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mayariviolet · 5 months

Text

From The Start

Synopsis: "Saying he was a close friend would be insufficient. Admitting you only liked him platonically when Yachi asked, felt like a misnomer." - Your friend Tanaka gets himself into a shitty situation, leaving you to have a close encounter with an old friend for help and hope that it won't open any new wounds.

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cw: (Suggestive themes but NO smut) F! Reader, Suna Rintarou, Suna Rintarou x Reader, minor or background relationships, NO USE OF Y/N BC I HATE IT, college au, time-skip, mental health issues, friends to lovers but like rlly fast, fluff/angst, hurt/comfort, one-shot, drug use, implied drug addiction, second pov, multiple pov, basically a lot of references to drugs (don't clock me I'm writing from experience), lots of emotional turmoil, idk what else!

a/n: I originally wrote this in 2021 when I was trying to sort out some complicated feelings with this guy I was dating. I returned to this draft recently and added more context to the point where it's indistinguishable from my original. A lot of this is based on my own experiences but muted, especially at the end (iykyk). Also, enjoy the playlist I made! (if there's an opportunity for me to make one, I will do it). It's also on Ao3.

words: 8.7k (I have a problem)

*Ding*

Ryūnosuke Tanaka (t money): You're gonna be fineeeee. He's like a really chill guy now B)

You: Sure, but like... I've never gone alone before :(

*Ding*

Hitoka Yachi <3 Emphasized a text.

Hitoka Yachi <3: It's going to be okay! If I could do it, so could you <3 <3 <3 But no pressure if you can't do it. Just come by my apartment around 7 p.m. for pre-drinks, but the party starts at 10 p.m.

*Ding Ding*

Yu Nishinoya (Captain Underpants): You got this! See if you can get a discount ;)

You Laughed at a message.

Yu Nishinoya (Captain Underpants): I love the fact that he rolls them in front of whoever is buying.

T-Money Liked a message.

You: waaaa...okay, thanks, guys. I should be there in 30 min?

*Ding Ding*

Captain Underpants Liked a message.

Hitoka Yachi <3 Loved a message

T-Money Liked a message.

Knock Knock

Shoving the phone into your back pocket, you shift your weight back and forth. A lonely dance with no accompaniment at his front door atop the grimy green carpet."It's supposed to be a quick in and out." You think, "You have nothing to worry about; just r e l a x."

If Ryūnosuke weren't currently dealing with explosive diarrhea, he would be picking up with you. You don't even want to smoke before Yachi's iconic end-of-the-semester party so you can remember it this year. You had a bad habit of blacking out since going out was a rare occasion. But here you are in front of Suna Rintarou's room, feeling like you are about to explode.

All because Tanaka decided only to drink bubble tea for breakfast and eat nothing else to get belligerent at the party because he "didn't want to pay more for drinks" despite Yachi always having spare liquor for him and Nishinoya specifically. You swear, they would've learned their lesson after three almost four years.

Knock Knock

"Uhm... hello?"

The palms of your hands are sopping with sweat. So much so that you keep rubbing them along the hem of your pants. Hoping your anxiety will seep into your clothes and evenly distribute them throughout your body. Gingerly raising a fist, you're about to knock again before the sounds of shuffling and soft footsteps toward the door interrupt you.

Suna opens the door halfway, giving you a quick up-and-down glance. His eyes lingered on your half-buttoned, see-through white top, settling on your black, lacy bralette before making eye contact with you again. The dark hair you're familiar with is dishevelled but not ugly. He crosses his arms and leans against the door frame before saying hello.

"Where's Baldy?"

"He's dealing with a... stomach issue," You reply with a tight-lipped smile. "So I'm picking up for Yachi's party tonight. Oh! and here." You pull a $20 from your bra and hand it to him. Crossing your arms to cover the provocative outfit hand-picked by Yachi.

"For the pre-rolls." He hums non-committally and grabs the cash, stuffing it in his pocket before stepping aside to let you in.

Entering his dorm, it's illuminated only by warm lighting. A steel desk lamp and warm white LED strip lights are placed elegantly behind the headboard and desk. His room is plastered with tasteful posters from vintage skateboard magazines, vinyl and movie posters, save for one fake succulent and a digital alarm clock for decoration beside his nightstand.

An earthy candle scent greets you, which does minimal to cover the offensive smell of weed emulating from the rest of the room. It's so nauseating that you can't help but contort your face. Suna, on the other hand, remains as stoic as you remembered.

"Can you close the door? You're gonna stink up the hall." He returns to his seat and unpauses the soft rnb music coming from his laptop before grinding the flower.

"Sorry," you whisper and hastily but carefully close the door. "So, how have you been?"

Suna furrows his brows, slumping further into his chair, wiping the remaining overflow of flower from the grinder into a small tin can.

"Coping." He gives an exasperated sigh, "You?"

"Living the dream." There is a pause, and you hover awkwardly between the door and his bed. Wobbling like a starved carnival performer with Suna as the sole unimpressed audience member.

"You can sit wherever." He motions vaguely to his bed, never looking at you when he does.

Having met Suna during orientation week, you two hit it off instantly, rarely arguing. His ability to effortlessly charm a room was so endearing. Perhaps he felt the same way. It was a little awkward whenever you two were alone. He became quieter, but not in an 'I have a superiority complex' way, just a comfortable shyness. At least that's what you thought.

First, it was annoying, considering you liked his bravado, and it was a shame that he didn't actually seem like that. Over time, he initiated more conversations. Whatever words he chose to say had an actual meaning, which was more than most people could say. It was something that you grew to accept and admire even.

You two were inseparable. However, you grew distant over the years. You were only keeping in touch via liking each other's posts on social media. It's a fake sense of closeness, really, since liking a post here and there isn't indicative of camaraderie—a thought you reiterated over and over like a heretics' mantra.

Despite that, you found yourself praying that whatever he posted next wouldn't be an 'anniversary post.' Although that shouldn't even be a problem, at least one that you should be concerned with. Considering you weren't in his life anymore. Luckily, he only uploaded skateboarding tricks that he pulled off, and Atsumu fails.

Was this healthy? No. Was your form of pre-workout analyzing the tagged photos of him with other girls yielding progress? Absolutely. Again, you're thankful that these posts were not on his profile and always featured a disinterested Suna with hands just hovering over their shoulders. But that also could mean nothing.

Unsurprisingly, the pre-med program you tortured yourself with did not precisely align with his computer science program and intense volleyball schedule. Now that the first half of your fourth year is closing, Yachi invited everyone from the 'first-year farewell' party as a 'happy reunion.' Hooray.

That was the last time you saw Suna at a party and interacted amicably (from what you could remember) in the most liberal use of the word. Now, all Suna could muster were halfway smiles when the universe decided to let your paths cross on campus and, occasionally, the city. He occasionally appeared at other functions but never for more than an hour, accrediting it 'being busy.' Mutual friends give a constant reminder of 'just missed him!' whenever you ask if he was there. Eventually, you gave up hope of ever seeing him again.

"So, uhm, did you get Yachi's invite?" You ask, making your way to the neat bed, feeling slightly emboldened. The heels you're wearing carefully navigate the surprisingly clean floor so as not to step on anything important you couldn't see. Perhaps asking him in person could evoke a desired outcome. Highly doubtful, though.

"Yep. I don't know if I'll go, though." He stretches his back, giving a slight shrug.

"Ah... busy, I'm assuming?"

"You know me."

"Of course," you try to reply in a matter-of-fact tone, but it does very little to hide your disappointment in his response. Why did you even bother again? Even though Suna hasn't turned around since you entered the room, he can feel your mood damping from his response.

"We'll see." He stretches his back, puffing out his chest slightly. "Depends on if any cool people are going." He gives you a quick sideways glance and flashes a smirk, scratching the back of his head. The blush on your face creeping up from the depths of your desire. Hopefully, Suna doesn't notice. You couldn't handle getting interrogated about why. Although he would say he's teasing, you know Suna would hold it over your head. Flashes of your last interactions have you blinking back into reality, shoving any unwarranted thoughts back into the recesses of your mind.

