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elisysd · 7 months

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4. If I'm being honest, feels like you don't even know me

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Dear Patience - Niall Horan

For once, he was not dreading going to the media pen. He was excited even. Nothing could bring him down. Not even your questions. To be honest, he didn’t know what mean questions you could ask him. Not aware of it, a smug smile appeared on his face and he made his way to you and was taken aback by your content smile. You were far from the disappointed image he had imagined you would be.

“First of all, congratulations for your podium, Charles.” you said and he couldn’t help the shock to be painted on his face. He stuttered, barely managing to thank her. He didn’t even know what he answered her and hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself.

The after race meeting followed by a quick celebration were over in a blink of an eye and, it was still smiling that he made his way out of the paddock. He saw you walking right next to Marion. He looked at you from afar. You were laughing after Marion showed you something on her phone. Your colleague saw him and whispered something to your ear before motioning for him to come. He knew Marion very well, she had been one of the first journalists to follow him closely ever since he started to make a name for himself. She was someone important to him.

“How are you doing, Charles?” she asked softly.

“Amazing! Really. It was a nice weekend.” he replied, barely looking at her, too focused on you who were typing on your phone. Marion didn’t fail to notice his attitude towards you.

“I have a meeting with a PR officer from Haas, we’re trying to have Steiner in an interview” she told Charles. “I have to go. Will you be fine on your own, Y/N?”

“Yeah, sure. Do you need me for something?”

“It’s all good. Enjoy your evening.” she added, winking at you.

As soon as she was out of sight, you proceeded to make your way out, for good this time, not caring if Charles was following you or not. But he was, matching his pace with yours.

“So… you can’t tell me I sucked today! You had to be nice to me, it must have been tough.” he jokingly teased you.

Unexpectedly, it made you laugh. A real laugh and Charles found the sound beautiful.

“You don’t suck. You never had.” you calmly said. “Sure you made some questionable career choices with Ferrari but even I have to admit it, you’re a great driver.”

“But then, why do you hate me?”

“Don’t take it personal, it’s not you I hate. It’s what you mean to me.” you cryptically explained, before walking faster, leaving him here trying to grasp a meaning to the words you’ve only half spoken.

Miami was everything you hated. Too glamorous, too wild, too flashy, too much. You only wanted the weekend to end and it hadn’t even started. You were enjoying a little bit of peace and quiet on the patio of your hotel. The air seemed cooler and you didn’t know if it was because of the AC or because of the fact that it was less crowded here. You were watching a few highlights of the previous race to try to prepare your next interviews. Notes scribbled down on paper sheets were on display in front of you and anyone looking at them would wonder how you would manage to understand anything in them. But it was your own organized mess, you were used to it and it was how you were working. Focused on your video, your headphones on your ears, you hadn’t heard Jean approaching you.

“Y/N, right the girl I wanted to see.” he greeted you with a sneaky smile that involuntarily made you gulp.

“Jean… what brings you here?”

“I have something to tell you. And I believe you will particularly like it.” he winked at you, making you curious. “If I was telling you that we managed to get a driver for a long interview broadcasted on Sunday before the race and we wanted you to conduct it, what would you say?”

You blinked a few times, repeating his questions, trying to register what he was saying. It was all you had ever wanted and you couldn’t believe that the team was trusting you enough to let you do it on your own. You excitedly agreed, it was an opportunity you wouldn’t pass on.

“And who is it? Which driver did you manage to book?” you asked.

“Charles Leclerc.” Jean told you and suddenly, your smile faded. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no of course not. It’s just… Are you sure I'm the right fit? He doesn’t exactly appreciate my questions.”

“Well, I guess you are since his only condition to make this interview was you being behind the mic.”

Getting inside the Ferrari hospitality felt impressive. It was not everyday that their doors were open to journalists and to have the opportunity to be there, for a whole hour, felt surreal. You felt prepared but anxious still. It was an overwhelming feeling. You met Silvia who told you that everything was almost ready and that Charles was on his way. She got you a cappuccino and showed you the room, giving you time to settle. You looked around. Pictures of the drivers were everywhere. Charles’ wins in Spa, in Monza, in Austria. Carlos’ win in Silverstone was hung as well. Pictures of the crew. Pictures of old wins were there as well. If you were just turning around on yourself, you could have a full 360 of Ferrari’s history. When you looked at the door, you almost jumped. Charles was there, leaning against the door frame, a half smile playing on his lips, not bothered to have you here in the slightest. Jean hadn’t fooled you, he knew you would be there, bringing to your lips a thousand unspoken questions.

“You asked me to be here. Why?”

“I like a good challenge.” he simply said, sitting on the chair in front of yours as you quickly verified the equipment and did the same.

You breathed in and out, asked him if he was ready and started the interview.

“Thank you, Charles Leclerc, for agreeing to this interview. Today, I wanted to take a deep dive into your career, showing you some key moments of it and collecting your thoughts on them. I didn’t select your wins, though. I’m a firm believer that you learn much more from someone when you look at their failures than in the moments they thrive.”

You paused, taking a moment to judge his reactions but as a true professional he didn’t show anything only, nodded. You gave him the tablet and invited him to click on the link of the first video. French GP 2022, his mistake, his scream on the radio.

“What goes through your mind right at this moment, when you lose your grip and end up in the barriers?”

“Frustration. A huge wave of frustration because I know that it’s one hundred percent my fault. I can’t blame the team, or the strategy or the set up because we had a perfect car and we were in position to win. I’m very critical of myself, I don’t accept any mistakes because I think this is how you improve. I wake up every day wondering what I can do to get better. It took time for me to make peace with my mistakes during this Grand Prix.”

You asked a few more questions, trying to understand his thought process and making him talk about his preparations for a Grand Prix before you told him to click on the next link. It’s an audio and not a video this time. And soon, the now sadly famous line ‘Box, box. Stay out, stay out.’ echoed in the room.

“You really decided to show me all the traumatic moments of my career.” he bitterly laughed.

“I’m not going to ask if that hurt because I know that it did. What was the first thing you did when the cameras were off and you were on your own?”

“I called my mom. It’s stupid, I know but at that moment I needed to hear her voice. I felt like a kid, confused and lost. It’s one of the very first times in my career where I started to doubt, not myself, but the environment I was in. It didn’t take long because I was quickly reassured by the staff.”

“Were the tensions with Mattia Binotto already there at the time?”

“I don’t like to talk about tensions with Mattia, because I know at the time he thought he was doing his best with the situations he was in. But yeah, it broke something that day. But that’s how it is, you know. Mistakes are made, you learn from them and you bounce back.”

