#so apparently the lighting in my room is yellower than the lighting in my Japanese dorm room

[secretariatess]

She's gained herself the reputation.

[shoutogepi]

A Million Times Over, part 1

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Todoroki Shouto x American!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 11.3k holy shit this is so long guys. fuck.

[ ☀︎, ☁︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] (series warnings)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : some NSFW themes but no actual smut. a lot of pining and angst. some cute moments too tho!

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : You lose all memories from the past five years of your life due to an accident-induced coma, including any recollection of your beloved boyfriend and fellow pro-hero, Shouto. He’s devastated that you don’t remember him, but the both of you are determined to get your memories back, no matter how long it takes. In the meantime, you attempt to rebuild your relationship with him… while also nurturing the spark that’s still very much lit between you two.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : Originally I intended for this to just be a long fic… but even for my standards, this would be wayyy too long to be just in one post. I decided to split the fic into three instead, so this will be the first part of my very first multi-chap series, A Million Times Over, for my beloved Sho <3

𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : big thank you to my sweet friend @todoscript​ for beta-reading this for me and hyping me up!! love you, can’t wait to read what you have in the works soon <3

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“.../n”

…

“.. y/n…”

…

🅃he buzzing noise in your ears sharpened. White light snuck between your eyelids and you groaned, fingers reaching toward your temple. Confusion burst forth as you recognized foreign, plastic tubing connected to your skin, your eyes opening wider as you began to register your surroundings.

You were in a hospital room. To be more exact, you were in the bed in the middle of the hospital room— meaning, you were the patient. The realization shocked you, and you jolted upright abruptly, suddenly all too aware of the tubes stuck up your nose. At your sudden movement, large, warm hands landed on your arms and rubbed at your skin gently, making your attention turn to the person sitting at your bedside.

“Y/n? Hey, you’re okay, love, it's alright. You’re safe, I’ve got you.” His voice was smooth and deep, an anchor for you to grab onto in the midst of your confusion.

You were gawking, staring straight at him— you couldn't help it. Your jaw was probably hanging open, gaping like a fish at the man before you. What were you in the hospital for exactly— had you gone insane and dreamed this situation up?

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“Sh-Shouto Todoroki,” you mumbled, gaze connected with his tired but bright, heterochromatic orbs. His brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly at your courteous acknowledgement, but he brushed it aside and smiled at you instead.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took in his form beside you. He was tall— you could tell even though he was seated— and he was more handsome than you’d ever imagined, somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties judging by the sharp, masculine features of his face.

“Y/n…,” he breathed out, a large, calloused hand coming up to cup your jaw. Then he pulled you into a hug, his strong, muscular arms wrapping around your torso and cradling the back of your head to press you into his chest. He smelled of clean laundry and winter, a crisp, fresh scent that made an unknown comfort blossom in your chest.

Slowly you placed an arm around his neck, your other hand laying limp on the sheets as it was still connected to the IV. You rubbed his back slightly, still dazed by your apparent situation. Looking outside the open window in the corner of the room, you realized it was daytime; yellow sunlight beaming into the room and pouring onto the tiled floor. There were vases of flowers all around the room, as well as stuffed animals, cards, and balloons that all wished for your health and speedy recovery.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” Shouto whispered into your shoulder, still holding you tight in his embrace. His voice was still low, but this time it shook with profound emotion. “I missed you… so much.”

Your body felt relaxed in his arms, even though your brain was whirring a thousand miles a minute. You had no clue how you’d ended up in the hospital, who sent you all these gifts, where you even were geographically, and most importantly, why Shouto Todoroki was holding onto you like you meant the world to him. You patted his back stiffly and he let go of you just enough to move his face in front of yours. His eyes held such love and relief, the emotions as clear as day that butterflies ruptured from your stomach. As if his expression wasn’t enough to get your heart racing, he leaned forward and captured your lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a firm but sweet kiss.

It only lasted for a minute, but it was enough to have your heart rate monitor start beeping rapidly, noisily chiming at the other side of your bed. His face was so perfect and smooth up close— you couldn’t close your eyes as you took in his astonishing beauty. Sure, you’d imagined he would be perfect… but in person, here before you, he was indescribable. The man of your dreams. And a good kisser, too.

A nurse rushed into the room, seemingly out of breath. When she caught sight of the two of you, your lips locked, and Shouto holding you so tenderly, she let out an awkward cough and pawed at her scrubs, averting her eyes as she approached your bedside. Shouto pulled away, only to plant a soft kiss on the very tip of your nose before leaning back into his seat. He had a wide smile on his lips, content-crinkled eyes settled on you as his hand enveloped yours.

“So you’re awake!” the nurse stated excitedly, busying around with the beeping machine, managing to shut the blasted thing off. “How are you feeling? Any pain, discomfort?”

You glanced at Shouto, who smiled at you warmly and squeezed your hand. If that heart rate machine was still on, surely it would be going haywire again. “Uhh, I think I’m okay… just kinda groggy,” you replied truthfully, your voice coming out hoarse. You cleared your throat and she handed you a small cup of water, which you took gratefully. You continued on after taking a few sips, the liquid cooling your irritated throat. “No pain, but I’m a little… confused, to be honest.”

“I’m sure you are, hon,” the nurse said, giving you a smile full of understanding. It made you feel a little less on edge, and you gave her a half-hearted smile back. “You were in a bad accident almost a month ago. You suffered some head trauma, and you’ve been in a coma ever since. You also had two bruised ribs, and some minor surface wounds. The cuts are all gone now, and your ribs should be almost all healed by now as well, but if you have any discomfort on your left side here,” she gestured to your ribs and continued, “just let me know. I’ll page your doctor and we’ll do a quick check-up on you in just a minute!”

You nodded slowly, the gears turning in your head. You were in an accident, and then a coma for a whole month? It all seemed so crazy to you— you can’t remember a single thing leading up to your supposed accident. Head trauma… you weren’t usually the type to get hurt, and you’d never been in a coma before. “Umm… what kind of accident was it?” you asked, looking between Shouto and the nurse, not really directing the question to either of them specifically.

“You were flung into a cement pillar during a fight, love. The blow was mostly on your side, hence your bruised ribs… but your head smacked into the pillar secondarily,” Shouto replied, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar bitterness washed over his handsome face. “We were battling together and you were knocked unconscious instantly… you’ve been asleep ever since.”

“A fight..?” you frowned, tilting your head in confusion. “We were fighting, and you threw me against a… cement pillar?”

Shouto looked horrified at your misunderstanding, adamantly shaking his head and making his soft, two-toned hair shine in the sunlight. “No, I would never hurt you— the villain did, baby. I incapacitated them right after,” he paused, eyes casting downwards and his free hand forming into a fist at the memory, “but the damage had already been done...”

That sounded right… your job was herowork, you could at least recall that. But you didn’t think you’d ever fought beside a hero as great and renowned as Japan’s famed dual-tempered Shouto. Sure, you’d been doing your best to climb the American hero leaderboard, but you weren’t by any means at the top yet. “Umm… can you tell me.. why we were fighting a villain together, exactly?”

Shouto looked directly at you, his brow furrowing before he looked to the nurse on the other side of your bed. They shared a look, and you shuffled uncomfortably in the cotton sheets pulled up to your waist, unease sitting like a rock in your stomach.

“Y/N, can you tell me what you remember before the accident?” Shouto asked slowly, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction. There was a sliver of something else in his voice now, a hint of urgency in his request.

You looked between him and the nurse hesitantly, racking your brain for anything you could think of. “Uhh… I don’t… I don’t remember, I— I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright hon, don’t worry. It’s common to have some confusion after just waking up from a coma. We can try an easier question. Let’s see… do you know your birthday?”

You responded instantly, and there was the tiniest amount of relief on Shouto’s face at your correct response.

“Your mother’s maiden name?”

You got that one right too, Shouto’s thumb rubbing over your knuckles soothingly in silent praise.

“How about your phone number?”

You took a second to think of it, but you answered that one too. The nurse looked over at Shouto to see his reaction, and so did you. But Shouto was frowning at you, making dread drip into your veins. “That’s your US number, love… what’s your Japanese number?”

You looked at him incredulously. “My Japanese number? Why would I need a Japanese number?” you inquired, thinking this must have been some kind of trick question.

The nurse and Shouto shared a more serious look, and Shouto swallowed as he looked away from you, turning toward the window instead. You squeezed at his hand but he didn’t respond, so you turned to the nurse instead, confused now more than ever.

“I don’t understand…,” you mumbled, hoping for some clarification from her. She smiled at you, but this time it did not reach her eyes.

“You’re in Japan, hon. You’re speaking Japanese right now… and you’re also one of the top heroes in Japan, just like your boyfriend here.”

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The next few days passed by in a blur. The hospital staff was all very kind and hospitable, but it still felt like you had woken up in the middle of someone else’s life. Even though your body was yours, and you looked just the same, you couldn’t help the unease that lingered from your imposter syndrome.

You had gone through so many tests and check-ups that they all blended together at this point. You had been poked, prodded, and quizzed the entire time since you’d woken up from your coma. There were so many different tests regarding your memory that your brain felt like melted jelly by now, and your frustration was at an all-time high.

Shouto had gotten up and left the room shortly after the nurse informed you of your situation. Your heart felt heavy for him— he seemed so excited, so relieved that you were finally awake— and this was the devastating reality that he was left to face. After patiently waiting at your bedside for weeks, this was the bitter pill he had to swallow when you had finally come-to… you imagined that he was not eager to confront such a terrible twist of fate. Yet he had come back into your room half an hour later, eyes suspiciously puffy and pink, and his nose a little stuffy, but nonetheless, he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, squeezing even tighter than before. Even though you barely knew him, his presence made you feel safe, and you were glad to have him by your side.

Between your numerous mental tests and check-ins, the conversation between the two of you was surprisingly easy. He was patient with you, and kind. Apparently, you’d first met him in America at a hero convention about five years ago, and you started dating after a year and a half of being friends. Your memory had been completely wiped of the past five years, leaving your Japanese friends, coworkers, and dedicated boyfriend all in the dark. According to Shouto, you had befriended many of the top heroes in Japan, seeing as they were also your colleagues. It turned out that the numerous flower arrangements scattered about your room were from these heroes, as well as fans… though a good amount were from the heterochromatic man himself.