"You look nice, though," he says so quietly it's almost a mumble.

"Thank you, Suna," you reply dryly, attempting to be nonchalant. "That means a lot."

His long dark hair framed his face, concentrated as he tried to finish packing every gram he could fit into the grinder. Your first impression of Suna was he looked so cool and hot. The second impression was his dry and well-timed wit. Though his tone sometimes bordered on apathy. Regardless, he's funny without even trying. Suna was the kind of annoying hot person who adamantly denied that whatever higher powers that be blessed him with a symmetrical face and clear skin. An unrequited physical attraction, at best that should never be acted upon. It's like a celebrity crush. Despite everything, you want him to be happy.

"How's practice going?" you ask.

"Good, actually. I've been spending more time planning drills. Being co-captain is harder than I thought. At least with Tsukishima, I have someone that I could work well with."

"That's good," You hum, with no particular conviction, before making yourself comfortable on his bed. "I'm glad things are going well." He nods.

It was much neater than when you last spoke. Looking around at the neatly placed posters contrasted by the neat pile of volleyball equipment next to the dresser, you appreciate the difference. It looked like Suna had just gotten out of practice not too long ago.

"Don't mind the mess; I've been trying to do extra warmups and cool-downs for the team. Also, trying to plan practice after the break is gruesome. " Suna calls out your name without turning around. "So, is there anything else you're looking for? Molly? Adderall? Coke?"

"Uhm-" Your body tenses and shifts forward on the bed.

"I'm joking; relax." he tries to chuckle, but it comes out slightly disingenuous. Nervous almost. "I only deal weed and its variants."

You let out an audible sigh of relief, crumbling forward. For a brief moment, you swear Suna smirked, but his stoicism quickly returned. Someone who didn't know Suna would think he was being off-putting. They couldn't understand the pleasure of his flirtatious teasing. Fuck him for still making you flustered.

"I only have hybrids right now," He rummages around his box, looking for a small, unassuming paper bag for the blunts he has yet to roll for you, "but it's sativa leaning. Is that okay? I also only have half a gram left... My bad, I need to restock. Sugawara drained my supply."

"That's fine," you reply. You play with the sheets in between your fingers to calm your nerves. "Do what you need to do."

You haven't been alone with him in so long. Something changed over the years, and Suna went from being mainly sober to an absolute pothead turned part-time dealer. His clientele was thankfully reduced to inner circle people—some of whom you shared. Yachi, Nishinoya and Ryūnosuke, to name a few. However, there was minimal overlap. Any updates about his life reached you through social media or hearsay from his buyers.

Gone were the late-night study sessions and early-morning coffee runs. He would happily help you with each mundane task, and you did the same. Helping each other became second nature. Beyond being enamoured by his looks, this is what you admired most about him. You envied his ability to have fun and help without being too condescending.

Even doing nothing together felt like it meant everything. Until the distance between you two felt too vast. When you two were squished together on the comically small loveseat during group study sessions, his body warmed next to yours. However, his eyes became colder as he looked out into the distance. Rintarou- no, Suna was slipping out of your life.

Saying he was a close friend would be insufficient. Admitting you only liked him platonically when Yachi asked, felt like a misnomer.

***

First Year: Second Semester

Rintarou : ) : I'm busy that day. How about Thursday?

You: I have a 'preparing for your practicum' workshop. What about next week?

Rintarou :) : Can't. Volleyball practice. I'm doing a hackathon, too.

Rintarou :) : Tsukishima is trying to show the team something. Buddy thinks just because he blocked Ushijima once, he can lead drills.

You Laughed at a message.

You: Don't kill me. It sounds like you've been hanging out with the Canadian recruits lately.

Rintarou :) : They're teaching me slang. Helps me when I'm 'chirping' the other team.

You Disliked a message.

Rintarou :) : Also, do you have an extra pencil case?

You: Yeah I do.

You: Okay. Let's play it by ear. ^

You: Just text me your schedule :)

Rintarou :) Loved your message.

Rintarou :) : Of course. Wanna call and study tonight?

You: Of course.

You: Actually, come by my room instead. :3

Rintarou :) : You want me so bad, huh? ;)

You: Stop this.

You: (.-.)

You: Just come and get this fucking box, loser.

Rintarou :) : Which box? ;) :)

You: I'll loosen the wheels on your skateboard when you least expect it.

Rintarou :) : Nooo

Rintarou :) : I'll be there soon. I work better with you anyway.

You: mhm.

You: Keep flattering me. I need it.

Closing the iMessage tab, you shift your attention to finishing the lab report for Intro to Chemistry. Resisting the urge to reread your messages because if you do, you'll explode. Rarely did shameless flirting make you this giddy. But coming from a friend was fine or felt fine? Morally acceptable? There was a persistent dull ache as you remembered that Rintarou would never see you as more than a friend. Annoyed at the influx of additional comments on your edits from inept group members, you turn on Do Not Disturb. Rintarou came to your room fifteen minutes later with your exact iced matcha order (how he got it perfect when you never told him was a mystery) and plenty of volleyball practice drama to vent about.

Apparently, Tsukishima was very annoyed about being benched for the next couple of games—something about a sprained finger. Tsukishima's misfortune benefited Rintarou as he got more game time now. Your updates included several shitty dates that went nowhere. When Rintarou asked for their social media handles, he laughed roaringly before making scarily accurate observations based on their looks.

Hands shaky from laughing so hard, you begged him to stop, but he refused. His deadpan delivery never failed to bring about your smile. Of course, Rintarou was only chatty for a short period before slipping into the familiar, mutual comfort of doing your own thing but together.

"Not to get sentimental, but I'm glad we're friends." You smile at him, cutting the silence before laying your head on his shoulder.

A pause.

"Friends?" He asks, voice shaking slightly.

"Of course? I hope that we can be friends for a long time."

"I want that too."

He hums and stirs in his position to make you more comfortable before resting his head atop yours. Not looking at him, you could sense a smile creeping across his usual melancholy disposition. The next several hours were dedicated to working on various assignments. Rintarou sits on your bed, leaning against the wall while you move to lay your head on his thighs. Despite you offering your desk space, he wanted to sit next to you.

You are clacking away at your keyboard while he reviews his notes. His woody cologne added an extra layer of reassurance. You're prone to overthinking, and being with him gave you a happy radio silence.

Peace. It's all you could ever ask from a friend. The comfortable quiet is only interrupted by distant screaming from frat parties and Rintarou asking if you want a smoke break (a good stress relief, he says). But you politely decline each time. Suggesting that you two smoke another time when you're less busy. "Okay, another time. Promise?" He would ask, and you hummed in agreement.

After asking, Rintarou would be erratically checking his phone. Nothing out of the ordinary. That man is glued to his phone. It could be a third arm.

However, the smiling at someone's texts. That was new. You tried not to let your mind wander. Shoving down the image of Rintarou flirting with some girl. It's almost enough to let a string of bile rise from your stomach. Did he react the same way to seeing you?

"Ugh!" you groan, sitting up from Rintarou's legs and stretching. The cropped crewneck sweater you thrifted pulls up, exposing your bra. Rintarou looks the other way, tugging the bottom of the sweater and pointing to the window you're facing.

You scramble to become presentable, and he laughs at your flushed disposition, "Shut up."

"What's wrong? Are you getting a headache? You were working so hard until ten minutes ago," he asks, putting his notes aside. "You've been staring at a blank screen ever since."

You let out an exasperated sigh and fiddle with the hem of your leggings, "I'm just frustrated. I'm just trying to help with this lab report. But all of my edits don't get resolved, and people keep saying I'm too anal. Why would they want to settle for mediocrity? Plus, my participation is contingent on successful group work."