“The last moment I chose is a more recent one, if you want to open it.” you guided him.

Bahrain 2023. It made Charles laugh and shake his head. You really are determined to make him relive his worst moments. But still, he somehow found it easy to talk to you. You actually let him talk, say whatever he wanted to say, you were not searching for a headline you could reuse to deform his words. You were listening, only asking him to be more precise when it was needed. And you finally wrapped the interview, Silvia looked happy. It had taken less time than expected and maybe Charles could actually do that sponsor video shoot that they thought wouldn’t squeeze in his very tight schedule.

“No. And before you ask, I don’t intend to go anywhere. This interview was supposed to last an hour and it’s barely half of it. I still have thirty minutes to spare, so Silvia, please, I would like to be left alone for the time being.”

“But Charles…”

“It was not a suggestion. I was trying to be polite.” he cut her and Silvia, even if she looked visibly frustrated, ended up giving up.

“Fine. You know where you have to be in half an hour. No lateness will be tolerated.”

As soon as she left the room, Charles exhaled deeply and looked at you. You are cleaning your stuff and are tidying the place and you are surprised to not see him move. Instead, he sat on the ground and studied each one of your movements, making you painfully aware of them.

“I think it’s time for me now to ask you questions. And I won’t give you any other choices but to give satisfying answers otherwise I won’t let you leave that room.”

You glared at him. Who did he think he was? But as he saw you glancing at the door, his instincts took over and slided towards it, preventing you from running away. You sighed.

“You don’t give me the choice, do you?”

“Nope. It’s you, me and the questions I’m dying to ask you.” he replied, a playful look on his face.

Understanding that you might get stuck with him for the next few minutes, you sat on the floor as well, right in front of him.

“You said, in Baku, that you hated what I meant for you. I don’t understand. What did you mean?”

You fidgeted. You hated yourself for telling him that a few weeks ago because you knew that he would keep it in the back of his mind. And you were right.

“It’s personal.” you said, a bit more harshly than necessary in hope he wouldn’t ask further.

Your gaze is everywhere but on him and your bouncing legs, giving away how awkward Charles had made you. Suddenly, he felt bad and slowly approached you until his knees touched yours. He was so close that you couldn’t ignore him anymore but in a desperate attempt to achieve it, you closed your eyes, focusing on your shallow breathing. You felt his hand, hesitantly brushing yours until he took it in his to squeeze it. That’s when you opened your eyes. You could feel them burning from the tears you were trying so hard to fight back.

“I lost my baby brother a few months ago. Leukemia.” you confessed.

“I’m sorry.”

“He is… was a huge fan of Ferrari and of you. Our granddad introduced me and later him to F1, he died a couple years ago. Watching the Grand Prix was our thing, you know, to my brother and I. When he was diagnosed and forced to be hospitalized I didn’t stop watching them. It was just in his hospital room, now. He was such a fan, he had so much merchandising from Ferrari, posters and flags on the walls of his room. He was idolizing you. You were his favorite driver and he had promised to himself that when he would get out of this hospital room he would do anything to meet you. His hero. And then I had to go to New-York for my studies. I always had him on the phone, though. After each Grand Prix. He was the happiest when you won in Bahrain last year. And he cried of happiness about Australia. For a moment, the doctors thought he was going better and he was only saying it was because of you. But then his health started to get worse all at once. And it correlated with the moment your results were downgrading. He died a few days after Silverstone.”

You paused, trying to steady your breath as you felt a tear falling down your cheek, caught up by Charles.

“I… I guess… I associated you with his death in a twisted way and I’m sorry. It’s just… I didn’t get to say goodbye. I wasn’t even there for his funeral, I preferred to not go because if I didn’t then it wasn’t real. I was a coward. I still am. And you didn’t deserve any of it. It was just… easier? I don’t know. I don’t make any sense and…”

“You make sense. I understand. A little bit. Not everything but I relate… in some ways. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Truly.”

“I feel so guilty… about so many things. But treating you the way I did was wrong. You were right, I wasn’t fair. I didn’t give the same treatment to you that I did for others.”

“It’s okay. It’s behind us. Are your parents still around?”

“They are. Not the greatest parents, though. But it’s like that. You know, that’s why this job is so important to me. Because it makes me feel close to my brother and because I hope that it will help me get out of that freaking guilt feeling. I do it for him. I hope he is proud of me, wherever he is.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Suddenly his alarm went off, signaling him that the 30 minutes he had set up were over. It startled them both. He got up and looked at your distraught and pale face and he felt awful to leave you like this. But he had work commitments that he couldn’t avoid. You saw his look on you and forced a smile.

“I’m okay. I promise, it’s just… It’s the first time I talked about Luc aloud since he has passed away.” you explained. “Go. You can’t afford to be late.”

He reluctantly ended up leaving you, not without thinking that something had changed between both of you.

Author's note: It's race day! I hope for Charles and Ferrari that everything will go well and pray for a podium.

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

If you wanna be part of the taglist, let me know.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @thirstylion @cmleitora @charizznorizz @sltwins @boherahpsody @herondalism @roseamongthorns13

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thedevildompolybunch · 1 year

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Relaxing with Lucifer

Laying on Lucifer's bed, leaning your head against his shoulder. Both of you are wearing headphones, listening to the same classical piece, drinking wine and letting the music sooth your stresses. He sways his glass in the air, conducting the symphony playing in both of your ears. Is this nirvana? Your eyes close and you lean closer to enjoy the vibrations of his hums.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me fluff #lucifer obey me #nirvana the word not the band

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bluespring864 · 7 months

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I just read this insane thing and thought the folks of tumblr might appreciate it

The European Parliament is a peculiarly Byzantine place, which is all the more baffling for an assembly that only sprung into life in 1979.

It’s replete with obscure working groups hived off from real committees, opaque voting procedures, feeble attempts to keep tabs on the Commission, and dull, empty plenary sessions taking place weeks after the news trigger has passed. And don’t forget the gift vault on floor 5 ½.

And the article in full because it is insane:

Inside the European Parliament’s gift vault

APRIL 17, 2023 4:00 AM CET

BY EDDY WAX

BRUSSELS — Down a curving corridor on floor five and a half, there’s a dark alcove hiding an unmarked door.

This is the final resting place for the European Parliament’s would-be bribes.

The secret chamber is piled high with diplomatic gifts, all carefully labeled and left to languish in bureaucratic limbo under lock and key — neither accepted nor rejected.

There’s the opulent; there’s the bizarre. One cupboard contains a Taiwanese wristwatch given to a Polish EU lawmaker. Another holds a pot of French mustard, a miniature Saudi Arabian door and a commemorative plaque from the Indonesian parliament.