Shouto took care of you during your days at the hospital. He talked to the doctor after your check-ins, pulling them aside and conversing in hushed voices in the hallway just outside your door. He called your family for you and flew them out, only adding to the chaos in your hospital room. He told all of your Japanese friends and acquaintances to stay away for now, knowing that meeting them would probably just overwhelm and guilt you. And each day he would bring you a treat that you would inevitably love, proving to you that he really did know you, and that he knew your preferences and even your favorite boba order. He probably would have stayed by your bedside even through each night, but you insisted he go home and sleep in a proper bed. You already felt bad enough that he was taking a hiatus from hero work until you recovered… you didn’t need to add his future back issues to your already guilty conscience.

You found yourself enjoying your time with him. You knew who he was— you had certainly heard of him during your previous hero work that you actually remembered. You kept it to yourself that you had harbored an embarrassingly large crush on him, though. You figured he probably knew that, seeing as he was your boyfriend of three and a half years… no need to bring it up! But now that your memory had reverted back to your mental state five years ago… you inevitably had feelings for the pro hero, and you weren’t sure if he either couldn’t tell how he affected you, or if he was just being polite. Whatever the case, there was still a spark between the two of you. Even though all the progress of your relationship had been erased on your side, each day your feelings only grew for the selfless, charming, and witty half-and-half man. So much so, that you would now reach out for his hand when he would enter your room each morning, and he would smile at you and slip his fingers between yours, no matter how much it hurt to restrain himself from showing you more affection.

After about a week, you were cleared to go home. Your nurse, who you had come to know as Akari, told you that the doctor had originally wanted to keep you for longer… but that Shouto was such a doting beau that they had given you the express go-ahead, knowing you would be in the highest of care.

Your memory was still not restored, though you had started to remember odd things here and there. Like how to use your phone— it was the newest model and far from the technology you were familiar with five years ago, but you opened the device and navigated it expertly on your first go. The doctor said that that was a good sign, though it could just be muscle memory... but Shouto still gave you a small smile of encouragement. Next was when you had asked Shouto to bring you your favorite moisturizer, a Japanese brand, and you just mentioned it so casually in conversation that you would have blown right over it had Shouto not pointed it out to you. You were recalling little, mundane things here and there, but never anything big— no people, no places. No distinct memories.

Akari assured you many times that as long as you kept working at it, your memories would return. She always said it when you were frustrated— she could tell your moods and she could see how hard you were trying. But she also said it when you were doing fine, and that was when you knew she was saying it more to Shouto than anything. You were glad to have her there, because even though Shouto was there for you physically, he kept most of his emotions sealed off from you… and it was hard for you to read him. Akari was an excellent nurse, and you felt blessed to have been taken care of by her. But a tiny, minuscule part of you was jealous that she could tell how he was feeling, while you were left in the dark.

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You sighed as the car door clicked shut, feeling apprehensive. The vehicle that Shouto had driven to the hospital today is sleek, shiny, and foreign. You had no clue what model it was, but you knew it must have been expensive— the interior was framed with a polished wood that complimented the peanut-butter color of the leather seats and steering wheel. Shouto slipped into the drivers’ side next to you, offering you a small smile as he clicked his seatbelt into place.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, pausing before he turned the ignition. The car purred to life, a welcome screen popping up in the middle of the console.

You thought it over for a moment before answering, watching as he slid the parking ticket out from under the overhead visor. “A little… I think excited is a better word for it, though.”

Shouto’s smile broadened just a tad, his hand reaching over the center console and squeezing yours briefly. “Me too,” he murmured, eyes locked with yours for just a moment too long before his arm propped back against the corner of your seat, and he reversed out of the parking spot. You couldn’t help but admire his chiseled jawline as he did so, eyes flitting away quickly when he caught your lingering gaze.

The drive from the hospital to your home wasn’t long, and you were thankful that was the case— you’d have definitely felt even guiltier if he’d been driving for a long time all these days to come and see you. The city distracted you along the way, bustling and bright as ever, and your eyes were wide with wonder as you took in the colorful displays littering the streets and storefronts. Everything— everyone just seemed so alive; it was impossible to keep the smile from your face.

At one red light in particular, you saw a cat cafe, zoning in on a particularly pudgy cat snoozing at the top of the cat tree in the window. You giggled and pointed it out to Shouto, glancing over at him to see if he was looking, and the softest smile was on his lips as his eyes gazed deeply into yours. You held his stare for a moment and then looked away again, flustered and your cheeks feeling warm as you cleared your throat.

It was then that you noticed his hand lying atop the center of the console, tempting you to reach out and lace your fingers with his, like you had done so many times at the hospital. But it felt different without the safety of the white walls and medical equipment you had grown to know, somehow scarier— like he might reject you for whatever reason. You chose to keep your hands to yourself for now.

“It seems like you’re curious about the city,” he said as silence settled between the pair of you, the only noise in the cabin of the vehicle being the low melody from the radio.

You shrugged and hummed in agreement, eyes now glued to the other side of the window as countless people and businesses whizz by. “I like to know the city I’m protecting,” you answered, leaning back against the headrest. “It makes me feel more connected to the people that live here… the people we’re helping when we do our jobs. Y’know?”

Shouto nodded, humming his own agreement. “Yeah… I know what you mean,” he replied. After a short pause, he turned to you, waiting for another red light to turn green. “Maybe we can come out in disguise sometime… if that would interest you. I can show you around, we can have a little adventure.”

You visibly perked up at his suggestion, your grin making his heart flutter suddenly in his chest. “Yes! I would love that!” you beamed at him and he smiled back at you, the faintest hint of a blush dusting his cheeks.

You bit your lip as he turned back toward the road, the car shifting forward as he pressed the gas at the green signal. He was trying… so you had to, too.

“But only if we go together, okay?” You reached over and took his hand before you could chicken out. His fingers fit perfectly in between yours, and your cheeks felt hot again as you gazed intently at your intertwined hands.

Shouto let out a little breath of surprise at your action, but his fingers curled tightly around yours in under a second. “Of course… love.”

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Shouto had sent your family home, despite their protests. The doctor’s orders were for you to resume life as you normally would— apparently, that would be the quickest way for you to regain your memories. The verdict was much to your parents’ dismay, but they understood that it was the fastest means for you to return to, well, you. So they left Shouto to take care of you, and he insisted that once your memories came back, he would fly them back out to see you again, or the two of you would come to them.

Though technically he was a stranger to you, he was the closest thing to home in the strange storm of your memory loss. He had been there for you every step of the way, every day. He tended to your every need, and he even anticipated your needs before you were aware of them. That didn’t change once you arrived at your shared apartment.

If you could even call it that.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled when Shouto unlocked the door for you, gesturing for you to enter first. Your jaw was on the herringbone-patterned, hardwood floor as your eyes wandered around the entryway, taking in every design detail you came across. You barely managed to take off your shoes before you were peeking your head into the bathroom next to the entry hallway, inspecting the clean and gorgeously-furnished half-bath.

Shouto chuckled and closed the door behind him, making sure to turn the lock as he set his keys into a porcelain bowl beside the door. “Go explore, I think you’ll like what you see,” he said amusedly, a half-smirk on his pink lips as he eyed you. Your starstruck expression only grew as you padded into the open space of the living room.

A long, cushy sofa and chaise stood before the huge flat-screen that was nestled into an elegant built-in, shelves filled with books you knew and loved and ones you didn’t recognize, too. Game consoles lined the shelf below the plasma screen, and your toes curled into the fuzzy rug underfoot as you gaped at the room. Everything— even the curtains and the coasters on the coffee table— was exactly in your taste. You felt like you were in wonderland. Had you fallen down a rabbit hole and this was the magical, heavenly place you had landed in? Clearly this had to be a dream, right? You woke up as Todoroki Shouto’s long-time girlfriend, and apparently you lived here, with him?

Goddamn.

The kitchen, laundry room, main bath, office, bedroom, and master bath all fit your taste exactly the same. Only the second office and spare bedroom seemed a little out of place— they were more of a traditional Japanese design, but even though it was different, you did not mind. Even the runner on the staircase— who had a staircase in their apartment, by the way?!— was in a pleasing color and pattern. There was even a decently sized home gym, with various equipment and machines and a mirror running the length of the entire wall. By the end of your expedition, you were simply at a loss for words. You found Shouto sitting on one of the stools at the marble island that separated the kitchen and the living room, busy combing through some manila files.

“Umm,” you started, catching his attention.

He looked up at you, propping his chin onto his hand as his elbow rested on the counter. One brow quirked up, he grinned slyly at your outright astonishment. “Well?” he prompted, sitting up and rolling his neck, then stretching his broad shoulders. “What do you think?”

You try not to linger on the way the muscles rippled underneath his tight, crisp shirt, playing off your silence as shock. “It’s uh… perfect? I live here? I actually live here, right? You’re not pulling my leg?”

Shouto chuckled and shook his head. “I would never, love. Well, I have before, but no— I’m not right now. You live here. We live here. It’s all ours.”

You laughed giddily, unable to contain your excitement. Shouto smiled fondly at you, your grin infectious as your eyes wandered around the kitchen once more.

“Snack pantry is behind that door,” he nodded his head to the side and your eyes grew even starrier. He couldn’t help the laugh that trickled out of him at your instant footsteps— you were still you, after all. He knew all the ways to your heart very well, and one of them was most definitely through food.

“Woah.” Your mouth hung open once again at the rows of snacks and foods that greeted your gaze when you opened the door, the light flicking on automatically. Your eyes danced over the labels, recognizing many of your favorite flavors throughout the variety. “We could survive a whole year off of this stuff, Shouto.”

You stiffened when an arm wrapped around your middle, his front pressing up against your back as his chin fell onto your shoulder. That same comforting scent encircled you, but this time it was mixed with a subtle, woodsy aroma that made your mouth water.

Shouto breathed softly into your hair, the tip of his nose brushing the side of your neck. “I stocked up for your return, love.” He took another leisurely deep breath before he pulled back, his arm falling from your body and leaving you surprisingly cold without his touch. “Wanted you to have everything you could possibly desire.”