Rintarou listens to you ramble for however many minutes, and you eventually find yourself back in his lap. The soft caress of his hand across your head easing your worries. Times like these make it hard to remember that he is not your boyfriend.

"It must be hard being ambitious," he murmurs, "but I believe in you. You're putting in the effort."

"So are you," you hum, turning your head to look up at his face, admiring his strong and lean build, letting your hand grasp his bicep. "Aren't you a contender for being on the starting lineup now? So close to becoming captain!" His gaze softens at your touch, and he smiles at you. He couldn't quite properly describe how you made him feel. Rintarou thought no string of words could ever describe the overflowing emotions you evoked.

"It's nothing major," he says dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Thank you."

"I'm always cheering you on. No matter what."

An emergency team meeting scheduled early the next morning cuts your 'study session' even though you and Rintarou were procrastinating, tangled bodies. Platonically. You are still lying on his lap as he soothingly and methodically moves the hair away from your forehead. Fingers are slightly calloused and taped. The headache from studying for hours, acting like some bat signal for Rintarou to soothe you without asking, almost lulling you to sleep. The sun was threatening to make its appearance on the horizon anyway. He shoves the wooden pencil case (your unused extra wooden craft box) into his bag.

"I'll give this back to you when I can," he says, zipping up his bag before slinging it on one shoulder.

"No worries if you don't. Consider it a gift for getting more play time." you smile at him.

"I'm gonna get you something, too! You'll have to wait. Heh." He pulls you into a deep embrace. You hugged Rintarou goodbye, and he was the first to pull away. There was a gnawing pain that this would be the last time you two saw each other. Like really saw each other. Chalking it up to paranoia and anxiety from the lab report, you didn't dwell on it too much. Desperately trying not to hyper-fixate on what he's doing. Or you tried, too, at least. You're friends. You have to keep reminding yourself—just friends.

Weekday study session requests were slowly replaced with smoke break hangouts instead. You declined almost every single time, except maybe once or twice. Citing the 8:30 am labs. He knew how important school was to you. Yet here he is, flippant as ever. Rintarou's smoke breaks from volleyball stress, gradually filling up his time between class and practice.

Even after training, his free time was occupied with team affairs—a different crowd—a different Rintarou. He stopped doing hackathons and other nerdy shit. His roommate Osamu just shook his head whenever you tried to drop by like usual. Class or Volleyball was the default answer. Over time, your texts would be left on seen or 'delivered' for hours, days, etc.

Your attempts to attend his important games were thwarted by copious schoolwork and beefing up your resume with volunteer hours. It was a wonder that he could do all this while maintaining a good GPA. To say you were struggling would be an understatement. Nevertheless, you had to keep going. You couldn't afford to fail. Eventually, Rintarou stopped trying, too, and you stopped expecting a text back. One week turned into two, and then three weeks of cancelled plans. A storm finally caged his erratic behaviour and gave him a deadly cold. A harsh transition from winter to the promise of spring. The rain pittering when he buzzed you in.

"You don't know how to have fun anymore," he spat, rolling his eyes. You stood dumbfounded, only getting peaks into his once neat room, covered in grime. It reeked of neglect. He told you he was sick, and despite not hanging out for weeks, you dropped off some soup between classes. Brushing the offer to smoke, Suna's tone with you became increasingly bitter.

"Rintarou-" you start, looking up at him, hoping that this abrasive attitude is just another bit. "I just don't think greening out means you're having fun," you mutter, head slumping forward and shaking in slight disappointment.

His jaw clenches. The flickering blue LED light only highlighted the dullness in his eyes, glossed over. No longer the warmth that you associated with him. Rintarou's face was drained of colour. He clearly wiped off some sweat in his sloppy-looking Inarizaki crew sweater before seeing you at the door. Some wet spots on the shoulders and his damp hair suggest he either just had a shower or was itching to smoke outside in the rain. The soft drizzling broke into a torrential downpour, a distant thunderclap cutting the tension between you two.

"Don't get familiar," He scoffs, letting out an empty laugh. "I'm sick; cut me some slack. I'm still going to class and practice, aren't I? Worry about yourself."

"We're friends. Let me worry." At this point, it's hard to differentiate between the storm roaring outside and the silent scream your heart is letting out. "You were doting on me when that guy literally stood me up for three hours at the bar. Or how about when I had a bad migraine spell and you can over to drop off my class notes? You look tired. The stress seems like its getting to you, Rin-"

"Like I said. Don't get familiar. We're not dating." He rolls his eyes, reaching to close the door on you, but you slam it open before you can even think. Rintarou jumps back a little. "Woah, You're getting bold. Maybe one or two more people to sleep with, and you'll learn to have some self-respect."

"Are you fucking high right now? What's wrong with you?" you snap, "You're sick. Don't you have away games soon?"

"You're not gonna show up anyways," he shoots.

Fuck you, asshole, I'm done trying. You think. At some point, the hand lying flat on the oak door turned into a white-knuckled fist. Who fucking cares if he's taller than you. You'll chew him out like you're as tall as Yao Ming.

A girl's voice interrupts the escalating conversation between you two. It's hard to determine exactly what she said, but you're all too familiar with her tone. It's a whiney need for attention for a mediocre man. The exact cadence that Rintar-no. It was Suna's exact tone that would scold you whenever you showed him the ugliest man in the world you're currently crying about. He looks over his shoulder into the void and then back at you. Do you even know this guy anymore? Or did you even know him in the first place?

"Don't you have class in thirty minutes? You should leave," he sighs, "That building is across campus. Plus, I have a girl over. Come back later if you actually wanna hang out and do something."

"You're so fucking stupid." As soon as you spit out the last few words, pain flashed across his face. It made your stomach turn in guilt. You didn't believe that at all. Who else would have won the hackathon against two master's students with published journals in their first year?

"Yeah, maybe to you."

The motion of his door slamming in front of you timed perfectly with the power surge, which blacked out the hallway—leaving the emergency lights on. No doubt, the class will be cancelled now. How could he leave like that? Doesn't he care? A part of you wanted to barge into the room. However, your body wouldn't let you. Instead, the damp tennis shoes you wore carried you back to your dorm.

Walking so slowly that a passerby couldn't tell if it was the torrential downpour making your cheeks wet or something else. The distance weighed heavily on your mental health. The breaks in between school were marred with loathing and pity. Fuck. You should have said something. Kicked, screamed, something better than standing there looking stupid while he closed the door on your face.

Or, at the very least, give him a swift backhand. Luckily, Yachi provided some clarity after you broke down seeing him at her party. You gave her the whole rundown of what happened, filling out details you previously omitted during wine nights with Yamaguchi. Yachi was funnier than she gave herself credit. Besides the fill-in role for Asahi's stage play costuming (reprising her role of Town Person B), she made the hilarious observation that Suna probably had feelings for you. Better than that, he was jealous! Hah! What did he have to be jealous about?

After several bottles of Riesling and Yamaguchi's departure, you and Yachi devised a plan for the next semester. If you wanted to graduate Summa Cum Laude for post-graduate applications, to be the first in your family to become a doctor. Suna would have to figure out what to do on his own.

Second Year: First Semester

When he finally attempted to meet up the second year, it was to return the wooden box you gifted. Your finger hovered over the conversation—a slew of emotions washing over you. Your freshly manicured thumb slides up to see the notification. The offensive summer heat blurs the lines between nervous sweat and your body's pathetic attempt at self-regulation. Every single possibility from this interaction was too much. A few taps later, the conversation is deleted.

***

It was a gruelling three years—a long road of focusing on academics and balancing self-care and mental health. Yachi suggested talking to a therapist and academic advisor to make concrete plans you knew you could follow through with. Romance is on the back burner after two shitty hookups third-year. The dick was so traumatizing and mediocre that it twisted your arm into celibacy. To your dismay, Suna would remain a passing thought whenever you were intimate with anyone else. So that didn't help. You told him your goals, and he told you his.

