#mitsies 3k

[mitsies]

PASS IT FORWARD ! ; itoshi rin > rin is only the jealous type when it comes to you.

it’s safe to say you’re a little bit annoyed.

you’ve been best friends with itoshi rin for the longest time– years, at this point– and you think it’s time to end your little streak because he’s seriously pissing you off. the both of you are in class right now, and your teacher, an elderly woman with a fierce temper is yammering about geography or whatnot. there’s a test the following week so you’re really trying your damndest to focus on the gibberish she spews, but it’s proving exceedingly difficult when rin won’t stop bugging you.

every two seconds, it seems, he’s sliding another light yellow sticky note with irrelevant and unimportant messages scrawled onto them. the content is stupid, simply saying things like ‘nice weather outside’ even though it was raining outside and ‘what was the math homework’ despite the fact that he’d quite literally given the answers to you an hour earlier at your lunch break.

it’s getting to be a problem. the pile is mounting on your desk– it’s a blend of pale yellow, lime green, and neon pink squares of paper, one that is growing difficult to conceal beneath your notebook. you give rin, who has the desk next to you, a dirty look to try and get him to stop. he reaches over and places another sticky note on your desk. this one is electric blue and says ‘what class do you have after this.’ it’s the last period of the day.

you open your mouth to whisper something, to maybe tell rin to stop or ask him why the hell he’s being so strange, when you catch your teacher’s eyes. she levels you with a withering glare and you snap your mouth closed. if she were to catch the two of you talking, let alone passing notes, you’d surely be sent to detention after school. and you really, really couldn’t risk that– not today of all days. because today, you’ve got a date. 

a tiny smile cracks your face as you grow giddy at simply the prospect– you had a date. today. in an hour. with a person. rin slides another sticky note onto your desk and it snaps you out of your stupor– you send him another look. he is infuriatingly neutral as you return your gaze to the teacher. rin should know better than to risk detention today, especially when you’d been chatting his ears off about this date all week. he’d always replied with his typical placidity and blunt, harsh remarks. he called the guy’s forehead big and told you that you could probably do better, to which you’d rolled your eyes and asked when he was going to get a date. rin didn’t respond to that.

you’d assumed he had nothing left to say, which was decidedly proven false, now, with how many damn sticky notes he kept passing you. you furtively look around before whipping out your phone and shooting him a text:

you: what the fuck r u doing. stop omg i cant miss my date u know this

you: are u like trying to get me in trouble

and he leaves you on read. you look at him, and he’s staring at you. ‘what,’ you mouth, but he just blinks. there’s another sticky note on his finger. he looks at you and then the teacher– you follow his eyes. she’s looking at the class. you and rin are in plain sight. rin looks back at you and you meet his eyes. desperately, but as subtly as you can, you shake your head because you know what he’s about to do– like when a cat just sits and stares at a glass at the edge of a countertop. it feels like a slow-motion video as rin reaches out, sticky note in hand, and you hear your teacher’s ruler smack against the wall with a force you never thought a little old lady could muster.

“the two of you,” she practically bellows, flashing her ruler like a sword in the both of your faces, “detention! after school. this room for an hour.”

she turns back to the board and you unfreeze, slumping back into your seat and running your cold fingertips across your face. frustration bubbles inside you and you let out a breath sharply, pulling your phone out underneath your desk to shoot your date a quick message to cancel last minute. you refused to look at rin, letting your furious thoughts brew like a storm. what had gotten into him? why was he practically sabotaging you? 

you don’t spare him a glance until everyone else walks out the classroom, to irate to bother. your date had been gracious and offered his condolences, and you felt immensely guilty for canceling so last minute, as well as angry at your best friend. the room was basically empty, now, save for you and him. the teacher leaves, stating that the school personnel who’d be watching over the both of you would be here shortly. you sideeye rin.

“nice work.” your words are sharp and serrated and he flinches, a reaction you’ve never seen from him. you blink and turn to face him. he doesn’t say a word, so you ask, “what the hell was that for?”

he can’t meet your eye, and just shrugs, “dunno.”

you’re usually a lot nicer to him– or, at least, when you’re mean it’s always in a joking-besties-i-love-you way. but you lack your typical kindness as you narrow your eyes at him and snark, “if i didn’t know better, i’d think that was on purpose. good thing i know better, right?”

it’s a challenge, and he knows it. you’re asking him if he meant to get you into detention, if he meant to force you to cancel on your date. and his silence is the only response you need.

you groan as you tip your head back to the fluorescent lights and close your yes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “what the fuck, rin? why would you do that?”

he doesn’t reply again and you sit back up, pulling your leg onto your chair and glaring at him. “well? don’t tell me you suddenly have nothing to say. what happened to all the things you had to say to me?”

again, he winces at your bittered tone. a tinge of guilt makes itself apparent in your chest and you turn your head away, to face the window. rain kisses the glass and your eyes track little droplets in their journey down the pane as if they’re race horses. it’s a minute of pure silence before rin speaks: “i didn’t want you to go out with him.”

you snort a laugh and don’t bother looking at him. his voice is small and maybe you’d feel worse for him if you still weren’t kind of miffed. “that much was obvious, i think.”

“you deserved better.” he’s more firm in this statement, like he believes it more. at this, you turn your head and meet his eyes. “but he liked me. he actually liked me. is that not good enough?”

rin looks genuinely mad, moreso than usual, as he returns your scowl. “he’s not fucking special.”

you blink. he blinks. “what?” you ask. rin keeps staring awkwardly, before putting his head down on the desk. “oh my god, stop brooding. what did you just say?”

“nothing,” his voice is muffled by his arms and you stand, chair scraping the floor as it’s moved by your actions. moving over to the side of his desk, you poke his arm. your best friend looks up and his face is pink as he glowers at you. 

a beat passes and he’s about to bury his face in his arms on the desk again but you speak: “what do you mean, ‘he’s not special?’”

rin’s teeth click together as he stares you down. you’d be a little intimidated if you weren’t so familiar with him. “you implied there’s someone else who likes me.”

“okay.”

“so tell me who.”

“no.”

your eyes light up and rin groans– he knows he’s made a mistake now. “so there is someone.”

“okay.”

“stop okay-ing me. who? do i know them?” it’s almost as if your previous gripes are forgotten, just like that, or maybe you just couldn’t be mad at him for too long. as was your friendship with itoshi rin– easy, easier than most things have come to him. you look around the room, checking for the teacher, before hopping up to sit on his desk, effectively shoving him off and preventing further moping. 

maybe that’s one of the reasons rin fell for you. you could be as headstrong as he was, and your personalities just clicked. you made him better, he thinks. you make him soft around the edges, and you make him fuzzy like a mango seed and warm like a spring-turned-summer day. maybe that’s why itoshi rin couldn’t stand it when you had a date with another person. he let his envy get the better of him and acted before he spoke, because he was stupid and headstrong and dumb like you, because you’ve been rubbing off on him. 

he was your best friend. he had been for years. and he wanted more, more with you. the sticky-notes were his last resort. he wasn’t planning on telling you anything, but his words tripped out of his mouth and now he was here.

“are they on your team? are they tall?”

you kick your legs in the air and your heels click against the silver legs of the desk. rin watches. you tilt your head at him, “how close am i?”

“close,” he mutters, trying to find a place to look that isn’t your legs or your face. closer than he’d like to admit.

“isagi? oh, but he’s not very tall,” you muse. and he can’t take it anymore. he can’t, not when you had a date with someone else today, not when you’re listing off guys who could like you, guys who you could like back, guys who were not him. he can’t do this, watching you slip between his fingers and into someone else’s hands. you’re still sitting on his desk when he says, “it’s you.”

“it’s me? like.. are you saying that i like me? i don’t think crushes work like that.”

he shakes his head, letting out a breath, and looking up at you, “no, no. it’s me.”

“you.. like me?”

rin nods and he’s suddenly so tense and his mouth is dry and he feels sick to his stomach, but he keeps going because he needs you to know, and his hand migrates to your thigh as your skin sparks a fire inside his ribcage. “no one else. none of my teammates. it’s me. i like you.”

he sounds angry still, especially so  when he mentions his teammates, and it’s as if he’s clarifying that no one else deserves you, that you’re perfect for him and just him. you stare at him. he’s looking at you. regret sets in: what did he just say? why did he say that? oh, that was embarrassing. oh, you’re going to say no. oh, you’re going to leave forever.

and then you smile. and you laugh. “i wish you’d just said that.”

he doesn’t miss the heat beneath your skin, and he doesn’t miss the way you spin a lock of hair around your fingers and give him the most bashful expression he’s seen you wear. and he’s proud, suddenly, because he did that. not the guy you had a date with, not one of his teammates, not anyone else– he did that.

you look around the room. “the teacher’s not coming, i don’t think.”

rin follows your gaze– it’s very possible that the teacher might just be late. but he’s not about to pass this opportunity. “you’re right.”

“i say we get outta here, then. i was promised a date today, right? i’d rather it be with you.”

rin’s heart stalls, and then stops, and then sprints a fucking marathon in his chest. you grin at him, and he gives you a half-smile as you take his hand off your thigh and hop off the desk, keeping him in your grasp. you move to take your schoolbag in your hands, but he beats you to it, picking it up along with his own. 

“that sounds perfect,” he manages to get out, “that sounds good.”

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event using the prompt 'they get you both in detention because they were passing you notes on purpose so you miss your date with someone else'

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[mitsies]

SEALED WITH A (HERSHEY'S) KISS ! ; itoshi sae > in which, sae hasn't really changed as much as everyone else would like to believe.

the world had changed a lot since you were 7. you don't really remember much from your primitive years but you recall this very scene- the playground of your childhood- and its bursting beauty.

in your youth, the playground had been colourful and lively, brimming with warmth and the nostalgic sounds of blue springs which were now long gone. the bright red plastic slide was seared into your mind's eye, and so was the feeling of your favourite companion's hand as he helped you stand when you hit the bottom.

you internally cringe at the recollection of your former friend, who was the whole reason you'd returned to the now dismal setting. though, you supposed that you couldn't quite refer to itoshi sae as just an old friend anymore. there was too much history for that, now.

itoshi sae was your childhood best friend. the both of you had met at the playground of your school, and had clicked. he'd always been aloof and just the tiniest bit stuck up, and you liked to think that you balanced each other out quite nicely.

it was no secret to anyone in your primary schools that the both of you liked each other, even though he'd scowl and curse out (as eloquently as a child could) anyone who'd dare suggest such a thing. sae would bluntly reject the verbal concept of crushing on you, but he'd always save you a seat at the lunch table. he'd rather die than even suggest that he could have an affection that was more than platonic, but every day he'd wait for you outside your classroom to walk with you to the playground.

that playground, you think, was more of a liminal space for you, now, rather than a good memory. because you and your maybe-relationship with itoshi sae had crashed and burned when you'd turned 16.

(if you're being honest, you're surprised that it'd even made it that long.)

sae had first asked you to 'be his' when you were 10, in the only way a child could ask. he'd given you a hershey's kiss, and you still remember how his ears tinged red and how he refused to meet your eye. you'd kissed him on the cheek and he pursed his lips as his face contorted in something like shock. the next week, he left for spain.

you didn't see sae again until a year later. he was a little taller, but not much, and his cheeks were still puffy and rosy with youth. he was only visiting for a week, but he insisted on you being there wherever he went. at this point, both of you had contact information to exchange and kept up communication even when he left. the day before he left for the airport, he gave you another hershey's kiss.

you and sae had spoken nearly every day until you were 14 and he came back for a month. then, he'd asked you out officially. you'd said yes. your friends teased you for your infatuation with the boy you'd known since childhood, but it was just that: infatuation. you couldn't see the red lights or hear the alarm bells, not for the life of you.

a few more sporadic visits and daily calls culminated in his planning to fly over to celebrate your 16th birthday with you. but itoshi sae never landed in japan. the day before your birthday, you received an envelope- a brief letter detailing how your relationship was childish and a waste of time, and was to come to an immediate end.

it felt like your world collapsed, just then, when you read those words. you would almost not believe it if it weren't for the unmistakable script that was so messy and so sae, that it couldn't be anyone but him. after that, he didn't reply to your texts. he stopped liking your posts. he never picked up your calls. and that was that, you'd concluded. that was the end of your relationship with itoshi sae.

it still made you sad, even though it shouldn't. you were 19 now, and still couldn't stomach a hershey's kiss. you were 19 and you still returned to this stupid playground with a familiar, heavy heart when you'd heard the news that the itoshi sae had briefly returned to japan for the first time in years.

the tweets with his name on them seemed to be taunting you. the articles with his face screamed at you. the heartbreak was something you could push aside and never escape, and you hated every second of it. if you could take back your childhood solely for the sake of forgetting sae, you think you would consider it before you said no.

