shaking around his head as he held onto my hips and continued to lick and suck me through my orgasm. He only stopped once I stopped shaking and my breathing evened out. He licked his lips and moved up my body until he was face to face with me again.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He demanded, his eyes dark with lust.

“I’m yours.” I panted back.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!” I moaned.

“Good girl.” He praised me before claiming my lips once again. I could taste myself on his tongue and it made me feel so dirty and needy. I needed to have him inside me as soon as possible.

I didn’t know when he did but while he was going down on me he somehow managed to ditch his own pants. His cock was huge and hard. I bit my lip.

This is so fucked up, I should not be turned on my someone who literally makes my life miserable but I can’t help it.

My heart leaped out of my chest as he rubbed his tip against my entrance.

“K-Kyo you need a condom first—“ I gasped my back arching in pleasure as he pushed his full length inside me.

He’s so thick, I always felt so full with him.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want this,” he panted above me, his arms on either side of my head. “Look how wet you are. You’re practically begging for it.”

I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t want him to go back to being cold again so I nodded.

“Use your words, Y/N.” He demanded again.

“Yes.” I moaned. “I want it.”

“Good. I’ll take care of you.” He started to thrust and I moaned, arching my back into him. He felt amazing, stretching me, filling me to the hilt.

I was on the pill, I knew I was fine but… the condoms just helped to ease my anxiety, but I guess nows not the time to mention it.

He didn’t bother with any slow build up, he fucked into me hard and fast. He leaned down to kiss me again and it was all too much, my body felt so good. It was like I had been starving and he was finally giving me what I craved. I could feel my orgasm building again and I knew this one wouldn’t take long to get to.

He broke the kiss again, his lips trailing down my neck as he fucked me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on.

He was angry, he was angry with me to finally having the nerve to snap at him, I knew he’d never change and he was here now reminding me why I stay. Why I let him control me. Why I was his.

He grunted in my ear as he bottomed out inside me. He wrapped his arms under my back, his fingers gripping the back of my shoulders as he pounded into me. I moaned loudly, my pussy clamping down around him. I felt myself cumming, my orgasm crashing into me with a wave of pleasure. I clung to him as he continued to fuck me, riding me through my orgasm.

I felt him grab my hips and flip me over on my stomach like I was weightless. He grabbed my hips and pulled them up before he slammed into me from behind.

The new position had his cock rubbing against a different spot and I cried out as a new wave of pleasure washed over me. He fucked into me even harder than before. He let go of one of my hips to grab onto my hair, using it to pull my head back until I was looking back at him.

“So fucking tight.” He panted. “So good for me.”

I whined, arching my back and pushing back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Such a good girl.” He grunted. “My perfect girl.”

I felt a gush of wetness around his cock as he called me perfect. I was addicted to the way he made me feel. I loved the way his voice got breathy and his words became choppy when he got close. My pussy clamped down around his cock and I felt him stiffen above me with a groan as he emptied himself inside me.

I felt my eyes roll back, it was so warm. My mind was in a haze. I could feel him pepper kisses on my face, whispering apologies and sweet nothings as he pulled out and cleaned me up.

I was so tired, and my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.

The morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting the apartment in pale gold. The air was still, except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the city waking up outside.

I stirred under the covers, my body aching slightly, a dull reminder of the night before. Kyojuro’s arm was draped around my waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep.

For a moment, I just laid there silently, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, my heart somewhere between numb and conflicted.

Last night had blurred into something intimate his hands on my skin, his lips murmuring apologies between kisses, during his aftercare. Promises that felt sweet in the dark.

Kyojuro shifted beside me, eyes fluttering open.

“Good morning, love,” he whispered, voice gravelly with sleep. He leaned in and kissed my shoulder, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“Morning,” I replied quietly, trying to smile.

He propped himself up on one elbow, brushing my hair back from my face. “You feeling better today?”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be feeling. Everything inside me felt… tangled.

“Good,” he said, giving me that soft, boyish smile. “I hated fighting with you. Let’s not let little things get between us anymore, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, almost automatically.

Kyojuro got up and stretched before heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make breakfast.”

I watched as he pulled on his boxers and disappeared out of the bedroom before I could even say anything.

I could hear him as he moved around the kitchen, humming softly, as if last night hadn’t happened. Like all the tension had suddenly disappeared in his mind.

But I couldn’t move. I just laid there in bed, staring at the ceiling still.

Because deep down, I already knew: this wasn’t the end of anything. It was just another loop in a cycle I didn’t know if I could break.