He chose his support system, and it wasn't you. As painful as it was, you learned to accept that. There's no value in trying to help someone who doesn't want to accept it. At least that's what your therapist said. Still, he plagued your daily life in minuscule ways. Weaving his stupid face and joking flirtations into your cerebrum. Refusing to let go—a dummy sense of warmth.

Suna looks better than the last time you interacted. Full cheeks, sharp features and clean. He stands up from his chair, shuffling through his backpack for something, and you follow closely behind, leaning against the dresser. Looking intently into his bag, Suna pulls out a large matte jar loosely closed containing the aforementioned hybrid flowers; the smell was almost suffocating despite being mostly contained.

"Do you want me to open the window? Because I can." It was annoying how much Suna could read you even after all these years.

"No, I'm fine. It's not that bad." You choke, trying to suppress the cough fighting its way up your throat.

"Oh my gosh, no, it's not fine." He stops whatever he's doing and hastily makes his way to the window—opening it to let in much-needed airflow. Your face was hot with embarrassment. Get a Grip!

The crisp air is doing a push-and-pull dance with Suna's candle.

For a brief moment, his cologne joins in on the tango. Your heart flutters slightly like some Pavlovian response. When he opened the window, you couldn't help but stare at his hands and how the tendons in his arms flexed, especially how he tugged at the latch to jam open the window.

You take a deep inhale. "Thanks, Suna."

"I thought we were close enough to drop the honorific."

His voice is warm, but he's still not looking at you. From the dim lights, it looks like his ears are turning red. His navy oversized hoodie did nothing to hide him. No matter how hard he tried.

"Are we?" you tease, letting out an airy chuckle, "The last couple of years feel like it would imply otherwise. Actually, our last conversation specifically." the last half of the sentence spilled out like a delayed venomous snake bite.

Suna winces, giving a slight nod as if acknowledging what happened. His shoulders are tense like he's itching to say more, picking at the loose lint on his sweater before ripping a loose thread.

"I see you've been doing well from what you post on Instagram, at least. Congratulations on that summer internship, by the way. I remembered how hard you were working the first year." he says, taking you back. "Makes me smile to see you happy."

You attempt to blink back your surprise. Recuperating before mustering an appropriate response. "Thank you. It was a lot of work, and I had to turn down a lot of fun stuff," you sigh, "But the experience was worth it. It's nice to see you happy too."

Suna blushes, "I'm surprised you have the time to even go out. Seems like we're always missing each other at Yachi's parties."

"Are you serious? You're the one that always leaves early, Suna-" you scoff.

"Rintarou. And you're the one that always comes late. Used to be the other way around."

"I had things to do."

"Me too."

The slight, comfortable banter you slipped into almost felt like old times. But the good parts. Rintarou turns around, and you can finally see his whole face. Effortless. He was effortlessly beautiful. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the influx of air, you assume.

"Is something wrong? Your face got red, and you keep playing with your fingers." Rintarou asks, cocking his head with curiosity and a smirk. "Woah, your face is getting redder. I guess you're right. We aren't as close as I remember. Maybe you should keep the honorific. You'll kill me less." he goads.

"No, no, everything is fine. It's just-" Quick! Think of something! Anything! "It's just… I've never rolled before. Can you teach me? I've only really smoked from Kozume's bong and other pre-rolled stuff..." A blatant lie, and he knew it. Still, he entertained the request, although his face seemed to drop slightly—a sharp pain seared through every artery and aorta valve in your heart at his visible confusion.

Why are you even entertaining this? Fuck you, Ryūnosuke. If you weren't obliterating a toilet right now, this wouldn't be happening. "Please?" Perhaps if you played your cards right, you could hurl your body out the window. It would hurt less.

"Huh, that wasn't what I was expecting." He sighs, nodding over to the direction of his desk. "Lucky you, I was just about to roll something right now. Well, before you came." He returned to his seat, where everything was in the neat wooden box. If you didn't know him, you would probably think it's just a fancy pencil case. Another more ornate-looking box is shoved into a corner. It looks unused.

"Did you know you gave me this?" He asks, breaking you away from your thoughts.

"Huh? When?"

"First year. Second semester. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away."

Oh.

"I don't remember that." Your reply is short. Another lie. Rintarou raises his brows at you in disbelief but concedes. "Should have given it back to me, though. An apology would have been nice, too." It is a pathetic attempt at banter again, but disdain slips through your lips. You are betraying your facade.

"You know what you told me when I tried to give it back?" He asks, and you shake your head, "You told me: 'Either sell it or don't bother.' It was at Yachi’s farewell party. I tried again but- You were mad at me, but I couldn't figure out why. Until a year ago. I'm really stupid in that sense."

The dull pain which sat firmly on your chest started to thud louder and louder. "Well, I'm glad you got some use out of it."

"I don't blame you for being mad. I know you were trying to help in your own way." You're too flabbergasted to respond, but Rintarou seems like he's on a roll; besides, what could you even say? This is all you could have asked for. His apology is long overdue. Although you've already accepted that, you might not get an apology anyway.

"Anyways-" he pulls out the large matte jar from earlier, measuring the weed carefully and placing some to the side to roll for you later. He was careful not to make a mess. "It's time to learn. Are you ready?" He returns to the freshly ground weed from earlier and starts prepping the paper.

"C'mere, you can't see it from there." You approach the desk, half sitting on it, to inspect his work. He carefully placed the ground weed in the middle of the paper, rolling it with such care that it almost didn't look real. The same care that Rintarou did whenever a headache crept up on you, and he carded through your hair. It's almost like he was pushing away all your problems; this isn't the same Rintarou you think. At least you hope not for his sake. His fingers pinch the end, making a small cone-like shape, and you maintain an almost voyeuristic gaze. His hands still had a little bit of tape on them from volleyball practice.

"Rintarou, who taught you how to roll?" You ask, and he finishes rolling, but before he answers your question, he sits a little higher in his chair and motions for you to come closer to his face.

"Stick your tongue out." his gaze meets yours, almost at eye level, as he holds the blunt.

"What? Why do I have to do that?" the heat rushes to your skin, and it feels like the sun gave a swift slap across your face. Didn't he open the window? Why is it so hot in here?

"C'mon, humour me." You lean in and hesitantly stick out your tongue. He glides the paper across the tip of your tongue, maintaining eye contact. An unwavering gaze lingers when you oblige—catching a glimpse of Rintarou biting the inside of his cheeks before returning to the monotonous motion of grinding weed. The thumping of your heart increases in volume. So damn loud you're scared he can hear it.

"We can smoke this if you want." He offers.

"Sure, I'm trying to learn how to be fun again," you say, giving a tight-lipped smile, and he winces at your words.

You both take laborious steps to the window and lean against the sill. Rintarou places the blunt between your lips before patting around his sweatpant pockets for his lighter. Bending over and covering the flame, your right hand encompasses the lighter so it doesn't get blown out by the air. He mimics your movements with hands grazing each other. You cringe, but he doesn't move. Electing to focus on how your lips pull on the blunt. He subtly bites his lips but hopes you're so concentrated on pulling that you won't notice.

He lets you take the lead. Going through the back-and-forth motion of smoking the blunt quietly while his music plays softly in the background until it's about halfway finished. Suna taps off the ash into his trash can before killing the blunt on the tin can lid from earlier. When you're done, he puts the half-finished blunt with your other things in the small paper bag. You feel like you're floating right now from how he's looking at you, but attribute it to the fact that you haven't smoked in a while.

"To answer your question, Tsukishima taught me. He said it improves finger dexterity. It's good for volleyball-" his voice trails off, and he leans against his desk, crossing his arms. "- amongst other things." He looks over at you, smirking, and winks before laughing. The same laugh you thought was lost years ago, exuding his annoyingly flirtatious charm. Diffusing the tension between you two, and you feel like you can finally relax.

