#he even did that ine awkward judgmental smile you do when you see someone do something stupid at Crowley

[mintaikcorpse]

I love this photo because this was Aziraphale's reaction after the priest lady interrupted Crowley pinning him to a wall. And he seems bothered by it

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Disclaimer that I am not a therapist nor bipolar but I have had a therapist so I’m hoping it’s not too awful of a depiction. Also want to add a minor content warning for the ending scene for homophobia, nothing explicit or even verbal, just a woman with an icky vibe.

Wednesday, 16:04

Song: Haux - Youth

Sander tips his head against the back of the couch and stares at the fan in the corner. It drones in slow circles, doing little more than disturbing the air right in front of it. It still makes the air in the room chilly enough that Sander is glad he’s wearing a sweater, though.

Between it and the window is an ‘abstract’ painting of the brain. Abstract in that the supposed organ is actually scattered in pieces throughout the canvas, all in various states of destruction. One has trees growing out of it, for example. Another is on fire; it’s Sander’s favourite.

He’d stared at it with an absurd sort of fascination in his first session, almost two years ago now, and his therapist, Agathe, had simply smiled at him and asked if he liked art. It was a sneaky way in, but he supposed that was the point. These meetings have gotten fewer and farther apart over that time, now that he can supposedly manage himself to a high enough standard on his own. Well, not quite enough, he supposes, or he probably wouldn’t be here at all. He can practically hear Agathe’s rebuke that they are just ‘casual check-ins’, and Sander is free to go whenever he pleases.

At every one of those reminders, Sander debates doing exactly that—getting up and going. Instead, he usually ends up slumping sullenly for a few minutes before Agathe prods her way back in.

They haven’t been mandatory in a long time, these sessions, but now there’s just something...reassuring. There are still times he doesn’t bother making an appointment, but knowing he can, and knowing that someone with the right knowledge doesn’t see any reason to worry about him, leaves a pretty damn good sense of relief.

And he did have a bit of a blip, at the start of the year. A few days in which he had to be prodded and coerced into just taking a drink of water, and had spent the majority of in his room. It had overlapped the holidays, so he’d let Robbe come and cocoon himself with him for a good chunk of the time.

It hadn’t made him better. But it made him...safe, or something similar, and that was the most he could hope for.

It was the coming-out-of-nowhere aspect that had shaken him a bit. He’d felt better, just keeping up his sessions then, being sure that he was at least doing alright with his medication. It’s working okay, the sitting and talking, so he shows up and just lets Agathe keep making sure.

The door cracks open now and she slips back in, dropping into the couch across from Sander and shooting him her usual calm, too-happy smile through light lipstick. It brings out her dimples. She’s not yet marred by wrinkles, but there’s something soft and aging about her face, anyway. Maybe it’s the graying roots. “Sorry about that, I forget this thing way too often.” She holds up the clipboard she’d carried in with an exasperated sigh, murmuring under her breath as she flicks through it and gets settled.

It’s all painfully familiar. It makes Sander smile.

He does like her. He’s never bothered denying that.

“So, how are we today?” It’s the same way she always starts, though it’s usually accompanied by—ah, there we go—clasped hands and another smile.

“Good,” Sander says. It’s automatic, but he also means it. Today is fine. It’s good.

She raises her brow when he doesn’t offer anything else. “Alright, good. Belated birthday wishes are in order, I believe?”

“Yeah, thank you. Just yesterday.”

She nods, and Sander does not think about how that was dumb when she obviously already knows. But she just settles back and crosses her legs. “Did you do anything to celebrate?”

Sander’s lips finally stretch in a smile of his own. He thinks it’s probably a little dopey, a little lovestruck, and she probably knows exactly what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. “I had breakfast with my parents because Robbe took me out for dinner. Then he had a surprise party planned at our friends’ flat.”

“A party on a school night?” Agathe’s brows raise, and she shakes her head with a small laugh. “How do they deal with that today?”

“No clue,” Sander breathes out a huff of his own, trying not to feel overly amused by how Gilles had been in the class they shared with Sander earlier in the day. For once, they hadn’t said a word, just sat with their head down for the entire lecture, wincing every now and then when Sander laughed. He hadn’t even heard from any of the others, but Robbe had looked dead on his feet this morning, as well. He’d sent Sander a slightly sunnier selfie about half an hour ago, though, so he’s probably fine. “Not very well, I imagine.”

She tilts her head. “You seem well enough.”

“Well, I wasn’t drinking,” Sander shrugs.

At this, her serene little smile returns and her nod seems approving, and even though Sander hadn’t been looking for it, he grudgingly admits that it feels good. “I know that can be a difficult choice, and I’d rarely be able to make it myself,” she laughs again. “It’s great that you feel strong and comfortable enough in that group to do your own thing.”

Sander can’t help a little snort. “Are you kidding? It was one of them that had me drinking mocktails.”

“Really?” Agathe grins.

“Yeah, but then he got kinda drunk, and the last couple he made me were just disgusting because he thought these awful mixtures would be a really good idea.”

She laughs gently. “Well, it seems like it’s not the worst. ‘He’ isn’t Robbe?”

Sander shakes his head. “No, but one of his friends.”

“And what about Robbe, then? How is he?”

“Good.” A soft smile steals over his face. “The best, as always.”

“Treating you well.”

Sander’s smile widens, and he raises his brows without saying anything.

Agathe points at him. “Not what I meant, and not what I need to know.”

“I thought we can talk about whatever I want in here,” Sander says innocently.

“Alright, then,” she acquiesces. “Tell me all about it.”

Sander blanches. He thinks about it, opens his mouth, and then thinks about it some more. Closes his mouth again.

Her smile is downright devious. “That’s what I thought.”

He huffs. “It’s very healthy, just so you know.”

“I am sure.”

“Explorative. Always consenting, of course. Frequent.”

“All very normal and well for teenage boys,” she nods, and it would be completely serious if Sander couldn’t see her eyes twinkling. She pauses. “Although, I can’t call you that anymore. How does it feel to be twenty?”

Sander narrows his eyes. “Nice change of subject.”

“Oh, if you had more to say, please continue. Just a thought that occurred to me, I don’t mean to steer you, you know that.”

He does know that, and it makes him pause, because. How does it feel to be twenty? He realises he hasn’t thought about it. He realises that’s probably a good thing—that he didn’t get stuck on his birthday this year, that it was something he just enjoyed. Maybe it was simply going to sleep next to Robbe that helped, but no anxiety had taken over at the end of the day.

Even after his conversation with Jens. It’s not the most prominent part of the day of Sander’s mind even now. Instead he finds himself tucking his hand into his pocket and grasping Robbe’s key, running his thumb over the already familiar ridges.

He hadn’t even been worrying about his major fuck-up with his assignment. He’s still not.

He’s not really giving himself the chance.

Should he be?

“It feels the same as being nineteen,” he says finally. “I didn’t become a different human in a day, sadly.”

He can see her latching on. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“‘Sadly’?”

“It’s just...a joke.”

“Okay. But why do you think it’s funny?”

It annoys him, because she’s not judgmental. She’s neither amused nor disappointed. Just curious, earnest, all focused and attentive as she gazes calmly, patiently at Sander. Even his attempt at throwing her off, making her awkward, hadn’t shaken her. She remains unfazed, as always. It’s annoying.

“I don’t,” he admits, “I guess. I don’t know what I’d consider it.”

Agathe nods, softening in her understanding, and it makes something twist in his chest. “Are you not happy with the human you are, Sander?”

He gives her a bland look. When she keeps waiting, he shrugs, gesturing at the room.

“I know,” she says gently, “that of course, you feel you would be happier without your illness. But who you are now—what you study, what you’re passionate about, who you surround yourself with, how you live your life day to day. Do you wish all of that was different?”

Sander doesn’t have to think about it quite as much. “No. But I—“

He cuts himself off, hesitating. She raises her brows and nods, prompting him onwards but not pushing. If he really wants to wait her out, she’ll move on.

“I just wish that it was easier,” he says.

She tilts her head. “Easier how?”

“I messed up. At college. I completely missed an assignment because I mixed up the dates with another one.”

She winces in sympathy. “And what happened in that case? Does that mean that assignment is marked as a fail?”

“No,” Sander admits. “He gave me the time I thought I’d have to do it. Marked it down as an extension. It’s due on Friday now.”

“And is it going alright?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t struggling with it too much?”

“No.”

“Then it seems like a fairly simple mistake. Easy to make and also, thankfully, easy to fix for you. It’s not unusual. But do you see it as an effect or consequence of your illness? Is that why it bothers you?”

Sander is quiet.

She sets her clipboard aside and leans forward, clasping her hands again as she considers him. “You have to remember, Sander, that all humans are not without fault. That regardless of who we are or what we may have to deal with, we will inevitably make mistakes. Not every slip up is a reflection of you, or a sign of failure, of failing health. You’ve actually been doing very well for a long time, now. But this belief, or this worry, that it is taking a hold of you again can sometimes help it take on that direction. Do you know what I mean?”

He takes a moment to absorb the words before nodding, knowing that if he answers too quickly she won’t believe he’s listening. But he does know. He understands. He hates that she’s probably right.

“So in a situation like this,” she continues, “do you not think, that it is more beneficial for you to focus on correcting your mistake and the fact that you have that ability? Not only mentally, but overall. That your professor is so understanding must mean he thinks well of you.”

He shouldn’t ask. He does anyway, quietly. “You don’t think it’s just pity, or something?”

“No,” she huffs. “No, I do not. Did he give you the impression that that was why he was doing it?”

Sander rolls his shoulders, adjusting his position. “No.”

Her smile returns. “I think,” she says slowly, “that this all shows just how well you’re doing. That you can acknowledge your doubts are likely just that—doubts—and that you take responsibility when you mess up and try to rectify it. Do you not think those are all good things? Things just as healthy as your sex life?”

It shocks a laugh out of him, and he sees her eyes crinkle. “Maybe,” he allows. “But it really is very healthy. I don’t know if anything else should be forced to live up to the standard.”

She represses a smile. “I remember there was a time when you would never have even spoken about this in such a kind way.”