"i knew you'd be here eventually."

your heart stalls, and then stops. a tight vice grip takes a hold of your lungs and you exhale sharply. because you knew that voice.

"sae," you greet courteously, as if you weren't about to keel over and die. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, not when you could almost feel his presence next to you. his aura emanated with that familiar warmth, almost as if it was trying to draw you in again. you felt nauseous.

"you're fucking annoying to track down, you know that, right?"

you huff what might be a laugh. "my bad."

the air is cold and suddenly gets colder as a bitter wind bites at your skin. you would wonder what he's thinking but you're giving your all to not let the resurgence of feelings overtake you.

he opens his mouth behind you and then closes it, like he's struggling to get his words out. you don't need to see him to know- you'd grown up together. you knew how he was.

"it's.. been a while." and now you laugh genuinely, because everyone was wrong about him. they all talked him up like some god, and to them maybe he was. but they didn't know him like you did. itoshi sae is no god- he is awkward, and antisocial, and the same 7-year-old boy who'd changed the rules during games of four-square when he'd lost.

"guess it has been."

"i missed you." now that takes you by surprise. it's spoken like a sin, like he's confessing his darkness to a priest, like he's a malefactor asking for a reprieve from his gods. you finally turn to look at him, and he looks just as confused and conflicted as you feel.

itoshi sae is older but he's hardly taller. his face is slimmer but still tinged pink, and he's outgrown the bangs that you used to like to tie into pigtails to bother him. he still looks like itoshi sae- he still looks like he's yours.

he lets out a sharp breath when he sees you fully for the first time since he'd last seen you, almost 5 years ago now.

"you missed me?"

he breaks eye contact and you almost smile at how he's still so shy, after all these years. "you don't get to miss me, y'know."

"i know. i'm.."

you raise an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue. "i'm sorry."

you grin. "that's good," you muse, feeling kind of insane because how is any of this real, "you probably should be sorry."

he looks back at you, a familiar intent flashing behind his gaze. "i know, i-"

"you don't know anything, sae." he's silenced by the sharpness of your tone, and you can hear every beat of your heart as you continue. "what was it you said? i'm a waste of time? that we- that i was just.. unnecessary?"

all of a sudden, you feel very, very small. your voice wavers and cracks at the end of your sentence, and you cross your arms over your chest and step back. the burst of anger you'd felt had dissolved into something like despair, and you wonder why you can't bring yourself to walk away.

"you wrote me a fucking letter," you say, quieter this time, "on my birthday."

sae's expression would be unreadable to anyone, but you weren't just anyone. you recognize the conflict, the wild tumult of emotions, the remorse- you can't look any longer.

you force yourself away, turning so you're facing the playground again. it's silent for a few heartbeats before he speaks again.

"i think that was the biggest mistake of my life."

you don't reply. he continues.

"i was- i'm in love with you. since i met you, i've been in love with you."

you feel a sinking feeling in your chest, because this is all too similar to all those times he'd told you he liked you, not in words but in actions, and you fight to keep up with the grief hanging heavy in your mind's eye. this was the first time itoshi sae had told you he loved you, years after it'd all ended, and you hate yourself because a small part of you wishes that it won't be the last.

sae moves to stand next to you, and looks at you over his shoulder. from the corner of your eye, you see his gaze grow misty.

"so why did you leave me?"

he turns to you fully, and you look at him. his eyes are almost pleading as his whispered words are almost lost to the cold winds: "i can't. i," he moves to take your hand, and you let him, "i don't know. i can't."

there is a new darkness in his eyes. a world of unspoken words, a lifetime of hurt that you don't recognize. it's then you realize that he was different, in that sense- there was a bleeding wound invisible to the naked eye. he lets go of your hand and there's something left in your palm- a hershey's kiss.

"you won't forgive me," he says, "but i'm sorry."

he is about to turn and leave, and you're staring at the familiar treat in your hand when you grab the sleeve of his jacket and tug him back. not expecting the sudden impact.

in a flash, you're kissing him. your hands search for purchase anywhere they can- they're under his knit sweater and on his stomach, his back, his sides, his hair, his cheeks, and you're desperate with your movements, as if he was the only cure to your sickness.

it's fervent, almost, how he kisses you back, closing the nonexistent distance as if he's trying to melt into your warmth. he's greedy, his buzzing, he's warm all over, and he feels just like he used.

when you part, the both of you remain close. you move to untangle yourself from him, recalling how sae was never one for public affection, and this was a public park despite no one being around. his arms hold fast around your waist, keeping you in place. his forehead rests against yours and his hair tickles your face.

"are you sure you love me? i couldn't tell," you tease, voice raspy and breathless. sae presses his lips to your temple, "don't make me say it again."

"what if i want you to?"

"i'm in love with you," he deadpans with no hesitation.

you laugh into his skin and you know he's smiling without looking. "i think i need you to say a little more. maybe like, 'oh, the love of my life, i am so madly in love with you and i have been since we met because i am just so sad and lonely. and in love with you.'"

sae scoffs and pinches the skin on your hip gently. you hum, "don't pretend like that's not all true."

"it is true. you made it easy to fall in love."

for the hundredth time that night, you're taken by surprise, looking at sae and seeing a familiar smirk pass over his face, and you're sure that he fought past his inability to express his feelings just to get a reaction from you. "do you need me to prove it?"

his lips are on yours again, and everything feels right. there are 5 years worth of unspoken hurt and damage, and dozens of scars and open wounds, but those can be dealt with in due time. right now, you and sae are being the stupid teenagers you almost never got the chance to be, kissing in the park during the middle of an autumn night.

the world has changed a lot since you were 7, and it will continue to do so. the park will never regain its colours and you will never be able to be a child again, but that didn't mean things couldn't get better.

you weren't a kid anymore, but you could still feel the same giddy spark that you used to be familiar with. you weren't a kid anymore, but blue spring could return nonetheless.

you weren't a kid anymore, but here you were kissing the boy you've liked since you were one. you weren't a kid anymore, and you think that's okay.

(somewhere on the playground floor, the hershey's kiss lies discarded.)

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event using the prompts "it wasn't hard. you made it easy to fall in love." + getting ‘married’ in elementary school. reuniting by chance and getting asked out in the same fashion.

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[mitsies]

FUMBLED! ; okkotsu yuuta > yuuta's never been good with words. it's no surprise that he's even worse with confessions.

okkotsu yuuta is a pacifict at heart. sure, he's committed his fair share of violent crimes, but as was the life of a jujutsu sorcerer. in practice, he was cruel. in actuality, he'd never hurt a fly.

yuuta took extra long on rainy day walks to avoid stepping on worms. he made sure to never dog-ear pages on his books, and he always set out extra meals in case his friends didn't feel like making their own dinners. okkotsu yuuta was kind as he was gentle- a peaceful spirit in totality.

things might change today, though, because he is genuinely considering strangling his friends.

well, not actually- he thinks he'd rather run away and cry than strangle anyone. running away and crying would be a lot less awkward than murder. and god knows that he couldn't handle even more tension. the air was thick with it now- a heavy sort of smoke, so present that he could taste it in the sky and it suffocated the people in its vicinity.

no one spoke for a few beats before panda laughed awkwardly: "well, i think that's our cue to leave!"

yuuta watches helplessly as panda grabs maki and toge by their collars before hauling them away, effectively leaving you and yuuta alone in the courtyard of tokyo jujutsu high.

the words from the previous conversation still hung in the air like a cloud. he could practically read them in the wind: maki's jovial teasing, toge's interesting additions, your pretty, pretty laugh- and panda dropping a bomb.

("what, do you have plans this weekend?" maki had interrogated yuuta when he declined the group's request to grab dinner in town on the upcoming weekend. he was about to reply when panda cut him off- "he's probably waiting to ask you-know-who out."

yuuta remembers freezing and hearing maki laugh, not noticing how you approached with toge by your side. "you need to do it already."

yuuta is again cut off by panda's exclamation. "i know, right! y/n's so cool, and you like them so much it's sad. plus, they won't stay single forever-"

"what did you just say?" your voice took everyone by surprise. the quiet following was hollow and still. that was what led up to this- the awkward silence. the stand-off. what very well might be the end of the world, in yuuta's eyes.)

"you like me?"

you're the first to talk again, breaking the boy out of his mind. he thinks you look so pretty, even when you're just standing there, even when you're confused, even when you might turn him down.

right now, there is no warzone more chaotic than okkotsu yuuta's mind. there is no nuclear warfare as destructive as the storm thundering through his neurons. there has never been a no man's land as deathly and ghastly as the folds of his brain are at that moment. there are a thousand thoughts buzzing around in his head- all of them say the same thing. i like you, i like you, i like you, his brain chants in a million ways.

he breathes in. and then out again. here goes nothing.

okkotsu yuuta opens his mouth and puts every ounce of trust he has into his words. 'i like you,' he repeats to himself in his head, waiting for his tongue to echo those syllables out loud.

yuuta has never been lucky. he should've expected the wires of his mind to be crossed. because of the dozens of trains of thought traveling at breakneck speeds around his head, the tracks of 'do you like me back?' and 'can i kiss you?" cross paths. he is so, so unlucky, because all he ends up saying is "do you kiss me back?"

you blink at him. he blinks at you. "do i what?"

it's then yuuta realizes his mistake. "oh. oh, oh no. wait. i meant- i didn't mean- i didn't want to say that. no, no, you don't have to kiss me- i mean, i wouldn't, like- wait, no. no. i'm sorry. i'm so- i am so sorry. oh my gosh. i didn't mean to say that."

yuuta's gaze is fixed hard on the ground, so he doesn't see you moving to close the distance between the both of you. his own mind is racing so he can barely register the feeling of your warm hands cupping his face. he's going so insane that he thinks he might be imagining how you promptly slam your lips against his with a conviction he thinks he could fall in love with.

he doesn't realize what's happening at first, but as soon as he does, he's kissing back. it's messy, and decidedly not neat- he's not sure what he's doing but it feels so right that he thinks he'll let himself fail for a little bit- but it's perfect to the both of you.

"you talk," you say when you pull away, "so much. like, a lot."

he looks at you like you hold the sun in the sky and brought fire to mankind. "you kissed me."

"i guess i did."

"so.. you do like me back?"

you purse your lips and move your arms around his neck, shifting even closer. your lips ghost his cheek and you can feel the shiver passing through him. "maybe just a little," you can't help but tease.

"i'll like you enough for the both of us, then. i kinda already do, i think."

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompts they’re nervous to confess so instead of saying ‘can i kiss you’ or ‘do you like me back’ they say “do you kiss me back?” + kissing to get them to stop talking

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[mitsies]

MR. AND MRS. ; isagi yoichi > you weren't planning to meet your boyfriend's parents this early on, and especially not alone.

this wasn't at all how you had expected your day to go. when you'd decided to show up to your boyfriend's soccer match to surprise him, you very much did not think you'd run into his parents in the VIP stands.

you didn't recognize them at first- sure, you'd seen pictures and isagi had talked about them often, but the possibility of meeting them not just seemed so far-fetched that it didn't really dawn on you until the match was underway. his mother had yelled out a, 'go, yoichi!' and it had just clicked that oh, you were sitting right next to your boyfriend's parents.

at first, you had decided to pretend that you didn't notice them. they probably didn't know who you were, anyways, so it wasn't like it would be too hard. but now you were hyperaware of their presence. absentmindedly, you adjusted the collar of your shirt and straightened your posture just in case.

you didn't expect them to notice you, and they didn't- not until isagi himself, only a distant figure down on the field, looks over to where both you and his parents were seated. his grin was bright and his eyes twinkling from the goal he'd just scored, and it would almost be funny, the way his eyes almost popped out of their sockets upon seeing you shrinking away from the whooping couple in the stands if you weren't also feeling incredibly stressed over the whole scenario.

his attention is snapped away when a teammate calls his name and leaps on his shoulders with accolades, and your attention is returned to his parents, who are now conversing amongst themselves:

"he just scored a goal!" his mom seemed elated, and his dad returned the energy.

"yeah! he did so good," his father agreed, "he's the best out there."

"he's so fast. like that superhero- the red one with lighting."

"the flash?"