Before he casually slips out an, "I missed you."

What the fuck?

A beat of silence. Enraged. No, that's not right. Overwhelmed? No, that doesn't sound right. You're seething. The short breaths from nervousness turned into an almost hyperventilating rage. You needed to calm down. What did people say he was up to? Apparently, it has been a while since anyone could pick up from him. He ghosted some of his regulars. Enablers really. That was nice to hear. What else did you hear? He's doing some shit with Asahi? No, that couldn't be true. There is no instance where those two would interact. Your face deepened into a permanent scowl.

"Don't do this to me, Rintarou."

He doesn't listen to your plea. Instead, he keeps going. The phone in your pocket vibrates. No doubt, a text from Yachi asking what's taking you so long.

"I lied about Sugawara taking the last of my supplies," he confesses. "I don't wanna deal anymore. I was thankful when Baldy texted me so I could finally get rid of it. At least it's going to someone who won't ask me why I'm leaving this shit." The nonchalant facade is cracking in front of you.

"What? Why?"

"I was in a bad place; if I'm being honest, seeing you succeed triggered me to want to be better. I missed being your friend. Well- not just that." He stammers, the sweat visible on his forehead.

"I just thought- sorry. I think you're so cool and smart. I took advantage of that." He continues his rambling. He was explaining the last three years. How his stupid pride got in the way of being happy for your success, and how he hated how jealous he was becoming. Rintarou was becoming everything he despised.

A directionless loser. He took it out on his best friend, who was nothing but supportive. Nothing but a hypocrite who would make fun of the men you dated. Knowing damn well that even if you did decide to date in your league, he wouldn't be in it. He was the exact guy he warned you about.

Rintarou revealed that the added pressure from his parents to become a better older brother didn't help. The intense expectations from his volleyball coach pushed him and Tsukishima to smoke a lot of weed just to cope. His awful trip. An academic probation for a semester before getting help with the assistance of his roommate. His search for a therapist on healthy coping habits for stress.

The complicated but necessary task of getting out of that toxic social circle. He was babbling something about taking up other hobbies that he could show you or already did upon his therapist's recommendation. You think? Whatever the last part was, you couldn't understand it. You're boarding on inconsolable, blinking back tears, trying not to wail as the blood rushes into your ears.

Fuck being high! The pent-up rage you worked so hard to satiate was boiling over. Rintarou's brows furrow with concern, and what looks like... hurt? When he says your name in an attempt to snap you back into reality, it's different from his usual snide or ambivalent remark.

"Sorry, I should have approached this seriously. Uhm- you know-" he chews the inside of his cheek, "I just assumed- I haven't-"

"Rintarou, would you say this to me sober?" you ask, furrowing your brows and hollowing your cheeks. "Like honestly, would you? I miss you too. I'm here for you always. But I- I can't be here the same way as I was if you're gonna brush me off like before. You really hurt me."

Even as the words tumble out of your lips, the herculean task of barely confessing comes out as a relief.

"I-" he stammers, but you cut him off, holding a hand to his face, letting the hand fall on your lap.

"Don't lie to me anymore. Don't tell me you've changed. Show me." your voice wavering, the following words coming out like a plea, "If not me, for yourself."

"I know. I don't expect you to be there for me like before." You let out a breath of relief, but you're still guarded. "And these are dummy blunts I rolled. It's stage stuff for Asahi. Some show he's dressing."

"Huh. What?"

"Didn't you hear me?" he scratches his head, mumbling, "I'm volunteering for the stage plays between volleyball and school. I have to keep busy somehow. I guess I was speaking too fast. Nishinoya mentioned that his boyfriend worked in fashion around the same time my therapist suggested I take up new hobbies."

"So you're-" you stammer, the absolute gall of this man, "But what about me picking up? The smell?"

"Sober? Yeah. It's just cacao beans and something else. I'm still learning. Nothing serious. The smell is from Tsukishima. He borrowed my backpack, and that four-eyed asshole didn't bother washing it." he bites the inside of his cheeks before scratching at his fingers.

"I tried to get a bunch of incense and candles, but none worked. So I just shoved them into my backpack so I could return them. I guess they fell inside my already dirty bag."

There was another beat of silence.

"And what about me picking up?" you press, voice steadily increasing, skipping octaves, "Why'd I give you $20 for some fucking dummy pre-rolls? Is this another one of your pranks? This isn't funny! What about the whole 'I have this strain' and 'this strain that?' I'm too stupid for this."

He shifts his weight back and forth, giving space between you and him. Even his doing that was infuriating. Why is he pulling away again?

"You're not stupid. I'm just bad at explaining. It's just a misunderstanding on my end. Baldy picked up the goods the other day. He said he was sending you the rest of the payment to give to me." Rintarou gives an apologetic shrug. His tone is steady and reassuring, "I guess he and Nishinoya were planning a long con. Yachi, too, I guess. She's the one that's always trying to get us in the same room. She's more creative and stuff in that sense. The other stuff, I just got nervous. You kept looking at me, so I just pulled out my prop stuff."

I'm gonna beat their asses. You think. No wonder she made you put on this outfit. Still, a part of you is a little grateful for their conniving selves. You try to slow down your breathing, letting your eyes flutter close. His languished pauses in between explaining himself were calming.

"You deserve a sober apology. I would never do that to you. The me now, anyway." The world is becoming garbled as you process what's happening. You're at a loss for words.

There's an insistent buzzing in your pocket. Pulling out your phone, there's a slew of notifications regarding your ETA and then whereabouts. Sensing your urgency, Rintarou makes hurried movements behind him.

"I got you a new box. It doesn't smell like 'weed'. I brought it every time I knew you were gonna be at a party, but I didn't want to leave it to some jackass." Rintarou extends his calloused and taped hands to you, revealing an ornate box that he clearly whittled himself with gold hardware.

Biting your bottom lip and tasting some of the strawberry lip gloss you're wearing, you blink your eyes open. The manicured fingers you've maintained and gotten refills for several years trace the outside before opening it. Inside, an inscription carved with love reads:

"Congratulations on Summa Cum Laude <3 "

"I-" The years of complicated emotions come flooding the forefront of your face and barrelling down your cheeks. Thank God for waterproof makeup. The only sound ricocheting around the concrete dorm is the steady flow of your tears and sobbing. Rintarou's word vomit is thankfully complete, you think. However, there was an itch in your throat demanding to be let out.

"I know you need to go, but-" he says, deflated. Rintarou is easing his stance like he's about to leave you alone again.

"Do you have anything else to say?" you ask, cutting him off, hoping it doesn't come out accusatory but rather from a place of curiosity.

"I love you," he hums, with such care, it's suffocating. "I always have. I- I hope we're able to be friends again. I know it will take time-" you wince at his declaration.

I don't want that! I don't want just to be friends!

You both stand there for a moment. Rintarou struggling to read your expression. He's hesitant to continue. Hoping that you'll say anything, but you don't.

Another long pause, "You know me, when I like someone, I have a hard time- It's easier with strangers because you don't have to worry about seeing them again. But I want to see you again." he says.

From the blur of your tears, you finally notice a pile of white flashcards peeking inside the box. Upon opening the creaking lid, your globs of tears hit the flashcards, staining the ink. Each one has a talking point about what Rintarou said tonight. Every way, he has hurt you, even that time he accidentally stepped on your foot at the club.

The bottom of the pile is a barely white card filled with writings about what he appreciates about you (ambition, loyalty, conviction, to name a few) and your companionship. The back of the card are boundless words of encouragement and little drawings he's made.

"Rintarou- you memorized this for me?"

He nods, "I'm really shitty at filling silence. I get awkward and showboat- But I have to make up for lost time." His eyes were glazed, not from being inebriated but because he was trying so hard not to cry, " There's so much that I wanted to say, too. I was going to let you read it on your own, but you might throw it out. And we'll become strangers again. So I just wanted to plan."