Weeks passed. Finals ended. Campus slowly emptied out as students fled home for the summer, stress lifting just slightly from my life.

But had anything truly changed?

Of course not.

Kyojuro was still the same closeted, bipolar maniac who couldn’t be content with me for even one full day. If anything, the calm that came after finals just gave him more time to pick apart my every move. It was nerve racking.

I suddenly felt my phone buzz in my pocket with a text from kyojuro.

Kyojuro | 11:42 AM: “Noticed you left your place about 20 minutes ago. Where you headed?”

No “good morning.” No “how are you?” Just straight to the point. Straight to tracking me.

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. I took a second and looked at my surroundings as I sat on a bench in the city park.

He already knew where I was. He could see it. But he always asked anyway as if hearing me say it out loud gave him some kind of authority over it.

I sat there for a moment, the phone still in my hand, screen glowing with his message.

And then something in my brain, some quiet, rational voice that had been buried under guilt and habit finally spoke up.

This is stupid.

He could already see where I was. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I didn’t owe him some weird play by play of my life.

So I didn’t answer.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, leaned against the bench, and let the silence settle around me. For once, I let myself not respond.

It felt small. But it felt like something.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

The peace I’d tried to hold onto started to unravel the moment my phone buzzed again.

Kyojuro | 12:01 PM: “Is everything okay?

You usually answer faster than this.”

Another buzz.

Kyojuro | 12:03 PM: “Not trying to be annoying. Just making sure you’re safe.

You know how my brain gets when I don’t hear from you.”

I stared at the messages, my jaw tightening.

There it was, that same old trick. Disguising control as concern. Playing the victim. Reminding me that his anxiety was somehow my responsibility.

He knew exactly what strings to pull.

And part of me wanted to text back, just to make it stop.

I sat on that bench a little longer, maybe 30 minutes, letting my heartbeat settle just enjoying this rare feeling. My phone stayed face down beside me, silent for once. It felt good. Liberating, even.

Until I heard footsteps.

I didn’t think much of it at first. It was a public park, after all.

But then I heard my name.

“Y/N.”

My eyes snapped open.

Kyojuro was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

My stomach dropped.

He smiled tight, polite. Not the kind that reached his eyes.

“I was in the area,” he said simply, like that explained everything. “Figured I’d stop by. You weren’t answering, and I started to get worried.”

I stared at him, trying to find my voice. “You tracked me.”

He tilted his head slightly, like I’d said something stupid. “No, I checked on you. Big difference.”

I stood slowly, every muscle in my body going tense. “You are supposed to be in class.”

“I left early,” he said with a shrug. “Thought spending time with you was more important.”

And just like that, my peaceful moment was gone, replaced with the cold weight of being watched, followed, owned.

I opened my mouth to respond to Kyojuro, but before I could get a word out, a voice called from a few steps away.

“Y/N? From MAT 100?”

I turned instinctively.

It was a guy from my class. Kenji, I think. He’d asked for my notes a few times when he missed lectures. Nice enough. Harmless.

I sat up a little straighter, brushing my hair behind my ear. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Kenji smiled as he walked over. “Hey! Just wanted to say thanks again for those notes last week. I ended up doing way better on that quiz than I thought I would.”

I smiled back. “Glad they helped.”

But as he got closer, I felt a shift in the air.

I glanced to the side.

Kyojuro hadn’t moved. But his expression, his whole energy had changed.

Gone was the tight, practiced smile. His jaw was clenched, lips pressed into a thin line, amber eyes fixed on Kenji with something unreadable but unmistakably dark behind them.

My blood ran cold.

He wasn’t saying anything. He didn’t have to.

That look said everything.

Fortunately, Kenji didn’t seem to notice Kyojuro practically staring bullets through him. He kept talking, casual and upbeat, rambling a little about the upcoming project we had for class.

“Professor says we’ll probably have to pair up, but I doubt she’ll actually assign groups,” he said, laughing. “You thinking of working solo, or…?”

I nodded along, trying to seem natural. Relaxed. Normal.

But my smile was tight, and my shoulders were stiff. Because behind Kenji, I could feel Kyojuro standing motionless, burning a hole through the moment with his silence. No warm smile. No friendly greeting. Just heat and stillness, like a storm waiting to crack open.

It wasn’t like him at all, not in public.

And that scared me more than if he’d caused a scene.

I forced a laugh. “I haven’t really decided yet. Finals kind of fried my brain.”