Expensive bottles of wine, children’s toys, wireless headphones, books, stationery, figurines — five dusty containers are brimming with the forsworn freebies that governments and parliaments from all over the globe have showered on EU lawmakers.

The crypt — essentially a glorified janitor’s closet — has sat largely unperturbed since the collection began almost 15 years ago. But in recent months, it has taken on a new significance due to revelations over alleged bribes that countries like Qatar, Morocco and Mauritania were funneling to EU lawmakers.

The scandal, dubbed Qatargate, has prompted soul-searching within Parliament, which is now squabbling over how to revise the code of conduct that governs lawmakers’ behavior — including what they should do when offered a gift.

But here, in room 55A031 of the labyrinthine Paul-Henri Spaak building, remain the gifts given but not received.

Too small a room

Outside, there is no indication about what the room contains. It is permanently locked.

Besides the renounced gratuities, the room stores old MEP files.

POLITICO’s access to the vault was facilitated by the office of German Green MEP Daniel Freund — a vocal proponent of tougher transparency rules in the institution — plus three European Parliament officials, including a spokesperson.

“It’s a bit anticlimactic if you expected some kind of treasure trove,” Nurminen said, standing on the squeaky linoleum floor of the vault as the air conditioning thrummed in the background.

With MEPs rushing to declare many more gifts than before in light of the Qatargate scandal, this storage room could soon become too small. Between 2009 and 2014, EU lawmakers declared just 15 gifts — but in this parliamentary term, which began in 2019, they’ve already registered 266.

The higher numbers are largely due to a massive dump of gifts by Parliament President Roberta Metsola, who declared 170 gifts since the start of the year — most recently a traditional shirt from the chairman of the Ukrainian parliament and a decorative box from Harvard University.

The president’s gifts are either displayed in her office, stored in this gift vault — or already long gone. When it comes to gifts of chocolates, wine or crunchy snacks, some have been “served in the course of Parliament’s functions,” i.e. consumed during official work meetings.

Even though she missed the internal deadline to declare many of the gifts, Metsola — who has been Parliament president since January 2022 — argued she was being radically transparent by declaring the gifts and turning them over. This broke with years of the institution exempting the president from declaring gifts on the public register.

Because of this change, many gifts given to previous presidents and kept in boxes by a set of civil servants called the “protocol service” are now being transferred to this room from undisclosed locations. The Parliament spokesperson described this gift vault as the only dedicated room where such gifts to former presidents are kept.

Just 17 gifts to presidents past and present are on display in glass cabinets at the Parliament’s seat in Strasbourg, next to a tiny kiosk selling Roberta Metsola-themed stamps. They include a statuette of a horse from the United Arab Emirates’ National Council; handmade artwork from the president of Nigeria; a silver bowl from top U.S. politician Nancy Pelosi; a peace-themed mosaic from Pope Francis; and a vide-poches or decorative tray from French President Emmanuel Macron.

Manfred’s mobile

For now, the gifts in the chamber in Brussels are essentially in limbo — neither displayed nor used — a fate that might perhaps make lobbyists or foreign dignitaries think twice about going to the trouble of making any such gesture in the first place.

A case in point is a Huawei smartphone that was worth more than €150 when given to European People’s Party chief Manfred Weber by the Chinese tech company — in 2013. It’s been gathering dust here ever since.

The “end of life” rules, as Parliament speak would have it, means dead but not buried.

According to the current rules, EU lawmakers can keep these gifts permanently if it can be proved they have no “obvious” value to the Parliament. Or they may be temporarily displayed in their offices if the president gives her blessing.

In theory, parliamentarians can also bid to buy back their gifts in a public tender — but such an auction has never happened.

At a later stage of the ethics reform plan initiated by Metsola, senior parliamentarians could at some point tweak the code of conduct to allow the gifts to be given to charities — as happens with used furniture and food waste from the canteens. But such a tweak is currently not under consideration.

“If you have more presents handed into the institution, there needs to be a way to process them. So the existing 2013 rules might be revised,” the spokesperson said as the door quietly closed.

source: politico.eu

#eu politics #the funny side of it #unwanted gifts #i hope this article brings you as much joy as it did for me

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callsign-owl · 1 month

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Searching for Oblivion

Trigger Warning: Alcohol

London, United Kingdom - July 2007

The kitchen, usually pristine and orderly, was littered with bottles—vodka, whisky, rum, gin—some toppled over, their caps discarded haphazardly. Half-empty glasses were scattered across the counter, the remnants of previous concoctions pooling at the bottom of each. The air was heavy with the sharp scent of alcohol mixed with the faint aroma of citrus and mint and remnants of other ingredients Owl had added to try and mask the bitter taste of the liquor. Owl's headphones were snug over his ears, the same song on repeat blasting through them. Everything was muted and distant, and he found himself blissfully isolated from the rest of the world.

Owl swayed slightly as he stood by the counter, his hands clumsy but determined as he fumbled with another bottle, pouring a generous amount of liquor into a glass. His movements were sloppy and unsteady, the effects of the alcohol clearly evident, but there was a sense of purpose in the way he measured and mixed, as if he were conducting some private experiment. His vision was already starting to blur, and the room was tilting slightly as if the floor had become unsteady. Owl knew he should probably stop. He’d already lost count of how many drinks he’d had, but the thought of stopping never translated into action. Why would it? Stopping meant thinking, and thinking was the last thing Owl wanted to do. Every drink was just another step closer to oblivion.

Owl took a swig from the glass, grimacing as the harsh liquid burned its way down his throat. It tasted disgusting, like every other drink he'd made that night, but the taste wasn’t the point. Owl wasn’t mixing for flavor. He was mixing for effect. For the feeling that dulled the edges of his reality, that made the world seem softer, less painful. He raised the glass to his lips, tipping it back and swallowing the contents in one long gulp.

The alcohol hit him hard, a rush of warmth spreading through his chest, his limbs tingling with a pleasant numbness. The room seemed to spin a little faster, and he gripped the counter to steady himself, laughing softly at the sensation. It was ridiculous, really—how everything felt both so heavy and so light at the same time. He knew he was teetering on the edge, that he was pushing his limits, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Here, in this moment, he felt a strange sense of freedom. The tightness in his chest had loosened, and the usual noise in his mind had quieted to a dull hum. It was nice—a fleeting reprieve from the chaos that usually swirled inside him. Owl closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him, his body involuntarily moving to the beat. For the first time in what felt like forever, Owl was actually somewhat enjoying himself. Here, in this haze of alcohol and music, he wasn’t the failure, the disappointment, the black sheep of the family. He was just... Owl.