Suddenly, there's a torrential downpour. Almost loud enough to drown both your of weeping and sniffling. "It's a little premature, I know, but. I believe in you. Like did with me becoming captain. And for me to be better. You don't have to accept this apology right away. I don't expect you to." he leans forward awkwardly, towering over you.

"Aha," you sniffle, dabbing the tears from the well of your eyes with your knuckles."Thank you, Rintarou. Your apology means a lot. I was always rooting for you. I apologize if I didn't do more than enough. I also didn't know you felt that way when I called you stupid. I'm sorry for yelling. You're brilliant-"

As he's about to cup your face, he pulls back, looking for any sign of hesitation. "Can I?" he says softly, and you nod.

Bringing his hands up to your face, he cups your cheeks—thumbing away any residual tears. "You have nothing to apologize about. I don't blame you for yelling. Honestly, I deserve it. You did so much for me. Thank you. Osamu told me that you tried to see me almost every day. I was stupid and immature, and I was frustrated with myself and took it out on you. Of course, I'm always rooting for you. How could you ever apologize for something that I never told you hurt me? I'm sorry that I ruined our friendship."

It's all too much. Your breathing is erratic while Rintarou's shaky hands try to calm you down. He's tethering you to Earth while he continues.

"I care about you. I love you." his honeyed voice is soft, "Platonically, Romantically- whatever you want."

Looking out the window and ignoring his declaration because you are getting embarrassed AGAIN. Electing to shift your focus to the wet pavement to stop further crying. Watching the leaves falling, eventually kissing the concrete.

"Hey, do you wanna come to Yachi's party?" You ask, hoping he will finally give you the response you want. "With me? If it's not too triggering for you."

Craning his head to make eye contact again, his eyes are almost completely blown out. He looks down at you with heavy lids. Your body tenses up in excitement as he backs you against the cool window, standing between your legs. He removes his hands from your face, placing them on either side of your body, caging you in. Is the condensation making your back wet, or is it sweat? The clambering of the heater marches in the background, blending in with his music. Rintarou's face is unwavering. He detects the no-so-subtle desire you've been emulating since the moment you met. Insatiable, you decide. This man is insatiable.

And to be honest, you're no better.

"Of course, you know me. Next time, we should both try to be honest. I can tell you were lying about not knowing how to roll. I was the one who taught you the first year, remember? When we first met?"

He brushes the hair stuck to your wet cheeks up and out of your face, tucking it behind your ear, and smiles at you. Not caring about the integrity of your white shirt, you wipe away his tears, too, and he leans into your touch.

"Rintarou-" He leans closer, whispering in the shell of your ear. His woody cologne almost wrapped your entire person. Refusing to let go, his hot breath against your neck. Honestly, you could die happily right now. Your heart is like a feral animal begging to be released, shaking at the bars of its enclosure.

"As for what my fingers can do besides rolling a smart, cool, hot girl a blunt," each declaration coming out of his soft lips like velvet, "I can show you the next time we 'smoke.' Okay?" he teases. But you know he won't do anything first.

"Okay."

"Oh! check the bottom of the box." He's giggling to himself. Turning over the box, you find another carved inscription:

"You want me so bad, huh? ;)"

Before Rintarou can interject a snide remark, he blinks back his surprise when your lips crash onto his. It doesn't take long before he deepens the kiss, never getting aggressive. Keeping it slow and sensual is an equilibrium of shared intimacy. His smile gets wider as you pull away before he cups your face again. Desperate to keep you close with quick kisses. Your hair smells precisely how he remembers it all those years ago.

Coconut and mango were the bells that indicated he needed to make his way out of the dark back to the front porch. It's like entering steady waters after being lost at sea for so long, he thinks. He was surrounded by storm clouds, unable to see the stars. Rintarou looked to the moon for guidance when he needed something brighter and consistent. You are his Sun. Blissfully unaware that you were guiding him to safe waters. To land, to home, to you.

"I love you, too."

a/n: Thank you for reading! This is also my first time writing and uploading a fic on Tumblr! Big thank you to my friends for being patient while I babbled on about my love for this fictional man and my disdain for the fucking loser who broke my heart and moved across the world... Any feedback is appreciated!

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haleruby · 3 years

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Slipping Through Your Fingers (2)

Characters/Pairings: established Mal/Evie, eventual Mal/Evie/Reader (Quim), Reader & the Rotten Four (especially Reader & Carlos once we get in the flashback).

This part is Rotten Four interaction, you with Malvie, and then briefly you with Carlos.

Summary: Evie’s idea to design a dress for the newcomer is met with differing reactions from her friends. The actual consultation ends in a way no one could anticipate least of all Carlos...Poor pup.

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes, so no need to reblog/like, etc.

I promise it gets smoother once I can use ‘Shadow’ as the placeholder for you (instead of brunette, other girl, guest, etc.) alongside the pov sections of the Rotten Four in the flashback. The writing is still older so…Let me know if it’s too much like sandpaper, lol. I have other fics.

There are some things in this chapter that hint at what is to come in the flashback section. They may raise some questions too.

- - - - -

"You're so gonna regret this," Jay states it matter of factly. Another beaker is added to the steadily growing tower of glass so it is about as tall as the graduated cylinder Evie keeps adding to. Dark brown eyes that are almost black flick away from his handiwork to observe the counter top for more improvised building blocks. "Like, let's be honest, it sounds kinky." "Jay," Carlos admonishes. "Dude, what? It does sound weird." A test tube is moved out of reach from a tan hand, earning said hand ruffling bleached blond curls with black roots in retaliation for the interception. "Ugh, stop it," Carlos complains without any real bite. The test tube is handed to Evie, before Carlos turns his attention to his boyfriend. "We can't judge a situation we don't know anything about; it would not be fair. Evie said she seems sad." "I didn't say it wasn't bad," he corrects. A momentary seriousness displaces the ever-present, easy grin that was used to charm marks to make stealing easier and can serve as armor that hides his real feelings. "But how is she going to help? It sounds like they have a deal. Maybe the money, status, or protection makes it worth being his, so why mess it up?" Adding highly concentrated acid to the concoction she is brewing takes a steady hand to not over or under administer it. The boys' back and forth is starting to distract Evie. "He calls her pet-" "Kinky..." "-and treats her like property." The murmured comment is ignored, though a warning look is directed at the broad shouldered guy, who would cut an imposing figure to most, but now Jay raises his hands up in surrender. "I don't know why--I had to do something, it just didn't feel right..." "A lot of things aren't right." The firm statement cuts through the room as the fourth member of their group enters in through the double doors. Purple hair and mostly violet and green attire stands out against the white, gray, or stainless surfaces of the chemistry lab and compliments pale skin. Her stride is self-assured and commanding, even if she is the shortest of them, because knowing how to force others to fall in line due to her mere presence is something she honed on the Isle. Calculating green eyes cursorily assess the slight tension among them, before settling on Evie in question. "What did you get yourself into, E?" Mal asks with authority, though those close to her would be able to detect the concern there too. "M," she greets her with a smile to buy a bit of time. Talking this over with the more empathic Carlos was the plan, but Jay tagged along and now Mal is also present. Normally, she would not mind some alone time with their unspoken leader, who also happens to be her girlfriend, but not when she is scheming and plotting mode to fix something that has not even been explained yet. "I decided to make something for someone in exchange for information about Auradon royalty. I really just wanted to talk to the girl because-" How does she say this...? Evie keeps speaking, taking a quick breath. "I don't know how to explain it. This man--Sir Alistair is so creepy and I can't imagine having to listen to him all the time. His commands and whatever else he orders her to do. He interrupted my meeting with Ben, and then was about to leave but I didn't get to actually talk with the girl, so I offered to make something. He turned it into me making a dress for her instead, which is what I technically wanted..." Evie trails off, finishing the ramble. She is unsure if that explained enough or anything at all, still working through her own thoughts hampered her ability to convey them to others. "So, it's a pity dress?" Mal deduces. "No," Evie disagrees immediately.