She’s right. It still freaks him out, sometimes, the hypersexuality that can be induced by his mania, and it even made him hold back from Robbe after his episode, at the beginning. The last thing he wanted was to freak Robbe out, or disgust him, or make him uncomfortable. Then Robbe had seemed downtrodden for about a week before hesitantly asking Sander if he’d done something wrong or if Sander wasn’t actually attracted to him, and Sander had corrected his doubts and behaviour fairly quickly, because how dare the most beautiful boy in the universe think that?

“How do you feel you’re doing, Sander?” Agathe asks. “Because although I can observe, only you can feel what you feel. If you are genuinely worried, we can talk about it.”

“No,” Sander admits, after a moment. “I think everything is okay, actually.” Which is the best it can ever be, really.

Now her smile is genuinely happy. “I think so, too. And I think, even if it comes about that it’s not, you have a better support than ever. Do you agree?”

That one’s easy. “Yes.”

“It’s important to remember,” she adds, “maybe more than anything else, that if a lapse or an episode or whatever does occur, it’s not the end of the world. It’s also not a reflection of you, or a failure. Bad days, bad weeks, that’s all a part of life, and something we know you’re more than capable of dealing with and getting past. I’ve watched you do it many times before now and it’s an admirable, wonderful thing.”

Sander doesn’t actually know what to say to that. He just swallows, and feels oddly emotional, and offers her a slight nod.

The rest of the session passes in a lighter atmosphere. She lets him ramble about his assignment to alleviate what stress he does feel over it, and they spend the leftover minutes discussing his party.

Sander considers talking to her about the other thing on his mind, but ultimately decides against it. She’s already taught him how to work through that, and he really doesn’t think it will help to be putting it back into open air. Instead he leaves with a fairly upbeat farewell, and heads in the opposite direction from home.

Robbe had texted him about where he was meeting with Yasmina for a study session, and it takes Sander less than ten minutes of walking to get to the small cafe from his appointment. He sees the two of them as soon as he enters, but neither of them notice him, so he moves to the counter to buy himself a coffee before making his way over.

He’s a couple of feet away when Yasmina catches sight of him and offers her bright smile, and then Robbe is looking over his shoulder.

“Hello,” Sander greets them both, grinning as he cups Robbe’s cheek and leans down to kiss the crown of his head. “I can see we’re very busy.”

Robbe has his hand wrapped around Sander’s wrist, preventing him from pulling away. He turns his head and presses a sweet kiss to Sander’s palm, nuzzling lightly against it. Sander lets his fingers slip over and tug gently on the boy’s earring before Robbe tangles their hands together and offers Sander his crinkly smile. “Hi.”

“Not anymore, I guess,” Yasmina says dryly, but she’s still grinning when Sander glances back at her.

He raises his hands; well, his free one. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” He hadn’t, really, he’d just wanted to be here when they were done to take Robbe home. He always likes being in the other boy’s company after a therapy session. Despite them not being quite so heavy at the moment, it’s always draining. Robbe is always able to replenish him with soft touches and soothing kisses, providing Sander with a silent, comforting company.

“Don’t be silly,” Robbe rebukes, predictably, swinging Sander’s hand idly now. “How are you?”

Sander squeezes his hand. “Good. I’m surprised you look so healthy, though.”

Robbe groans and buries his face against Sander’s arm. “Don’t. I’m suffering in silence.” He tilts his head ‘subtly’ at Yasmina.

Yasmina raises her brows at him, somehow managing to look wholly unimpressed and teasing all at once. “At least you can stave it off with sugar and coffee.”

Robbe has the sense to look sheepish, ducking his head in a nod. “You’re right, sorry, sorry.” He lets out a sigh. “You’re on too high of a level for me, Yasmina.”

“Queen shit,” Sander agrees, just to earn one of the girl’s unimpressed glances for himself. “Should I run now?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just sit down and drink your coffee. And keep your hands to yourself, if you can manage it? I still need my study partner, thank you.”

Sander grins and obeys, swinging a seat from the next table around to join them, dropping into it happily. He doesn’t place it as close to Robbe’s as he’d like, but Robbe leans into him for a moment anyway before refocusing his attention on his friend.

For the first while, Sander is content to listen and sip his coffee, feeling tiredness begin to creep into his bones. He lets his head loll against his own shoulder, trailing his eyes over Robbe’s profile and drifting into a sort of daydream. He can see the boy’s lips moving, but he has no idea what either of them are saying. They only let out the occasional comment, trading questions and answers and sighs and mutters. Robbe’s eyes are still red and a little puffy, a sign of his lingering exhaustion. He rubs at them absently as he looks down at his book and lets out another sigh, and leaves an eyelash on his cheek.

Sander reaches out and gently swipes it away with his thumb, an entirely mindless action that has Robbe looking at him in surprise before breaking out into a smile. He catches Sander’s hand before Sander can withdraw it completely, laying it on the table next to him. Instead of holding it, Robbe runs his hand along Sander’s sleeve, rubbing the soft seam between his fingers as he continues his work.

For some reason, it makes Sander blush. He’s sure his smile is unbearably happy, and he flicks a glance at Yasmina just to make sure she doesn’t know, only to catch her eye. She’s already smiling at him, and she purses her lips and raises her brows, teasing. Sander pulls a face at her, and she simply shakes her head as her smile widens.

“Can you work on your assignment while you’re waiting for us?” Robbe questions suddenly, drawing Sander’s attention back with a tilt of his head.

Sander glances at his bag, which he’s carried with him all day since he had to go straight to his session from a class. He considers for a moment but ultimately shakes his head. With yesterday being an exception, he usually prefers working at night—and when it’s not cutting into time he could otherwise spend admiring Robbe. “I’ll work on it when I go home,” he promises. Then, because he can’t help himself, “You’re too distracting.”

Robbe’s grin is small, and exasperated, but he yearns towards Sander, leaning across the table. Sander meets him and presses a quick kiss to his lips, then his nose, his cheek, before resolutely sitting back and waving at the textbooks and notes strewn in front of them. Robbe’s grin turns into a pout for half a second before he squeezes Sander’s wrist and focuses again.

Sander sinks back with a sigh, enjoying the feeling of Robbe’s fingers brushing against his wrist and skimming his hand, but he doesn’t feel quite as settled. There’s a prickle skittering over his neck, and he looks to his side and finds a woman staring at him.

Her nose is screwed, and there’s a vague curl to her lip. The disgust in her expression only heightens as Sander meets her eye and she flicks her gaze down to where Robbe’s hand rests over his. Sander can only stare back, dumbfounded.

When she looks at his face again, he raises his brows, as utterly bored as he can manage, and it only takes a moment for her to look away and get out of her seat across the cafe.

Sander tenses as she gets closer, hand enclosing around Robbe’s entirely, but she merely offers him another look before leaving. He deflates, squeezing Robbe’s fingers. It’s only when Robbe squeezes back that he panics again and quickly looks at the boy. But Robbe is in the middle of asking Yasmina a question, neither of them having noticed a thing.

“I meant to wish you a happy birthday,” Yasmina says, breaking him out of the moment. His mind has fogged over, and it takes him a moment to process the words. By then, she’s already moving on. “How was the party, anyway?”

Robbe and Sander share a look, and Yasmina waits. “Jens hardly said a word to me the whole day,” Robbe tells Sander, but he seems more amused than upset, so Sander allows himself to laugh.

“You didn’t tell him we didn’t actually do anything?”

“I did!” Robbe raises his hands. “He didn’t believe me.”

“What, what did you do to Jens?” Yasmina asks, confused. Then, after a second, “You know what, no, I probably don’t want to know.”

She cringes, and Robbe apologises profusely as Sander bursts into laughter, the weird incident from moments ago already forgotten.

Totally forgotten.

~^~

previous/next

[nad-zeta]

Matchup! ( ﾟヮﾟ)

hiya! I only just found your amazing blog and I was wondering if I could get a ship for IkeSen? 

Basics~ I’m a straight Australian/scottish female (also huffelpuff)  with longish brown wavy hair, green eyes, freckles and dimples. I’m somewhat average weight but with more of an athletic build. People are always trying to hug me even though I hate hugs and also squish my cheeks. Im very ticklish and if someone tickles me I will fight back.

Personality~ I have an INFP personality type which really explains a lot about me. I hate talking about how I feel with people and tend to just ignore feeling like sadness or anger, but then I love it when people rant to me about their own problems since I like giving advice. So I guess im quite reserved, which I think annoys people who don’t know me to well. For me, being reserved means a lot of awkwardness, and when at school I tend to just stare out the window (if I have no friends in that class) If I am comfortable about someone I love deep conversations. Like, not necessarily about proper issues more about dumb stuff like how we are our soulmate from a past live (idk me and my friend talked about that one for ages) I also have a weird laugh but oh well… 

 I’ve always been quite spiritual I guess, and would always see and hear things that my family wouldn’t. I used to be really quite when I was younger, not really because I was that shy or anything but more because I had a very active mind. That got better as I grew older, but im still really into tarot reading and all that squiz! Aries is my zodiac and im very passionate about research and trying to figure out strangers zodiacs.

My hobbies include: field hockey, swimming, reading (ASOIAF over and over) binge watching shows, drawing, collecting stones and making stone pets, sewing and making clothes, stargazing, researching the biology of strange insects, journalling, baking, gardening, going on rides with friends and being in my hammock for hours. 

Things I dislike are: sleeping in (im an early bird), when people ask personal questions and I hardly know them, when my friends fight (im usually not apart of that), getting chilblains on my toes, when my neighbours dog won’t stop barking, tarragon (ew!), throne of glass book series (sorry, just can’t, nothing against the author), randomly judgmental people (like if you smile at them and they scoff, arggghh im already socially awkward safe me!) and the character Hannah from dark on Netflix. 

- Thanks so much, I may go stalk your account now.  ღ ღ

@ophelias-flower-bed​

Hi hi dear! ❤🦊Thank you so much for the request! I’m sorry for taking sooo freaken long with this!🦋🥰 Hehe, hope you have a super good day! And I hope you enjoy this, love! ❤🌻🦋

I match you with……………… Yoshimoto

After having arrived back in the past and saving Nobunaga’s life you were settling in rather nicely. The warlords had gotten used to their new reserved princess, who, low key kept to herself. It had taken you a while to get Hideyoshi to trust you, mainly cause when you did communicate with him, you would awkwardly stumble over your words. Although after some time, he had come to realize that you were just a reserved little cinnaroll. 