"the flash!"

pursing your lips, you turn your head to the other side to avoid a slight smile at the sheer purity of their conversations. it was no wonder isagi turned out the way he did, you think.

unfortunately for you, though, your movement seemed to have garnered the attention of his mother, who does a double take at you- "wait a minute." and then she says your name.

you blink at her stupidly with a blank expression, trying to quell the swirl of panic and worry surging through your chest, because how did she know your name and why was she talking to you- "hi."

she's grinning and you feel an awkward smile crack your expression as you try to mimic the pleasantry. "you probably don't know me- or us, actually- but we know you! oh, it's so lovely to meet you!"

you'd like to respond in kind, but you feel a bit frozen. his mother takes it as a cue to keep talking: "ah, i don't mean to sound creepy! it's just that isagi's talked so much about you!"

"oh! has he?" your voice is unusually squeaky which is really fucking embarrassing for you, but makes his mother laugh and place a warm hand on your shoulder.

"he has," his father confirms this time, "all the time. we've only seen pictures, but we've been looking forward to meeting you!"

"you.. have?" your mind is racing but somehow blank at the same time, but his parents don't take it to heart- they laugh off your confusion and keep talking.

isagi's parents are some of the friendliest and most welcoming people you think you've ever met- the rest of the event's duration is spent not watching the game, but conversing with them. after you'd gotten over your original stagnance, conversation flowed like water under a bridge. in fact, you keep talking long after the game is over- it's not until isagi yoichi himself comes to greet the both of you in the now-empty stands does it stop.

he comes up behind you, making you jump a little, and he smells like soap meaning he probably showered in the locker room. inadvertently, you lean into his warmth and almost by instinct his hand comes up to your side. you wait for him to say something, but his mom beats you to the chase.

"yoichi," she says like she's scolding a child, but her eyes shimmer with affection, "how could you not introduce us to this lovely, lovely thing earlier?"

"yeah, yoichi," you grin at him, "how could you?"

he's red now, embarrassed and so cute under the scrutiny of his 3 favourite people and he lets out a huff- "i was going to."

he grumbles something and his parents laugh. the conversation winds on, but it's mostly just you and his parents. they leave shortly after, with his mother giving you a tight hug before departing.

when they're out of earshot, isagi lets out a breath. his fingers tap against your waist where his arm was holding tight. "i just met your parents," you say.

"you just met my parents," he repeats. and then he laughs. "and they loved you."

you punch his shoulder lightly. "don't jinx it. maybe they didn't."

he's grinning, now, as he meets your eyes: "nah. i know they did."

"what makes you so sure?"

"because. i love you, and old people always say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree or something."

"you're so cheesy."

he lets out a laugh and pulls you closer to himself, pressing a kiss to your hair. "i'm right, though. they loved you, and i love you."

"thanks. i like your mom better, though."

✄ written for mitsies 3k follower event with the prompt accidentally meeting the parents without him

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[mitsies]

ZIP IT! ; bachira meguru > in which, your boyfriend really needs to either a) change his ringtone, or b), shut the hell up.

if you woke up to the sound of electronic dogs barking at 2 in the morning one more time, you think you'd go insane and jump out the window of your apartment.

slowly sinking down into the sheets, you pry your eyes open. the moon filtering through the curtains painted silvery stripes on the walls and your boyfriend, who was sleeping peacefully with his head on your chest. you feel the hot puffs of his breath against your collarbone, and you'd maybe love this moment if it weren't for the fucking ringtone blaring like a siren in the dead of night.

"meguru," you poke his side and he almost whines in his sleep, pressing himself closer to your side, "wake up. your alarm is going off again."

this was at least the 7th night that your boyfriend's irritating ringtone had blasted at the same time in the dead of night, and suffice it to say that you're sick and tired of losing sleep over his forgetting to delete the alarm. "meguru. get up."

he finally stirs when you jab him maybe a little too hard in the side, rising up off you and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "huh? 's too early, baby, why are we awake?"

"your alarm is going off again. do you not hear it?"

he blinks and opens his mouth- "oh." reaching over you, he taps in his password and silences the alarm, and smiles at you. "all better?"

you purse your lips and push the heels of your palms against your eyes, wishing the cold to lull you back to sleep. "no," you grumble, "i have to get up early tomorrow and this really does not help."

"but i turned it off."

"but it still woke me up."

you steel your nerves and flip over so you're on your side, turning to face away from bachira. less than a split-second later, he's already sprawled on top of your side, resting his full weight on your arm.

"don't be mad! babe," he says into your ear, already far too awake for having been dead asleep less than a minute ago.

you opt to not reply, only burying your face in the pillows to try and hide the growing smile on your face. you feel his cold hands snaking to fit under your shirt and onto your stomach in the way he does to either annoy you or warm them up.

"are you mad? why aren't you talking!"

in an attempt to look even more asleep, you tug the blanket underneath your chin and let out a huff, which makes your boyfriend laugh. "don't tell me you're tired now! it's only 2!"

you don't reply again, and the room falls silent- there's only a brief shuffling as his cold hands depart from your skin, and you're almost tempted to turn around just to see what he's doing when the chilly air of the bedroom suddenly bites against your skin as the sheets are pulled off you.

"it's my bed too, y'know," he says as you sit up and give him the dirtiest look you can muster, "so my blanket."

trying to reach for a corner to grab and tug away, you fall with a huff as bachira yanks it from your grasp. "if you want the blanket, you gotta say something, silly!"

"i'm breaking up with you."

"what- hey! something nice, pretty, 'kay?"

grumbling unintelligibly because you can't find it in yourself to be sensical at this hour, you shift closer to your boyfriend. he runs cold, but despite that you let yourself relax and find solace in the crook of his neck. quietly, you whisper into his skin, "i love you. blanket please?"

you're too tired to see the way he softens, almost instantly moving to accommodate you and returning the affections. on the pillows, his chin moves to rest on top of your head as he pulls the blanket close around the both of you.

"there you are," he says with a sweetness that makes your chest tighten as you press yourself infinitely closer, as if you're trying to absorb his words through the vibrations they emit in his throat.

silence continues for a few more beats until you finally say something again: "tomorrow, you're changing your ringtone or you're sleeping on the couch."

he laughs quietly. "yeah. yeah, i know."

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompt you give them the silent treatment for some reason and they reach a level of clingyness you didn’t think possible

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[mitsies]

LATE NIGHT TALKING ; isagi yoichi > addiction is a disease, and isagi is sick with infatuation.

isagi's favourite thing to do is wake up with you. he's always been fond of how you curl against him and try to get him to stay an extra 5 minutes, and how your hands tousle his hair. he loves your voice and how it's wonderfully raspy in the mornings.

unfortunately for him, though, his tight schedule often denies him such mornings. as of late, he's had to rise with the sun and leave you alone to wake up.

by the time he's pulling on his shoes and ready to walk out the apartment doors, you're stumbling out of bed to bid him farewell. this little gesture, of you forcing yourself awake only to press a parting kiss onto his cheek means the world to him-- but isagi can't help but feel a little bit deprived of the wonders of early-morning conversation.

it's one such morning- one where isagi is up and early and unlocking the door to go when you’re just barely conscious as you move to meet him by the exit.

“have a good day, okay?” you hear yourself and almost cringe at how thick your voice is with sleep. “i’ll see you when you get back.”

moving your hands onto his chest, you place a chaste kiss on the apple of his cheek. it leaves his face reddened with bliss.

“i’ll see you, babe!”

and then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the apartment.

a beat of silence passes and you exhale, shuffling over to the kitchen counter to prepare yourself a mug of coffee. a sound breaks the quiet atmosphere- someone’s texted you.

yoichi: can u call me? i miss ur voice:(

you fight the smile rising on your face at his message, instead opting to bite the inside of your cheek as if there was anyone to hide your expression from.

you: babe you just left like a minute ago

yoichi: yeah ik i’m still in the lobby of the building but i wanna talk to u!!!!

your phone rings shortly after you’ve read the text, and you pick it up to hear the voice of your boyfriend, who is oddly chipper considering the early hour.

“yoichi? why are you calling me?”

there’s some shuffling on the other side- you hear isagi greet someone in passing before replying to you: “i missed you!”

“it’s literally been 2 minutes maximum.”

“2 minutes too long.”

your brows furrow. “you’re so gross.”

“and you’re in love with me. what does that make you?”

“that makes me out of your league.”

he laughs and you can’t fight the grin any longer. “maybe you’re right.”

“i am. but really- why are you calling me?”

a door closing can be heard in the other end- you presume that isagi’s entered a car. “i already said. i miss your voice.”

“okay? you heard me talk this morning.”

“yeah, but not long enough! i haven’t been able to talk to you as much in the mornings anymore. so i have to get my fill somehow.”

your heart softens at his statement and you lean against the kitchen counter. the coffee machine pours your drink and the air smells warm and cozy. you wish that it could compare to the feeling of isagi’s arms around you.

“okay,” you relent, “i guess that’s a good enough reason.”

“yeah, i knew that would get you.”

“never mind. i should hang up now.”

some muffled sounds can be heard before isagi replies: “no, no, don’t do that.”

“ask me nicely and i’ll consider it.”

“don’t hang up on me.. please?”

“fine.”

“fine? so you’ll stay?”

“i’ll stay.”

he cheers on the other end and you decide not to tell him that you never had any intention of hanging up the phone.

✄ written for the mitsies 3k event with the prompt “can you call me? i miss your voice.”

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[mitsies]

LUCKY ONES ! ; itoshi rin > it's colder than you expected on your walk home from school.

you’re lucky for a lot of reasons.

you got a really good score on your maths test when everyone else got not-so-wonderful marks despite having hardly studied this past tuesday. you found a crisp, fresh 5-dollar bill on the floor when you’d been just that amount short on buying yourself sushi for lunch. and you were dating your high school’s sensation, itoshi rin. he was pretty cool too, you could concede.

you and said boyfriend were walking home from school now. you ran your mouth about something and he nodded and asked questions like the dutiful partner you’d trained him to be. a thin layer of frost encased the world around the both of you as you travelled throughout the stillness of the setting. rin held both his schoolbag and your own with impressive ease, on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street despite the fact that no cars were coming through the sleepy little neighbourhood you lived in. it was a practised tradition, the one that happened every day rin didn’t have football after school. he’d meet you and the both of you would walk to your place to complete your homework together.

this was the first day in a while it’d been so cold, though, and you hadn’t anticipated the bite of autumn so far from the end of summer. a breeze bites your exposed shoulders and you shiver a little. rin glances over at you.

“cold?”

“i’ve never been cold in my life”

“uh-huh. and you're sure that's true?”

“truest thing i’ve ever said. i don’t lie.”

your boyfriend side-eyes you again and you beam over at him. “tell that to your history teacher.”

“mrs. sato adores me. she’d never believe that i’m a liar.”

“have you ever done an assignment for that class without cheating?”

you purse your lips. “i don’t lie,” is all you say, and you watch his face break into a half-smile. 

“okay. so are you cold?”

“..maybe a little,” you admit, crossing your arms over your chest to try and preserve your warmth. rin stops walking, and you pause curiously as he lets your bag fall to the ground. “show me your hands.”

it’s less of a question and more of a gentle command, and you oblige. his own hands are rough and calloused with time and use, but hot against your cold fingertips. he handles you with great care, probably more so than you need. bringing your frosty palms up to his mouth as he exhales, effectively warming not only your hands but your face as you feel a hot rush of blood at his act of intimacy. his face splits into another grin at your expression as you pull away. he takes your bag and slings it across his shoulder next to his own before asking, “better?”

you frown at him. “you’re ran through. i should leave you.”

“finally.”

you glare at your boyfriend and he lets out a laugh. hearing the itoshi rin laugh might be a rare occasion to anyone else, but to you, it’s a sound you’ve heard many times. despite that, you don’t think that you could ever get sick of it, not ever. that was maybe another reason you were lucky— you got to see a side of him that no one else was privy to.

the thought fills you with a stupid, childish kind of giddiness. you got to see rin laugh. you got to see him smile. he did those things for you. the surge of affection leads you to take his free hand in your own, squeezing tight once and then twice. it’s his turn to fluster and stiffen at your actions, face tinting pink against the paleness of the sky.

“you cold?” your voice is teasing and your eyes twinkle as he stares straight ahead, avoiding your gaze.

“no.”

“you sure? your face is kind of red,” you state, pointing with your free hand. scowling, he swats your finger away and you’re left laughing, using your still-linked hands to pull him into you so he bumps against your hip gently.

luck wasn’t foreign to you, not with your good grades in maths and your even good-er graces with your history teacher, and your found five bucks and everything in between. yeah, you were lucky for a lot of reasons, but right now, as you walk home in quiet conversation with itoshi rin, you think you’re luckiest of all for having him.