Kenji chuckled. “Yeah, same. Well, I’ll let you get back to your day. Just wanted to say hey.”

“Thanks, Kenji. See you in class.”

He gave a small wave and walked off, totally unaware that he’d just stepped through a minefield and somehow made it out untouched.

The second he was out of earshot, I slowly turned to Kyojuro.

He still hadn’t moved.

“That was Kenji Takahashi,” I said, trying to sound casual, like I wasn’t standing next to a live wire. “He’s in my math class, he just asks me for notes sometimes.”

Kyojuro didn’t say anything right away. His eyes were still locked on the path Kenji had walked down, like he was memorizing every step.

Then, slowly, he turned his gaze to me.

“I gathered that,” he said quietly.

His tone wasn’t raised. There was no anger in his voice. But it was the calm that made it worse. It was sharp, cold, measured.

“You seemed… pretty comfortable,” he added, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Laughing, smiling. Didn’t even introduce me.”

I stiffened. “He didn’t even notice you standing there.”

“Oh, he noticed,” Kyojuro said. “He just didn’t care.”

There it was. The edge beneath the calm.

“I’m not doing this right now,” I said, taking a step back.

But he stepped forward, just enough to close the space I’d tried to reclaim.

“Of course not,” he said softly. “You never want to talk when you know you’re in the wrong.”

“Okay, fine,” I said, throwing my hands up slightly. “Look, Kyo, I’m sorry. I should’ve answered your texts, I get that. But that had nothing to do with Kenji—”

“Didn’t it?” he cut in, his voice still quiet but laced with accusation.

I blinked. “No. It didn’t.”

Kyojuro tilted his head slightly, that same unsettling calm still draped over him like a mask. “So you just happened to ignore me and end up alone in a park with some guy from your class? And you’re laughing, and smiling, and what? You forgot I existed?”

His words stung more than I expected them to.

“I wasn’t alone with him,” I shot back. “He saw me sitting here and said hi. That’s all it was.”

“Do you know how that looked?” he said, stepping in closer now, eyes locked on mine. “Do you know what I felt, standing there, watching you act like I wasn’t even there?”

I swallowed hard, heat rising in my chest.

“You’re making something out of nothing,” I said, my voice cracking just a little.

“No, Y/N,” he said, and now the calm cracked too. Just a bit. “You made it something when you chose to ignore me.”

He let the words hang there, heavy and cruel in their simplicity.

I suddenly felt a real unease crawl up my spine sharp, cold, and undeniable.

This wasn’t just a tense conversation anymore.

I was scared.

“Hey… okay,” I said softly, forcing my voice to stay calm. “I’m sorry, Kyojuro. Please don’t be angry. I won’t do it again.”

His eyes stayed on me for a long second, unblinking. Then, finally, his expression softened just a little.

He let out a slow breath and stepped back, giving me space, but not enough to feel safe.

“I’m not angry,” he said, his voice low. “Just hurt. You know how much I love you, right?”

I nodded, even though my throat felt too tight to speak.

“I just need you to show me that you love me too,” he added, reaching out to brush his fingers gently against my arm. “That’s all I ever want, dove.”

He smiled again. Soft, warm, familiar. But now, it didn’t comfort me.

It terrified me.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I love you too.”

He watched me closely, like he was waiting to see if I meant it.

I swallowed hard. “Is there… is there anything I can do to ease your mind? Or help you feel more comfortable?”

I was grasping at straws, just trying to diffuse whatever this was, whatever it could become. Just trying to say the right thing.

Kyojuro’s eyes softened again, like I’d given him the exact answer he wanted.

“That means a lot,” he said gently, stepping close enough to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You saying that… it really does help.”

I forced a smile.

“But if you really want to make me feel better,” he added, voice barely above a whisper now, “maybe don’t go off the grid. Just a quick text. Just so I know you’re safe. So I don’t… imagine the worst.”

I nodded quickly. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”

He smiled again and leaned in to press a kiss to my forehead.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, I knew he felt in control again.

But me?

I’d never felt smaller.

——————————————-

Hello, Tumblr!

I know it’s been a few months, sorry for disappearing. Unfortunately, I got wrapped up in classes, and my 3.5 year relationship ended, so I’ve been working through a lot during this time. I hope you all understand. I promise I’m not completely lazy, lol.

Fatal Attraction is currently on hiatus until I can get some creative juices flowing. I truly apologize for the wait. In the meantime, I hope some random one shots will hold you over.

Thank you all so much for the continued love and support! <3

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