Owl looked around the kitchen. Everything was so pristine, so perfect—just like his father wanted it. But Owl was a smudge on that perfection, a stain that no amount of polish could remove. The thought made him laugh again as he reached for another bottle, this one still sealed, and fumbled with the cap, his fingers slipping as he tried to twist it off. Eventually, he succeeded, pouring a generous amount into a fresh glass, the liquid sloshing over the sides and onto the counter. He didn’t care about the mess. He didn’t care about anything, really, except for the alcohol dulling his senses and stopping the incessant noise of his own thoughts.

As he brought the glass to his lips, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the kitchen window. His hair was disheveled, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He looked nothing like the boy his father expected him to be, nothing like the polished, perfect image that was always demanded of him. Owl raised the glass in a mock toast to his reflection, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "Cheers," he muttered to himself, his words slurred.

He tipped the glass back, the alcohol burning as it went down, and the world around him blurred just a little more, the edges of reality softening into a hazy, comforting fog. He let out a contented sigh, the warmth spreading through him like a blanket, wrapping him in its embrace. For now, at least, the world was bearable.

But the illusion of solitude didn’t last for much longer. The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing louder as they approached the kitchen. The door creaked open, and Percival stood in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the chaotic scene before him. The usually immaculate kitchen was in disarray—bottles and glasses scattered everywhere, puddles of alcohol pooling on the counter and floor. And in the midst of it all was Owl, slumped against the counter, his eyes half-closed and unfocused.

“*redacted*” Percival’s voice was sharp, laced with concern as he stepped into the kitchen. He quickly took in the mess, his heart sinking as he realized just how far gone his brother was. Owl didn’t respond, the music in his ears drowned out Percival’s words. “*redacted*!” Percival called out louder this time, reaching out to pull the headphones off his brother’s ears.

Owl blinked slowly, struggling to focus on the figure that had suddenly appeared in the kitchen. It took him a moment to register that it was Percival, looking at him with a mixture of worry and frustration. Owl tried to straighten up. “Percyyyy!” Owl slurred. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I should be asking you that,” Percival replied, his tone a mixture of frustration and concern. “What the hell are you doing? You’re completely out of control.”

“Jus’... having a little fun, y’know? You should join me!” Owl waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the bottles, nearly knocking one over in the process. “Plenty to go ‘round.”

Percival’s expression hardened. “This isn’t fun, *redacted*,” he said firmly, reaching out to steady Owl before he could topple over. “Look at this place. Look at yourself. You’ve made a mess of everything.”

Owl swayed slightly as he tried to focus on Percival’s face. “Mess?” he repeated, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. “No mess. Jus’... a lil’ creativity, Percy. Letting loose, y’know?”

Percival’s grip on Owl’s arm tightened, a flash of anger crossing his features. “This isn’t creative. It’s dangerous. You’re drunk out of your mind, and you can barely stand. What were you thinking?”

Owl frowned, the words taking longer to process in his muddled brain. “Thinkin’... that I’m fine,” he mumbled, his voice trailing off. “I’m good. Jus’... havin’ a good time.”

Percival shook his head, his frustration mounting as he looked at his brother, who was clearly too far gone to have a coherent conversation. “This isn’t a good time,” he said, his voice tight with concern. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up.”

Owl’s eyes drifted shut for a moment before he forced them open again, blinking blearily at Percival. “You worry too much,” he muttered, the words slurring together. “I’m... I’m fine. Never been better.”

Percival felt a surge of helplessness as he looked at his brother, who was swaying on his feet, barely coherent. He couldn’t believe how much his brother was willing to risk just to escape whatever demons were haunting him. “I have every reason to worry,” Percival retorted as he reached out to take the glass from Owl’s hand, but Owl pulled away, clutching it tighter.

“Nooo, leave it,” Owl protested, his voice almost childlike in its stubbornness. “I’m fine. Jus’… jus’ havin’ a good time.”

“You’re not fine,” Percival said, his tone hardening as he tried to wrest the glass from Owl’s grasp again. “You need to stop.”

But Owl wasn’t listening. He staggered back, barely maintaining his balance. “I said, leave it!” Owl repeated, a note of petulance creeping into his voice as he stumbled backward, his back hitting the counter with a dull thud.

Percival’s patience was wearing thin. “*redacted*, look at yourself!” he snapped, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and forcing him to meet his gaze. “You’re a mess. You can barely stand, let alone have a conversation."

“I’m fine,” Owl insisted, though the slurred words and the unsteady sway of his body told a different story. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. “You’re... too serious, Percy,” he mumbled “Gotta learn to... let go, y’know?”

Percival’s heart ached as he looked at his brother, so lost in his own pain that he couldn’t see the damage he was doing to himself. “I’m serious because I care about you,” he whispered, more to himself than to Owl.

Owl’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of emotion—anger, hurt, frustration—but it was quickly drowned out by the alcohol coursing through his system. He shook his head, trying to dislodge Percival’s hands from his shoulders. “Just… leave me alone,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Percival’s grip tightened momentarily before he reluctantly let go, watching as Owl swayed dangerously on his feet. “You’re not thinking clearly,” Percy said, his voice strained with concern. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up.”

“I’m fine,” Owl slurred, but his body betrayed him. His legs buckled, and he stumbled forward, nearly collapsing. Percival caught him just in time, wrapping an arm around his brother’s waist to steady him.

“No, you’re not,” Percy muttered under his breath, his own frustration mounting as he struggled to keep Owl upright. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Owl shook his head weakly, trying to push Percival away, but his strength was rapidly fading. “I don’t… need your help,” he murmured, though his voice lacked any conviction.

Ignoring the protest, Percival began guiding Owl out of the kitchen, his arm still firmly around his brother’s waist. “Yes, you do. Just… stop fighting me for once,” Percy said, his tone both pleading and firm.

As they moved through the dimly lit hallway, Owl’s feet dragged against the floor, his head lolling forward as the alcohol took its toll. The world around him blurring into indistinct shapes and sounds. The brief sense of euphoria Owl had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a heavy, oppressive fog that weighed him down.

“Percy…” Owl suddenly murmured, his voice distant, almost dreamlike. “I… I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

The words sent a jolt of fear through Percival’s chest. “What do you mean? Can’t do what?”

“Everything… it’s too much…” Owl’s words were barely audible, his breathing shallow and labored. “I’m tired… so tired…”

Panic clawed at Percival’s throat when he heard those words. He didn't know what to say or how to react.

“I… I just want it to stop…” Owl whispered, his voice trailing off as the weight of exhaustion and alcohol finally pulled him under and he drifted off into uncosciousness.