Your eyes inspected the pattern on the hardwood floor as he stepped away from you, your arm crossing over your front to grab onto your bicep nervously. Letting out a small laugh, you replied, “Yeah, I think you covered all the bases…”

He only hummed as he returned to his seat, sliding on a pair of thin metal glasses you hadn’t seen him take off before. You couldn’t help but think he looked incredibly handsome like this— a rare, domestic sight for only your eyes to enjoy. “Sorry I can’t entertain you at the moment,” he said, that analytical gaze locking onto you once more. “My agency asked me to look over these cases and I just have to finish them up— I’m technically on leave, but I still want to help out when I can. I only need another half hour or so. Feel free to help yourself to anything you like. This is your home, after all.”

You smiled and nodded, rolling back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Alright, I’ll try not to bother you.” Shouto frowned at your wording, but you carried on anyway. “I think I’ll poke around our room and see if I can find something that triggers a memory.” Your acknowledgement of your shared bedroom seemed to put him at ease, and with that, you grabbed a strawberry-flavored snack from the pantry before making your way past him, roaming over to the bedroom.

“You can go through my things if you want, too!” He called from behind you, having already made your way to the stairs. Choosing not to reply to his invitation, you hopped up the steps and quietly closed the door to your bedroom, hands landing on your hips. Inspecting the room from left to right, you decided to go through the toiletries in the master bath before anything else.

Before you could move even a foot in the direction of the en-suite, a furry creature darted out from underneath the bed skirt and dashed toward you. You gasped in delight at the gorgeous visage of the long-haired cat— she had bright blue eyes and fine white fur, her coat streaked with gray here and there. The cat meowed cutely and curled around your ankle, rubbing her head against your leg affectionately.

You immediately crouched down and lowered yourself to her level, fingers eagerly diving into her soft fur and offering a good scratch behind the ears. “Hi gorgeous,” you cooed, the animal mewling back at you in response. Your fingers found her collar and you flipped over the tag, reading her name with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Yuki.” 

Heart softened at the thought of Shouto owning such a pretty creature, you gave her a good long rub before you decided to move on to your quest at hand. The creature followed closely behind, twisting in between your legs as you entered the en-suite.

The bathroom was large and luxurious, just what you would expect from a pro-hero of Shouto’s standing. It occurred to you that you too, were a hero of such regard, which must explain why you could afford all the lavish things you came across while combing through the closets and cabinetry.

You went through countless skincare products, face masks, makeup items, and bathing goods on what you presumed was your side of the double sink before you peeked into Shouto’s drawers. You fingered through his hygienic products, mumbling to yourself in surprise when you came across skincare items whose existence most men would not even be aware of. You shrugged and figured that you just must be an excellent girlfriend and teacher, assuming he used them correctly.

Eventually you found his shaving items, eyes scanning the labels until you find his aftershave. Shrugging, you took the cap off, giving a tentative sniff before you realized that must be what you smelled on him earlier, when he’d pressed up against you from behind and nuzzled into your neck. You bit your lip as you recalled how his arm felt around your waist, his nose on your throat. It had felt so intimate, and oddly… natural.

It was the most contact you’d had with him so far. While you were at the hospital, he would hold your hand. Besides that first moment when you had just woken up— when he hugged and kissed you, and the fireworks that had gone off had been then overshadowed by the horrific realization that your memory had been wiped— the half-hug just twenty minutes ago was the only time he had initiated further physical contact with you.

You frowned. It wasn’t like you’d been super affectionate toward him, either. Sure, you had reached out for his hand at the hospital, and you took it again during the car ride home… but now that it was just the two of you, alone in your home… it felt different. Maybe that was why Shouto had asked if you felt nervous when you were in the car, following your discharge from the hospital only an hour ago. Had he seen it coming— this potential pitfall in the reconstruction of your relationship? You wondered how he felt about all of this, but you were too shy to ask him so directly. Not when you barely knew him.

“Missed me so much you’re sniffing my cologne?”

You froze and glanced up at the mirror, Shouto’s reflection smirking at you from his leaned position against the doorway. Your cheeks immediately went warm and fuzzy again as you capped the glass bottle, carefully placing it back into its drawer before looking over your shoulder to him. A glance at the clock on the wall revealed it had been forty minutes; you must have gotten swept up in examining your beauty products.

He didn't have his glasses on anymore, and he had changed into a solid-colored t-shirt, the crisp button-down he’d donned earlier nowhere to be seen. Damn it… you had missed your chance to ogle at him with his shirt off. At your silence, his smirk melted into a small smile, stepping forward and joining your sitting form on the heated-tile floor. “Don’t worry, I’ve done the same to your perfume before as well,” he murmured as he reached toward the drawer on your far side, his arm brushing against your back as he searched for the glass vial. “You can try it, too. It’s the most recent addition to your collection, and I personally am very partial to its scent.”

The contact made you swallow, your gaze flicking over to his. He was looking at the various perfume bottles in the drawer, though, giving you the chance to inspect his face as his hair fell forward, soft locks of red and white splaying across his forehead. He was so breathtaking up close like this… your gaze dropped to his lips. God, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to feel those lips on yours again, to be in his arms and to be held as tenderly as you were that first day you awoke.

“Oh right,” he chuckled, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “I brought it into the spare room the other day… Must’ve forgot to put it back.” He leaned back, ending the accidental physical contact with you.

You looked at him quizzically. “The spare room? Can I ask why?”

Shouto blushed and your heart thudded in your chest. Oh crap, he was so cute with his cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah… I’ve been sleeping in there since the accident. It just feels…,” he paused as he searched for the right word, eyes avoiding yours, “wrong… to be in our bed without you.”

Your own cheeks warmed at that, his confession pulling at your heartstrings. “So the perfume..?”

His cheeks darkened a few shades, the hand on his neck rubbing harder at his skin. “Ah, that’s… honestly kind of… embarrassing to explain.”

You reached out so your hand covered his, and Shouto sighed as he allowed your fingers to slide in between his. “Can I guess? Will you tell me if I’m right?” He nodded at that, deciding it was better if he didn't have to say it. “You spray my perfume onto a pillow at night and snuggle up with it?”

Shouto’s eyes widened at your immediate response, swallowing before he let out a stiff laugh and a nod. “Yeah, that’s exactly right… kind of lame, isn’t it?”

Shaking your head, you smiled gently at him. “No, I think it’s sweet. It’s just what I would do if you were away, too.”

There’s a shocked silence that filled the bathroom then, Shouto’s wide eyes fixed on you for a long, intense moment. Eventually you broke eye contact, looking to the floor with an awkward smile.

“And you don’t have to do that tonight…” you offered quietly. “If you want, I mean… you can sleep in here.”

“Is that where you’ll be sleeping?”

You looked back at him, surprised by his instant reply. “Y-Yeah, I think so…”

“Alright,” he conceded, his blank face melting into a warm smile. “Then that’s where I’ll sleep, too.”

You returned the gesture, pleased to have made him happy. “Will you be spraying me with perfume before we tuck in?” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” Shouto answered seriously, the smile dropping from his face, “your natural scent is a thousand times better than any perfume, love. I’ve missed it lingering on our sheets.”

Cheeks warmed for what seemed like the thousandth time today, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and smiled, unsure of what to say. “Aha okay… well, I think you smell pretty good, too.”

⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆

Shouto originally wanted to order in from your favorite restaurant for dinner, but you managed to sweet talk him into allowing you to cook instead. After about a week of feeling completely worthless, it was nice to have something you could finally, actually do.

The refrigerator was just as stocked as the pantry, so after analyzing the plethora of ingredients at your disposal, you decided on a meal and set off, gathering all the things you’d need in an excited hurry. Just as you were about to start washing vegetables, Shouto slipped an apron over your head, steady hands drawing the ties together at the bottom of your spine. The garment fit you perfectly, intricate design in your favorite color. You thanked him as you glanced over your shoulder, grinning up at him.

There was a somewhat somber look in his eyes, a halfhearted smile just barely curving his lips before he nodded and moved away, retreating back to the other side of the counter where he’s staked out to watch you work. He’d offered to help— numerous times, actually— but you told him to just sit back and relax. You wanted to do something for the tired man, even if it was as small as putting together a meal.

It didn't take long for you to get into a rhythm. Chopping the vegetables and preparing the other ingredients came naturally to you, and you found yourself enjoying the process. It was something familiar, which was very much welcome.

“Do we cook a lot?” you inquired, raising your voice a bit so Shouto could hear you over the sizzling pan in front of you.

He was leaning on the countertop again— he must’ve known he looked delicious like that or something— and he glanced over at you from the open book he was reading. “Mm, when we have time. It’s not that we don’t enjoy it, but usually we’re both very busy. It’s normal for us to leave early, and return home late.”

You nodded in understanding, grinding fresh peppercorns above the skillet and giving the contents a stir.

“I like everything you cook for me, though.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, stealing a look over at him. While your cooking had improved since your teenage years, it wasn’t like you were a chef by any means. “Everything? You’re just trying to be sweet on me.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “Maybe… is it working?”

The sound of the food crackling from a drizzle of oil filled the kitchen for a beat, and you stared at the wilting greens before you, unable to bring yourself to look at him. “Yeah, I think it’s working…”

There was another pause in conversation, this one less stifling than before. This time, Shouto broke the ice. “Even though we’re busy people, we always have a date every Friday… It’s the highlight of my week.” His voice sounded gloomier than just a moment ago, but when you chanced a look over at him, he was smiling slightly, staring at a cabinet and seemingly off in his own memories.

You wondered which memory he was going over particularly, but didn’t want to intrude his recollection, so you focused on stirring the pan instead. Tapping your phone on the counter next to you just to make sure, your eyes flitted over today’s date. 

Thursday. 

“Tomorrow’s a Friday,” you mentioned, trying to be casual, despite your heartbeat ringing in your ears. It was stupid for you to get anxious that he’d reject you— he was your boyfriend after all. But to you, this was all  uncharted territory; foreign waters.

“Tomorrow is a Friday, yeah,” he confirmed, looking down at his book again. “It’ll be a week since you woke up.”