A fine eyebrow raises at the steel underlying that tone, not expecting it. Evie seems more worked up about this than she would expect given how the acid is now hurriedly being put away, rather than being measured with the usual engrossed focus given to her projects. It is worrying. "As tragic as that sounds, you are already an advisor to Ben about the Isle, so why help?" Mal wonders. "You are busy with that, classes, your designs. I don't want you pushing yourself..." "She knows about arrangements and alliances." This bit of information secures everyone's interest. They were brought together through an alliance, an admittedly unconventional one, but friendship is not a common word thrown around on the Isle, let alone a common concept. Sliding her safety glasses up and off of her head, Evie fixes her girlfriend with a meaningful look that silently requests that Mal listens rather than immediately dissuade out of concern. "When she first saw me she looked afraid-" A blue painted finger nail levels at Jay, who is about to make a wise crack from the set to his lips, "-not like how people looked at us on our first day or how some of the older royals still look at us. This was different. It was not a judgment thing, but almost as if she was ashamed and frightened at the same time, before she just went blank-" A quick snap of her fingers emphasizes this, "-like that. It was different, and I need to know why..." Mal observes Evie carefully, but nothing is said. "I can tell you why. Because you are the daughter of-" Carlos nudges Jay to stop his words, nodding at the look on Evie's face that is edging on somber. "Do you think she is from the Isle?" "You saw how big a deal us coming over was." A welcome event, news coverage, and even a navy carpet was rolled out in an odd mix of tentative hope held by a few and the sensational aspect of it held by the majority. They were a spectacle and a main event. "I don't think so. Or at least I think we would have known if we were not the first VKs coming to the mainland," Evie offers her reasoning on the suggestion. "He could have bought her?" Jay hurries to explain when the two look at him questionably. He didn't mean it like that. "Not that that's right, obviously. But I imagine creating the barrier and stuff took a lot of coin, favors, and magic. If he is a 'Sir' or whatever, he could have had some pull." "I doubt the barrier would be lowered for someone to go window shopping for kids," she comments with a bit of disgust, because the suggestion reminds her of something that still aches after all this time. Special exceptions can always be made. Mal uncrosses her arms, settling on a lab stool on Evie's side of the counter so she is close to her. "You know they would only do it in an extreme circumstance. Anyway, if you want to talk to her that is fine. I will be with you too." "Mal, I-" "We don't know what she is capable of Auradonian or not, so I don't want you alone," she interjects firmly. Reaching for the hand that grips the edge of the laminate countertop softens the interruption; this does come from a place or care, even if she is not always the best at expressing it. "This is not Lonnie or Jane. We don't know this person, E." "Mal is right," Jay agrees. "Maybe we should also be there?" "No," Mal denies him. Jay pouts. "More people could make her uncomfortable..." Evie appreciates Carlos' support, considering Jay tag teamed with Mal as usual on tactics, since the two tend to agree on a more proactive, aggressive approach than the more moderate, measured ones of their other halves. Her focus turns to her girlfriend. "Just promise me you will play nice tonight-" A squeeze is given to their joined hands to preempt any quip or retort, "-since she is very, very quiet. If I have any hope of learning more, I need that shell to open, not close further." "I will be as sweet as cotton candy," Mal assures with some sarcasm, though there is sincerity in her expression. "You won't even notice I'm there."

- - - -

Most would probably hardly notice she is there... There should be the sounds of two sets of steps mounting the stairs to climb up to the level that holds the girl's dorm rooms, but only one distinctive clack is heard against the hardwood. Using her peripheral vision fails as does glancing to the side. The brunette remains just behind her almost in a blind spot, though Evie does not feel threatened. Slowing her steps was mirrored too. Jay would admire these skills that would speak to thievery or going about undetected on the Isle, but it seems like the goal is to go unnoticed--to take up as little space as possible--to disappear into the background, if not needed. It makes Evie feel sad... "-the grand fireplace can be used to roast marshmallows too, so it's great for s’mores," she continues speaking, though there has been no response aside from the initial stilted nod of greeting. Evie continues the abridged tour of the dormitory hall to fill in the quiet, but also to acknowledge her presence by addressing her without expecting anything in return. The long game will need to be played. "And here is my room, where all the design magic happens," she says it with a touch of drama. A golden key is pulled out and inserted into the lock after a single warning knock is given. Entering first occurs, she knows that waiting to let the brunette do so will lead to an impasse with them standing in the hallway all night. Evie spots Mal on her bed, sketchbook in hand, and phone off to the side. That is a relatively nonthreatening position. "This is my roommate." A hand gestures to the purple haired girl, who gives a lazy wave too intent on whatever she is shading to look up in a proper greeting. There is a difference between being rude and being inviting, but at least Mal tried... The brunette lingers on the threshold as if realizing once she crosses it the point of exit will be sealed completely. "Please come in and we can get started," Evie patiently requests. That gets her moving again, so the door can be shut, though the motion is short lived. (Y/E/C) eyes are trained on Mal so intently that the gaze can only be described as utterly piercing; there is nothing subdued or subtle about it. Her movements always seem rigid, but now it is like she is locking herself in place or holding herself back. Her arms are pulled behind her with one hand securing the wrist of the other just below the small of her back in a form of an at-ease military position that lacks any ease. Lips remain set in that horizontal line that does not convey much of anything, but something that may be confusion causes a slight crinkle to form between her brows. If only she was a little closer, Evie could attempt to parse out her expression better. Evie realizes she is staring at the brunette staring at Mal, but makes no effort to stop it. This is the opposite of their first interaction; it's like she is transfixed, rather than trying to retreat inwards. "Didn't your parents teach you about staring?" The quip is delivered without Mal even glancing up, but when she does everything shifts.

It would be similar to violent magnetic repulsion as soon as green eyes deviate from the sketchbook, (Y/E/C) instantaneously flick away to study the floor. Evie can see the tension she would like to think she somewhat alleviated snap back as the brunette's neck bows ever so slightly, trying to fully correct the previous direction of her gaze. The grip on her wrist also tightens up to what must be painful; it is like a full body, silent chastisement. Reaching out to prevent her from further retracting inwards crosses Evie's mind, but they are not that close... "Don't mind her personality. That is just Mal," she jokes to try and salvage the situation. Evie steps forward, past their two beds, and the small kitchenette and into her makeshift sewing area, hoping the brunette will trail behind her as usual and be away from Mal's scrutiny. "We will be over here anyways." A chair is pulled out, before she hovers, planning to assume her usual comfy seat at the drawing desk once the other is occupied. "You minded it enough to date me..." Mal snarks, though there is the start of a pout to her lips. "So, not the time..." Evie admonishes; this is not one of their friends or classmates, but more of a client, who she also wants to learn more about. Bantering with her girlfriend can occur later on. Unless maybe Mal is trying to ease things...? Somehow the brunette looks more uncomfortable now as she passes the bed without a spare glance at Mal, sitting in the chair, but not allowing her back to rest against the cushion. She sits ramrod straight like she is ready to stand up and leave as soon as possible. There was the slightest frown that is now gone with that neutrality back in full force. Making eye contact is near impossible for Evie to achieve when the pin cushion is being observed like it holds the secrets to the universe. Is she homophobic or just dislikes the topic...? "I thought your girlfriend would always be an important part of your time?" Mal presses. Now, Mal is just being difficult on purpose, likely because the discomfort from their guest was also picked up on. "M," she warns. "What?" The question is asked with affected innocence. Closing the sketchbook with a snap, Mal throws her legs over the bed, almost rising to join them, but remains on the edge of the mattress at the disapproval from Evie. The way she was looked at earlier bothers her. The intensity felt familiar; it was like she was back on the Isle: young, on edge, and simpering with the need to prove herself to her mother, but that there was something bigger and greater watching over her until she could get that far. The intensity didn't make her feel small, but seen too deeply. Mal failed to grasp why that was since the other girl folded rather than entertain a proper stare off. Her magic roils under her skin as if her veins funnel viscous magma throughout her system, not lifeblood; this feeling usually signals the need for her eyes to switch to a verdant emerald. She does not feel threatened, just that something is wrong, which makes her want to push to figure out why. "I bet she agrees with what I said. How about this: if you agree, don't say anything at all and if you don't agree, say something?" Mal goads, trying to force a reaction besides the stiff quiet. ... No reply is given. "See?" The triumph of being right seems bitter, because she did not want to be right, Mal wanted answers. Evie is moving past annoyance to disappointment in how her girlfriend is behaving, but it goes beyond what she suspected the reason was for the comments. She can feel a faint charge to the air that translates into a unique warmth skating across her skin that most would not notice; however, she knows it is a sign that Mal's magic is becoming more active from their time together, but why is that? A questioning look of concern goes ignored. Green eyes are now assessing the brunette just as searchingly, though the view is only of her profile since the pin cushion is still the sole object of focus. What is going on?