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompts "are you cold?" "no, why?" "your face is really red." + them trying to warm up your hands when it’s cold outside

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[mitsies]

BREAKFAST IN BED ! ; megumi fushiguro > you try to surprise your boyfriend. it only kind of ends poorly.

megumi wakes to the smell of burning and the absence of you in bed next to him.

these are two signs that should tell him that his morning is going to have a very atypical turn, as he blinks the traces of sleep from his eyes and sits up in your shared bed. the burning sounds intensify from down the hallway. megumi checks the time— it’s 8 in the morning on a saturday.

typically, he’s the one who wakes up first, not you. your phone remains on your side of the bed, and he sees a snoozed alarm notification. you planned on waking up before him, he realises. something crashes from the kitchen, and megumi takes it as his cue to check out whatever the hell you were doing.

the kitchen may as well be a warzone. there’s unidentifiable burnt little squares that he assumes might be a failed attempt at french toast, with spots of powdery white flour exploded all across the countertops. an omlet with visible shells peeking through lies lonesome on a plate. the only thing that seems like it was made properly was a mug of steaming black coffee, just the way he likes his. in amidst this chaos, you stand with your back towards him, hunched over the sink scrubbing vigorously at a charred mass stuck onto a pan, doing your best to scrape it off before it’s adhered to the thing permanently.

the whole scene might be a disaster, but he feels a strange warmth (which you’ve taught him is love) pooling in his chest and sending heat sparking across his skin. it’s such a lovely thing, the world right then in your little apartment. he thinks he’d like to live in this moment with you for a long time as he silently moves to stand behind you, letting his hands support him on the countertop as he leans against your shoulder, pressing his chest near your back, greeting you with a rough voice, “morning, babe.”

inhaling sharply with a start, you drop both the cast-iron pan and the sponge you hold into the sink with a jump. warm water splashes all over the counter surrounding the sink, drenching your (his) shirt and splattering droplets over his face. you blink at him. “oh. it’s you.”

he gives you a look of faux-annoyance and thinly-veiled affection. “expecting someone else?”

“yeah, actually. was waiting for my other boyfriend. i made him breakfast.”

megumi snorts, taking his hands off the now-soaked countertop and letting one fall to your hip, pulling you close. “are you trying to poison the guy?”

you frown at him, huffing indignantly, “that wasn’t my intention. we have an unusable kitchen, actually. everything is broken.”

“mhm,” megumi hums, eyes flitting over the absolute carnage in the apartment, “super broken.”

“yeah. super broken.”

you untangle from his hold, much to his discresion, moving to pick up a washcloth to presumably try and dry up the water and the flour coating the counters. “why are you awake, anyways? it’s early and you have the day off, right?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” your boyfriend states. megumi moves to get another rag, taking on the spilt water all around the sink whilst you focus your efforts on the kitchen island.

you pause and purse your lips. “i already said. i was trying to make you breakfast.”

“i thought that was for your other boyfriend.”

he holds in his amusement as you make a face at him. “oh. yeah, him. my super tall and handsome and romantic and attractive boyfriend. yeah, i was trying to surprise him but,” you gesture vaguely to the remains that could hardly quantify as food, “it didn’t work out.”

megumi snorts a laugh. “really? where’s this boyfriend now?”

you dramatically slump into the countertop, a hand on your forehead, sighing theatrically, “i guess he’s not showing up. how tragic. i’m just so sad.”

he finishes wiping the sink area dry, moving to your side as you continue your monologue, “all my food is going to go to waste. after i spent so long on it, too.”

“i guess i could step in for your super tall, handsome, romantic, attractive boyfriend,” megumi muses with a lazy smile growing as you beam at him, “i’d be honoured if you’d have me.”

“have at it. though, i’m not sure how much of this is actually edible.” 

he examines the array of food. from the burnt toast (?) to the eggshell-laden omlet, he’s not feeling too keen on trying out your cooking, as much as he loves you. but there’s one thing that might not kill him if ingested— the black coffee, sitting untouched by the plate. it’s not steaming quite as much, a testament to its age, but when he picks up the mug it feels warm in his hands. he raises a brow at you as you grin at him so widely that your face might split in two. his face flushes warmer than his drink at your undivided attention.

“don’t smile at me like that.”

your expression doesn’t waver. “hm? like what?”

“i dunno.. like that,” he waves a hand in your face and you laugh, swatting it away. a twin expression is reflected on his own features.

“my bad, babe. i’m just happy, i guess.”

he looks at you inquisitively. “happy why?”

“so nosey. can’t i be happy just because?”

“you’ve always got ulterior motives.”

you gasp playfully, gently bumping into his side. megumi tries his best not to let the mug spill at your movements while you continue. “so rude. i’m sorry i’m in a good mood.”

“i’m just asking why.” you hum contemplatively before letting your head rest on his shoulder from where you stand.

“being around you. i like mornings better when you’re there.”

megumi’s heart feels like it might explode in his chest. he’s so, infinitely lucky to have you, he thinks, just the luckiest that you’re his to love and his to hold and have and wake up with and make breakfast for since you couldn’t be trusted with a spoon and fork. he’s lucky you love him. megumi takes a sip from his coffee, and it tastes like love.

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompt "don't smile at me like that." "huh? like what?" "i dunno... like that."

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[mitsies]

PIECE OF YOUR MIND ! ; reo mikage > in which, actions speak louder than words, especially when it comes to gossip.

teenaged drama is something you have never been immune to.

you wouldn’t consider yourself a gossip, by any means– it’s just that one thing lead to another and you found yourself knowing more about situations than the people that werw actually involved. it’s not your fault, totally not, it just kind of happened.

sometimes, when your guilty conscience got the better of you (not often enough, probably) you’d try to indulge yourself a little less in the happenings of other people. but one person always managed to rope you back in.

reo mikage was the biggest drama gossip you’ve ever met. he’s got details down about everyone, and bullet-points in his notes about any situation that happened at your school. it’s a result of his extraversion– reo was a people person, and a popular one at that. people trusted him with things, they told him things, probably never expecting their secrets to get out. and to an extent, they were right for that. secrets told to reo tended to stay with reo. with one exception, of course: you, his partner.

every little piece of trash or dirt on someone that managed to find its way to him funneled back to you. as soon as someone would give him anything he’d shoot you a voice note relaying it all. being his certified shit-talking companion was not something that, morally, you should love as much as you do, but your afterschool gossip sessions became the highlight of your days and you must be a really awful person but if reo wanted to tell you something, who were you to turn him down?

it was one such night, where the both of you were having conversations with a side of studying in his room where he’d informed you about a newly formed relationship between one of his friends and teammates and a cheerleader from an opposing school. you’d gawked a little, because the football friend was the last person alive you expected to get in a relationship and reo had laughed and agreed– he was way too introverted to ever pull, let alone the girl he did. it was a small detail of the list of things reo wanted to talk about, so neither of you dwelled on the topic for too long. you never expected it to come back up, let alone at a house party a month or so later.

you’d been invited to the birthday celebration of a friend who just so happened to attend the same rival school as the cheerleader, a coincidence you hadn’t even considered until you were standing in the foyer, drink in hand, watching that very same cheerleader put her manicured hands all over some guy who most definitely was not reo’s friend.

reo was on the other side of the room, talking to some of your other friends who you’d introduced him to whilst you grabbed the both of you drinks. your eyes practically bugged out of your head as you silently willed him to turn his ass around and see what you saw.

by some miracle, your boyfriend magically breaks away from the conversation he was engaged in and swivels around, searching the room until his eyes landed on you. unable to move to talk to him because the cheerleader girl would 100% see you, you flicker your gaze over to where the whole scene was happening in hopes that reo would follow your train of thought.

almost instantly, he grasps the situation and meets your gaze with dumbfounded eyes. he tilts his head and you nod as if confirming that yes, what he saw was real. reo blinks. you blink back. he mouths what looks like, ‘actually?’ and you nod vigorously. 

he looks back at the girl and her sidepiece, and you can see the disdain creasing his face and you shield your mouth with your hand to hide the laughter that risks bursting out past your lips. reo’s eyes move back to you, and he points to the girl and then his own fingers– he was talking about her nails. and then he mock throws up. you take a look at her nails. reo was right, they were tacky.

looking at him again, you store the drinks between your forearm and side and mime texting on a phone before gesturing to the infidelity. reo lights up and fumbles to take out something from the pockets of his baggy black denim jeans– your phone, and his. he almost drops yours and you send him a dirty look. you did not entrust him with your phone just for him to break it. this was the last time you went out in something with no pockets.

he grimaces at you apologetically before snapping a quick picture of the two canoodling on the couch and shooting you a quick thumbs up and a grin. you give him a tight-lipped smile before your mind travels back to what you should do now. you look at reo and it’s almost like he’s reading your mind, because he gives you a wicked grin in return and moves over to where you stand, ‘accidentally’ bumping into the couch and alerting the parties currently touching each other up. both of their eyes shoot upwards, and the tacky cheerleader’s gaze widens like a deer in headlights at the sight of both of you.

“i have your drink,” you state, handing reo his beverage. he grins, leaning in and planting a chaste kiss to the side of your head, as you continue, “i still think you’ve got bad taste.”

“it’s not that gross, babe. besides, some people definetely have worse taste.”

the cheerleader girl lets out a sharp exhale from somewhere behind the both of you. you smile at reo, and he smiles right back at you. god, sometimes you couldn’t stand your boyfriend and his insufferable need for theatrics, and you enjoyed his involvement in them even less– but really, truly, if he wished to share with you his drama, then who were you to decline?

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event using the prompt communicating across the room with just facial expressions

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[mitsies]

SECOND TIME'S THE CHARM ! ; dazai osamu > a letter from your former friend (?) is the last thing you expected to find in your mailbox.

you never expected to fall in love with dazai osamu.

it was an accident, you swear it– there’s no way you, a perfectly sane individual, would allow yourself to do whatever it was that you’d done to get to this situation. quite frankly, this is one of the stupider mistakes of your life. it’s right up there with your decision to join the port mafia at the age of 14, several years ago now, strapped for cash with nothing left to lose. 

that was the choice that had led you to meet the man in question in the first place. you weren’t very relevant in the mafia’s scheme of things, unlike him. you were a new recruit when he’d joined, staying in your place as an interrogator while he scaled the ranks like they were a challenge made for him to complete.

back then, you’d only known of him. there was nothing personal there– actually, there may have been a lack of personalisation involved. dazai was colloquially known as the demon prodigy, a rather fitting moniker considering his sadistic tendencies. rumours ran rampant in the underground tunnels of the yokohama’s port mafia about their very own– rumours that dazai really was satan’s spawn. that he had no heart because it was torn out of his chest and burned when he was a baby. that he wasn’t even a human, that he was something else entirely.

you were always partial to good gossip, sure. but that didn’t mean you believed it in its entirety. there was no one who could be as bad as people described dazai. the few friends you had made in your time there made fun of you for this mindset. they laughed when you told them about how you believed in the good of people and told you that ‘you’d get over it soon enough.’

god, was everyone in the port mafia always so glum? you’d been here a year and had yet to find another person who wasn’t all depressive all the time. it was clearly an effective method, too, being not insane. you wouldn’t consider yourself particularly overly positive, but any gleam of kindness amongst the blackened hearts of your colleagues was an obvious separation. simply believing in the ideal that everyone deserved a chance set you apart from the shattered souls of the underground. it made you good at your job because surprisingly, people responded much better to a few niceties rather than being kicked in the teeth and having their fingers forcibly removed.

in fact, you were so good at your job that you were assigned to interrogate a particularly high profile man for a high profile associate of the mafia. in the name of doing its allies a favour, your lovely boss had opted to take on a hostage and get as much information out of him as possible. in charge of this hostage’s care was none other than dazai osamu.

he was close to your age at 16, but maybe a year younger. despite that, he emanated an aura that made your spine stiffen and the hairs on the back of your neck raise. the boy himself was innocuous. his skinny, spindly limbs looked like they’d snap in a strong breeze and his floppy brown hair covered his eyes in a way that was much less than intimidating. but a shadow followed him– a thing with claws and teeth that were trained to kill, a demon following at his heels like it was bound to him.

he looked at you with eyes that had been hollowed out years before you had met him. his cheekbones, placed high on his face, had hollowed out his cheeks. but he still smiles at you with a callous kind of interest that made you feel uneasy. a gun was strapped to his hip and you wonder, when was the last time it had been used?

“you’re the one who’s supposed to talk to this one?” dazai’s question is directed to you as he kicks the shin of man in question, who lets out a sharp grunt from his place on the lone wooden chair of the interrogation room. it’s not so much a room as it is a dungeon, with no windows and cobwebs being the only decor if you discount the heavy deadbolted iron door covering the exit.