You worked extremely hard for the castle and its people, and you were starting to wear thin

As an apology for suspecting you of being an assassin, Hideyoshi showered you with gifts and turned into a big brother figure. He noticed pretty early on that you never really talked about your feelings, but the exhaustion from working hard was painted clear as day across your face. He shooed you to the markets with a bag of coins and told you to treat yourself.

You walked around the market aimlessly when a fabric stall caught your attention. The fabrics were dyed bright colours and incredibly soft. Your fingertips danced across each of the blots until you found one that you liked. You hadn’t sewn or made any clothes since arriving in the past, and you low key missed it. As you went to pay for the fabric and a few sewing notions, a loud voice boomed behind you, “What a beautiful design.” You tuned back to find a beautiful man dressed in a rather extravagant kimono. You gave a small smile, not really knowing what to say in these situations and left.

A few days later, you had successfully made your first kimono of the past and decided to test it out by going to a teahouse, to peacefully sit and sip on some tea. You sat outside, enjoying the warm sun as you looked out onto the beautiful scene before you. The teahouse had a beautiful garden, and you couldn’t help but feel inspired to draw it. 

Yoshimoto had just finished spying on the Oda forces, when he spotted you sketching in the summer sun. He curiously made his way up to your table and sat down. He was low key thankful for the fact that the teahouse was packed. The only open seats to chose from was the one opposite you and one on the other far corner of the tea-house. 

Your eyes shot up curiously at the new presence at your table. He simply gave you a kind smile, “Wow did you make that from the fabric, it’s absolutely stunning! You are a very talented seamstress little bird.” You gave a weary laugh in your usual awkward way, and told him that you were no seamstress, rather that you enjoyed making clothes for fun. He smiled as he sipped on his tea and watched you draw. 

A light conversation flowed between the two of you, and you found yourself actually enjoying is company. In the weeks to follow, you had run into the man more and more. These run-ins would usually take place in fabric shops, and end with the two of you sitting down to have tea together.

He honestly loved your accent, and that you would listen to him rant about all his problems. He loved the way your eyes would light up whenever he would ask your opinion on a matter. He especially loved that unusual laugh you would do, whenever he complained about one of his travelling companions always wanting to pick a fight with him. As the two of you got to know each other better you found yourself opening up more and more to him

He found your love for zodiac and tarot extremely amusing. He would ask you all about it, even wanting to know what his sign was and the traits that would go along with it. Definitely asked you more than once to read his cards. He even low key wanted to try his hand at reading your cards for you. It was also at this point when you low key told him you loved to collect rocks.

He wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but Yoshimoto found himself completely in love with you. You had honestly been the first person to see him for him and not as some extravagant man or the head of his clan. He would often take you on horse riding trips outside of the town. His favourite spot to take you was the beach, cause you would always get that excited glint in your eyes at the idea of finding some cool new rocks for your collection. 

The two of you would walk together for hours looking at and showing off cool rocks you had found on the sand or in a nearby cave. Sometime you cuties would have a competition as to who could make the best stone pet. Yoshi has had a hard life having to burden the responsibility of being the head of his clan, but during time like this with you, he felt completely relaxed and at ease. 

One day Yoshi found a bright red ruby during one of your dates on the beach. He carefully tucked it away before you could spot it. He gave the stone to Shingen and asked him to turn it into a dainty necklace for you, setting his plan in action. He had planned out the perfect date to give it to you and confess his love. After a week of reporting back to Kenshin and Shingen, he made his way back to Azuchi to spend some more time with you.

 At this point, both of you knew of each other’s secret identities. You knew he was an enemy spy and the head of an enemy clan and he knew you were an Oda princess, but that never stop the two of you from hanging out with each other. You always missed him when he would go home to report back. So much so that even the Oda forces suspected that you had a special someone in your life. TBH when yoshi was away he would write the most beautiful poems and letters to you. They were never too romantic as the two of you had only been friends, but they did speak of how much he missed you.

On his way back, he spotted you in the forest with a notebook in hand sketching out strange little bugs that you had found. No matter how long he has known you, every time he saw you, you managed to surprise him. He walked his way up to you and glanced down at your notebook, you low key smacked his chest for scaring you. He spent the afternoon with you looking at strange bugs and telling you about the biology of the ones he knew. He was slightly surprised, as he never realized how many different types of bugs actually existed and inhibited the forest. 

As evening fell, he took your hand and helped you onto his horse to take you to a surprise destination. You rode until the sun was well beneath the horizon and finally arrived on the hop of a big hill. He carefully helped you down and lead you to a little picnic that he had set out for the two of you.

He remembered that you had mentioned during your various conversations that you also loved stargazing and it just so happened that he too was a lover of the stars. He had told you that on that particular evening there would be a meteor shower. 

The two of you sat and chatted in deep conversation about soul mates and past lives as you waited for the meteor shower to start. The two of you sat and looked up at the heavens as the meteor shower started. After the last star shot across the sky, Yoshimoto presented you with the ruby necklace and a small little ruby rock pet. He smiled as he told you that a friend of his *cough Sasuke cough* had told him the significance of giving someone a ruby and that he thought it was rather fitting for this situation.

After that, you decided to move to Kasugayama castle with Yoshi to get to know him better. You weren’t even there two days and you were named as the official castle seamstress by Kenshin due to the beautiful clothes you made.  The bunny lord loved your kimonos so much that he commissioned you to make a few tiny ones for his beloved bunnies

Yoshi couldn't helps but smiles as you would sit in the council room, silently looking out of the window. He loved watching the shocked expressions that would play across his friends’ faces whenever you would instantly open up whenever he walked into the room.

He was absolutely over the moon when he found out the two of you had a hobby in common, that being gardening. He legit loves to spend hours with you outdoors as the two of you dig in the dirt and plant some beautiful flowers. Sometimes if he is feeling playful, he will try and tickle you, which usually ends up in a bit of a tickle/mud fight.  

Because Yoshi is a warlord, he needs to stay fit and keep up with his training so when you tell him about your favourite sports he absolutely wants to include them in his training regimen, as a way to stay fit and spend time with you. He 100% drags his Kasugayama friends out to the open field so that all of you can play a match of field hockey. Thanks to Sasuke’s amazing ninja skills, he managed to construct a makeshift goal and hokey equipment for everyone. 

Usually in the summer when it is scorching hot, Yoshi would take you to a nearby waterfall or beautiful lake to swim to your heart’s content and to cool down from the scorching sun.

He absolutely loves, loves, loves it when you surprise him with baked goods, and will 9/10 time go and brag about your fantastic baking skills to his cousin.

His all-time favourite thing is to lay in a hammock with you in his arms as you read. He would usually just sit and watch you read occasionally falling asleep while gently holding you. 

Yoshi knows you hate hugs so he will keep them to a minimum, but he honestly can’t help but want to warp you up in his arms or pinch those cute cheeks of yours. His favorite thing in the world is to drop a small kiss on your dimples, as he finds them incredibly cute.

Often the two of you will be out on some fun adventure together, collecting rocks or having a blast. Quiet times between the two of you would usually involve merely enjoying each other company in random deep conversations. 

Other potential matches……………. Kennyo

I hope you have a super good day!❤🦋🥰

[aleapoffaithfiction]

VII.

"You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control." ― Megan Chance

“See, Jesus was crucified, just for me.”

While leaning over to the side, I slyly slid another piece of my usual Mentos Pure Fresh “Fresh Mint” flavored gum into my mouth and sighed in relief at the immediate jolt of energy I felt as my teeth broke its round shape apart and the flavoring hit my taste buds. I had to sneak it, because like the child she often thinks that I am, but mother would have held out her gloved hand and viciously eyed me until I defeatedly spit it. According to her, it’s not ladylike to chew gum and especially in church, but I’m going to chew it regardless and I doubt God is concerned with that minuscule vice in my life.

“Give me a piece.” Celeste leaned over and whispered in my ear as she held her hand out and I dropped the bottle into her lap. She didn’t have as much of a chance of being caught as I did because I was sitting in the middle of both she and mommy.

We’re members of Emmanuel Baptist Church over on Lafayette Avenue. It’s right on the corner of St. James Place in the Clinton Hill section of Brooklyn and is under the leadership of Reverend Anthony L. Trufant and his wife Muriel. We’ve been fellows of this church for as long as I can remember and my mother is a good friend of the family; as was my father when he was living. There was even a point in time when I had somewhat of a friendship with their daughters but it was short lived because in my younger years I had far less of a tolerance for people who I cannot relate to. Celeste and I were baptized in this church, daddy’s memorial was here, and Celeste wed her now husband Preston here two years ago. Though I dreaded it, we used to come here every Sunday bright and early so that I wouldn’t miss Sunday school. I was in the youth group for a while but eventually bailed out on having to attend it because I heavily got into sports.

Every holiday season, I was forced to participate in the Christmas Nativity play, where I would play Mary no matter how much I wanted to be one of the Three Wise Men. I met the first guy I would have a crush on here, though it lasted all of a week. I was even apart of the choir for a short run and I’m not even sure why, because I’m no vocal powerhouse. I’m not even a vocal power shed if you let me tell it. Despite my lessening attendance over these last couple of years, I still consider this place to be my church home and it is where I will come back to until further notice.

“Sing it.” I glanced over at my mother as she raised a hand in response to Lucinda Moore’s voice. After days of calling and convincing me to come to Saturday night’s service simply for this concert, I finally agreed for the sake of appeasing her and I can’t say that I’m mad at it. Lucinda can sing from the depths of her gut and never fails to take a praise moment to its highest peak. She’s been in between singing and preaching for about an hour now with a sermon that calls for us all to “meet God all the way” because half-way isn’t going to cut it for anything that we do in life.