Percival felt Owl’s body go limp in his arms, the sudden dead weight almost causing him to stumble. The words Owl had whispered echoed in his mind, chilling him to the core. The reality of the situation hitting him like a ton of bricks—this wasn’t just another reckless night of drinking. This was a cry for help, a silent plea that Owl himself might not even fully understand.

With a grunt of effort, Percy adjusted his grip on Owl and continued to drag his unconscious brother down the hallway. Each step felt more difficult than the last, with Percival struggling not only under Owl's weight but also his own increasing mass, which had increased even more in recent years. Percival's breath came in labored gasps as he struggled to keep both himself and his borther upright but he kept going. Percival couldn’t shake the image of his brother, so lost and broken, struggling to stay afloat in a world that seemed determined to drag him under. When they finally reached Owl’s room, Percy kicked the door open with his foot and maneuvered Owl into the bed. Owl’s head lolled to the side, his breathing slow and shallow, his face pale and slack.

“Damn it, you're going to be the death of me" ,” Percy muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he wrestled with feeling a mix of helplessness, anger,and fear. How much longer could Owl keep going like this? How many more nights like this before he finally lost his grip entirely?

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#call of duty #call of duty oc #my ocs #oc rp #original character

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kaiyakawa · 1 year

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Where Do I Go From here? 3 | Sano Shinichiro x fem OC

Pairing: Sano Shinichiro x Named Female OC (Kawamura Inari)

Summary: Kawamura Inari had always believed that her life would revolve around taking care of her elderly grandparents and her disabled father. However, everything changes when she meets Sano Shinichiro, a charismatic delinquent who captures her heart. In his company, Inari begins to see the world in a different light and discovers a side of herself she never knew existed. As their relationship deepens, Inari learns to take risks and embrace new experiences, all while juggling the responsibilities of caring for her family. But when tragedy strikes, Inari must find the strength to carry on and continue living a life that he would be proud of.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: brief imply of child abuse.

Part 1 | Part 2

“Stay with me mayonaka no doa o tataki”

Inari hummed softly to herself as she wrote the answer onto her notebook, her voice carrying a melodic tune. The words of the song flowed effortlessly from her lips. The song was so captivating that Inari found herself momentarily entranced by its spell. With her eyes closed, she moved her hand and pink pen in synchrony with the music, as if she was conducting an invisible orchestra. The soft strokes of her pen seemed to mimic the delicate harmonies, creating a symphony in the air. As the last note entered her ear, she couldn't help but smile. Feeling a sense of fulfillment and contentment.

Just as Inari was about to immerse herself into her homework once more, a faint tapping sound caught her attention, interrupting the melodic ambiance of her music. She paused to remove her headphones and strained her ears to confirm whether she actually heard a sound. A moment of silence passed causing doubt to creep in, making her question if she had imagined it. Just as she was about to put on her headphones, another distinct tap resonated against the windowpane.

Inari rose from her chair, a curious spark igniting within her. Quietly she approached the window, carefully she pushed her floral curtains aside. As her eyes peered through the glass, they widened in surprise when locking onto the gaze of none other than Shinichiro.

His face lit up with a wide grin and he eagerly waved at her. Inari's curious gaze met his and in a soft voice she whispered, "What are you doing here?" The question hung in the air, carrying a hint of surprise and intrigue.

As a cold breeze brushed against her skin, Inari's skin prickled with goosebumps. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth and comfort in her red cardigan.

With a gentle gesture, he beckoned her to come down, his eyes filled with anticipation. Inari stood at the window, momentarily caught between caution and curiosity. It wasn't every day that a boy stood beneath her window, inviting her into an unknown adventure.

Sensing her hesitation, Shinichiro spoke up: "I want to show you something important." His words hung in the air, a promise of mystery and significance, tempting Inari to take a leap of faith and discover what awaited her outside her safe haven. “Okay wait,” she said before closing her window and quickly taking off her pajamas. Without thinking too much she put on a white knitted sweater, a pair of dark blue flared jeans. As she tightened the brown belt, she exited her bedroom.

When Inari stood in the dark hallway, her body tensed with every step she took. She tiptoed towards the staircase, her gaze fixated on her grandparents' bedroom door, dreading any sign of movement or sound. Each creaking of the wooden steps beneath her weight made her heart skip a beat, her senses heightened to the slightest noise.

Holding her breath, she stole a cautious glance at the closed door, relief flooding over her when it remained closed. The fear of awakening her grandparents gripped her, fueling her determination to move silently and unseen.

Reaching the foot of the staircase, Inari's footsteps became nearly imperceptible as she moved with the grace of a shadow. She slipped her feet into her trusty loafers, their familiar comfort offering a small sense of solace amidst her inner turmoil. With a final glance back at the quiet and empty house, she took a deep breath and unlocked the front door.

As Inari approached Shinichiro, two things immediately caught her attention. Firstly, she couldn't help but notice the powerful presence of the motorcycle he was sitting on. The sleek machine exuded an air of adventure and freedom, its polished surface reflecting the moonlight in a mesmerizing display.

But it was Shinichiro himself who truly captivated her gaze. Dressed in a black uniform adorned with striking details, he appeared both mysterious and bold. Across the chest of his uniform, the words ‘Warrior who can take a thousand enemies’ were boldly emblazoned, hinting at a strength and resilience within him.

As her eyes traveled further, she noticed the intricate markings on his arms. On his right arm, the words ‘Biker subculture hoodlums’ spoke of his connection to a rebellious world, while on his left arm, his affiliation with the Black Dragon became evident, the words ‘Founder President’ leaving no doubt about his position.

Yet amidst this edgy exterior, his signature pompadour hairstyle remained, a reminder of his individuality and charm. Inari couldn't help but feel a mixture of intrigue and admiration as she stood before Shinichiro, a boy who seemed to embody both danger and allure.

"You look cute," Shinichiro complimented as Inari stood before him. Not wanting to show her shyness to him, Inari quickly shifted the conversation back to the purpose of their meeting. "You wanted to show me something important, right?" she reminded Shinichiro, trying to regain her composure.

A mischievous smile played on Shinichiro's lips as he grabbed a helmet and handed it to Inari. "Yes, but first you'll have to come with me," he replied, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

Curiosity piqued, Inari eagerly accepted the helmet and slipped it on, adjusting the straps for a secure fit. Looking up at Shinichiro, she inquired, "Where are we going?"

Shinichiro's response held an air of mystery as he simply replied, "You'll see." With that enigmatic statement, Inari wrestled with a cocktail of excitement and uncertainty. As she carefully climbed onto the motorcycle and settled herself behind Shinichiro. As he started the engine of his motorcycle, Inari wrapped her arms around him, holding on tightly. The roar of the engine filled the air as they slowly rode away, the cool wind brushing against their faces.