“that’s me.”

“lovely. i hope you don’t mind me being here, then.”

“that won’t be a problem.”

the interrogation, despite the hostage’s unwillingness, yields some valuable results with a considerable lack of broken bones and blood. all the while, you feel a pair of eyes on you. they burn into the skin of your back like they’re on fire and you try your best to not let yourself falter beneath dazai’s gaze.

when you’re done, you watch as dazai stands. he stretches languidly like a lazy cat in the sun and you hear his neck crack a bit as he looks at you. “good. we’ll be going now, then.”

“that’s all you needed?”

“yeah, unless you’ve got more to give.”

you know people well enough to recognise a challenge when it approaches you, and you’d be foolish to not see the interest he’s taken in you. so you return his smile and say, “no, that’s all from me. bye.”

you feel his gaze follow you as you walk out the room.

the next time you see dazai is a week later. and he smiles at you and stands from where he was slouched in the corner of your regular place of operations. “you again!”

you blink at him. “me again?”

“what a coincidence. we’ve been paired together for another interrogation.”

his voice lacks all true interest or surprise. and you know that there was no pairing– the both of you operated on your own. this was his doing. you wonder why. you let your gaze linger for a heartbeat more before brushing past him, moving onward to the next room. “then we’d better get going.”

this pattern repeats. again and again, you find him waiting, and again and again, you let him follow you. and it’s horrible, how you begin to miss his absence and the way he never let you fucking breathe. he was constantly in your company, popping up in places where he really shouldn’t be– it’s no surprise that the both of you grow closer in an unspoken kind of way.

there’s a strange tension between the both of you. a heavy air, like a missing puzzle piece. you know he is a broken, half-human wanting to be whole. he knows you can help. maybe that’s why he gravitates to you like a moth towards candlelight, like a ghost to a body. and maybe that’s why you don’t push it away– your saviour complex, your undeniable love festering like blowflies in the wounds he’s inflicted.

weeks after knowing him, you see that the shadow that stalked him was still there, and it’s then you realise– it wasn’t following him, not with the reverence that you’d thought it had before. no, it was hunting him, just waiting for the next slip-up or mistake for its chance to strike and go for the kill. you decide that you will not let it, if it’s the last thing you do. your own words repeat inside your head: everyone deserves a chance, everyone deserves a chance, everyone deserves a chance.

you’ve known dazai for 2 years when he disappears. you saw it coming but you didn’t think he’d just say nothing. it’s uncerimonious, in a way he never was.

you miss his eccentrics. you miss his voice. you miss his presence. you miss his secrets. you miss him. 

you’re 18 when he leaves, and 20 when he returns. you see his name on the envelope and, strangely, feel nothing. his handwriting is so neat it’s almost messy and your name is scrawled on the envelope. it’s almost like a promise, like it’s swearing to you that whatever in this letter is yours. like whatever’s in it will be for you. it’s a little ironic considering that dazai was never one to be claimed.

it’s a brief apology littered with humour that made you smile even though it wasn’t very funny. he explains that he wanted more (more than you?) and needed to get out (why? what reasons could be so bad that he couldn’t tell you?) and was part of a new organisation– the armed detective agency. he wanted you to leave the mafia and join.

you are alone in your apartment when you read the letter but you suddenly feel like there are eyes on you as you take in the last line– a location. a time. a request to meet. an ‘i miss you.’

he could be lying. he could be baiting you into a ploy to get you arrested for your instrumental role in the criminal organisation. he could be acting as a double agent to try and test your loyalty to the port mafia because that’s just the kind of organisation they were. you go anyways.

the cafe he sits alone in is well-lit and pretty. there are plants decorating various windowsils and the scent of coffee and herbal tea hangs heavy in the air. you feel out of place, in the bright light. if he does too, he doesn’t look it.

dazai is a little bit taller now. he wears brown instead of black, and his hair is a hue lighter. there’s a shine in his eyes when he looks at you, bright amidst the sea of unreadable emotions. he looks like he’s alive, for the first time since you’ve known him.

he opens his mouth to greet you but you speak first, standing stiffly next to the seat he gestures for you to sit in. “you wrote me a letter.”

“i wrote you a letter,” he affirms. “what did you think? aren’t i just a wonderful poet?”

“you.. hi.”

“hi.”

“so, like.. what do you want from me?”

dazai tilts his head at you, inquisitive gaze flickering over your body. you’re suddenly very self conscious– had you changed much since he last saw you? was your hair okay? did your breath smell fine? (you were 20 now, and fretting like a teenager.)

“in my letter. i said i want you to leave the mafia and help me with something.”

“why?”

your voice sounds as dry as your throat feels as dazai silences for a bit, searching for the words. “you’re far too good a person to be stuck there.”

“you’re implying that you’re a good person, too.”

“you think i’m not?”

“no,” you answer without hesitation, “you’re one of the worst. so am i, by that standard. why are you trying?”

his eyes speak volumes in a language you can’t understand. there was so much that had happened since the last time the both of you had spoken– oda sakunosuke’s death. sakoguchi ango’s betrayal. and all the while, the both of you never had a deeper understanding of each other– he was troubled, but he was fixable, you knew. and you weren’t awful, that was all he had about you.

“everyone deserves a chance.”

he parrots your belief back to you and laughs when you fall silent. and you’ve got to be horrible, horribly insane for how your stomach does flips inside your body at the sound. he didn’t even know you but he saw a good in you that you failed to see in yourself. he was a murderer, a fraud, an extortionist, deplorable by any means but he was capable of change so maybe you were too.

the shadow behind him was by no means gone. it still lurked behind him, like it was waiting for him to even breathe the wrong way so it could take what belonged to it. but you weren’t looking at that– you stared straight into his eyes as you slid into the booth seat across from him.

“i would’ve said yes then, too, if you asked me. about joining you.”

dazai is quiet as he listens, so you continue: “i hardly knew you but i would have followed you anywhere you asked. did you know that?”

quietly, he replies, “i did.”

“so why not ask sooner?”

he doesn’t reply, but you see his answer written on his face– everyone deserved a chance. he had given himself one, too. and you smile at him, because maybe you rubbed off on him in the few years you’d known him. maybe your unusual kindness had afflicted dazai osamu himself– maybe you’d taught him to help himself, at least once, too.

“i’m asking now.”

“i think you just had a crush on me and you were so, super intimidated.”

a flicker of humour returns to his face at your words and he returns your grin. he is, as always, unreadable. you can’t tell what he wants or how he feels but there is an unmistakable shine of delight written across his expression. “maybe i did. maybe i do.”

you never expected to fall in love with dazai osamu– and you definitely didn’t expect it to happen twice. and you can’t read palms or find the future line, but it looks like that’s what’s about to happen. you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompts "you wrote me a letter?" + "i would have said yes then, too, if you asked."

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[mitsies]

FISHTAIL, WHAT'S THE MATTER ? ; aki hayakawa > aki might just change his mind about you if you keep on touching his hair like that.

the devil hunter's headquarters are quiet in the mornings.

there's no one here, not at 7 in the morning. the lobby is empty as aki shuts the door behind him. glass windows let the early morning light shine through, painting the receptionist's desk and potted plants white and pale yellow. the receptionists aren't here yet– it’s just him for now. he slides past the doors leading to the office portion of the headquarters, letting them click shut behind him.

the doorway takes him to the dreariest of dreary rooms he’s ever seen. cubicles followed by cubicles fill the centre of the room and line the walls. some are more decorated than the others– many are bare. a few have pictures hanging next to computer monitors. even less have flowers placed on the seats– memorials. aki walks past those ones a little faster. he’s a little distracted by his observations of his colleagues’ workspaces and he jolts a little in surprise when someone’s familiar voice calls out, “aki?”

he turns and sees you. a grimace passes over his face and a storm brews in his chest. you’re standing by the entrance to the office space, having entered a few minutes after him. you look tired, with eyebags colouring your skin with sleep and exhaustion pulling you down into a slight slouch. your arms are crossed over your chest and you blink at him slowly. and aki hates it because you look so lovely, even when you don’t try to. your hair might be mussed but you make it work, and you might be on the verge of passing out but at least you’d look good doing it. he snaps his gaze away from you in a vain attempt to pretend his cheeks from burning redder than red.

“why’re you here so early?” his question is responded to with a huff of laughter as you begin to make your way closer. a part of him wants to tell you to stay away but your increasing proximity is alluring, and he’s not a strong enough man to turn you away. 

“i could ask you the same thing.”

he stiffens as you draw nearer. he doesn’t know why– you’re a respectable distance away. a colleague-worthy distance. a friendly distance. and aki’s frown deepens because he wishes that you’d be closer. “i had paperwork to get to.”

“you’re always working,” you muse, more to yourself, letting your head fall to the side a little. aki is only just a little mesmerised by how your hair shifts with your subtle movements, and he clears his throat. “someone has to pick up your slack.”

he winces internally at his own words– it wasn’t a respectable jab to take. you’re part of aki’s special division and you are, regretfully, a valuable asset. but you laugh, and he feels something coil and tighten in his chest, which he tells himself he hates but he’s never been too sure about that assertion.

“my bad, boss,” you respond dryly, with a half-smile that makes his stomach turn. “i’ll let you get to your paperwork. i’ve got my own, too,” you gesture vaguely to your tiny cubicle, a few feet away. aki glances over and sees a pile of white, official-looking documents with familiar seals decorating the wood. your cubicle is mostly bare, but there’s a single picture– it’s you and an older woman who looks a lot like you. you have a big, cheesy grin, little plaits running through your hair, and more smile lines than you do now. he wonders what you’ve given to stand where you are now, as you begin to move over to the spinning desk chair.

“wait.”

you stop, as you’re about to sit down, and glance back at him, waiting for him to continue. he can’t meet your eyes, opting to brush past you as he speaks. “bring your papers to my office. i have an extra chair.”

aki’s office is small and out of the way, compared to the other ones in the building. it’s on the ground floor but through a winding hallway, and he keeps in front of you, listening to your footsteps echoing through the otherwise empty halls. he opens the door to the space and clicks the light on, before moving to his desk.

he’s suddenly very aware of the empty mugs and full trash receptacle, and the smell of coffee hanging in the air, and he silently both hopes you won’t care and chides himself for offering you to come in the first place. because truthfully, why did he ask you to join him? aki was perfectly fine without company– in fact, he might’ve even preferred it. maybe you were becoming an exception. the thought crosses his mind, and he feels a surge of something so warm and overwhelming that he can’t quite discern how he feels about it. he thinks it might feel nice.

he pulls up a chair for you– a spare, right across from his setup, and sits down in his own seat too your credit, you don’t say a word. maybe it’s the early hour that renders you without much to speak about, as you unceremoniously plop your pile of documents and files onto the little clearing aki has made for you on the desk and slide into the seat.

the both of you work in silence for a while. he’s clicking away at his laptop, and you scribble onto your reports. it’s a silent system, and the only noises are the keys clicked and the soft breathing as the office building comes to life outside of the sanctity of aki’s office. people begin to arrive, and footsteps can be heard through the thin walls. people chattering quietly becomes audible from the room with the cubicles. at some point, your hand cramps and you slide back into your seat with a slight sigh. aki tips his head up to look at you, hair tied up with strands loosely escaping from the updo.

“doesn’t that bother you?”

aki blinks. “what?”

“your hair. it’s all in your face.”

he hadn’t noticed the loose strands until you’d pointed them out. absently, he brushes a longer piece behind his ear. “i’ll fix it later.”

he’s in a flow, now, breezing through the mountains of reports and paperwork he has to get through, and he looks back to his laptop screen. but you stand, suddenly, and walk around the desk to where he is. the already cramped space grows even tighter, and you’re infinitely close as you stand behind him, a hand on the back of his chair as he looks at you.

“what are you doing?” he tries to sound dull and stern like he usually does, but he feels the blood rushing to his face as he snaps his gaze back to his screen to avoid more humiliation.

“your hair, hopefully,” you hum. you’re half expecting him to tell you off when you deftly move your hands to his scalp, gently tugging out the black elastic that holds his updo in place. but he doesn’t say a word, simply continuing to scroll through whatever document he has open as you run your fingers through his scalp nimbly.

he’s trying his hardest to not react as your fingertips brush against his scalp, as your skin meets his, as your hand finishes its track and softly touches against the back of his neck. his brain is short-circuiting and sparking electricity in his head, and he feels so warm beneath your hands. and then you start braiding.

aki’s not too sure how he’s meant to work under these circumstances. deftly, swiftly, you section his thick, dark hair into parts and plait them. he tries to type, he tries to focus, but his mind is on you and your hands, you and your voice, you and your smile, you and yourself. he decides that he doesn’t mind thinking about you, and therefore doesn’t mind you much at all, not as much as he thought he did. and then you start talking, and he realises: he might even like you a little.