“Look at Mr. Weston.” As Lucinda continued to belt her way through “The Old Rugged Cross”, my eyes followed the direction of Celeste’s head and I instantly snickered at the sight of the older man ogling over my mother and her glimmering chocolate skin. Mr. Weston’s been trying his hardest to take my mother’s hand in marriage and yet she won’t even give him enough attention for him to take her out on a Saturday night date. I don’t think it’s her internal yearning for daddy that causes it.

Mr. Weston doesn’t even have finesse within his aging bones to woo her into sitting next to him during Sunday service. Then again, it might be the trifling aspects of who he is. When he received the phone call that his wife had been rushed to the hospital after having a sudden heart attack, he’d been out with his mistress and had the audacity to drive over to the hospital with the mistress still in the car with him. Mrs. Weston passed away that day, but every damn body sat up in here side eying the hell out of him as he wailed over her during the funeral. If it’s up to me, he’ll never date my mother because of all of that nonsense.

Mrs. Williams is the one who wants him. Or is it Mrs. Davis? Maybe Mrs. Wright? I lost count after the third husband. And then there’s her sister Denise who is about the most judgmental person I know. The woman has something to say about everyone’s kids except her own, especially her daughter Tiffany, who has made it her business and life’s mission to snag a baller. She may have secured a couple of hotel stays for some middle of the night fun, but a ring? Not even a Ring Pop. Church is where you’ll find the most hypocrisy but I suppose it makes perfect sense why that is.

“We should grab a bite to eat at The Food Sermon after this.” I’m all for healthy eating but there are just certain dishes that I’m not having in a healthy manner and Caribbean food is that. I’ll be damned if I eat pan seared jerked tofu as a jerk chicken substitute. Celeste and Preston are suddenly super obsessive with their newly started vegan lifestyle and I’m not joining them. It’ll probably be temporary anyway. He’s only doing it because she wants him to.

“Or we can go to Glady’s. Mommy won’t agree with you about that one, because she prefers Glady’s too.”

“Fine, brat.”

“I’ll be that.” I could have chosen somewhere that wouldn’t be in consideration of her new diet if I really wanted to be a brat, but I didn’t. Glady’s has vegetable dishes that should work out for the both of them.

“Shhh.”

I knew it was coming. If her hands weren’t covered with gloves, she might have pinched my arm. I’m always sat in the middle just so she can keep an eye on me because I’m known to find ways to distract myself in church if my mind isn’t completely focused on the sermon or choir. The Lord knows me well. I doubt he have as much of an issue with it as my mother does.

While buttoning the front of my Alexander Wang loose fitting blazer, I couldn’t help but to regret opting out of putting on the wool trench coat that I had laying across the backseat of the car. The nearly end of October air is a lot chillier than I thought it would be. Despite not being someone who enjoys extremely warm or cold weather, I always look forward to the fall because it’s when fashion is at its peak. There’s nothing like a sickening jacket with nice pop of autumn coloring in it, all entirely black look that is sleek, or heavy denim. Oh, and a thigh high heeled boot? Don’t even get me started. Tonight’s dress is a long-sleeved calf length Lowe piece with deep tan, red-orange, and white stripes cascading down it’s form. What really sold me on it is the black lace accents. It’s church friendly and yet if I were going on a lunch outing with Taylor, I’d be just as fine in it.

“Sarai.” Quinton’s hand immediately grazed my shoulder as our eyes met and though I smiled, it was in no way as big as the one gracing his caramel face. Quinton and I went to school together and yet never had any interactions until his father died in the same war that mine did, nearly a year apart. I suppose us dealing with the same level of grief is what served as the foundation of the friendship that we formed. We simply didn’t harbor it as life went on. We barely speak nowadays but I’m sure he’ll say that it’s my doing.

“Quinton. How are you?” We shared an appropriate hug and the fume of his strong cologne instantly made me draw back. It’s not pleasant.

“I’m well. How are you? I see you doing big things.”

“I’m the same. And I’m doing big things? Is that so Mr. Councilman?” He was elected a year ago and is over the Fort Greene, Clinton Hill, Crown Heights, Prospect Heights, and Bedford Stuyvesant neighborhoods. I definitely consider him to be a man of the people, because he could have run for a position within areas like Williamsburg, Dumbo, and Fulton Ferry and won. He’s that well celebrated within these streets.

“I’m not on ESPN though.”

“That’s nothing in comparison to the news coverage about you, the mentoring that I’m hearing you’re receiving from President Obama so that you can run for the Senate, and maybe even the Presidency later on down the line? I think you just want me to brag on you a bit.”

“I won’t stand here and pretend like I’m not flattered.” We shared a laugh that attracted the attention of a few others. I could see my mother eyes lighting up from the corners of my eyes. She’s barely paying attention to what Denise is saying to her.

“You know we’re all proud of you.”

“But you’ve yet to be proud of enough of me to allow me to take you out to dinner. You know we have history.”

That history he speaks of is not our friendship. The summer before we went off to college, we pity fucked one another after having had a conversation about our daddies that left the both of us emotionally drained. Though he wasn’t a virgin, he might as well had been because it was far more of an awkward encounter than it was anything else.

I won’t hold anything about that hot summer evening against him though. No seventeen-year-old boy has the stamina of a stallion and the skills of a veteran porn star within the bedroom. Quinton barely knew who he was personally, so how could he have known who he was as a pleaser? The same could be said for myself.

It was me who decided that we should go on as if it never happened. Hell, it still feels like it never happened. While Quinton is a nice-looking man, I’ve yet to have even the slightest interest in him beyond our occasional run ins.

“Here you go. It’s a timing issue more than anything.” See? I’m a hypocrite too. First, premarital sex. Second? I’m lying right here in the house of God. No matter what the circumstances are, a person will make time for who or whatever it is that they want.

“It can’t always be timing right? We should plan it out so that we won’t run into scheduling issues. I know you’re up there in Bristol a lot and your schedule can be just as crazy when you’re not and you know I’m quite busy myself but I’m willing to make the time for you Sarai.”

Whenever he asks me out, I find myself pondering if we share anything in common beyond what we already know or what we’ll speak about while sitting across from one another at some upscale restaurant of his choosing and I always draw a blank. From there, I snicker at the thought of whispered words about Brooklyn’s fiscal year preliminary budget or development with the deeper urban areas being his dirty talk or pillow talk within the bedroom. That aside, I’m not interested in being his First Lady. I don’t want to play that role, because that’s exactly what it is. Politics is full of actors with empty promises. I’m not saying that Quinton cannot be genuine, but even those type of politicians are just as good of liars as the crooked ones.

“You have my number. Call me. We’ll figure it out.”

“I will. Just make sure you pick up.” That was a cheap jab, but I’ll take it. Out of all of the women within this church who are vying for a chance to be Mrs. Quinton Jeremy Marshall, he constantly comes my way. Maybe that’s something? I don’t know. Only time will tell, but right now, it’s not saying much because I don’t feel anything.

“I will.”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to convince you that we’re a good match before some NBA guy does.” And there it is; the assumptions about what goes on in my life pertaining to athletes beyond work obligations.

“I don’t date athletes.”

“I’m not saying that you do, but there’s no denying that they’re interested in dating you. Unfortunately, I don’t catch the show often, but sometimes I do catch a couple of those one on one interviews you conduct on YouTube and they usually feel like one big lust fest. Doesn’t that make you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t notice it. Also, I feel like people overexaggerate things. These days, you can’t sit a male or female of no relation in the same room without people creating sexual scenarios. That just shows you how screwed up people’s mentalities are.” And that includes you Quinton. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy or indifferent written all over his face, but it’s something. And this is yet another reason why we cannot date. He’s the worst version of an alpha male because there are plenty of sexist undertones within the way he thinks and what he says. He’d expect me to diminish enough of myself in order for him to feel like the man when he’s parading me around some fundraiser or while I’m standing in his shadow as if he gives some speech.

“Or maybe you’re downplaying things. I watched Odell Beckham Jr. stare at you like you’re some type of rare species. I know what those type of looks are about. I am a man after all.” Are you?

“Maybe I am a rare species. We’re not all cut from the same cloth, right Quinton?”

“Maybe so.”

“I’ll see you around though. My stomach is growling and my folks are waiting for me.”

“Don’t forget what I said”

“About timing? I won’t. As I said, give me a call. We’ll figure something out.” And with that, I left him to stare at me as I walked towards the back of the church.

I didn’t feel compelled to hug him again because it would have been lingering on his end and easily would have attracted more attention than I would’ve liked. Despite there being a number of women around here who would love to be claimed by him, oddly, there are people who advocate for us. Even Reverend Trufant snuck in a joke about being willing to officiate our nuptials when the time is right. I’d rather not give Quinton or anyone else any false hope tonight or any other.

Rather than taking three cars, I drove everyone from mommy’s house over to the church. While it may have sounded pointless to them, I insisted that we go back and get Preston’s car so that I’ll be able to drive back to Edgewater right after dinner. I’m tired, cold, and I’m not staying out here tonight. She may have convinced me to come to service but spending the night at either one of their houses can quickly turn into a night of aggravation. I’m so used to living on my own that personality clashes happen as soon as my element is interrupted.

“That Quinton sure is fine.” I knew it was coming. It’d been on the tip of her tongue the entire time she sat in the passenger seat of my car, but I purposefully drowned her out with a couple of classics from Richard Smallwood. I knew she’d quickly began to sing along and forget about hounding me about him, but I should have known she’d only briefly put the thought aside. I can’t even enjoy this peppered shrimp and side of plantains now. Within a couple of minutes, the know it all will add in her warped opinion.

“Isn’t he?” How can she agree with her husband sitting right there alongside her?

“Is he still running for the Senate?” Preston directed that question to me as if I should know. I’ve only heard the rumors and it makes sense. I’m sure councilmen is only a stepping stone for a long running career in politics.

“I’m sure he will at some point.”

“And he’s looking for this one here to be his Michelle Obama and yet she’s running from it.”

“I’m not running from anything. I’m simply not interested. Michelle Obama is amazing and I admire the hell out of her, but not to the point of wanting to mirror her life. I doubt she’d want that for me either. This is a woman who has advocated for women to work hard to be exactly who it is that they want to be.” Michelle was never caught up into the dated traditionalisms of a woman needing a husband in order to look proper in society. She was already a lawyer when she met her now husband.