The realization that you’d woken up exactly one week ago—the day that caused the man so much joy and then so much pain— that that day had been on a Friday, your sacred day that was devoted to being spent with each other… it made your heart throb uncomfortably in your chest. You nibbled on the inside of your cheek, shutting off the burner and transferring the food into a serving dish. Bringing it over to the counter and setting it in front of him, you untied the apron and folded it neatly, placing that on the counter too.

“Would you… want to go out with me tomorrow, then?” you proposed smally, opening the drawers before you in search of eating utensils. You frowned when all you were met with was measuring cups and spatulas. “For our Friday date ritual, I mean.”

Shouto stood and crossed the island, opening the drawer behind you and revealing all the silverware and chopsticks. You moved to grab two pairs of chopsticks and he took your wrist gently, large thumb stroking across your skin. His other hand came to brush against the small of your back, but he chose not to grab onto you. “I would love that.”

You shared a smile and a meaningful look.

“Then it’s a date.”

⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆

After the dishes were all washed, you agreed to watch a movie. You had initially wanted to pour over your things again, to see if anything could help your memories come back. But Shouto had suggested the two of you relax on the couch instead, explaining that  he was not surprised that you were overworking yourself, but that it was his job to make sure you took care of yourself. He further threatened that if you wouldn’t take care of yourself, then he would have to “take care of you himself”, and that left you flustered more than anything. So you dropped whatever excuse you had prepared to argue back at him and followed him to the living room.

Walking in, you blinked in awe at the spread that Shouto had set up. Numerous candies and snacks are laid out for your convenience across the coffee table. The lights were dimmed and curtains drawn, even a few candles flickering in the shadows and scenting the room with a cool, refreshing aroma. There was a pile of blankets stacked in the center of the sofa, all the decorative pillows pushed into the corners to leave one large space for the two of you to share. It was a little… dare you say it… romantic. You looked over your shoulder at him, shooting him a suspicious glance. He had led you to believe he was “taking care of you”, but it seemed he had ulterior motives, too. Not that you were complaining.

Seating yourself next to the blanket tower, you peeled one off the top before unfolding it, letting the soft fleece tickle your ankles and lay across your lap. Shouto crossed in front of the TV, grabbing two remotes from the basket and coming to sit next to you. There was a respectful amount of space between your legs, and you couldn’t help but frown at the gap. You thought that he would sit right next to you…

It took a little while for you to settle on a movie, all the films from the past five years unknown and novel to you… even if Shouto informed you you had already seen them. He went along with your selection without resistance, opting to grab one of the biscuit snacks on the table before you.

As the movie began, you leaned back against the soft cushions of the couch, not really focusing on the actors on the screen. Your eyes were trained on the television, but your mind was elsewhere, unable to distract yourself with the story. You also noticed that Shouto was sitting stiff as a board next to you, focused on nibbling at his snack. He didn’t attempt any moves at you throughout the first thirty minutes, even after he’d finished with his confection. Slowly you allowed yourself to relax, succumbing to the film and settling into the pillowy sofa.

Shouto detected your newfound relaxation, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he watched your eyes fix on the main character and her love interest. “I’m going to make some tea. Would you like a cup, love?”

“I’m okay, thanks…” you replied softly, not really hearing him as the love interest was in the middle of their heartfelt confession.

He took a moment alone in the kitchen to calm himself. Even though you had been very receptive to him, he couldn’t help but feel hesitant whenever he touched you. He wanted you to want him; for you to want him to touch you. But he didn’t want to force anything with you, in fear that he’d scare you off or make a bad impression. He didn’t want to be pushy. Even before the accident, his heart still pounded whenever you would smile at him. When you would grab his hand, bring him something because it reminded you of him… when you would moan into his ear at ungodly hours in the night… Now it felt like his heart was in his throat every time you spoke to him, like if he said one word wrong, you’d fly away from him and never look back. It was terrifying.

Shouto shook his head. Sighing to himself, he filled his mug with water and held the ceramic in his hands, steam rising off the surface of the liquid almost instantly as he activated his quirk. He allowed the tea leaves to steep for a moment before he fished them out, steeling his nerves and returning to his spot on the couch. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like you’d scooted over just the tiniest bit, shortening the distance between you two as he took his seat.

Your eyes flicked over to him and caught his gaze on you, inspecting the mug in his hands before giving a curious sniff. “Chamomile?”

He nodded and offered the cup to you, which you took in both hands. “Technically, it’s called Sleepytime Mix. But yes, it has chamomile. Have some, if you want.”

“Ah,” you gave a long inhale and smiled drowsily at the familiar scent. “I don’t wanna drink all your tea. And besides, it’s a little hot for me.”

“Oh,” Shouto said, taking the cup back into his hands. He focused for a second, and then the liquid no longer emitted steam, now a pleasant, warm temperature. “Try it now. Help yourself, please.” He handed the mug back to you, the light from the television flickering across his handsome face.

You blinked at him cutely, taking the mug in your hands again. Your fingers brushed against his in the transfer, and he cleared his throat slightly, skin warmed from your touch. “Wow!” you chimed after a sip, going back for another few gulps before you handed it back to him. “It’s really good. Perfect temp, Sho, thank you.”

Shouto felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, his eyes widening at the name he hadn’t heard in weeks. It sounded so good rolling off your tongue, so right. At his flustered expression, you laughed awkwardly, fingers delving into the blanket and looking away meekly.

“Sorry… I thought that that was probably what you’re used to me calling you, but I can use something else if you like.”

“No,” he said instantly, his hand automatically reaching for yours. He pried it out of the fleecy material, folding his fingers around yours. “I like it. Please call me that, I… I’ve missed hearing it.”

“Alright,” you mumbled, fingers squeezing his for a moment. You kept his gaze for a long pause, and then you duck down, scooching flush against his side and laying your head onto his broad shoulder. It caught him off guard, but after a moment of buffering, he moved, his arm tentatively wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you against his side. The action made your cheeks perhaps as hot as the tea in his mug, but you only settled deeper into his embrace, happy to be in his arms. You fixed the blanket so it covered his long legs, too, settling over the both of you snuggly.

You two stayed like that for the rest of the movie, another forty five minutes or so. Your hand gradually moved to rest on his stomach, his long fingers stroking your spine through your shirt. It was new to you, but it was comfortable— your body recognized his touch and welcomed it, even— years of unknowingly conditioning yourself to receive his affection allowing you to accept his embrace. By the end of the film, you were dozing off, warm and relaxed now more than ever, curled up into Shouto’s side.

Shouto, however, was wide awake, his pulse rushing in his ears at your proximity. It had been a very long month without you, and now here you were, cuddled up with him just like how you used to be every night. He knew you were somewhere in between consciousness and sleep, so he let the entire movie credits roll by before he decided to move you. Still holding his mug, which had been empty for the past half hour— but he didn’t want to risk moving and causing you to pull away— he set it on the side table, carefully maneuvering his wide frame so as to not disturb you.

You whined in protest but did not stir when he curled his arms around you, picking your form up and off the couch. After making sure all the candles were blown out and the lights were turned off, he quietly carried you to your shared room, not bothering to turn on the lights. It was then that he hesitated to make the next move— you were still in your clothes from the day, and he wasn’t sure if you would want him to see your bare body if he took the liberty to rid you of them.

His tongue wandered over the bottom of his teeth as he gazed at you, strewn across the soft blankets that covered your bed. The few beams of moonlight that slithered through the bottom of the blinds fell perfectly onto your face, your lashes casting long shadows onto the duvet and giving you an ethereal glow. He could imagine how your naked skin looked underneath that cute little sweater you donned, your bra strap poking out as if to tease him even more. His eyes slammed shut as he sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, recognizing the color, and the image of you clad in the matching panties that completed the set suddenly sprung forth in his mind.

Acquainted was an understatement as to how well he knew your body, but the problem was not as simple as physicality— the problem was mental, and it could not be vanquished by anything except time, it seemed. The beautiful brain he loved so dearly was now wiped, void of all the memories the two of you had made and cherished together. Shouto clutched his stomach as he took a seat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, feeling sick from the forceful whirlwind of emotion that came along with the thoughts that crept up on him in the night. The knowledge that you did not remember him, not even one measly memory of him, upset him more than anything.

He had not realized how much his world had shifted now that he had you. Of course, he loved you and he made great effort to ensure that you knew the extent of his devotion to you. But it wasn’t until you had woken up like this, confused and distraught, mind reverted to just months before he had even met you, that he had come to terms with just how much you meant to him. He knew that he loved you before. But now he knew the pain of being unable to hold you, and be with you— really, even talk to you like he had grown so accustomed to.

It was eating him alive, and tearing him apart.

When you had awoken after such an excruciating, lonely month, he had been overjoyed. Finally, he could be with you again— he could touch you and kiss you, hear your sweet voice, hold your body close to his as you fell asleep, and wake up with you still in his arms, groggy and adorable… except, he couldn’t. Because while you knew who he was… you didn’t, really. You didn’t know him at all. And what hurt the most was that he could see that you were trying… but at the end of the day, he was only a stranger to you. He was not your boyfriend, not anything more, other than a hero that you idolized and had a silly crush on.

At the very least, he found comfort in the knowledge that you found him attractive. Of course, you had revealed to him, albeit once you were deep into your relationship, that you had fantasized about him and fostered a schoolgirlish crush on him when you hadn’t yet been introduced. He remembered laughing at your embarrassed confession, pinching your cheeks and then kissing you through his smile… then, taking you from behind as you bent over the bathroom counter, pressing you against the mirror as he donned his hero suit, savoring your pleading moans for him to fuck you deeper, harder.

His cock twitched in his slacks, blood beginning to travel south as his interest grew for the first time in weeks. He groaned and he grit his teeth, frustrated at himself for even daring to feel desire while you laid asleep next to him, plagued by your wiped memory but sitting there looking like that. Gorgeous and untouchable.

As if his heated gaze had summoned you from your slumber, your eyes opened and you blinked at him, squinting at his silhouette in the dark of the room. Shouto recoiled even though he hadn’t been caught doing anything too suspicious; he was a good distance away from you, but still, you had caught him staring at you like a creep in the shadows.