The ride came to an end sooner than Inari had expected. As Shinichiro parked his motorcycle, Inari's eyes widened at the sight before her. An abandoned building stood tall and decrepit, casting an eerie shadow over the area. Next to Shinichiro's motorcycle were a multitude of bikes, each with its own unique brand, model, and vibrant colors. Inari's unease grew as she took in the scene.

"What are we doing here?" Inari asked, her voice filled with uncertainty. She couldn't shake off the feeling of discomfort that started to settle within her.

"I have a gang meeting coming up, and I wanted you to be there," Shinichiro replied, standing by her side. Inari's confusion deepened as she looked up at him, searching for answers. "Why? What does this have to do with me?" she questioned, her brow furrowing. "Everything will become clear soon. Just trust me and follow," he said, his voice filled with mystery. Without waiting for a response, Shinichiro turned and strode towards the entrance of the abandoned building.

Inari hesitated for a moment, her mind racing with doubts and uncertainties. Should she follow this boy she barely knew, into an unknown situation? But as the scurrying sound of a rat nearby snapped her back to reality, Inari made up her mind. She sprinted after Shinichiro.

Inside the abandoned building, the atmosphere was thick with a sense of secrecy and raw energy. Dim beams of lights casted eerie shadows on the worn-out walls. The space was vast and open, with remnants of the building's former purpose barely discernible.

In the center of the room, the members of Black Dragon stood together, their presence commanding attention. Each member exuded a distinct aura, reflecting their unique personality and role within the gang. Clad in black uniforms adorned with intricate patches and symbols, they stood tall with an air of confidence.

The gang members varied in appearance, showcasing a diverse range of styles and attitudes. Some were tattooed from head to toe while others sported slicked-back hair.

The room echoed with the low murmurs of conversation, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

As Shinichiro entered the building, a sudden hush fell over the room, and the gang members immediately snapped to attention. Their voices quieted, and they stood tall, awaiting their leader's presence. "Good day, captain. Welcome sir!" they proclaimed in unison, their voices filled with reverence as they bowed in respect to Shinichiro. Without uttering a word, Shinichiro strode purposefully towards the center of the building, his presence commanding the room.

"Wait here for me," Shinichiro instructed Inari, breaking his silence before disappearing into the crowd. Inari nodded, feeling a mix of curiosity and nervousness, as she stood beside a young man. He matched her height, and his slightly long white hair gave him an intriguing appearance. His eyes, drooping slightly, seemed to carry an air of boredom. When their gazes met, he cast an appraising glance, assessing Inari from head to toe. Uncertain of how to respond, Inari offered him a small smile.

"So, you're the girl Shin saved," he suddenly remarked, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. Inari's heart skipped a beat as she realized what he was referring to. "Yes, he did," she replied, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and admiration for Shinichiro's actions.

Suddenly, a voice boomed through the room, causing Inari to startle. "Gather around! The meeting is about to begin!" the voice commanded, its sheer volume catching her off guard. She swiftly turned around, trying to locate the source of the shout, and her eyes landed on a young man with shoulder-length black hair, styled with a noticeable shine and parted down the middle.

"Don't worry, Takeomi can be loud, but he's harmless," a deep voice reassured Inari from beside her. She turned to face the speaker and found herself standing in front of a tall, muscular figure. He towered over her, exuding a strong and formidable presence. His hair was neatly fashioned into cornrows, adding to his imposing appearance. Inari couldn't help but feel a tinge of fear in his presence.

"I hope I didn't startle you. My name is Arashi Keizo, but you can call me Benkei," he introduced himself with a friendly smile, his warm expression contrasting with his initially intimidating aura. “No not at all,” Inari said while trying to calm herself down. “Nice to meet you, I am Kawamura Inari,” she introduced herself to him. “I know. Shin told me a few things about you,” Benkei said and looked at her. “He did?” her brows furrowed slightly in confusion, wondering how often Shinichiro spoke about her in the presence of his gang members.

As everyone gathered, Shinichiro stood on a raised platform, commanding attention from his fellow gang members. His presence loomed over the crowd. "Tonight, I've gathered all of you here," he began, his voice carrying through the room. Inari listened intently, curious about the purpose of the meeting. "Let's go, Waka," Benkei said, gesturing to a boy with white hair who stood nearby. With a nod, they both turned away, walking towards the crowd.

"For months, we have been hearing stories about another gang wreaking havoc on the streets of Shibuya. It was only a matter of time before our paths crossed," Shinichiro addresses the attentive crowd. Every member listens intently, captivated by his words while their eyes were fixed on the tall guy. "After weeks of enduring rumors, threats to our friends and family, we finally confronted those fools who not only provoked us but also dared to challenge us."

As Inari keenly observes Shinichiro addressing his gang, she finds herself fascinated by the scene unfolding before her. Despite not knowing him well, she can see why these rugged individuals look up to him. There is an undeniable aura of calmness emanating from him, nothing about his presence feels evil or threatening. “But there is nothing and no one who can defeat Black Dragon and that’s exactly what was proven during the fight between Northern Vipers and Black Dragon which is known as the Red Moon Showdown,” his voice carries a confidence that suggests he speaks not to convince others, but because he truly believes in his words.

Suddenly, two unfamiliar boys adorned in vibrant neon green jackets and black trousers materialized behind Shinichiro. The members of Black Dragon wore expressions of surprise and curiosity at the unexpected guests, their murmurs filling the air as they questioned the reason for their presence at a Black Dragon meeting. Their hushed conversations were abruptly silenced when Takeomi's commanding voice pierced through the room, demanding their attention. All eyes turned towards their leader, eager to hear the reason behind the unexpected guests' arrival.

"Quiet down!" Takeomi's firm voice resonated, causing an immediate hush to settle over the crowd. With an air of cautious intrigue, the members fixed their gaze upon Shinichiro, awaiting his explanation. "Allow me to introduce President Ito Satoshi and Vice-President Yamamoto Ryota of the Nothern Vipers," Shinichiro announced, gesturing towards the two boys beside him. "After lengthy discussions, it has been decided that the Northern Vipers will join forces with Black Dragon. This alliance will not only strengthen our ranks but also expands our territorial influence," he continued, delivering the news that was met with visible satisfaction and approval from the members.