“And yet here she is, pushing away the one man who actually wants her enough to continue pursuing her.” If I were some tacky reality show chick, I would have made a scene in this restaurant but I won’t for the sake of my reputation.

“The one man who wants me?” I had to made sure I heard her correctly.

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it. You barely put yourself into situations to find someone.”

“I’m not looking.”

“And that’s the problem right there.” As soon as my mother interjected, I dropped my fork into the plate and rested against the back of the seat.

“For who? You?”

“She lives in a house about three times the size of mine and yet she’s in it alone.”

“I live in a house three times the size of yours because it’s what I worked for. I didn’t have to find a man to give it to me. I wanted it and went and got it. It’s not my fault that you can’t relate.”

Initially, I didn’t want to take any shots at her because I respect her lifestyle. She has a career, but it’s no secret that Preston is the breadwinner in their marriage and it works for them. They’re settled, happy, and are beginning to work on trying to have a baby. I rarely if ever label myself with the feminist title, but if I did, I wouldn’t be the type to frown down on women who want to be in the boardroom closing deals or at home raising their children and keeping the house put together. For as long as it is a choice, there is no judgement from me. But Celeste? She takes me there.

“Well lucky for me, I have a man who loves me enough to want to give me amazing things and the best part of it is we enjoy it together. I don’t live in a house three times smaller than yours alone. I don’t go to bed alone. I don’t travel alone. I don’t celebrate my birthdays alone. I don’t have to do everything for myself, whether I’m tired or not, because I live my life without anyone else in it. I have a life partner here with me. Where’s yours? Or did you have hopes that dad would always be the man in your life?”

And this is why whenever people ask me if we’re close, I laugh it off and shrug. I don’t know what we are. After the tragedy within our lives, we continued to grow further apart from the once closeness that we used to have. Even with her gravitating towards mom, we didn’t clash as much then as we do now. Our clashes are typically started by her. It’s the manner in which she seems to pick apart who I am that instantly rubs me the wrong way. It’s not even constructive criticism. It’s simply her being a bitch.

“Your dependency on men has always been at the forefront of your life. If it wasn’t Preston, it would have been someone else. And if it wasn’t that someone else, it would have been another person. I don’t ever remember any point in my life when you were single. So, I’m not impressed. Ya’ll can have this shit, honestly.” I dropped my napkin into the barely halfway eaten plate and immediately stood to my feet. I’d already paid for everyone’s meal as a treat, so I didn’t have to wait for some server to come over with the checkbook.

“Sarai, sit down.”

“I’d rather go and I am. Enjoy yourselves.”

“And this is why I call you a brat. Whenever someone says something that you don’t like or calls you out on your shit, you run.”

“Goodnight.”

“Sarai!” Not even my mother’s stern summoning could influence me to turn around as I walked out in the night. My car served as my solace and the sounds of a Musiq Soulchild Essentials playlist from Apple Music was my soundtrack for my drive home. A blessing of no traffic at any point allowed my arrival time to be just a couple of minutes under an hour.

Let me ask you something. You really think I can come back from this injury? It’s not even a matter of getting back on my feet again because I’m sure that’s possible, but will I be the same player I once was? I’ve been thinking about it and the more I do, the more I really don’t know.

I hadn’t even gotten out of the car when his message came through and as I sat in my seat reading it, I immediately scoffed because I know that is nothing more than his own sulking with a couple of droplets of Scott’s ridiculously biased and purposefully controversial take about some players never being who they once were within their respective sports after surgeries that don’t exactly fix what may be permanent damage.

You’re going to be even better than you were before. We all know that everyone gets a thrill out of a good comeback story but this is more than that for you. You have something to prove to yourself more than anyone or anything else. Your determined spirit will carry you through this and next year, we’re all going to celebrate what you worked so hard for more than we’ve ever celebrated you before. You got this and you know you do. It’s what we’re all a fan of when we speak of Odell Beckham Jr; your keen awareness of who you are and what you’re capable of.

And just like that, I was starting the car. I hadn’t even gone inside to get out of the pumps that are now starting to cause my toes to ache.

Have someone open the door for me. I should be there in about twenty.

It took five minutes over the twenty I estimated because I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for a hot chocolate. I wasn’t cold anymore because the heat in the car had already warmed me up, but I had a taste for it. I even grabbed Beckham a cup.

“Why are you the one answering the door?” I rang the doorbell about two minutes ago. No wonder it took so long for anyone to come and get it. As he leaned against the crutches, Khan and Blackjack were standing alongside him in a protective stance as Mowgli lingered around in the background.

“Nobody’s here but me.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re never home alone.”

“You’ll be surprised how much I actually am home alone.” As he crutched himself backwards, the dogs moved alongside him in unison to allow me entry into the home. I think they’re starting to get used to me and I’m not sure if it’s a bad or a good thing. I’ve found myself bonding with Eris, who is technically the lady of the house.

“I got you a hot chocolate from Dunkin.”

“Thank you.”

“Uhm.” I noticed we weren’t going downstairs as I trailed behind him. Instead, he made his way into the living room and flopped down on the couch. He’d been playing video games before I arrived.

“Why are you so dressed up?”

“I’m coming from Saturday service.”

“Church?” His eyes widened and he couldn’t mask the few chuckles that followed. What’s so hard to believe about that?

“Why is that so shocking to you?”

“It’s not shocking, but I just can’t picture you going to church on a Saturday night. Maybe Sunday service, but Saturday night? No one under forty is going to a Saturday night service.” Alright. He got me there.

“I went with my mother, sister, and brother-in-law.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Celeste.” I tossed my jacket on the arm of the couch right after placing the Styrofoam cup filled with hot chocolate on the glass coffee table.

“Lace? You sure you just went to church? Lace is more date night.” The lace is in places that most wouldn’t consider sexy. There is no cleavage on display; not even a bit of thigh. I would have been scolded endlessly had I done that.

“Why does lace have to be for a date night? Lace is universal. I used to wear white lace gloves to church when I was about five.”

“You’re certainly not five now.” Our eyes met and I took yet another sip of the warm sweetened drink. Suddenly, I wish it was a frozen hot chocolate.

“Someone did try to take me on a date though.” I’m not sure why I’m sharing this, but we’ve developed enough of a connection to the point where we share a lot of random and sometimes private information with one another.

“Who?” He hadn’t taken the game off of pause yet; didn’t reach for the hot chocolate either.

“Remember the friend who I mentioned to you? The one whose father died in the same war that mine did? Him. His name is Quinton.”

“I figured he was more than a friend when you mentioned him.”

“Why?” We were kids at the time. I didn’t emphasize much more than that.

“I don’t know. I just felt it.”

“Well, believe me when I tell you that we’re just friends. I’m not interested. There was a point in time when we crossed a boundary but nothing more came out of it.”

“Okay.” I was surprised that he didn’t question me about the boundary but then again, he’s just as intuitive as I am most times. He knows what boundary that was.

“He’s a councilman in Brooklyn now. He’s going to run for a seat in the Senate soon enough. Politics are his thing. He’s been trying to take me out for a while. For whatever reason, he thinks we’re a good fit for one another.”

“And you don’t?” As he stretched out his lengthy fingers, I could hear the sounds of a few of them cracking.

“No. I don’t think we relate much. We gel well as distant friends more than anything else. He’s looking for a wife. I don’t want to be that.”

“His wife or anyone’s wife?”

“I don’t know. Marriage isn’t something that I’ve made a part of my plans when I mapped them out. It’s not something that I’ve ruled out, but I’m not necessarily yearning for it either. It’s more of an it is what it is situation for me. You?”

“Initially, it was a big ass no. I wasn’t pressed for it. I watched my pop marry someone and I knew he didn’t want to get married. Ultimately, it didn’t work out for him. Now, I’m not against it. Whenever that day comes, it’ll come. I just want to do it one time when it does come. When I get down on one knee, I have to absolutely know that this is it and this person is going to be the one I’m growing towards wrinkles and diapers with. That shit has to work out.”

I’m sure everyone who stands at an alter and vows their life to someone feels exactly the same way he does. It’s supposed to be final; that moment to seal the deal between your soul and someone else’s. It’s tricky though. That honeymoon bliss eventually turns into tests of tolerance and plenty of trials and tribulations. In being around my parents, I was exposed to many of their friends’ marriages. Sure, they were in love, but I’m not sure if a few of them were genuinely happy.

“That’s fair.”

“So, this Quinton guy, he’s never getting a chance to prove himself? Not even one date?”

“Probably not.”

“What about me?” I didn’t expect it to go that route, but I know it’s been lingering on his mind since we began to bond with one another.

“Everything about us will never make sense and we both know this. Even what we’re doing right now wouldn’t go without question. I’m not supposed to be here or anywhere near you.” He sighed, not in defeat, but in disappointment at the words that I’d chosen as a response.

“How is that?”

“Because it’s a conflict of interest. Did you think that I was speaking in jest when I said that the night, we all hung out after your game? Having a personal relationship with you will easily have me viewed as someone who has a bias towards you and all that you do. I already catch hell for what I said about you, so can you imagine what would happen if TMZ happened to catch up the two us leaving some restaurant or nightclub together? Do you understand what would happen if you were to post or say anything about me on social media beyond whatever it is that I say about you in a professional setting? I would not only be ripped to shreds, but I’d be fired. Why do you think I kept stressing you and the guys about not post anything whenever I was visiting you at the hospital? Why do you think I was sneaking in, so bundled up?” The pictures and videos that are on his phone and everyone else’s are for personal memories. I don’t mind that. I figured they’d be something to put a smile on his face whenever he needs one, just as they do for me.

“Does it say in your contact that you will be fired for any of this?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t against the ethical code and conduct of the company? I would be forced to resign. Not only that, but do you realize how hard it is to be taken seriously as a female sports journalist? If you let the public tell it, I’m screwing every single athlete that I’m standing within five feet of. I’m not supposed to know about sports. You know how many ‘get in the kitchen’ comments I get? Hell, the NFL fans are the harshest. They tell me that I don’t know shit and I belong on my back for a living.”