“Sho?” you mumbled drowsily, a hand coming up to rub at your eyes. You propped your body up on your elbows, your shift stretching flush over your chest.

Shouto nearly moaned at the sight combined with the sound of your sleepy voice uttering his name. It didn't help the situation that was stirring in his pants one bit, only adding water to an oil fire. “Hey,” he replied, clearing his throat. “You fell asleep, so I brought you to bed.. Did you want to clean up before we go to sleep?”

You sighed, rolling over as you roused yourself from sleep. “Not really…,” you chuckled, and Shouto felt his chest tighten at the premise of having to get into bed with you with his problem at hand. “But I’ll be a responsible adult,” you finished, rolling out of bed and padding over to the bathroom.

He glanced over at you in the mirror as you brushed your teeth, the cat curling around his ankle and taking his attention away from you. Giving the animal a scratch underneath her chin, he tried to focus on calming himself, closing his eyes and controlling his breathing. Even though this wasn’t at all like how it had been before, it was still better than being alone. Your presence, the sound of you tidying yourself up in the nearby vicinity, took the month-long weight of loneliness off of his chest. It still stung, it still hurt— but at the very least, you were here. You were alive, and you were here with him.

It was you calling out for him that interrupted his train of thought, and when he looked toward your voice, he found you peeking around the doorframe, your hair pushed back and your face glistening with moisture from your nightly routine. “Aren’t you going to wash up, too? There’s two sinks in here, y’know,” you stated matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t know the layout of his own home.

But Shouto only smiled at you and nodded, leaving the cat and accepting your invitation for him to join you in your bedtime ritual. The situation in his pants had since relaxed, thankfully, so he didn’t have to worry as he took his place adjacent to you at the sink counter. Squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles of his toothbrush, and watching you put on your moisturizer in his peripheral, it felt almost as if nothing had changed. For the first time in a long time, he let himself forget about the horrible curveball that life had thrown at him, instead choosing to stare at you as you picked up the cat at your feet, and placed a sweet kiss on the top of its head as you cradled it in your arms.

You padded out of the bathroom first, opting to close the door behind you. After Shouto had finished his routine, he slinked out into the bedroom quietly, surprise flickering in his gaze at the pyjamas you were now dressed in— a pair of soft sleep shorts and an old t-shirt you had stolen from him years ago. He tried not to stare as you crawled into the sheets, the cat taking her perch at the foot of the bed.

The clearing of his throat caught your attention, and he licked his lip as your eyes settled on his. “Is it okay if I sleep without a shirt?” he asked, having to keep himself from smirking as your eyes widened and a flustered expression blossomed on your face. Cute.

“Y-Yeah,” you stuttered after a second of recalibrating, your eyes still trained on his. “The doctors said we should just live out our normal routine, so… whatever we normally do, we should do.” Sliding deeper underneath the comforter, you pretended to look busy as you fiddled with your phone.

Shouto bit his lip and wondered if telling you that your nightly routine of getting naked and passionate between the sheets would do you any good, but he decided against it, not willing to push his luck. Instead, he tore his shirt over his head and pulled down his pants, turning toward the wall so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. He could still feel your gaze on his flesh— he always could, for his skin prickled and the hairs on his body stood up as your eyes roved over every inch of him in appreciation. He didn’t need to see you to know that you were staring.

After he stepped into a long pair of sleep pants, he turned and pretended not to notice your obvious shuffling in a foiled attempt to not be caught looking at him. Carefully he slipped into the sheets on his side of the bed, ensuring not to wander too close to you in order to keep a respectful distance between your bodies… even though he wanted nothing more than to launch himself at you, and wrap his body around yours until neither of you could tell where one of you stopped, and the other started.

There was a long, stuffy silence as the two of you laid there, both of you unsure as to the level of affection you should be displaying at the moment. Shouto was doubtful that you’d want him to hold you like he so desperately desired, and you were hesitant to initiate anything with him laying frozen and a good distance away from you.

“Is this… how we normally sleep?” you wondered aloud, and though you were surprised that the words actually fell from your lips, you were grateful to have broken the rising tension.

Shouto left out a breath he had been holding at that, turning so that he was facing you on his side. “No,” he answered truthfully, his fingers sliding over the cool cotton that separated your bodies, wandering toward you at a snail's pace. “Usually… we like to,” he cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that was situated there, “snuggle.”

In the quiet of the room, he could hear your lips part, a soft breath falling from between them as you processed his response. Your heart was beating faster now, body crying out for his touch, his embrace. “Can we?” you asked so softly that you hadn’t thought he’d heard you, but slowly, surely, he shuffled toward you.

You inhaled as he placed a gentle hand on your waist, pulling your body to slide across the sheets and meet him in the middle of the bed. Lifting your head so he could slip his arm beneath your neck, he brought your face into his neck, arms wrapping tight around your torso. His fingers dug into your side and the hair at the crown of your neck, curling around the tendrils as if he was scared that you would slip out of his grasp at any moment. Pressed up against his bare chest, you could hear the steady, fast thumping of his heart, and the shakiness in each breath he drew in and let out.

It sounded like he was trying not to cry.

Your hand wandered up and under his neck, your elbow angling around the back of his neck so that your fingers could trace the sinews that lined his shoulder blades. Your other arm slung around his back, and although it was just a bit of a reach, you managed to find his silky locks, combing through the ends with your fingers. Daring to push the fragile boundaries that kept you two separate, you threw your leg across his hips, trapping his legs between yours and pressing your body completely flush against his.

Shouto stopped breathing, tears threatening to spill over as he held you so delicately for the first time in what seemed like forever. Similar emotions were flowing through you as well, your body singing at the feeling of being with him, in his embrace. Your heart throbbed at the thought of leaving this man alone for an entire month, with no one to comfort him and calm his worries. No one to hold him and tell him that it was going to be okay, no one to plant kisses across his tear-streaked cheeks and help him forget his pain.

It wasn’t your fault you had been in this accident, that you had forgotten your memories from the past five years. But it wasn’t his, either. The two of you were forced to suffer in different ways, separated by your condition and worlds apart. You wished so desperately that you would just remember already— if not for your sake, then for his. Anything that would make him feel better, anything to ease the ache in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out quietly, overcome with emotion as you laid in the arms of the man you had once loved. The man you’d been learning to love again. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember you. I want to, I’m trying.” A tear dripped down your face and landed on his chest, sliding down to stain the sheets.

Shouto sucked in a shaky breath at your meager apology, rough fingers running over the back of your neck. “I know you are,” he murmured, and you could feel him swallow thickly as he tried to find the right words. “It’s not your fault, love… You can’t— you can’t blame yourself.” His voice broke at the last syllable, his arms squeezing tighter as he held onto you.

You pressed your face into the junction between his shoulder and his neck, uncaring of your tears that smeared across his skin. “Neither can you,” you sniffled, body clinging to him as best you could. “Please, Shouto, promise me you won’t.”

It was then that he let the tears he had been holding back fall, racing down his cheeks to plop onto the dampening pillow. You held him as he cried, unphased by the sudden outburst of emotion from the man who had shown you so little of himself in the past week.

“I’ll try,” he mumbled into your hair once he had calmed down a bit, lungs still rattling as he tried to suppress his emotions. “For you, I’ll try.”

You leaned back from his chest, his heart seizing up at the tear tracks on your cheeks that were illuminated by the soft moon’s glow. And then, you kissed him. It was simple and sweet, just your lips pressed to his as your thumb swiped across his cheek. But it felt like you were breathing life into him, like he had been starved of oxygen until this very moment.

Both of you gasped when you pulled away, the kiss having lasted as long as you could stand without breaking for breath. Your eyes wandered from his shining ones to his lips, shocked that you had planted such a passionate kiss there just seconds ago. It had worked, though— Shouto was breathing normally and his tears had stopped, dual-colored eyes now staring at you as if you had just given him a purpose to live. You licked your lips, not missing the way his gaze flicked down to watch the action with longing, but he did not act on it.

“We’ll get through this together,” you whispered, hand resting on his sharp jawline. There was not a hint of doubt in your voice, no hesitance nor fear. It was just a fact, simple as that. You let yourself look at his handsome face for a moment longer before you ducked and nuzzled into his chest again, taking your spot as if you had never left.

Shouto exhaled, his fingers trailing down your spine as he closed his eyes, syncing his breathing to yours. The feeling of your body wrapped around his made his bones glow with a missed sense of comfort, his heart fuller than it had been for quite some time. He welcomed sleep to take him, the exhaustion of many long and insomnia-plagued nights from the past month all piling on. Pressing his lips to your forehead as softly as he could, he closed his eyes and murmured one word, wishing with every fiber of his being for you to wake up the next morning and have just one memory of him.

“Together.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

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...soooooooo idk how this is only part 1, shit’s 11k already 💀 ahh for those of you who made it through, thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed!! there was no smut in this chapter which is so foreign to me, but i’m hoping to improve my story creation skills as part of my 2021 author resolutions... so, let me know what you think! hopefully part 2 will come to fruition soon, but it would probably come faster if i knew people were waiting for it ;) 

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[renjunbae]

resurface; kim jungwoo.

synopsis : all you had wanted was a quiet summer by the beach to relax, escape the oppressiveness of the city, and get your mind off of your last disastrous relationship, but apparently peace was hard to come by, especially when a figure from your past reappears unexpectedly in your life.

pairing : kim jungwoo x fem!reader

genre : beach resort au, university au, romance, fluff

warnings : (very) mild profanities

length : 7.1k

soundtrack : let me drown - deanz ft. andy delos santos; u n eye - boy in space; sun goes down - aiyo

author's note : this is part of the ot23 "resonance beach" collab hosted by @amorajae. thank you so much for letting me participate & go check out the collab masterlist for more addicting summer reads!

Socializing had never been so suffocatingly painful and pretentious.

Clinking champagne glasses, aimless mingling and a forever unending charade of polite smiles that never quite reached one’s eye, they surrounded you like a shroud that made it hard to breathe, a shirt that was too tight and biting uncomfortably at the neck. Much like the very dress you were wearing at the moment; form-fitting, over-the-top fancy, and narrow in all the spots you hated.