“my mom,” you start, “she taught me how to braid hair. used to let me do hers every morning.”

aki wants to respond but he’s not sure how. so all he says is a polite, “that sounds nice.”

“it was. maybe i should’ve been a hairstylist.”

“you could,” he says with a sudden rush of urgency. “you could be anything. you should be anything. you should leave.”

you blink down at him, and he’s not looking at you but he can see your expression in his mind’s eye. and you exhale like a laugh, and say, “and leave you here? no, thanks.”

the silence that follows your words is only permeated by the growing volume of conversation outside, and the mounting number of footsteps travelling down the hallway outside aki’s office. you plait his hair in the muffled noises of the morning, leading it up into a simple updo, like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. you braid his hair like your mother did yours, and he feels the love that is carried through in the actions, in the repetition, in the language of little intimacies. you braid his hair, and aki loves you.

he’s embarrassed to admit he’s upset when you’re finished. you wordlessly grin at him and trail your hands across his shoulders all-too-quickly before moving to sit down again and continue your paperwork. but he’s not too mad, because at least you’re still there. at least you’re here.

aki decides that he likes his hair braided. and he thinks that he might be far too busy to learn to do it himself– it would be inefficient and a waste of time to even try. so, he thinks, the only reasonable course of action is to ask you. he bites the inside of his cheek to contain the unabashed surge of warmth, the feeling he recognises as pure joy and affection, at the thought.

he thinks that he’s beginning to look forward to mornings, just a little.

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompt 'you ask to do their hair and the whole time they're trying not to explode'

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[mitsies]

FAKING IT ! ; karasu tabito > being in love with your best friend is not for the faint of heart.

you were getting really, really sick of everyone thinking you were dating your best friend.

it was an all-too-common misconception, at this point– a mistake that most people in your life were guilty of making at least once or twice. your best friend, your parents, even your teachers have accidentally made that false connection.

at first, you didn’t mind it. in fact, it made you feel a little fuzzy inside, and it had brought the both of you a few laughs. after all, it was kind of a compliment to be deemed as karasu tabito’s partner, especially since you’ve been in love with him for god knows how long. after the first twenty or so times it just began to feel like salt in the wound.

yes, yes, you get it– you’re pathetically, stupidly, horribly down bad for the boy you’ve known since you were 6 years old. and yeah, you understand– it’s really fucking obvious. you don’t need even more people to point it out. that’s just kind of rude.

karasu, your childhood best friend, didn’t really seem to care for the comments. he’d raise a brow and deny them before returning to the conversation at hand as if you weren’t looking at him with heart eyes and the visceral need to kiss him stupid.

after the first dozen asks of ‘oh, are you guys together?’ or comments about how ‘you guys are such a cute couple!’ it almost became a reflex to shut them down with an awkward laugh and a polite refutal of their statement. it happened far too often for you to not be used to it. so when a pretty girl with a high ponytail and choppy bangs came up to the both of you as you were sitting on a bench after school, you’d basically expected her to ask if the both of you were dating.

you were not, however, able to predict this.

with teeth gritted, you listened as the girl chatted up your best friend with a sweet smile and pink cheeks. you wanted to hurl as she let her hand fall to his shoulder as she laughed a honeyed little giggle. and karasu, that stupid bonehead, looked like he was eating up every second of it. you knew he had a big ego but this was a little humiliating for the both of them. god, men are so easy, and he is not an exception.

“you’re so funny,” the girl, whom you recognised from your history class as a new transfer from tokyo named asami. you bet her bangs were a cover-up for her receding hairline and you wish for a gust of wind to flutter past and expose her, and hopefully give karasu an ick because she’d be bald by 20. “and this ring necklace? so cute. where’s it from? we should match.”

asami was practically draped over him and you’re sure you looked about ready to burst a blood vessel. karasu, at this point, was also looking a bit uncomfortable with the sheer amount of physicality being shared between the two. “we should totally go out sometime.”

you scoot away a little on the bench. as much as you adore karasu, and as much as you wanted to punch this chick, you had no idea what to say. your movements, though, garners her attention. “oh! you’re in one of my classes yeah?”

“uh, yeah. history.”

and then, she sees it– a ring identical to the one she’d just been complimenting karasu on, which he wore on a necklace. they were a token of the both of your friendships a gift he’d gotten the both of you years ago on your birthday. neither of you had taken them off since.

“oh,” asami starts, “are you two together?”

there it was. the age old question. you look towards karasu, expecting him to shoot this notion down as per usual. only this time, he doesn’t.

“we are,” he asserted, shifting an arm around your shoulders causing you to freeze up, “so you should probably leave us alone, yeah?”

the girl looks despondent and she purses her lips and takes her leave, and you can’t help but grin a little as the soon-to-be-bald blonde struts away with a broken pride. you bask in the feeling of self-satisfaction for a few more heartbeats when you remember– oh. karasu’s arm is around your shoulder. oh. he’d just said you were dating. oh. 

you look at him. he looks at you. and then he has the audacity to ask: “so, what were we talkin’ about?”

you don’t reply because you’re too busy fighting your demons. they’re willing you to smack him in the face and you almost want to comply just because you want to touch his face. “you’re such a manwhore.”

“‘scuse me?”

“i so want to beat the shit out of you right now.”

karasu scoffs playfully and his arm tightens around your shoulder. “don’t say that.”

a bubble of rage is building up into a storm inside your chest. it’s blending with the love, and the confusion, and the whatever else you were feeling because what was going on?

you slide out of his grasp and he has the nerve to look confused. you’re sure you look upset because his expression changes just a little, shifting to one that was unreadable. “what is it?”

you open your mouth before snapping it shut again. cogs were whirring behind your head and alarm bells were ringing at full volume as you try, and fail, to conjure up a response.

“we’re not dating,” you eventually manage. your words are stiff and almost sound robotic but at least they’re out there.

karasu raises a brow at you. “yeah. we aren’t. i just said that to get her to go away. and it worked wonders, didn’t it?”

you want to punch him again but you think you’re frozen to the spot, a rush of embarrassment flooding your cheeks. “we’re not dating,” you say again, like you’re awaiting a final confirmation. it’s more of a question than a statement.

karasu has always been one of the smartest people you’ve known. he was the top of his classes, a brilliant sports player for the school’s team, and never received marks below perfect. his intelligence, unfortunately for you, was not only limited to the realm of textbooks and fill-in-the-blank tests. he could read anyone like an open book– you were not exempt.

“but you want us to be.”

as always, karasu tabito is right on the money. there was no use in lying at this point. he sits back and exhales, no longer looking at you as you cross your arms over your chest. attempting to get up, you begin to shift and gather your schoolbag– a hand stops you.

karasu is smiling. you want to kick him in the teeth– how could he be smiling when he was just about to reject you? but as you look at him with an expression that would be a glare if it held any real malice, his hand comes up to your jaw.

and he kisses you.

naturally, the only correct thing to do is to shove him away. but your hands come up to his chest and instead of that you pull him closer, bunching up the button-down of his uniform until you’re sure it’s wrinkled beyond repair. you need him closer, even more so, you need him to kiss you ‘til you can’t speak any longer, and you’re so fucking confused but you’re breathing him like oxygen, like he’s all you’ll ever need.

when you break away for a breath, neither of you say anything. his schoolbag has spilled all over the ground and his hair is no longer sticking up because your hands were in it (and you note that he should wear his hair like this more often), and he’s breathing hard as he looks at you. “fuckin’ finally.”

you give in to your demons and slap him right across the face.

“what the fuck?”

“you are the worst ever, tabito,” you spit, “what the fuck?”

“you just slapped me.”

“and you just kissed me!”

karasu blinks at your outburst, as if he’d been unaware of his previous actions. “oh. i kissed you.”

“yeah, yeah you fucking did.”

“but you kissed me back.”

and it’s your turn to stop. “i did.”

“because you like me.”

and you’ve never been able to lie to him for long, so you respond with: “i do.”

“and i like you too.”

you blink at him. he stares at you, before asking: “can i kiss you again?”

and you laugh. tension snaps, ice shatters, everything is okay. in fact, it’s better than okay because you aren’t the silly teenager in love with their best friend anymore– you’re someone with another someone, you’ve got your love story in the bag now.

“take me out to dinner first, tabito.”

“you’re so difficult, fine. tonight? i can pick you up at 6.”

“and bring me flowers.”

“don’t push it.”

you slide into him and let him melt around you, uncaring for the bystanders  because you’ve already waited too long for this. “flowers or no deal.”

“okay, fine, flowers.”

“and then you can kiss me again.”

“not now?”

you purse your lips and pretend to be in deep, careful consideration. “depends. is asami still here? i want her to see this.”

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompts "fucking finally." + everyone thinks you guys are dating— one day you both decide to play along

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[mitsies]

ALL FOR AN OREO SHAKE ! ; gojo satoru > both you and gojo forget your wallets on a day out. chaos ensues.

you've been in your fair share of awful situations.

once, you'd accidentally bottomed a bag of salty chip residue on your skinned knee as a child. even the memory makes your scars sting. another time, you had opened the door to the wrong car and got in, and neither you nor the driver had realised that you were in the wrong vehicle until you were 10 minutes out. that one had made for an awkward conversation.

but you think that this takes the cake. literally, too.

"you're kidding," you groan, dropping your head against the dainty white tablecloth, "you seriously forgot yours too?"

your best friend and classmate, gojo satoru, slumped in his seat across from you looking equally as distraught. "yeah. oh my god, this blows."

the both of you had been pining to try out a new dessert shop that had recently opened up a little ways away from your school. it was a fancy establishment, and quite busy too, meaning that you it was typically full unless you had a reservation. and today, months after the both of you had resolved to try the place out, was the first day they've had an opening since the shop had been established.

and it's just your luck that both of you had forgotten your wallets.

"how does this even happen?" gojo's hand drags down his face dramatically as he whines. you sigh.

"bad luck? good luck? divine intervention? we might've gotten, like, diabetes from that milkshake you wanted."

"it would've been the best diabetes of our lives," your companion laments. you glance up at him with narrowed eyes to make sure he's not actually crying because that was a real possibility with him.

he looks fully distraught, too, and truly on the verge of tears- until he feels something in his pocket. his face practically lights up as he pulls a crumpled piece of currency out of his pants pocket. it's just enough to cover the price of a singular drink.

he says something excited and jubilant but you're a little too caught up by his radiance to really process what he's saying. gojo satoru has been your best friend for far too long now, and you've loved him to pieces for almost every moment of that time. through everything bad, through the best, through times where you really shouldn't have, all of it. and all in a way that you shouldn't- a way that meant more than being just friends. but you'd never said a thing, and neither had he, and it had stayed that way forever.

"okay, cool," you resolve, "so you get your drink and i'll sit here."

"or we get a drink."

"not possible. we, as a collective, are too broke for 2 drinks."

"so why don't we just get one?"

gojo's always had this one expression that meant he had an idea. his grin twitched upwards more on the right side, to the point where his dimples peeked through the skin of his cheek, and his eyes, always bluer than blue, closed a little bit. in his youth, his cheeks had been chubby and rosy and plump and your mother liked to pinch them when she saw him. now, they were reduced to porcelain stretched over a sharp jawline and high cheekbones.

he was a good-looking guy, though you'd never say it out loud because god knows his ego didn't need that. which is probably why the waitress who came over when he waved tripped over her words so heavily when gojo had asked for, "a large oreo shake, please. 2 straws."

she twirled her hair after scribbling something down on her notepad and giggled: "oh, the shakes here are the best! you should so let me show you some more another time."

you frown. gojo grins. "i dunno. maybe."

"i'm usually on shift these times on thursdays and fridays, y'know."

"that's crazy," he informs the girl, who seemed to be about your age, 18-ish, "super wild."

you make a face at him. he notices and sticks his tongue out at you and gets that look, that stupid, stupid, look before he reaches out across the table and grabs your hand. "maybe me 'nd my partner should come back sometime."

you are absolutely, positively sure that you're grimacing right now. there's a hurricane of emotions swirling in the pit of your stomach as the waitress mutters something and darts away, evidently embarrassed.

"that was a fucking awful idea," you eventually manage to get out.

"sure it was, babe."