“Because they’re fucking ignorant.”

“And yet it’s my reality. I’m not trying to nag you about this because I know what I signed up for and I can handle it, but how do I handle standing in front of the president of ESPN and him telling me to write my resignation letter before they’re forced to publicly embarrass me by firing me?”

“Within all that you said, you know you’re also saying that we can’t be friends and yet here you are, sitting here with me. I didn’t tell you to come here tonight. You came on your own.”

“Because I figured you were a bit upset. It’s the vibe I’d gotten in the text messages.”

“That’s the excuse you’re going with? You could have kept texting me. You came because you care and because you wanted to.”

“I do care about you. I just have to wonder how much do you care about me if you’re okay with me jeopardizing everything that I have and everything that I am for you and only you.” Instantly, he turned his head in my direction and narrowed his eyes.

“Me and only me? So, I’m in this alone?”

“In what?” I had to stand up. Not only had the tension in the room thickened, but my legs refused to remain settled. I kept bouncing them in an anxiousness that I couldn’t comprehend.

“Sarai. Seriously? And I’m not asking you to jeopardize your career.”

“Then what are you asking me to do?”

“I don’t…” His ran his hands threw his blonde curls and tightly closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was only dropping by to check on you. I’m going to go.”

“Sarai.”

He frowned as I grabbed my jacket from the arm the chair and threw it over my shoulders. The quicker I leave, the better off we’ll both be in terms of riding ourselves of the steam. I’m tired anyway.

“It’s fine. I’ll give you a call to see how you’re doing soon.”

“You don’t have to go. That’s not what any of that was supposed to cause.”

“But I do. I need to go.”

Once my clutch bag was secured under my arm, I grabbed my keys off of the table.

“Sarai.”

“Be safe in here. Stay off of your foot.”

I was out of his door before we could exchange another set of words with one another and quite frankly, I’m not sure when I’ll ever walk through it again. I don’t have much, despite whatever people may see or believe. There are plenty of question marks next to a lot of the emotional aspects of life’s necessities but I do have my sanity and everything that I worked damn hard for. If that’s suddenly snatched away from me, then what’s left? A mother who doesn’t know much about me beyond what she assumes or wishes I were and an older sister who doesn’t take me seriously? Much like Beckham, I’m chasing a legacy and I have a lot more to do to make it eternally standing.

One date. We’ll do it somewhere around our old stomping grounds; it’ll feel nostalgic. Next week. I’ll get back to you with the day. Here’s your time.

If I have to choose right now, that’s the choice that makes the most sense.

[let-it-raines]

So a follow up to the baseball kiss cam prompt??? 😘⚾️🏟🎥

And the great prompt-a-thon (that seems like an appropriate name for it or maybe the prompt project…that doesn’t have the same ring to it...prompt and circumstances?) continues! It’s Thanksgiving week here, and I’m currently sitting in my parents’ house looking out at the place where I grew up while other people watch my kid because they think running around with a toddler for hours is still a novel idea. lol. Anyways, the Kiss Cam prompt from last week strikes again thanks to several people but mostly @kmomof4 and this anon. Hope you guys think this one is a home run too :D 

“So can I hear the story of you getting a drink thrown on you? I feel like I know you well enough now to get that privilege of hearing of this bad date of yours.”

Killian’s drawing lazy patterns against her back, his nails leaving temporary marks as he moves across her skin. It’s got to be somewhere near four in the morning, the sun setting so long ago that it’s almost time for it to rise. After the game was over yesterday, Killian had offered to take her out to diner, but her sweater was absolutely soaked from the water Walsh had thrown on her, the damp material seeping into her skin and causing her to shiver as the temperature outside continued to cool. So he’d bashfully, scratching his ear the entire time while his cheeks reddened below his slight sunburn, offered to have her over to his place to change clothes and eat takeout since he lives near Fenway. Well, he’d actually phrased it as “So, Swan, my dugout or yours?” and she’d chosen his.

And him offering her a dry shirt pretty much got the ball rolling off the mound for them to fall into bed together.

And while they were there, there were no strikes. Only home runs, and at the end of each inning, a damn grand slam.

She’s going to talk and think in baseball innuendos for the rest of her life.

Or maybe just until she gets some sleep. She’s been up for almost twenty-four hours and has taken part in some rigorous activities in the past few of those. Totally worth it, but she’s starting to get delusional.

She hums when Killian moves his fingertips over her shoulders and up to the base of her neck, drawing lines right at her hairline that send vibrations through her boneless, sated body. “You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”

“Is this the getting to know you equivalent of you show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

“Considering I’ve already shown you all of mine,” she turns her head to look at him, tracing her eyes up and down his still bare body, “and you’ve shown me all of yours, I think we can do the same for bad dates. Plus, you were a real live witness to an actual, historical bad date.”

“Me and a couple other thousand people. And a few million if they showed it on the television…which Liam tells me they did.”

Well, she was not expecting that. And she’d also totally blocked out the fact that her kiss with Killian had been seen by everyone in the stadium. J.D. Martinez probably saw her make out with Killian, and she’s just not sure how she feels about that…not that she personally knows Martinez. And who is she kidding? He’s trying to win the World Series. He doesn’t care about who she’s swapping spit with.

Strike that (strike out).

Swapping spit is a horrible way to describe a kiss. Martinez is trying to win the World Series, and he doesn’t care who she’s kissing…or stealing bases with. Okay, that’s a slightly better thought.

“Holy shit. Are you serious?”

“As the plague. You’re a bit of an internet sensation, Swan. Though no one knows who you are.”

“When did you even find time to talk to Liam?”

“While you were in the bathroom after round,” he counts his fingers, exaggerating his movements, and she rolls her eyes, “two. He’d texted me several, well, several different versions of ‘what the hell, brother’ and then links to a bunch of articles online. His job is more PR management for the team than anything else. So when we trended on Twitter, he was all over that.”

Holy shit. Did he just say they trended on Twitter? That is something she never thought would happen to her. Ever. That doesn’t even feel real. This entire day doesn’t feel real.

She doesn’t even have a Twitter.

Does that make this a…no hitter?

“Is he…is he going to release our names?”

She doesn’t think it would be the end of the world, but her friends are never going to let her live this down.

“No, though there’s no guarantee the masses of the internet won’t find us out. I’m a public servant related to someone who works for the team, and you’re supposedly a nutritionist. We’re online.”

“What do you mean I’m supposedly a nutritionist? I am one!”

He pokes her in the side, causing her to jump a bit, her stomach convulsing at the surprising warmth of his touch. “You ate half of a pizza tonight. That’s the exact opposite of what a nutritionist would suggest.”

“Yeah, but I don’t always eat like that, and I’ve gotten quite the workout today. And it’s like that hypocritical thing parents used to say. Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Fair point.”

He leans over to kiss her, and just as his lips touch hers, she remembers how this conversation started. “Hey, what was your worst date?”

“This one.”

She rolls her eyes, and she’s got to be dreaming. This isn’t her life. She’s never connected with someone this easily, and it has to be a dream. A really good dream. “Shut up. What was it really?”

“It was really this one, love. Because nothing is ever going to compare to it.”

What a smooth talker, and she’s totally falling for it…well, almost.

“That’s sweet and super cheesy, but I still want to know your actual worst date.”

He sighs before flopping down on to his back, the mattress bouncing under his weight while she lays down next to him, propping herself up on her fisted hand and pulling the comforter over the two of them to keep the fan from causing her skin to break out in gooseflesh.

“I was twenty seven and – ”

“Wait. How old are you now?”

“Thirty-two. You?”

“Twenty-eight. It was my birthday a few days ago. Go on.”

“Happy birthday, love.” He kisses her brow before settling back down in his spot, a soft smile gracing his face that causes butterflies to rise up in her stomach. “So I was twenty-seven, and my last serious girlfriend and I had just broken up. I wasn’t really ready to date again, but my mates were on my arse about it. So I asked a lass I knew through Liam out, and it was just…horrible. It’s not like anything dramatic happened where my date was an arsehole and ignored me, but I was still so upset and heartbroken that everything was doom and gloom. And she and I just had no connection. Like, none. We sat at a restaurant forever and didn’t talk for thirty seven minutes. I timed it because words were not forming in my mind. It was like torture. And then she asked me out again when we were leaving, and I had to turn her down.”

“Why would she ask you out again if it was so awkward?”

“No bloody clue. A glutton for punishment obviously. So do I get to hear the drink story now?”

“I was at a football game.”

“You obviously shouldn’t go to sporting events for dates, lass. Take me out to the ball game should not be a part of your song catalog.”’

He waggles his eyebrows before smirking at her, and she can’t help but reach over and playfully hit his shoulder. Their batting average with each other is not the best. Or maybe it is. She’s not sure how that works in this particular situation.

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have me in your bed right now.”

“Too true.”

“So I was at a game in college, and I, too, was starting to date again after a relationship. The guy I was with apparently had an ex who was pissed at him, so she dumped her drink on us. It was definitely an interesting experience.”

“Maybe one day I can take you on a date where you don’t get a drink spilled on you.”

She smiles, and her stomach does that thing with butterflies again. Maybe it’s fly balls if she’s sticking with the baseball theme, but that seems like it might be painful. She hopes that this isn’t painful.

“I’d like that.”

She leaves around seven in the morning after getting approximately an hour and a half of sleep, and while the night was a whole new ballgame to what she’s used to, she’s really feeling it now as she walks into the office in her jeans and her sweater from yesterday. She’s going to need all of the coffee in the building as well as the Boston area for how her body is dragging, and she just has to make it until four before she can go home. She can do that, can’t she? She’s survived worse, and she doesn’t have any appointments today, so she can avoid people.

Or at least she thought she could until her office phone starts ringing before she even manages to sit down.

“Emma Swan’s office. How may I help you?”

“Whoisthemanwhoyouwerekissingonthejumbotronyesterday?”