Oh, how you wished to change out of it all. Rip off the structured binds around your entire being, take off and away from the repetitive scene that had become more frequent over the past weeks and the main cause of your headaches. But there was nothing you could do about it except stare uselessly at the clock as its hands ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you hated that fact more than anything else.

“Well then, it has been lovely to meet you, Miss (Y/N). I can see that your parents have done an excellent job raising such an elegant and well-mannered young lady.” The concluding words, along with an outstretched hand, snapped you out of your misery and forced your attention back to the middle-aged man before you. Already, you were struggling to recall his name from the brief—or was it excruciatingly long?—introduction he’d done when he sought to strike a conversation with you twenty minutes earlier. Was he a superior of your father’s? Or maybe a recent acquaintance of your mother’s? You didn’t know, nor cared, really. After two hours of entertaining your parent’s countless associates with answers to their onslaught of questions about which college you attended and other various aspects of your personal life, you no longer had much energy left to spare for further pretense.

For the entirety of the exchange, you’d somehow gotten by with absentminded nods and murmured agreements. Thankfully, your latest companion was too immersed in his tales to notice your drifting focus and lack of interest, at which you almost heaved a sigh of relief. If your parents had received word of your misbehavior, you’d be a goner for sure, and you certainly were not looking forward to another round of their droning lecture about mannerism, etiquette, and public image.

“It was nice meeting you too,” you managed to return with a smile that was just about passable for being semi-enthusiastic, though inside, you were cringing hard at your poor attempts of keeping up the graciously civilized front your mother had always insisted for you to display in public. Forget the crowded dinner parties, forget the fancy evening galas, with every passing minute you were closer to less than a hair’s breadth away from plopping down on the nearest sofa and calling it quits. But you retained your composure and made sure to wave politely as the man stepped away, only letting out a long-held breath after his figure had completely disappeared amidst the crowd.

The room was getting uncomfortably stuffy, and your desire to leave was ever growing as you struggled to get through the throng of chattering bodies for some space alone. Sure, you’d been at a number of clubs and parties with your friends, but they were always on the more laid back and easygoing side of the atmosphere spectrum. You didn’t have to put up a perfect front for others to examine, nor be pressured to uphold your entire family’s reputation. And you certainly wouldn’t be obliged to answer your mother’s calls from ten feet away, beckoning you over to no doubt meet another friend of hers.

It was all the same, over and over. Introductions, small talk, and then going into the personal life of the (L/N)s’ “all grown up” daughter.

“Neo Tech University? The top school in the area? How nice!”

Your father beamed proudly. “Of course, she’s my daughter, after all.”

The adults laughed. You didn’t join them, instead picking at the fabric of your gown until the conversation required your participation again.

“She’s matured so much, I bet she has all the boys at her heels already,” The lady commented, to which your mom immediately responded with a pleased smile and, “Of course, she’s got a boyfriend too. They’re soo cute together. Hey, honey, how come he hasn’t come around in a while?”

God, why? Why, of all things, did they have to bring this up? You felt your insides squeezing together painfully at the mention of the topic, your fists clenched so hard you could feel your fingernails digging into your skin. You’d thought this night couldn’t get any worse than it already was, but you were wrong, it just did. Their gazes were all set on you expectantly, and you hated the attention. Hated being the focus of the conversation and picked apart to the seams.

“We broke up,” you said eventually, avoiding your parents’ eyes.

Your mother's smile fell away to an expression of shock and disbelief. “Why? I thought you two were doing so well with each other.”

Yeah, we were, before he cheated on me, you were tempted to say. To firmly erase any of your mother’s misconceptions that she had even a single idea of what was going on in her daughter’s life. But you just shrugged nonchalantly, as if the breakup was only a trivial matter. If you’d told them the truth, your mother would’ve no doubt considered it a huge blow to her reputation.

“It’s alright, you’ll find someone else who’s worthy of you,” the lady patted your shoulder sympathetically, and you felt your face heat up in a mixture of humiliation and frustration. The last thing you needed was someone telling you that in public.

You figured this was a good time to leave, maybe dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Tonight had been a suitable enough reason. Murmuring a quick apology to the adults, you excused yourself and made your way toward the exit before your mother could intercept. People stared as you passed, but at this point, their hypercritical looks were the least of your concerns. If grown-up life was beyond the point of “childishness” and “selfish acts”, then you’d grown beyond the point of caring.

By the time you’d arrived home, it was already ten o’clock. You and your parents had left for the gala around six-thirty, which meant you’d spent at least a good three hours and a half at the venue, engaging in hollow, repetitive conversations with near strangers. It was exhausting, to say the least, and you found yourself craving a warm bath the moment you stepped through the door. But you had your priorities set straight, and after changing into some casual clothing, you made a beeline for the kitchen to make yourself a pot of ramen. You were practically starving after almost an entire night of strolling around and snacking only on lady-like portions of foreign delicacies at the event.

While the water boiled, you dialed your best friend’s number. She’d told you of her plans—or the lack thereof—this evening, consisting of nothing but binge watching anime and consuming an inhumane amount of triple chocolate fudge ice cream. That was basically an open invitation for you to call her whenever you felt like ranting about old men and how it just wasn’t fair no one else was obligated to chat for hours on end with them about stock market prices, and you accepted it gladly.

Yera picked up on the second ring. True to her word, you could hear the incoherent Japanese shouting of the characters in whatever anime she was binging at the moment.

“How did it go? The gala?”

Just the sound of her voice was enough to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. Your best friend always knew what to say and how to lift your spirits in times like this, no matter how blunt and straightforward she may be, and you were looking forward to her advice.

“Terrible,” you groaned. “Whoever came up with the idea of stuffing over two hundred boring, judgmental business people in a room far too bright and oxygen-lacking must’ve been out of their mind.”

You heard Yera snort from the other side of the line. “Yeah, no shit, sherlock. You know, I’d reassure you it’s not that bad, but I know it’s exactly that bad.”

You shifted your position so that you faced the kitchen window, where a view of the city’s nightscape unfolded before your eyes. The sky was dark, but thousands of glimmering lights made up for it—neon billboards, cars flying by on the busy streets below, office lightings, roadside lamps, and glowing patches of yellow from residential buildings like your own. You stared out at the sea of twinkling sparks, and for a moment, felt so very small amidst the immensely vast world.

“They mentioned him.”

There was only a beat of silence. Yera didn’t need long to catch onto who you were referring to.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, they were talking about boys and then my mom brought up the fact that I have a boyfriend—had, actually,” you sighed, an action you found occurring more often than not lately. “Guess I forgot to tell them he’s an ex now, but then again, they didn’t ask before.”

“Gosh, that must’ve been so awkward.”

“It was,” you shut your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose with your forefingers. “You tell me. I had to leave, right away. I’m just glad it’s over now.”

“Wait wait wait, hold on. How many of these event thingies have you gone to in the past week?”

“Three, not counting the time my mom had some friends over for lunch. They stayed until dinner, actually, and we had to go out and eat.”

“What the heck?? And you let them drag you along?”

“It’s my duty to accompany them, I guess. They’d be mad if I don’t go and let them show me off for a bit. But then again, there usually aren’t this many events. My dad just signed a contract with some important clients, and my mom’s been invited to a bunch of social gatherings, plus the fact that normally, I’d have school as an excuse. There’s just been more of them recently, and it’s not like I have any good enough reason to opt out.”

Yera gasped. “It’s summer. Summer!! That’s all they should need. It’s summer break right now and it’s your time off. They shouldn’t need any more reason than that. And whether it’s the norm or not, you have to know that you are in charge of yourself and that you get to decide what you do with your own life, not them.”

“You have a point, Yera, you always do, but...” you shook your head. “I honestly don’t know at this point. Things are easier said than done. I hate it all, but in a way, it’s part of my responsibility.”

“Okay, oookay. That’s it. No more dinner parties or rich people galas for you, (Y/N). It’s your time off and I’m going to make sure you take some time off. Aren’t you tired of them ordering you around? You’re the one who’s in control of your own life, (Y/N). Go have a nice vacation and stay away from adult business for at least a few weeks, or I’m not letting you anywhere near my mom’s homemade honeycomb brownies again, got it?”

If Yera was bringing her mother’s brownies into the deal, then you knew she was serious. Somehow, despite the situation, you almost felt like laughing. Felt like you were invincible, as if her words brought a surge of confidence along with it. Smiling up at the night sky, you said, “Well, I guess I have to do it for those brownies.”

“Good, now go on and take on the world!”

The world—or, namely, your parents—was clearly not amused when you dragged your suitcase into the living room at eight in the morning the next day, dressed in a flowery blouse, your favorite jean shorts, and a pair of heeled sandals. They’d been eating breakfast at the dining table just ten paces across as you entered, engrossed in a conversation about the latest commercial trends and news of the business world. They looked up at the sound of wheels against the marbled floor, an initial expression of shock crossing their faces as they took in your outfit and the luggage in your hands.

Your father looked almost bewildered as he glanced between you and your mother, who’s brows had deepened into a frown. She shook her head as if to clear away thoughts of disbelief, though you could detect the note of disapproval that was weaved into the action.

“What’s with this?” she asked, her tone stern and commanding, almost as if to compel you into saying exactly what she wanted: “Nothing, mom. I’m not going anywhere.”

It had always been that way. You’d intend to do something, and she’d shut you down before you could even try. But not this time.

“Carrying out my plans for summer break,” you replied and paused before continuing. “Why?”

The lines on your mother’s forehead deepened. “Plans?”

She was waiting for you to either straight up admit what you were up to or give up. You knew that, and you didn’t want to beat around the bush either, so you looked her right in the eyes and said, “Summer vacation plans, mom. I’m leaving today.”

“(Y/N), I thought we already talked about this. You can’t just—”

“Go around and quit my duties? Yeah, I know.”

“Then what are you doing right now?”

“I’m not quitting,” you said through gritted teeth, “I’m taking the break that I deserve.”

“You’re running away,” your mother accused, her voice trembling with incredulity and, despite her apparent effort to keep it controlled, a slight hint of anger. “You’re going back on your promise and you’re not going to do what you should just because you don’t want to. Stop being so selfish and naive, (Y/N). You’re not a child anymore.”