"..did you just— what did you just call me?"

he kicks your shins under the table. in a low voice, he whispers: "c'mon, play along! i don't want her to hit on me again."

you roll your eyes, feeling a surge of what should feel like relief but instead reads like disappointment instead: "i thought you liked the attention."

"yeah, but i like yours better."

the way he said that so effortlessly puts you at a loss for words again and you retract your hand and shield your face. "i hate you."

"no, no you don't. you love me."

"says who?"

"me."

you frown. "your word means nothing, dumbass."

"then why do you always listen to me?"

you don't really know how to reply. you don't think you can. he continues: "and you laugh at my jokes. and you hang out with me. and you help me with my homework when i don't want to. even when i'm shitty."

"oh," you say.

"you love me," he restates.

"i guess i do."

"good," he smiles as you sink into your seat with embarrassment, "because you're gonna have to take me to the hospital when i overdose on the sugar that's gonna be in this drink."

gojo doesn't say it, but it hangs in the air. the unspoken reciprocation, the hidden feelings beneath the flesh. it shines through in how he lets you have the first sip of the drink, and how he laughs when your face crinkles at the sheer sweetness. it shows in how he moves to wipe off the non-existent smudges on your lower lip, and how he calls you pretty when you smile at him, and how he sneaks candid photos when you're not looking.

gojo satoru likes you too. he's not about to speak it out loud, but he lets it be known in other ways. one day, when he's older, he'll tell you. but right now he's 17 with a big head and bigger plans- every single one of them involves you.

he thinks that around the same time next season, before the last year of high school ends, he'll say it. it'll work out then, he's sure— but right now, he's content with sharing a coma-inducing drink and pretending like he only wants you as a best friend, just for the time being.

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event using the prompts “sure it is, babe.” “..did you just— what did you just call me?” + everyone thinks you guys are dating— one day you both decide to play along

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[mitsies]

THE MASTER PLAN! ; michael kaiser > both you and kaiser are determined to have the best meal of your lives, and teamwork makes the dream work or something like that.

the ambiance of the restaurant just screams stuffy rich people, old money, and expensive floral perfume. you are most definitely feeling out of place, as the sharply-dressed waitress ushers you and your companion to an empty table.

the lighting in the establishment was dim and yellow, casting a warm glow across the lavish blue velvet tablecloth. the waitress pulls out your chair for you and you took your seat with a polite gratitude. she dips her head graciously and says something about returning shortly before bustling away. your eyes follow her curiously until you're snapped back to attention by kaiser's voice: "this place is nice."

you look over at him. he's leaning against the plush chair, face partially obscured by the candle centerpiece. despite that, he still meets your eyes. the crisp black blazer he has pulled over a matching black vest contrasts the stark whiteness of the button-down he wears below it all. a hint of blue is visible beneath his collar- a tattoo you're all too familiar with.

"too nice. maybe we shouldn't be here."

you mean it as a joke, but you're being kind of serious. you can feel the inquisitive stares of the other customers burning holes into your back. you know for certain that you and kaiser stand out amongst the crowd- reason number one being that you both weren't old and wrinkly. but there wasn't much that you could do about that, in particular.

the other factor that separated you and kaiser from the rest of the customers was the very obvious fact that you both weren't a couple. observing the other people, you noticed the lingering touches, affectionate stares, rosy cheeks, and loving generalities shared amongst pairs. none of that was happening at your table- in fact, it was more awkward than anything.

you and kaiser had hardly known each other before agreeing to participate in this excursion. interactions with him were limited, and typically just a playful jab on your part and s multitude of mixed responses on his. in your opinion, the both of you were classmates and nothing more- you only knew him through very extensive reputation and your mutual friend, ness.

because of that connection, the both of you had often been roped into conversation rather frequently. he wasn't horrible, per se, you just never spoke to him outside of school. that was really biting you in the ass now, though, that you were saddled together in this scenario.

in passing, ness had mentioned visiting a wonderful greek restaurant with his family- one that just so happened to be blowing up online for its exclusive couple's menu. you don't quite remember how the two of you had arrived at this plan, but here you were now, pretending to be a couple for the purpose of getting this secret menu.

this whole bit wasn't something you were fully okay with, but the food ness described seemed too good to be real, and kaiser had offered to cover it all, and he'd made a good point when he'd stated that the act didn't have to last the whole dinner- they just needed to convince the staff so they could get the special menus. that was it.

"i think we fit in just fine."

"i might. you're kind of an eyesore, y'know."

"no, no, i think we look just ravishing together."

all of the distance between you and kaiser isn't to say he's never tried. in fact, you think he sucks up to you so much that he might even want to be your friend, or maybe more. you try to be spacy but he's nothing if not persistent. kaiser always tried to reach you. despite that, you teased and you stayed away, always just out of his grasp.

you inspect him for a brief moment before conceding: "okay. sure. you do look really nice."

"wait- wait. actually?"

you do a poor job of hiding your laughter, shielding your mouth with your hand. his eyes have widened ever-so-slightly and his lips hang open in a surprised expression- you can't help your response. "yeah. for once."

"that's better than nothing. i'll take it."

you're about to say something when you see the waitress out of the corner of your eyes- she's observing the both of you and picking through an assortment of menus. you catch a glance of the one you're aiming for- it's beige with ornate little hearts framing the text that you can't fully see from the distance. kaiser sees it too, and you know because the both of you turn to meet each other's eyes- a silent agreement that you've got to up your game before she chooses the wrong menu.

if there's one thing you can respect about kaiser, it's his drive. he knows what he wants and he goes for it- whether it's for school, his sport, his love life, whatever- he's never shy about pulling the trigger. you very much expect him to raise the bar and really sell this act, but despite that, you're taken aback when his hand finds yours on the table.

his fingers are cold, and they take your fingers and raise the back of your hand to his lips. you sit, stunned, feeling the warm breath ghosting your skin as his face splits into a shit-eating grin.

when he speaks, you expect his words to be sharp and teasing. you expect them to be meaningless and flirtatious and hollow but then he says your name, and the yellow lights make him look lovely in a way you've never seen him look before.

"i'm honoured you chose to come out here with me," he says, punctuating his statement with a soft kiss to the back of your hand like he's some romantic film's love interest, "you aren't going to regret a thing."

what you should do in this scenario is giggle like a schoolgirl and sneak a furtive glance over to see if the waitress was watching, but you can't really take your eyes off him- not when he drops your hand and shrugs off his blazer, hanging it on the back of his chair with his sleeves coming up and revealing a trail of inky thorns traveling up his forearm. not when he returns to meet your eyes again, and not when he looks at you like that.

"you.. should be." your response is short and does a poor job of concealing the tightness in your chest, your lungs, your throat, your voice. if he notices, he doesn't get a chance to comment on it- the waitress was back, sliding a singular beige sheet of laminated paper and 2 menus onto the table. "here are your menus- and then, this is the couple's menu special for the event we're having."

you let out a breath and thank the waitress as she speeds away. you weren't sure how much longer of this couple act you could take, even though it had only been a few minutes maximum. taking one of the menus in your hands and opening it, you effectively block out kaiser until he asks:

"what are you thinking of getting, babe?"

you feel the tips of your ears grow hot with blood, and god, you might have to shoot the big man in the sky a call because you're probably going to see him soon. "you can stop," is all you say, still refusing to take your eyes off the menu despite being too flustered to read a single word, "we don't have to pretend anymore."

he hums and you risk a peek over the top of the paper. he's resting his chin on his hand as he fiddles with his fork and knife. you almost smile at how the other older customers give him dirty looks, glaring at his probably very untraditional and probably very disrespectful demeanor.

"i'm not pretending."

"oh."

"we're on a date right now. you know that, right?"

"oh."

he shifts to look at you and you try not to pay attention to how good he looks in his vest and white button-down because if you think about that you might go insane. you already kind of are, because you've got to be crazy if you're imagining yourself on a date with michael kaiser. a few seconds of silence pass. you wait for yourself to wake up, for reality to hit. it never happens.

"we're on a date?"

"that's what i just said."

"okay."

kaiser purses his lips. "that's all you have to say?"

"uhh.. you're still paying, yeah?"

"do you only like me for my wallet and generous personality?"

you hum like you're considering his question before putting the menu down in an uncharacteristic act of bravery, this time reaching your hand out so it just grazes his. you think you see him trying (and failing) to hide the shiver that runs through him at your touch.

"yeah," you lie, "just for the money. and the special menu."

he laughs, and it's genuine, and god, has his laugh always been that pretty? could you even describe a laugh like that? "oh, of course. how could i forget the special menu?"

he slides it towards himself and his smile fades. "what is it?"

"this isn't even greek food."

"wait, seriously? this is meant to be a greek restaurant, right?"

"yeah. one with no greek food, i guess."

"wild."

"no wonder it's all old people and ness who come here. they've got shit taste."

(he said that a little too loudly- if people were staring then, they're glaring now. you would wish that you'd said no to his offer to come but you think at this point, you're in too deep.)

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompts "you.. look really nice." "wait, really?" "for once." + acting like a couple for the valentine’s day discount at a restaurant

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[mitsies]

SUBTLE! ; chuuya nakahara > arguing with dazai and being really stupid when it comes to you are his most noteworthy skills.

working with the port mafia had its ups and many, many downs. this has got to be one of them, you think, as you stand incredibly awkwardly with your arms crossed over your chest as dazai and chuuya argue like little children in the hallway of a hotel, just in front of the two rooms the port mafia had booked for you. you’ve been working with the pair for the past however-many years— dazai for three, since you’d joined at 14, and chuuya for two after he had followed the worn path and become a member of the port mafia alongside the both of you.

you don’t think you’ve known peace since he joined, though, for two reasons. the first and foremost being your incredibly annoying, incredibly antagonistic coworker dazai osamu. you know teenage boys can be angsty and dramatic but he truly takes the cake, never failing to push and test the limits of any person he meets. he and you were friends, despite the fact that all you knew about him was that he got really broody on occasion and particularly enjoyed getting reactions out of others. chuuya was an unsuspecting victim. ever since the two had met, you’ve only gained a perpetual headache and a horrible, terrible crush.

chuuya was, to your discretion, the receptor of your stupid little feelings. it was really honestly embarrassing, how you felt— especially since you were absolutely, positively certain he felt the same way. subtlety was not a strong suit for him, especially when it came to his feelings. this reciprocation in itself wasn’t a bad thing— no, in fact, some could argue that it was even good. great, perhaps. but not for you. in your line of work, you couldn’t really afford personal connections. and especially not when dazai was around.

“i’m quite literally in love with them. of course i’m sharing a bed with them.”

you internally facepalm as you catch on to the fragment of dazai’s sentence, forcing yourself to look back at the scene the two were making in the hotel room hallway. chuuya’s ears were practically scarlet with smoke pouring out of them as the room keycard he had in his palm bent into a ‘c’ with the pressure of his grasp. “and i think you’re a freaky little manwhore who needs to be put down like a mutt,” he seethed.

you think it might be proper to step in, now, as you catch a person peeking out of their room door to observe the commotion. yes, you think that might be a good thing to do, especially seeing how chuuya is only a heartbeat away from tearing out dazai’s jugular. swiftly, you move forward and snatch the room cards out from chuuya’s hands. the both of them turn to look at you, and chuuya blinks as dazai sighs. “fine, fine, i guess you win this one,” he sighs, flouncing off into one of the reserved rooms and slamming it behind him, not before calling out, “remember to use protection!”

you feel your face redden and you snap your gaze away from the door where dazai had disappeared and chuuya, opting to fumble with the keycard and unlock the last remaining room. if you weren’t embarrassed then, you were now. you really should consider quitting, at this point. this was too much. having your best friend purposefully argue with your crush just to make him mad, declaring his very fabricated love for you, and then saying all that might be your final straw. how mad would your superiors be if you turned in your resignation forms before your next scheduled mission?

as you move to take a seat on the white, fluffy sheets of the hotel room bed, chuuya opens the door and appears in the room with you. his face is a lot less pink— someone had been practising deep breathing exercises. 

“i can sleep on the couch,” is all he says, sliding two bags into a corner. one was his own, and the other was yours which he’d insisted on carrying for you. you raise a brow. “weren’t you the one just threatening to kill dazai so you could share a bed with me?”

he freezes where he stands, and you wish you could see his face because you can imagine how he looks. “i’m always threatening to kill dazai. and it was to share a room, not bed.”