The words come out of Mary Margaret’s mouth so quickly that Emma almost can’t make them out, but she’s been interpreting her friend for years. Plus, she figured that before the world discovered who the girl was who made out with a stranger on television, Mary Margaret would see the video and call her. Crap, she didn’t even call to tell Mary Margaret about her date. She’s going to be so confused. And probably a little pissed.

“His name is Killian. Also, breathe, Marg.”

“What happened to Walsh?”

“He was an asshole. Why did you think I would like him?”

“He’s been nothing but nice to me.”

“Well, he was lying.”

Mary Margaret is silent for a few seconds, and Emma knows that she’s debating whether or not to follow up on the Walsh situation or to just drop it.

“So who’s Killian?”

So she tells Mary Margaret the story of how she met Killian, leaving out the part about going back to his apartment because as much as she loves her friend, she can be a little judgmental. She can’t talk long, as Mary Margaret did call her why she was at work (I knew you wouldn’t pick up if you could see the caller ID on your cell), so she gets out of having to share too much. The day passes like a game with extra innings. At one point, you just want it to be over. You don’t care how.

Okay, maybe she cares a little bit.

Ruby: So I hear you slept with the hottie you made out with on national TV. You want to tell me about his wood? His baseballs? There are two, right? 

Emma: How do you know that? And no.

Emma: I mean no to telling you about his baseball bat. There are definitely two balls, just to clarify.

Ruby: Mary Margaret read between the lines. Or the chalk or whatever. So did you round all of the bases?

Emma: I’m never talking to you again.

Ruby: Let me know before you get married in Fenway.

The next few days are pretty busy, her life getting back to normal, but she does text back and forth with Killian. They’re in that weird state of “hey we slept together and kind of talked about going on a date but we’re not really doing that.” So they just kind of text randomly throughout the days, making sure to update each other any time they hear or see something about the kiss cam make out and, of course, talking about the World Series. It’s after Boston wins game four that she gets her first call from Killian.

“Swan.”

“Jones?”

“Can you get Monday off of work?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“How would you feel about going to game five free of charge?”

“What?”

“My brother can hook us up with tickets. Says all we have to do is do a promo thing.”

“A promo?”

“Yeah, apparently they’re using us in promos and stuff, and he wants us to record a video. And then maybe you can see the Sox win the world series in person. And, you know, go to LA.”

Well knock her sox off. She doesn’t care if she’s used that pun before. It’s a good one.

“Killian, I’m not sure I can do that. I don’t really know you or Liam. This feels weird.”

“I’m not going to murder you, Swan. If I was, I’d have done it in my apartment where no one knew where you were.”

“Creepy.”

“I’m trying to make a point.”

“So it would cost no money? I’d just have to lose a bit more of my dignity?”

“Exactly.”

And that’s how she’s ended up sitting in the visitors’ locker room in the Dodgers stadium in LA decked out in Red Sox-provided team gear with Killian sitting right next to her as his brother interviews them, a camera with a bright light flashing in her face. She’s never been one to do spontaneous things like fly across the country to go to a baseball game with someone she barely knows, but really, how could she pass this up? It was a free plane ride, a free hotel room (she does plan on staying in her own room tonight, but things could change now that she’s with Killian again if she’s honest with herself), and a free ticket to what could be the Sox winning the World Series. So while it may not have been the most sensible decision in terms of, you know, safety, she doesn’t think she’s going to be murdered or something.

She at least hopes not.

The only murdering that’s going to be done is on the baseball field.

Okay, so maybe that’s a little violent, but she’s new at this trash talk thing.

The interview they do is, in one word, embarrassing. For one, she has to talk about how she met Killian and how she really did make out with him after knowing him for a few hours (obviously she leaves out what they did afterwards because…logic). There’s also a game played where she and Killian wear those headbands with little notecards on them and have to describe to each other which MLB team they are without saying the mascot, the city, or any of the words in the team’s name. But the real kicker is that Killian flirts with her the entire time while his brother interviews them. She’s meeting the guy’s brother, and while it’s not like he’s introducing her to his family because they’re seriously dating, it kind of feels that way. You know, if they weren’t in a locker room with a bunch of professional baseball players and their managers.

But it’s kind of fun once she gets over herself. Killian Jones is still the same man she met less than a week ago, and he puts little puns into their interview every time that he can. Whenever he messes up or curses, he says “strike that,” a giant grin on his face that cause her to giggle under her breath. At a point in the interview, Liam asks Killian if he has anything he’d like to say to Emma, and without any emotion in his face he said, “Are you in the outfield? Because you’re an angel.” Liam muttered “fuck you, Killian” under his breath, and they had to redo the entire scene from how hard they were all laughing. Okay, maybe not Liam. Apparently, Killian has annoyed Liam with baseball puns ever since he got this job.

She can respect that. She doesn’t have any siblings, but from what she can tell, they are incredibly close. Like their own little team.

Eventually she is allowed to be released from the torment of their little promo video, and she and Killian make their way to the box their seats are in. She’d rather be near the field, but is she really going to complain about watching game five or the World Series from a team suite?

Hell no.

She is going to complain, though, when the kiss cam finds she and Killian after the top of the second inning after showing the video they made earlier today on the jumbotron, and she already knows this was all Liam Jones’s doing. Maybe there will be a murder that’s not on the field.

“You don’t have to kiss me, love.”

She smiles before leaning over and pecking him on the lips as chastely as possible. She has a feeling this won’t be the last time the kiss cam finds them, so they might as well start off slow.

She doesn’t really want to start off slow.

“I mean, this is kind of like our second date, right? I obviously like you, even if my feelings on your brother are wavering.”

He laughs before nodding, and when his fingers intertwine with hers later, she doesn’t mind at all.

The kiss cam continues to find them throughout the rest of the game. No one has scored in three innings, so when she and Killian aren’t watching the game, they’re getting to know each other a little more. If you’re going to travel across the country with someone, you might as well get to know them. And she’s glad that the man she’s getting to know is Killian because he seems like a good man, nice and funny and like he won’t throw her screwball after screwball when she’s expecting a simple pitch straight down the line.

When the Sox win, she and Killian both go ballistic, jumping up and down and hugging everyone around them until Killian cups her face and kisses her like it was the two of them who actually played the game. If she’s on the jumbotron again, she doesn’t care. His lips are soft against hers, and her heart is so loud in her chest that she can’t hear anything else except for the groan that emanates from the back of Killian’s throat that she thinks she’ll remember for the rest of her life. Probably more than she’ll remember witnessing the Sox winning the Series, and that’s a pretty big deal.

This kiss seems like a pretty big deal, too.

“I hope you’re good at catching because I’m starting to fall for you.”

“How long have you had that one prepared?”

“About a day and a half, love.”

So Emma thought she’d always be someone who had bad dates, someone who never got to have that really good one that she remembered for the rest of her life. And then she had another horrible one which transformed into a great one that she and the internet will remember forever. And that great date turned into a year and three months of even better dates. Nothing ever topped getting to see the Sox win the series in terms of excitement, but when you love someone like she loves Killian, things like grand gestures don’t always matter. Every dinner date, whether that be out at a restaurant or in one of their apartments, is wonderful because they get to be together. She enjoys doing simple things like going to the movies, walking around the commons, exploring Boston and the surrounding areas, a yes, going to a few baseball games here and there. It’s not that things are perfect and that she and Killian don’t fight. They do. But they work through those things so that they can be better.

She’s happy, and Killian’s happy. That’s all that really matters to her.

Okay, so why Killian has her blindfolded and is walking her somewhere matters to her, too.

“Babe, where are we?”

“It’s a surprise, darling. We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but I don’t like being in the dark. Literally.”

He laughs, and she can feel him kiss her hair before moving to kiss her temple, his lips soft against her skin.

“Just a few more steps, okay?”

She’s got no clue where they are, but she knows the moment they go from being inside to walking out into the bitter chill of a Boston winter, the air nipping at her uncovered nose as Killian leads her to wherever they’re going. The ground stays solid until the feeling of grass is underneath her boots, but that doesn’t help her know where they are. Then, all of the sudden, Killian stops moving them and moves to stand behind her, his body heat invading her as his right hand finds purchase on her hip while his left hand takes off her blindfold while he rests his chin on her shoulder.

She’s in…they’re in Fenway park. A very empty Fenway park to be specific, standing on the pitcher’s mound, and Killian’s grabbing onto her left hand and pointing her arm just over one of the dugouts…where they met.

Oh. Ohhhh. Oh wow. This is…this is about to be a big moment, isn’t it? Her heartbeat starts pounding in her chest, the pace so rapid that she thinks Killian must be able to hear it, let alone feel it, and can she say yes right now? That’s what’s happening, right? Killian is about to propose. Why else would he get them alone on the field in the evening in the middle of January?

“So you see those seats right there, love?”

“I do. They look oddly familiar.”

“They do. You see, I met a girl in those seats, a girl who was on a horrible date. Not with me, of course.”

She chuckles under her breath, and she’s surprised she can even speak right now. “Of course not.”

“And this lovely lass spent an entire game with me, and near the end of it, she gave me the best bloody kiss of my life.”

“The best, huh?”

“Well, we’ve had some better ones since then, but I’ll remember that one forever.”

“Forever?”

“Aye, it’s on the internet, you see, and the internet is forever.” He kisses her cheek, his lips soft and warm in comparison to the hardness of the bristles of his scruff and the iciness of the air. “You know what else is forever?”

“Tattoos that you get when in college and are too scared to remove?”

“Not what I was going for, but that’s true in case of you and your buttercup.”

“What were you going for then?”

She knows, but he’s obviously planned this thing out. Who is she to do anything but play along? Killian releases her waist and her arm before turning her and getting down on one knee, a bright smile on his face even if his hand shakes a bit when he reaches into his jacket, a small black box emerging with his hand.

“I was going for marriage, specifically between you and me. So what do you say, Emma Swan? Will you marry me?”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

He doesn’t get a chance to slide the ring onto her finger before she’s pulling him off the ground and slamming her lips into his and wrapping her arms around his neck. Killian almost immediately moves to pick her up, allowing her to jump into his arms and wraps her legs around his waist, the ring box digging into her ass. It’s so much like their first kiss, but this is better. So much better.

“I love you so damn much, Killian.”

“I love you even more, Emma.”