It was something just suddenly snapped inside you, and all your pent up frustration boiled over. “Selfish? Mom, do you ever think about how I feel? I’ve put up with all the things you wanted me to do and I can’t even have a single moment when I try to focus on my own happiness for once?”

“You promised—”

“I’m not a replacement for him!”

Your parents stared, momentarily speechless from your outburst. In the silence, you felt the frustration and anger wear away and bubble down to something that resembled a fevered hurt. The broken pain in your mother’s face seemed to mirror your own, but the words slipped out anyway.

“No matter what, I can’t be him. I can’t replace him. I know that’s what you want me to be, and that if I was, maybe you could think that he’s never gone, but I can’t. I just…”

You could see that your comments had hit their mark.“(Y/N)—” your mother started.

But at this point, you were too tired of arguing to continue. You didn’t wait to hear what she had to say, only picked up your bags and headed for the entranceway. You exhaled as the door clicked shut behind you. Gosh, I’m really going to do this, am I?

Resonance Beach Resort was a nice change from the usual fast-paced schedule of your daily life that was full of unwanted obligations and tasking duties. You'd visited often in your early childhood and teenage years, and had loved the place for its elegant, luxurious accomodations and the spectacular view of a pristine beach that spanned along the resort's outer edge. But since some time ago, all the pressure and weight of your increasing responsibilities had suddenly just came crashing down on you, and you found yourself taking cram school more often than not due to your parents' constant urging. There just simply wasn't any time for you to take the long vacation you desperately craved. Now that things have finally lessened up to nothing but socializing with your parents' acquaintances, this was the first place you'd thought of for the perfect getaway. Just hide away from the rest of the world for a little bit before reality kicks in and you'd sink back into your busying routine. Here, you could finally have some peace and quiet, be able to breathe easier for once. No more business events or get-togethers, no more forced polite conversations over tall glasses of champagne. If you were going to party, then you should at least do it properly. You figured that aside from relaxation and watersports, Resonance Beach Resort had exactly that.

You'd switched over to your spare phone for the duration of your stay. If your parents decided they've had enough of your “childishly selfish acts”, they'd be greeted by a long period of ringing without answer, followed by an irksome beep and the message that, "sorry, the number you've dialed is not available".

The fight still simmered fresh at the front of your mind, and you shook your head in an attempt to brush it away. A small part of you felt almost guilty about your abruptly impromptu runaway, but it was merely a fleeting thought that passed as quickly as it had come. You knew how hard it was for your parents since what had occurred years ago, and that they were afraid of the same thing happening with you. Still, it wasn’t fair for you to bear the burden of two and act in as a mere substitute only to make someone else feel a bit better. Since when did you owe your parents your entire summer break to play pretend anyways? It isn't as if it actually helped you do anything except feed your growing boredom and frustration for hours on end.

You walked into the entrance hall and made your way to the reception area that sat in the middle of the gentle hum of music and red carpets and golden chandeliers. After going through the check-in process, you received your room cards and headed toward your room to drop off your luggage first.

The west-side elevator was mainly empty aside from a few other visitors who, like you, arrived earlier than most do. They’d entered before you and stood along the side panels, each scrolling through their devices for news and texts. Why take the time and money to come and visit, you wondered, if they were going to just be on their phones all the time? But then again, you were glad none of them paid any attention to you and savored the peaceful silence. The back of the elevator was adorned with clear glass panes that overlooked the beachside, allowing riders to gaze out at the scenery below them as they rose high above ground. You stared at the swaying palms and foaming waves in the distance, and thought that—despite being here so many times before—the view had never looked so welcoming before. You couldn’t wait until you could get down there and enjoy the feel of the warm sunshine on your back, hear nothing but the calming hum of the ocean.

There was a short ding! as the elevator doors opened and a middle-aged woman exited. You turned briefly to watch her leave and the doors clang shut once more behind her. Some passengers shifted around to space themselves more evenly upon her departure, but other than that, it was the same, still, silence as before. A few more minutes passed, and the process repeated until it was just you and another man standing by the front. On the controls panel, only one floor button was lit up.

He was handsome in the most traditional sense, tall and fit with tousled dark hair, flawlessly smooth skin and wide doe eyes directed at his phone screen. Although he was only dressed in a simple graphic tee and sweatpants, they looked too expensive for the average person to afford and the look suited him so well he could no doubt pass for the modern-day version of Cinderella’s Prince Charming. You almost laughed at the thought. That had been your reaction too when you first saw your ex, and you fell for him so quickly, so easily, it didn’t take much to convince you that he loved you as much as you loved him. After all, why not? His family had been wealthy and influential like your own, and your parents—mostly your mom—had absolutely adored him. You thought you’d been living the perfect fantasy until it all broke down and your palace had turned into nothing more than rubble and ashes.

In the quiet buzz of the elevator, you could hear as the stranger dialed a number on his phone and put it to his ear. Whoever on the other side must’ve answered immediately, because the man started to talk right away.

“Hey, where are you guys?”

“Okay, just checking that you’re in the suite because I don’t have the key.”

“Yeah, I’m almost there, why?”

“Woo wants another bag of his favorite chips from the convenience store? Seriously? We’re at a fancy beach resort and he wants chips from the convenience stores? God.”

“Yeah, I brought them, don’t worry. I swear he stuffed my trunk full of them when I wasn’t looking because I barely even have space in there anymore. Geez, you’d think he would die if he went a day without those.”

“Yeah, okay. Mm-hmm. That’s fine by me. Sounds fun. See you.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the conversation, but the slight echo in the space made it easy for you to hear every word the man said. And for some reason, it brought back long-ago memories of you and your brother, having the time of your lives marveling over the elevator’s view. Arguing about whose snacks the ones in the bag were. Roaming around the resort like it was your own home. That wasn’t possible now, of course. He was farther away than ever, and happier. There wasn’t anything you could do except be happy for him, though that did nothing to help the sore ache in you.

Your entire life felt like a train wreck at the moment, but then again, that was why you were here at Resonance Beach Resort in the first place. And as the elevator dinged once more, you were determined to make your summer better. Much better.

An afternoon in the sun seemed to do its trick.

After spending several hours out by the rolling waves, reading magazines and enjoying the spontaneity of doing whatever you’d wanted to on a whim, you were ready to call it a day. The freedom was exhilarating, and though you’d done much less that you would’ve on a typical weekday, you felt much more fulfilled than before. You’d eaten a quick informal dinner down in the dining hall, too tired to spend time on a full-course meal, only stopping by the vending machine on your way back to your room for a drink.

You inserted your money into the slot, pausing for a moment to look at your choices. Ginger ale would be good, you decided absentmindedly, your thoughts already drifting elsewhere. When the drink rolled out of the machine, you stooped to pick it up before preparing to leave. You turned and, not realizing there was someone behind you, ran right into them, your arm bumping against theirs. The impact knocked the can of ginger ale out of your hands and you quickly bent down to pick it up before it could roll away.

“I’m sorry, that was my fault.”

You straightened up to see the man from the elevator. He rubbed his neck sheepishly, an apologetic smile on his face. He was close enough that you could see the curved bow of his lips and the way his eyes crinkled in good humor, the way the tips of his ears were red in embarrassment at having knocked into you.

You blushed at the close proximity between you and the stranger, before remembering your manners and shaking your head lightly, “No, I’m sorry, it was my fault as well. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The two of you stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or what to do, until the man’s eyes landed on the room card in your hand.

“Suite 1009? What a coincidence, my friends and I are right next door. Want me to walk you back since we’re—you know—going the same way?”

You gave a little startled laugh, finding a bit of comfort in the fact that even a man as good-looking and confident-seeming as him could stumble over his words in situations like this. You’d pegged him for the type with an air of arrogance, but his voice held a sort of genuine sincerity and modesty along with the charm you’d expected. “Of course, I’d love that.”

As you walked down the corridor together, he seemed to realize something, and started in surprise, “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Jaehyun. Jung Jaehyun.”

“I’m (Y/N),” you smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. Is this your first time here?”

“Well, yes, my friends and I were planning to go somewhere for the summer, and one of my friends recommended this resort. How did you tell?”

“I used to come here a lot, but I haven’t visited in a while. I came back to escape city life, I guess, though I must admit I missed this place tons. The things adult life takes away from you are just plain cruel.”

“I know right? Sometimes I wish I could just go back to seventeen and—”

“Relive that teenage dream?” you finished.

He laughed. “Yeah, exactly.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“What, don’t you agree?” he looked at you in feigned shock.

You looked up at the ceiling as if searching for the answer in the lights above. “Yes,” you said truthfully, “I do agree.” Though it wasn’t exactly how you felt completely all the time, there was no denying that at least you’d loved the various aspects teenage years had to offer.

“You sound almost cynical about it.”

“Do I?” you shook your head. “Oh, well, personally, maybe, I guess?”

He gave you a weird look. “Think you could sound any more unsure about that?”

The two of you burst out laughing, the sound echoing against the walls of the hallway. As you chatted with Jaehyun, there was an undeniable tingle at the bottom of your stomach, spreading to the tips of your finger and your rosy cheeks. You didn’t know if you were willing to fall in love again, especially after your previous failures and bad encounters in romance that extended beyond your last relationship, but there was no denying that Jaehyun was fun to be around and you enjoyed his company immensely.

So when you both arrived at your destinations, you almost felt sorry to go. You lingered for a second, turning to him almost hesitantly.

Of course you’d see him again, being next-door neighbors for the next few weeks or so, as long as he’s here, but you didn’t want to leave and be all alone by yourself just yet.

Jaehyun seemed to feel the same, and he paused. “So, see you soon?”

You started to respond with a definite yes, but didn’t get a chance to answer. The door next to yours opened slightly, and some inaudible conversing trickled out from the crack. You caught a few words in the back-and-forth as you stood by your room, an amused smile at your lips. Jaehyun rolled his eyes, clearly used to this type of behavior from his friends.

“Oh, don’t mind them. They’re always like this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “They seem fun to be around.”