Amidst the sudden turn of events, Inari's name resonated through the abandoned building, catching her attention. It took a moment for her to realize that it was Shinichiro calling out to her. Aware of all eyes on her, she couldn't help but feel a wave of awkwardness wash over her. Fearful of disrupting the delicate atmosphere, she worried about making any missteps or saying something out of place. However, Shinichiro's extended hand provided her a sense of reassurance.

"Inari, come here," Shinichiro repeated, his voice gentle yet commanding. Reluctant to heighten the awkwardness, Inari tentatively reached out and took his hand, allowing him to guide her to the raised platform where he stood. As she stood beside him, the attention of the room now fully focused on her, Shinichiro directed his gaze towards the two boys in green.

"Satoshi, Ryota," Shinichiro addressed them, acknowledging their presence. The boys, dressed in their striking green attire, turned their attention towards Inari and bowed deeply before her. Confusion etched across her face, she stared back at them, awaiting an explanation. In unison, the two boys spoke, their voices synchronized with a sense of remorse. "On behalf of the entire Northern Vipers, we apologize for bothering you that night. We will make sure it won’t happen again," they uttered, their words hanging in the air.

Inari found herself momentarily speechless, her gaze fixed upon the two boys who stood before her. As their words sank in, she began to comprehend the reason why Shinichiro had brought her to this gathering. Seeking guidance, Inari turned her eyes to Shinichiro, silently hoping that he would take the lead and assist her in this unexpected situation. To her surprise, however, he remained by her side, his expression conveying reassurance and support.

As murmurs and whispers began to ripple through the audience, Inari felt a surge of urgency, compelling her to break the silence. Summoning her courage, she parted her lips and spoke, her voice clear and composed, "I appreciate your apologies, and I forgive you." Her words hung in the air, carrying a weight of acceptance and understanding.

Underneath the blanket of the night sky, Inari and Shinichiro sat together on a park bench, their bags of snacks and two chilled cans of coca cola nestled between them. Tonight, the park seemed quieter than Inari expected. It was well past midnight, a time when most people would either still be toiling away at work or nestled comfortably in the embrace of their homes. The park, usually alive with the laughter of children, barking of dogs and the chatter of families, now lay in a peaceful slumber. The occasional rustle of leaves and the distant echo of passing cars were the only sounds to be heard. In front of her, the two teenagers shared a mesmerizing view of the city lights twinkling like scattered stars in the distance.

Inari delicately rummaged through the bag of snacks, her fingertips searching for a new delicacy to savor. The crinkle of the paper bag echoed in the serene surround as she unearthed a carefully wrapped matcha mochi, its vibrant green color captivating her gaze. Meanwhile, Shinichiro leaned back against the bench, taking leisurely sips from his ice-cold coca cola, the refreshing fizz teasing his taste buds.

As the two teenagers continued to indulge in their snacks, Inari found herself lost in the rhythm of their silence. The gentle act of nibbling and sipping became a soothing symphony, punctuated by moments of shared glances and unspoken gestures. Inari's mind wandered, caught between the sweetness of the treats and the lingering question that lingered from Shinichiro's earlier inquiry. How much time had passed since he asked if she felt cold? A pang of self-doubt coursed through her, as she questioned her brief response. Should she have explained why she was not feeling cold? Or perhaps, a lengthier answer would have only served to complicate their unspoken connection, disrupting the harmony that enveloped them.

Inari's fingers delicately plucked a piece of the sweet dorayaki from its delicate wrapping, savoring the melding flavors of red bean paste and fluffy pancake. Her gaze wandered between the delicate pastry and the mesmerizing cityscape, finding solace in the seamless dance of flavors and lights. As she savored the sweetness of the snack, Inari's thoughts spiraled into a state of panic, desperately searching for a suitable conversation starter with the boy. Just as she was about to gather her courage and utter a word, Shinichiro turned towards her and posed a question that caught her off guard, his voice carrying a playful tone, "Hey, ever tried playing the mood ring game?"

“Mood ring game?” Inari repeated his words, her mind grasping for a memory of the game. The name rang a bell, a faint echo in her recollection. Taking a sip from her drink, she finally asked, “Sure, how do you play it?” Shinichiro put his drink down and explain the rules: “It’s simple. We take turns asking each other questions, associating a memory or an emotion with a color. For instance, what comes to mind when you think of the color orange?” In that moment, Inari's memory flickered to life. It was just last week when a few of her classmates had engaged in the very same game during their lunch break. The pieces fell into place, and a sense of familiarity washed over her.

"Okay, what memory or emotion comes to mind when you think of the color white?" Inari asked the boy, observing him as he pondered the question. "Manjiro's birth," the teenage boy replied, a slight smile forming on his lips. "Why is that?" Inari inquired, her curiosity piqued. "When Manjiro was born and I held him for the first time, everything around me was bathed in that color. The walls, the sheets, the blanket he was wrapped in," Shinichiro explained, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "That sounds incredibly sweet. he must have been an adorable baby," Inari remarked. "Now, it's your turn," she continued, taking another sip of her drink. "What comes to your mind when you think of the color blue?" Shinichiro asked, his gaze fixed on her as she gently scratched her cheek, lost in thought. "When I first moved in with my grandparents, they had a shiba inu named Kumo, and her leash was a vibrant shade of blue. One morning, I secretly took Kumo for a walk, but she was so energetic and kept running away. After finally managing to leash her, she dragged me all over the place, until I had to grip a lamppost tightly to stop her from pulling me further," Inari recounted, sharing a childhood story that elicited laughter from Shinichiro as he imagined the comical scene in his mind.

As the minutes turned into hours, the two teenagers continued to engage in the delightful game, asking each other questions and sharing amusing anecdotes from their childhoods. With each passing question and response, a sense of ease and comfort enveloped them. Inari found herself laughing wholeheartedly at Shinichiro's stories, her laughter echoing through the tranquil night air. The initial awkwardness they had felt at the beginning of their outing began to melt away, replaced by a growing connection and shared understanding.

"Grey," Inari said softly, running her fingers through her hair. Shinichiro's smile slowly faded, and he revealed that the color held a bittersweet memory for him. Sensing his change in mood, Inari suggested they take a break from the game, not wanting to delve into painful experiences. Surprisingly, Shinichiro shook his head, determined to share his story. As he recalled the memory, he began, "Shortly after Manjiro was born, my mother took care of the household while my dad worked..."

With a heavy heart, Shinichiro continued, "One day, when I got home from school, I overheard my dad talking to a woman. From her voice, I knew it wasn't my mother. Curiosity led me to my parents' slightly open bedroom door, and there I witnessed my father kissing this unknown woman... She was wearing a grey dress, something my mother never possessed. From that moment I had difficulty to look at my father the same way again."