“why is it important to you? it’s not like we’re together or anything.”

he remains where he is, kneeling on the wooden ground to open his bag. you rise to your feet and make your way over to where he stays, electrified to the spot. he’s tripping over his words, stuttering and bright red as you sit down next to him on the floor. deftly, you reach over and unzip the bag. “you can sleep on the bed with me. i don’t mind. here, let’s unpack.”

you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your rising laughter at how reactive the other boy was— maybe you were cruel for this, and maybe you were no better than dazai, but it was your favourite game, to tease him like this.

“yeah,” he chokes out the first coherent words he’s managed, “okay. yeah.”

maybe one day he’ll have the nerve to confess his feelings. but until then, he’ll keep on chasing, and you’ll keep on messing with him, and he’ll keep on being stupid in love despite it all.

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompts there’s only one bed BUT they’re fighting so they get to be the one to share with you + "he was just talking to me, it's no big deal. and you and i aren't even together- why do you care?"

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[mitsies]

THE MESS YOU MADE ME ! ; geto suguru > you think that he's completely ruined you, and you wish you hated it.

.. read the warnings before proceeding!

recently, you’ve begun to wonder when you will die. 

it’s not a new thing, the questioning of your own mortality. it came with the territory. your life was full of things that ended, and you were always bound to be one of them. it was reality, cold water, a cruel slap to the face– everyone would die. you would too. but as of past years, you’d grown apart from this sentiment.

the course your mind had taken was rather untraditional. growing up, the concept of death was all but engraved into your skin. you were born in a nothing town as a nothing child with capabilities beyond yourself– you were born unlucky. you were born a sorcerer. from that point on, you were swimming in deep water. it was black and deep and it wrinkled your skin as it kissed and bit and begged for you to sink, and cold, so cold. you had been born with the purpose of fighting curses, and dying someday in the future (which everyone insisted was a far off point– you were not stupid, though) and not making even the littlest difference because that was just how it was.

that was the course of your life, to fight and die, and naturally, you were sent to a school that taught its students to do just that– tokyo’s very own jujutsu high. except, that’s not what it taught you. in the year that you had first joined the meager amount of students who also studied there, you learned how to live a little, too.

there were only 3 other students in your year. loud-mouthed, big-headed gojo satoru, whose name was carved in gold plates upon his birth. silver-tongued shoko ieiri with a kind heart and cold demeanor, who had quickly become your best friend. and geto suguru, who was just himself.

it was weird, how you felt when you met him. you think you fell for him right then, right there, on the secluded campus of your school. he was quieter than the other two, and the tallest amongst you. his hands were perpetually in his pockets and a wispy strand of hair, too short to fit into his usual tight updo, hung in his face so consistently that you had thought it was purposeful.

the four of you were close. you had to be– there was no getting through this system without connections. you thought you were lucky, then, that these were your people. shoko gave you answers to homework when you fell asleep in class. gojo would take on your extra missions when he was ‘bored’, when in reality he didn’t want to see you overworked. geto would stay up into the insane hours of the night just for the purpose of keeping you company. it was a family more than just a community. that was how it had felt to you, anyways.

their company changed something in you. this is what you had lacked– a true family. people who could sometimes understand you, and people who you could sometimes understand back. you stopped thinking about when you would die, and started thinking about how you would choose to live next. 

when you were 15, gojo found out you liked geto. this was a piece of information previously restrained to the expanses of only yours and shoko’s minds. it was by complete accident that he’d found out– an incredibly unfortunate accident.

from then on, he had taken it upon himself to play matchmaker. if yaga put him and geto on an assignment? gojo suddenly had very pressing personal matters to attend to which rendered him unable to go, and you were obviously the best viable replacement, in his humble opinion. if geto needed help preparing breakfast? gojo was too busy brushing his teeth extra hard, and was unavailable– but hey, you were always ready to help scramble a few eggs, right?

the most humiliating part of the whole thing was how obvious it all was. gojo satoru was averse to subtlety, much to your discretion. you were sure geto knew what he was trying to do. but you could never quite get a read on him– he smiled at everyone. he laughed with everyone. how were you meant to tell if it was any different for you?

what is clear to you now was mystifying to you then. you recall how his touches lingered, when he greeted you with a touch on the shoulder or upper arm. you recall his attention and how it diverted to you and only you when you entered a room. you recall him being just as infatuated with you as you were with him, despite it not reading like that at the time.

it’s not until shoko snagged a bottle of alcohol to shared with your little group one dreary october night does everything make a little more sense. you didn’t really mean to get as inebriated as you did– an honest mistake. you should’ve known better than to test your limits. the world was so pretty and a little bit fuzzy as you giggled at something gojo said. he’s was basking in the attention– you didn’t usually find his jokes humourous in the slightest. shoko was making fun of you and she had stretched and yawned, and you don’t remember exactly what it was she said but she mentioned having an early mission the next morning and having to leave. gojo had blinked at her and tried to correct her, saying that no, it was in the afternoon. shoko kicked his shins as she stood and he corrected himself, suddenly remembering that oh, of course, how could he forget he also had a super duper early assignment and couldn’t hang out any longer, what a shame.

it was just geto and you left in the common room. the lights were dimmed to the point of being orange, highlighting geto’s face with their ominous glow. if you squinted, the lighting was pretty and yellow like the sun, and not the haunting shade of sirens. the next moments lack clarity in your memory, bits and pieces filled in with your memory and his recollection the next day.

“you’ve got something tomorrow, too, yeah?” he had asked you. you blinked, and pursed your lips trying to remember. “uh.. maybe. maybe, i think?”

“so you do,” geto stated. “it’s late. you should rest too."

“i don’t really want to, though,” you had responded, pulling you knees up close to your chest on the couch you sat on. geto rose from the floor, moving to take shoko’s former seat next to you. he’s not close enough to be touching you, but you feel the warmth of his broad shoulders next to yours regardless and you shiver a little. “why not?”

“‘cause. i like talking to you.” these are words you would never say in your correct state of mind– they carried a boldness you typically lacked, and a conviction, almost reverence, that made your purpose clear as day. you blinked after you spoke, as if you were surprised by your own verbiage.

“you can talk to me anytime. i’m always here if it’s you.” geto’s voice was softer when he was speaking to you. he looked at you with tenderness, something like love, and you let yourself relax into his body. he stiffened before letting an arm wrap around your shoulder, pulling you close. you had wondered if he’d say that to anyone else– and then you decided that maybe, just maybe, geto suguru liked you like you liked him. so you said it:

“i like you, just, like, so much. a lot.”

geto smiled at you and you were close enough to feel the way his heartbeat, already racing, picked up inside his ribcage– “yeah, okay. tell me that when you’re sober.”

you knew you would, now, with his reciprocation basically confirmed, but then you’d wanted more. moving from his warmth, you’d planted your hands on his jaw and kissed him. you were pretty sure that you’d tasted the gates of heaven on his tongue. you might have just been inebriated, though.

that night, the both of you had been 16, almost 17, nearing the end of your second year of schooling. the next day, he told you he liked you and asked to kiss you, for real this time. the next day, you said yes.

everything was perfect for a while. it was a picturebook, a fairytale– one with demons and curses and monsters included. you learned to fight and to die and you learned to live, and you lived like every day might be your last. it was the closest to a teenaged dream any of you could reach when you were born unlucky, a fabrication of the way any average 16-year-old would try to be.

one day, though, geto and gojo were assigned a mission. to protect a girl whose name you couldn’t quite remember. gojo had returned, alongside a different person– a husk of the geto suguru you loved.

he was changed, and he wouldn’t tell you why. sometimes, he’d go days without a word to anyone. others, he was the same, normal boy you’d fallen for. gojo told you the situation and you remember that he had been smiling when he did. but it was that kind of smile that meant trouble rather than joy. his award-winning dimples which stopped old ladies on the streets who needed to pinch his cheeks never shined through.

you figured geto needed time. that was what yaga told you– time heals all, or something. shoko thought the phrasing was bullshit but to an extent, she agreed. gojo refused to give any advice, probably because he didn’t know himself. you tried to live for geto, who seemed like every last piece of vitality had been stolen and snatched away. you lived for the tiny glimpses of himself that appeared in the seams and cracks, and the way he sometimes became himself if only for a few moments.

you’d thought he was getting better. you thought it was working. you thought he was coming back.

in hindsight, it was maybe on you. geto would go on longer, dangerous missions alone and come back on the verge of collapse. you let yourself be fooled by the way he’d act like everything was fine the next day. you might’ve known he was lying– maybe you bought into it for the sake of living in ignorant bliss. maybe it was all your fault, what happened next. 

the day after yu haibara died, geto went on another assignment. he never came back.

when shoko first broke the news to you, that he’d slaughtered a hundred innocents, you laughed and asked why she’d joke like that. but there was a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and you knew she wasn’t messing around. there were a thousand questions in your mind but selfishlessly, you wondered why he didn’t say goodbye.

you didn’t think you’d hear from him again. you’d lost him a long time ago. and you were right– life carried on. the remaining 3 students of your year graduated. shoko became a doctor after faking her exams. gojo remained the strongest and became a teacher. you continued to fight, and to live, and it was funny because nothing had really changed. it was living, minus the sun. it was living but only kind of. but it was still living. death never crossed your mind. you might’ve been horrible, but you derived a strange sort of comfort from the fact that geto was still there, somewhere. he wasn’t gone forever. he’d never be back but he wasn’t gone.

you, shoko, and gojo never spoke about him. it was a tension running thin like a wire across the back of your minds, so hardly there that you’d forget about it if it weren’t for a few telltale signs. shoko cried sometimes and came to work with residual streaky cheeks despite her attempts to hide them, and gojo still smiled without his dimples on sundays that were too far from god. you wondered what your tell was, or if there even was one. you wondered what remnants of geto suguru you still carried, ones that could be seen by the naked eye.

a part of you wishes there to be some kind of obvious emptiness. you want there to be a crater to show everyone just how much you lost when he left. you want grief to show on your skin like it’s been scarred. you don’t think it ever did, though. but you had felt it, every single day, the way it hurt to live without him, the way his absence was a burden.

it’s a bit surreal, how new students coming to the school will never know of geto suguru. they will see his name on wanted signs and remember him as a villain, and not like you knew him. there are people who will never know geto suguru for who he was. there are people who will hate him. you should be one of them.

you watched gojo’s new students and feel strange because they will see him forever as the singular strongest. maybe they were right, too. that thought weighed on you even more. gojo told you, one night, about a student with a special-grade curse. you asked what was to happen to him.

“the higher-ups want him dead.”

“and what do you think?”

gojo had paused. “i won’t let that happen. i can’t.”

his quiet resolve, yuuta okkotsu and his demons, and the ever-present pushing of curses against humanity, like a tide lapping at a shore could be considered the catalysts for the coming events. but you knew better– you knew it was deeper than that.

geto suguru appeared again, in 2017 with a legion of death at his fingertips. it’s almost christmas, and you wondered if he was cold as he stood with the blood of thousands staining his fingertips as he proclaimed war upon your stupid little school.

you felt strangely numb, combatting against curses and curse users in shinjuku on christmas eve. it was almost too easy, too like him, too much, too little– your skin crawled. you were born to fight and to die and that’s what you’d do. you were taught to live and to love but that could come later– you needed to get this over with. you needed to find him.

his body was still warm when you returned. gojo smiled at you without his dimples and told you it was all over and you felt a little less than nothing. geto lay against a wall, head masked by black hair gone sticky and red with blood, eyes closed. you heard gojo lingering behind you as you sat next to him and watched. maybe a part of you willed his eyes to open again– for his paled cheeks to turn rosy again with life. you were numb as you waited for the man who’d become your other half, even in his absence, to wake up. he never did.

you had been born a jujutsu sorcerer, with the express purpose of fighting and then dying one day. your friends had taught you to live. but over the course of your time at school, you had trained yourself to live for geto– you were alive so he could be, too. you loved so he could watch you and relearn how. what was left for you now? you lived for a purpose. you loved for a reason. and now, he was gone.

you don’t remember much after that. christmas eve becomes christmas day. shoko and you and gojo watch the new students laugh because they are so alive, and you hate them because they never got to see the boy who loved you. they never saw the boy who tied your hair back for you, who put his hands on your face when he kissed you, who held onto hope, who lived. they will only ever know his corpse.

forever, you will resent. forever, you will wonder. you’re the last one left in the bar that the three of you had ended up in on christmas night– shoko had gone home. gojo was god-knows where. you’re experiencing a weird soft of deja vu. the last time this had happened, there had been four of you. the last time this had happened, there had been two of you. the last time this had happened, you were happy. (you take another sip from your drink, and you taste the gates of heaven.)

recently, you’ve been wondering when you will die.

✄ written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompt "i like you. just, soooo much. really!" "uh-huh. tell me that when you're sober."

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