"Can we reschedule, please, Evie?" The tone of voice used is soft and gentle, it is only meant for the one across from her to hear. A folded piece of paper is slid across the surface of the desk, coming to a stop just before the blue haired girl, who still seems to be processing she is being spoken to. "My measurements have not changed, nor the typical expectations he has for a dress," she explains efficiently. "You don't have any preferences or ideas...?" Evie asks reflexively, surprised she is being addressed. "At all?" "No." A wry, sad smile gives the barest of curves to those lips for a second, and Evie feels something within her fracture just a bit. That was a stupid question. Scrambling to recover—to adapt—to say something that will get her to stay longer yields nothing, except a hand covers the one that rests on the paper. She does not know what to do or how to help just that she needs to. The skin beneath her palm is cold, bordering on an unnatural chill that is not off-putting, but definitely unique, just like how Mal's hands tend to hold a warmth to them. Fingers flatten themselves as if trying to become one with the surface of the desk; however, the brunette does not pull away, though she did tense up. "Fairest of them all or the sweetest?" The question is posed rhetorically with underlying sincerity. "But don't trouble yourself with this." She is actually talking, full sentences and clauses talking, to her after she has rambled and prattled on about the architecture, her classes, and favored design styles on the walk from the visitor's center to the dorm halls. This is what she wanted, though the message is not what she anticipated at all. Was she so transparent about wanting to help? "Why not?" Evie almost whispers back the question. . . . (Y/E/C) eyes actually seem to be taking her in this time, probing in a gentle yet intense way. This is unlike people admiring or judging her beauty, instead it is much deeper as if something lost now has the possibility of being found. It feels as if she is being assessed to decide if more can be said--if she deserves trust--if it is safe. That dark emotion lurks again, but it is overshadowed by conflict that soon eclipses everything else, leading to the brunette sliding her gaze to the side. Feeling the fingers slip out from under her own causes a feeling of loss that gnaws after the perceived sense of progress. Evie very nearly tightens her grip to prevent it; however, choice is already a luxury, so she will not take her's now. "Goodnight, Evie." An end point. The goodbye was not delivered curtly or dismissively; there was a finality that seems to pin Evie to her chair as the other girl rises to leave. Mal looks between the two, feeling just as stricken about her leaving even though making sense of the low tones of the conversation was difficult. What the fuck? The emotions confuse her immensely. Arms cross tightly around herself in a firm hold as if trying to provide some structure to her thoughts that do not need to be burdened with these sudden, inexplicable feelings. "What is your name?" There is no reply, not even a glance, as her bed is passed, not that she really expected either after the jeer she made at the silence.

They both feel frozen for a moment. The door closing shut near soundlessly aside from the faintest of clicks snaps them out of it. "What was that?" "Yeah, what was-" A hand lashes out to the side to punctuate the question, "-that?" Evie stands abruptly. Her warm brown eyes that border on a golden hue seem darker with anger like a honeycomb that should be harvested, though there is a lack of sweetness. There is no excuse for what happened. "I asked you to be nice, because this is important to me, and instead you antagonize her? Knowing that her situation is probably horrible?" "I was trying. She started it...?" The words sound weak to her own ears, forcing her to stifle a sigh. "Evie, I didn't mean for it to escalate, but I just felt—I don't know-" Teeth sink into her bottom lip for a second, though self-editing around her girlfriend is rare compared to engaging in it around everyone else to keep her not to be trifled with reputation intact. "...Things? And reacted, ok?" Mal offers a hand tentatively, trying to show some contrition now that her magic has somewhat calmed.

Evie pauses, but relents and takes the offered hand. "I'm sorry..." - - - - -

"I'm so, so sorry!" A string of apologies leave him profusely. Playing keep away indoors and outdoors is something Fairy Godmother specifically told them not to. Jay took one of the sprockets he needs for something he is working on and challenged him to a game. He was barreling down a hallway barely in pursuit of the swift thief, but instead of taking the corner he slammed directly into someone. He usually has to use hints left by Jay or the sound of his laughs to find him anyway. He definitely lost the little chance he had at winning... Carlos is actually on top of the person as in half laying on them, since they caught him partially. This is awkward... He bowled them right over. He is lithe compared to Jay and shorter, but the momentum from sprinting through the long halls probably packed a wallop. Hurriedly sliding off of the--Wait, the person is a girl. Carlos creates more distance between them, before he actually looks more closely at the figure in black, who is sitting up slowly after having landed harshly on the marble floors. Dark brown hair is styled differently in a way that gives a better view of her face; it's sharper now and more defined. While his own frame was wiry from the shortage of food on the Isle, he knows that losing some baby fat in the face is common in teen years and happened to him too. She is still just as beautiful as he remembers. Her skin is a little paler than he recalls; maybe she does not go outside as much? There is faint purple blooming under her eyes that alludes to tiredness more so than eye shadow, but it would not be that noticeable from a distance. It's those eyes that seals it. Just like the ocean, there was always something anchoring in those depths when he looked into them. He knows Mal and Evie were closer to her, but he feels like he could stare into her eyes for ages because she always took care to look at him a certain way. He needed that care after some of the incidents that befell him on the Isle. It made him feel whole, not broken. Not a something, but someone who was worth having around. She rarely showed herself in this form, except when he needed her most. The uncanny ability to know when that was to offer comfort in the form of a soft gaze and innocent, gentle touches (a hug, a hand hold, steadying his hands with her own) soothed him when he was younger. He blinks, bringing his knuckles to his head to tap it. No, this is real, not a dream.

Now, it is like the sea is in flux during a violent storm. There is nothing grounding in the turbulent, almost tortured (Y/E/C) depths that are so unlike what he remembers, but at the same time are oddly nostalgic. She appears utterly conflicted, unsure what to do or where to look. What happened? It is as if seeing her is a grave offense, like Carlos wounded her from his mere presence. His stomach turns with a sickly feeling due to how he is being regarded, since his knee jerk reaction would be to give a hug and never let go again. They already lost her once. Shame suffuses her; it is an emotion he knows all too well from growing up with Cruella. Her gaze averts to floor; shoulders slump under a weight he can't comprehend; legs are drawn so her knees are just under her chin as if taking up less space will fix things. Arms wrap around her legs tightly to ward off attempts at prying; and finally her face is hidden in a last ditch, irrational effort to make it all go away. He feels his breath leave him at the sight, knowing this position is one he adopted frequently on the Isle.

It feels wrong to see his former silent protector like this now. "...Shadow?"

#for quim who is awesome and nice!#there is a reason why mal acted the way she does that goes beyond magic #i don't think there is a soulbond in this fic (there is in one of my others) but these /feelings/ and that /connection/ is there but out of-#-reach....not like de-ja-vu just yet but the sense that there is something more??? idk.#it will make (hopefully) more sense with more words/plot. lol.

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