“You just have to one up me, don’t you?”

He almost drops her then, a small scream emanating from her lips until he gently places her on the ground, letting go of her so that he can finally slide the ring on her finger…sliding it home.

That’s a baseball pun she’s okay with.  

“Well, I’ve got to make sure I’m never one of your bad date stories.”

“You won’t be.”

It’s only later that she realizes that Killian proposed to her with a diamond inside of a baseball diamond.

She’s okay with that, too.

And that’s a ball game.

[tackyink]

This one is sad, but I think things will look up from the next part onwards. Lots of setup until now.

Nothing is crueler than children who come from good homes

Another thing I learned, sometime before my encounter with the hospital ghost, was that Satori and Yu weren’t on the best of terms.

I’d said before that Yu had only been at the hospital when I woke up, and he didn’t show up any other day. I chalked it up to him having school, and if I had been in our parents’ shoes, I wouldn’t have wanted him around anyway. A hospital was no place for a kid.

I should have guessed by my mother’s reticence to speak when I asked about him that something was off, and little by little it became clear why.

My parents didn’t waste any time in finding me someone to help me study while I was out of school. I had class with two different tutors, morning and afternoon, from Monday to Friday, and though I was supposed to be taking piano lessons twice a week, my parents decided to set those aside until I was able to regain more urgent abilities. My routine, then, became a study marathon during the weekdays, only interrupted to go to doctor check-ups, while my father was at work, my brother at school, and my mother did household chores that never seemed to end.

My parents were kind, serious people. My mother had that stubborn determination of people who set a goal for themselves and never let go, and my recovery was her new goal. When I was not busy studying, she took me out to show me the streets near our home, my school, the train station, the shops. She helped me make flashcards for all the kanji I needed to memorize. She was there to ingrain in me manners that I had never been taught and rescue me when a well-meaning neighbor stopped us on the street to ask me how I was doing and I inevitable stumbled over my words. And she did everything with an unbreakably polite smile and a firm resolve.

As for my dad, I only saw him in the evenings. He didn’t give an approachable vibe. He wasn’t talkative, had a severe expression, and mostly spoke to us only to ask how our day had gone and give advice. The longest I saw him talk was one day at dinner, when he got into a philosophical discussion with Yu I couldn’t follow due to my limited vocabulary – and had I had it, I wasn’t sure I would have been able to, anyway. As time went by, I got the impression that he cared deeply for his family, but he didn’t know how to express it very well, as it was the case for many men of older generations. His way of showing affection was showing interest in what we did every day, even when the most consequential thing I had done was walking alone to the convenience store, he listened like I was telling him the most interesting story in the world.

He was strict and I never saw him crack a joke, but he treated us with the utmost respect. He was the textbook prototype of a family head, and he took on the role as if it was second nature to him, though when I think about it, I suppose it must have been taxing to be so restrained all the time.

And then there was Yu.

I thought he wasn’t talkative either, at first.

I was wrong. He just didn’t talk to me.

This went on for weeks, and while it was bearable when the whole family was together, it was extremely uncomfortable when Yu and I had to be in a room alone. He had perfected the art of ignoring me at all times, and only broke his silence when I addressed him directly.

I had to stop that situation, if only because it was fueling my anxious tendencies. For weeks, I didn’t know how to approach the issue. My opportunity came one Sunday afternoon, when I found him playing chess by his lonesome in the living room. He had a book on his lap, and checked it frequently in between moves.

I remembered doing something similar as a child, but I never put much effort in it. Playing alone bored me to death, and I didn’t have anyone to play with at home. My parents had been too busy with work, and my grandmother didn’t know how to play. I learned soon that all my attempts to rope somebody into playing would be useless, so I stopped trying.

Yu was a completely different kind of beast. When something grabbed his interest, he didn’t let it rest until he knew all its ins and outs, and chess was no exception.

He didn’t lift his eyes from the board, but he was aware that I was looking at him, and he asked in English, out of habit, “May I help you?”

I got startled. “Not really,” I said awkwardly, but I thought this was a good chance to try to speak to him. I didn’t lose anything by trying, except a few years of life. Boy, was I nervous about talking to a ten year old kid. “Isn’t it better to play against somebody?”

“Evidently,” he said with distaste, still looking at the pieces. “But I don’t see anybody available here. Do you?”

A ten year old kid that could be somewhat intimidating, in a pedantic kind of way.

“I could if you wanted,” I said hesitantly. “I’m not good at it, but it would be better than knowing your own moves ahead of time, right?”

The look he gave me was identical to that of the eleven year old I had once tutored when I told him that pink had been a manly color in the days of yore. “You?”

I was taken aback by the edge in his voice. “Yes?”

“You don’t know how to play.”

There was venom dripping from his voice. I didn’t know what Satori had done for him to be so resentful, but it had to be bad. Kids don’t hold grudges for weeks unless they’ve been seriously aggravated.

“I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t know,” I shot back. I was not going to be intimidated by a runt.

His eyes were fixed on me, judgmental, and those few seconds felt like an eternity. Then he lowered his gaze back to the board and said, “Feel free to join.”

It was evident that I wasn’t wanted, but turning down his offer at this point would have been far ruder than sitting uncomfortably for a match.

“Do you mind being black?” He asked, looking at the pieces he was setting on the board instead of me.

“Not at all.”

The match that lasted all of five minutes before my king was cornered. He stopped several times to check his book, too. In another situation I would have been jealous of his brains, but I found too dang funny that someone almost a third of my age was destroying me at chess.

Even though I had never learned to play as I wanted, it was really fun to try to figure out what his strategy was, catch how a set of moves worked so I didn’t fall into the trap again. And I did fall, but I didn’t care. We played match after match, and save a few notable exceptions, I started to stretch their length gradually.

I sucked really bad, but that didn’t stop me from having the most fun I’d had since I had landed in this world.

By the time we were interrupted, it was getting dark and our mother was watching us from behind the doorway in astonishment. I was sitting with my back to it, so I didn’t notice until Yu looked up at her.

“Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no! You two keep playing. Dinner will be ready soon.”

There I went, feeling awkward again. Like I had crossed a line I didn’t know existed. And when I turned around, Yu was watching me again with that same judging stare, but I didn’t feel any hostility coming from him this time.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Why are you doing this?”

I didn’t know what he meant. “Playing with you?”

“Being nice to me. Is this some sort of scheme?”

Holy shit. What was the relationship between these two? How strained it had to be for Yu, no matter how smart he was, to be asking that?

I had to say something, but there was no adequate response to such a question.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, avoiding his eyes.

I had been an only child. I didn’t know how siblings were supposed to act, but I had assumed these two had gotten along more or less like my friends’ brothers and sisters did. It was now clear that I had been wrong.

“You always make fun of me. You never care about anything I do.”

The words hurt like a stab, even knowing they weren’t meant for me, not really. But if I had to live with this family, if I had to have a brother while I found out what had happened to me, we both deserved better than this unending tension.

I thought, in a way, that since I had robbed him of his real sister, it was my duty to be a decent one for him. And if that entailed making up for whatever had happened between Yu and Satori, so be it.

“I don’t remember,” I said earnestly, eyes downcast. “But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Yu’s defensive stance dropped, likely because he had been expecting me to attack him, not apologize. “You are sorry?”

I looked straight at him. “I am.”

He was at a loss for a few seconds, but he hadn’t been swayed when he spoke. “Empty words. You are saying you don’t remember.”

“No matter how I acted, it was bad enough to make you hate me,” I replied. “So I am sorry. I’m not asking you to forgive me, but you don’t need to avoid me. I’m not going to make fun of you again.”

Call it an excuse to feel a little bit better about myself, if you want, but letting him be at ease at home was the least I could do for him.

He readjusted his glasses in a nervous gesture that concealed most of his face, and this time he sounded shy when he spoke. “I don’t hate you. You’re my sister.”

And then, it was I who didn’t know what to reply. It was very much like me to let a kid leave me fumbling for words.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. What I wanted to say was that I was not her sister, but I had to try for both of our sakes.

Something changed that evening. Yu was less standoffish from then on, asking me to play with him, helping me willingly when I got stuck with my homework. In turn, I asked him about what he studied, and found out that he had a liking for linguistics and philosophy even then. We started to go book hunting together, he for specialized manuals, I for everything that I needed to get up to date with what I was supposed to already know.

One time, as we made our way back with bags full of books, he remarked offhandedly that it was like I was a different person.

And once again, I didn’t know what to reply.

Satori kept a diary. Part of my self-imposed homework, for which I felt like a disgusting person, was going through it to learn about her. 

At first I wasn’t able to read a thing. As I got used to her handwriting and my vocabulary expanded, I was able to find out many things, one of which was made obvious constantly.

Satori was deathly jealous of Yu, and felt her parents were ignoring her in favor of him, so she was taking out her frustration on him. And from what I could understand, she felt guilty about lashing out at him, but she didn’t seem to know how to manage the situation, and neither did her parents. Satori needed attention, and her parents weren’t the warmest.

She did well at school, at the club, in her afterschool lessons. To her, they were favoring him just because he did better. But she couldn’t catch up to him. Satori was bright, but she was no prodigy child, and at some point she gave up trying, and her grades started to slip.

I didn’t get all this information from the diary, per se, but I was able to piece the picture together from years of conversations at home.

On one of the last used pages, she had written that maybe it would’ve been better if she hadn’t been born.

I closed that diary and decide that I wouldn’t read anymore. I hid it at the back of a desk drawer, under a box, and tried to forget about it.

Satori had never seen the faces of her parents when she was at the hospital. She had lost her life thinking she wasn’t wanted, and I could only hope that there was a way to let her get it back.

And if that happened… What would that mean for me? Would I just die if she reclaimed her body? Fizzle out of existence, since I didn’t belong in this world to begin with? If everything could be reverted to how it was before the accident, would I go to my old life without looking back?

The question had been in the back of my mind since I had learned I was living in Mushiyori and who my brother was. Of course I wanted my family and friends back, but did I want my life as well?

Again, I pushed that question aside, perhaps because I feared what the answer would be. And, in any case, there was no use in overthinking something that might not happen.