Inari listened attentively, her heart going out to Shinichiro as he shared his painful experience. The weight of his words hung in the air, creating a space of empathy and understanding between them. She reached out and gently touched his hand, offering silent support and reassurance.

"I'm truly sorry you had to go through that, Shinichiro," Inari said, her voice filled with compassion. Shinichiro gave her a small, appreciative nod.

"Did you ever tell your mother about it?" Inari asked, her eyes fixed on Shinichiro as he played with his straw. He shook his head, a solemn expression crossing his face. "I think she knew, but we never talked about it," he told her, meeting her gaze. For the first time, Inari noticed a glimmer of something in his onyx eyes—a flickering light that persisted in the darkness.

"Have you ever confronted your father about it?" Inari asked cautiously, aware of the delicate nature of her question. Her curiosity compelled her, even though she wasn't certain if she wanted to venture into that territory. There was a moment of silence before Shinichiro spoke.

"When I was younger, I didn't fully grasp the gravity of the situation and how deeply it hurt me. But as I grew older and found the courage to confront him, he was gone. He passed away in a car accident two years ago," Shinichiro revealed, his voice tinged with a mix of sadness and acceptance. Inari felt a surge of empathy for Shinichiro, realizing the complexities of his journey and the unresolved feelings that lingered within him. She reached out and gently placed her hand on his, offering silent comfort in that tender moment.

"I'm sorry, Shinichiro," Inari said softly, her voice filled with compassion. "It must have been difficult to carry such weight and not have the closure you sought. But please remember, you are not defined by the actions of others. You are strong and resilient, and I'm here for you."

Shinichiro offered her a faint smile, appreciative of her support.

"I'm sorry for asking that," Inari quickly interjected, her voice laced with genuine remorse, as she noticed a flicker of pain in Shinichiro's eyes. "Do you always apologize?" Shinichiro suddenly posed the question. Inari paused, realizing that apologizing had become somewhat of a reflex for her, even for things she didn't necessarily need to apologize for.

"I guess it's a habit I developed after growing up with my mother," Inari admitted, her words escaping her before she fully processed them. The silence enveloped them, and Inari felt a gentle pull in her heart, urging her to share a fragment of her own story with Shinichiro. They sat closely together, their shoulders barely touching. Inhaling deeply, Inari turned to Shinichiro, her voice carrying vulnerability.

"When I was young, I lived in Shizuoka with my parents... but it wasn't a happy household," she began, her gaze fixed upon the ground. Sensing Shinichiro's gaze shifting towards her, filled with empathy, she found the courage to continue.

"My mother felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of caring for my father, who has an intellectual disability, and me... So she channeled her frustration and anger toward my father and me," Inari revealed, her voice tinged with a mix of sadness and pain. But she felt a sense of relief in finally sharing this part of her past with someone who showed genuine understanding.

Shinichiro listened intently, his eyes locked on Inari, offering her a safe space where she could pour out the depths of her emotions. His unwavering focus conveyed not just curiosity, but a genuine desire to understand and connect with her on a deeper level. The tenderness in his gaze assured Inari that she could trust him with the vulnerable parts of her story.

As she continued to speak, Shinichiro's presence felt like a comforting embrace, silently encouraging her to unravel the layers of her past. His attentive posture, leaning slightly towards her, mirrored his genuine interest and concern. It was as if the world around them faded into the background, leaving only the two of them locked in this moment of shared vulnerability.

"I never realized that what my mother did was wrong until my grandfather from my father's side visited us and saw the bruises on my limbs," Inari continued, her voice tinged with a mix of sadness and pain. Her words trembled slightly as she revisited the memories that had shaped her life. "But one day, she packed her bags and left...without any explanation or promise of when I would see her again. Her departure infuriated my grandparents, and they took her to court."

Inari's fingers fidgeted with a loose thread on her sweater, the fabric twisting and turning beneath her touch as if mirroring the turmoil within her. Her brows furrowed, a telltale sign of the internal struggle she faced, as she fought to find the right words to convey the depth of her emotions and the weight of her past.

There was a moment of stillness between the teenagers, a heaviness settling upon them, as Inari grappled with the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. Each thread she fiddled with carried a fragment of her pain, a tangible representation of the tangled emotions that had been woven into the fabric of her being.

Inari's eyes, usually filled with a spark of liveliness, now held a hint of sorrow, a depth that revealed the depths of her inner struggles. It was as if the weight of her past had settled upon her shoulders, and she carried it with a quiet strength.

"I remember, in the days leading up to the trial, I would pray every night, desperately hoping to be reunited with my mother. But she never showed up... And then, before I knew it, I had to pack my belongings and move to Tokyo," Inari revealed. Her voice trembled slightly, each word carefully chosen, as she sought to convey the profound sadness that lingered within her.

As she spoke, memories, both painful and bittersweet, flooded her mind. The challenges, the overwhelming loneliness, but also the love and care she had received from her grandparents, all rushed back, intertwining in a tapestry of sorrow. Each word carried the weight of countless moments that had shaped her existence, leaving scars etched deep within her soul. It was as if she were adrift in an ocean of despair, clinging to fragments of solace amidst the tempest.

Inari looked up, locking eyes with Shinichiro. A whirlwind of emotions stirred within her—vulnerability mingled with profound gratitude for his unwavering presence and empathetic ears. "I... I apologize for oversharing," she murmured, her voice trembling with the weight of lingering uncertainty.

In that moment, Shinichiro reached out and gently placed his hand on hers, a silent gesture of understanding and support. "Thank you for sharing this part of your life with me, Inari," he said softly, his voice filled with compassion.

As the night wore on and their game continued, Inari and Shinichiro found themselves sharing interesting moments of their lives. Moments that brought laughter to the teenagers but also moments that made them comfort each other. Amid their laughter, Inari's eyes were suddenly drawn to the eastern horizon. A soft glow began to spread across the sky, gradually transforming the darkness into a palette of warm hues. Inari's heart skipped a beat as she realized the sun was starting to rise.

"Look," she whispered, nudging Shinichiro gently. Their laughter subsided as they turned their gaze toward the breathtaking sight before them. The sky was painted in streaks of vibrant oranges, pinks, and purples, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colors.

Silently, Inari and Shinichiro sat side by side, mesmerized by the beauty unfolding before them. They watched in awe as the sun emerged, casting its golden rays over the waking city. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as they shared the tranquility of the sunrise together. As the first rays of sunlight touched their faces, Inari couldn't help but smile as she looked at Shinichiro, his eyes reflecting the golden hues of the sunrise.

Together, they welcomed a new day, knowing that their shared connection would continue to grow, just like the radiant sun ascending the sky.

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