“Yeah, yeah, when they’re not nagging twenty-four-seven at me to get snacks for them.” Though you could see by the teasing grin on his lips that he was only kidding.

Jaehyun’s friend pushed the door open a little more so that the conversation became more distinctable. And then, a sudden recognition made you freeze in your tracks. Your heart dropped. No. No way. The smile fell from your lips, replaced with a rush of confusion and near-disbelief.

Was that…?

You heard his voice before you saw him.

“Jaehyun! You’re back, just in time—”

Brown hair, plump lips, and bright, playful eyes. His boyish features evolved into something more mature but not unlike its younger version, still lined with the same youthful innocence as years before. He was taller too, though in that moment, at first glance, you felt as if it was the only significant change in him. The familiarity jolted awake a feeling you had not felt since long ago, flipping back the pages of yesterday until it landed on a distant memory that seemed so close yet was so far away. It was like the world stopped spinning for a moment, freezing in time that had both given and taken so much from you.

Your stomach twisted with a mixture of fluttering anticipation and dizzy uncertainty.

Why here, of all times and places, did you have to meet Kim Jungwoo again?

Kim Jungwoo, who was your first love, but also your first heartbreak.

It all started the summer before your high school sophomore year, with an ice cream date as friends and a piggy back ride. You and Jungwoo had known each other for years, having met in elementary and developing a close bond over time. Though you each had your own separate friend groups, outside of school, the two of you often hung out together and spent time at each other’s houses. It wasn’t abnormal for you to have dinner at Jungwoo’s place—because your parents often went on business trips and rarely ever cooked even when they were home—and it certainly wouldn’t be a strange sight to see him on your couch, watching TV and snagging snacks from the basket on the coffee table as he waited for you to finish up your homework so the two of you could go out to the nearby park. It was practically routine when, two weeks after break began, he asked you if you wanted to go down to the beach with him and get some ice cream along the way. You texted back a quick “yes, of course” before flopping back onto your bed and blinking up at the ceiling as if in a dazed dream. And for some reason, you thought hard about what to wear.

It was an issue you never had to concern yourself with before. Jungwoo had seen you in your pajamas, bed hair and all, random mismatching clothes you’d thrown on in a hurry, and even ridiculous costumes you wore as a kid. He’d seen you down in your lowest low, face a mess with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Heck, he probably knew all your embarrassing moments by heart and could recite them on a whim. But recently, you’d started to feel more self-conscious around him, and as days passed, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror more and more, holding up different tops and pants in an attempt to decide which would look nicer. A few years ago, you would’ve laughed at the thought. You? Fussing over clothing for Jungwoo’s sake? Ridiculous, you’d never needed to. But now, it seemed that the fact that he was a boy—and a very attractive one too—just sank in, and suddenly you became all too aware of it.

After shuffling through your wardrobe for ten full minutes, you finally ended up with a closet strewn messily with discarded options and clothing racks and an outfit you dimly recalled that Jungwoo had once expressed his liking for. You’d chosen a pair of thin, spaghetti sandals that were lined with gold, a gift from one of your mother’s shopping sprees, and made an effort to brush your hair neatly to go along with it all. Good enough, you supposed, as you turned left and right to check up on your appearance. Hopefully.

You grabbed your phone and keys, scribbled a note for your parents that you doubted they’d even read, and made your way out the door. Jungwoo was waiting for you at the front, standing casually by his car with one hand in his pockets. Your heart beat faster as you approached, the continuous drumming resonating within your chest and ears.

He’d been looking down at the pavement, scuffling a stray pebble around with his toes, but quickly lifted his head at your footsteps.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling up at you.

“Wow, looking unexpectedly grown-upish today,” you lifted an eyebrow, trying to mask your nervousness in his presence with the usual snarky remarks. You spoke with a heavy hint of sarcasm, meaning that you were only joking about the matter, but what you said was true in a way—Jungwoo did look nice, though you weren’t about to say that aloud to him. It was as if you’d just noticed how much older he’d become, and how much more matured he looked.

“Really,” he said flatly, though his eyes were crinkled in good humor. “You’re the only one in the dark then.”

You laughed. “Because other people still call you an adorable baby?”

“Haha, so funny.”

You settled into the passenger seat beside Jungwoo and watched as he leaned over to put the vehicle in ignition. His hair had grown longer since his last haircut a few months ago, and they fell over his eyes. He shook them out of his face, reaching up a hand to brush away any remaining strands that stuck to his skin. He turned to grin at you before switching over to your favorite radio station as he started to drive. You tapped your fingers to the beat, and not a minute later, the two of you were singing along to the familiar tune. Jungwoo’s voice soared up and down as he sang in a weird mock accent, and you tried hard to keep your own from trembling with uncontrollable laughter. You both knew that Jungwoo was an amazing singer, but even more so a natural at comedy.

Jungwoo parked the car a few blocks away, deciding that trying to find an open spot in the crowded beachside lots was too much of a hassle. Summer had lured many people out with the promise of good weather, and combined with the dazzling scenery of the sea, who was to say no? The brightness of the skies was all too infectious, your mood soaring like the winds above that cast a blessing of gentle coolness upon the world. It was all so perfect that you’d even surrendered to Jungwoo in a water fight, although quite begrudgingly and continuing to splash in his way afterwards.

The sparkling waterdrops glittered midair like multifaceted diamonds so that although knee deep in water, you felt almost as if you were living in the midst of a glowing fairytale. After spending some time among the rolling waves, the two of you decided to walk around a bit and let the warm air dry your clothes before going to the ice cream store. Morning went by all too quickly, and soon noon had arrived. The sun shone brilliantly overhead, the pavement burning at the soles of your shoes. You grimaced at the heat, hopping slightly to avoid getting scalded and wishing you’d worn something that wasn’t so flimsy and thin. Jungwoo seemed to notice your discomfort, glancing your way worriedly.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” you groaned. “But thanks for your concern.”

He stopped as if to consider something, then squatted down in front of you. “Here.”

“What—” you started in surprise, caught off guard by his sudden action.

“Come on, I’ll carry you.”

You thought your face couldn’t get any redder than it already was, but you swear it just did.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to. It’s my fault anyways. I should’ve worn something more suitable,” you managed.

He grinned up at you. “Yeah, you probably should’ve, but that's what I’m here for, right? Moral and well—physical—support when you make those beginner mistakes.”

“Argh, you bastard,” you half-huffed, half-laughed, whacking his shoulder lightly with one hand.

“Hey! I’m just trying to help here.”

Caught up in the slight back-and-forth, you’d forgotten entirely about the source of it all and let out a strangled gasp when a red-hot pain shot up your feet.

“Yeah, it’s not up for debate at this point. Come on, just get on already. Grab on tight.”

With surprising strength, Jungwoo hoisted you up upon his back, his arms wrapped firmly around your legs to secure you in place. Instinctively, you reached over to cling onto his neck like your life depended on it.

“Gosh, not—this—tight,” he choked out, and although you knew he was half-joking, you mumbled a laughing apology.

You were tense at first, afraid to make a single wrong move. But after a while, you felt tired of staying so still and uptight like a board and relaxed some more. When the sun’s rays stung at your eyes, you laid your head sideways against Jungwoo’s neck, your breaths falling together in the same even rhythm. He hummed a tune you did not recognize, probably another one he’d just made up randomly, and you smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you replied innocently. Just thinking how ridiculously likeable you are.

You wondered if Jungwoo could feel, through the thin fabric of your shirt, the pounding of your heart at his back, the same way you could smell the scent of the salty sea air and his favorite cologne on him. Raising a fingertip, you traced a heart lightly against his skin. He flinched. You held back a laugh. You’d done it right on his most ticklish spot.

He wouldn’t be able to tell, what you’d drawn and what you felt toward him, but at that moment, it felt like a nice secret, nestled comfortably within the confines of your heart. Maybe you’d tell him one day, when the time is right. You’d like to.

The ice cream shop of Jungwoo’s designation was just up the street. Apparently, it had opened just a while ago and, according to Jungwoo, he was dying for you to try some of their flavors. You didn’t have a favorite place you preferred, so you agreed without any conflict. As the two of you neared, you held on for just a little bit longer before hopping off reluctantly and fixing your clothes. You wished it didn’t have to end, that the two of you could stay that way forever, snug in each other’s embrace.

But it all changed when you walked inside the store.

The interior was neatly organized, with pastel-colored walls and light brown tables of different sizes scattered around the semi-spacious room, most of them occupied by other visitors. A long counter spanned the back of the shop, most of it built-in glass cases that displayed a colorful array of ice cream in their silver tubs. A couple workers stood behind it in sky-colored uniforms, occupied with a variety of tasks and tending to customers.

You breathed in softly, taking in the scent of chocolate and vanilla and an assortment of fruit. The air around you was cool, and you were immensely grateful for the air conditioners that made the atmosphere so welcoming after spending a long time in the sweltering sun.

“It’s nice here.”

“I know right?” Jungwoo grinned. “Just wait until you taste their ice cream. It’s the best.”

There was quite a line at the counter, and your skin itched with the particles of sand that had stuck to it uncomfortably. Your hair was wind-blown and a tangled mess atop your head, and you felt conscious of the fact that you probably looked like a mess. “Hey, Woo, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” he gave you a thumbs-up. “I’ll pick out something for you. I swear you’ll love it.”

“Okay, thanks,” you laughed. “I’ll look forward to it then.”

After fixing up your hair and wiping yourself clean with a paper towel, you felt semi-presentable and headed out of the restrooms to find Jungwoo. You didn’t see him at the tables nor in the line, but in the close distance, almost hidden from view the rest of the shop but clearly visible from where you were standing, caught your attention.

Jungwoo.

Except he wasn’t alone.

A pretty girl around your age stood by him, donning the uniform of the store workers. She seemed to have just gotten off her shift and was loosening her hair from the ponytail she’d previously kept it in. Jungwoo was chatting animatedly, and she laughed at something he said, then shot back with her own response. He reached over and engulfed her in his arms, swaying her from side to side almost exaggeratedly.

There was a familiarity, closeness, in the way they interacted, and as you watched on, you felt your heart slowly clench tighter and tighter until it felt impossibly suffocating. Was this what heartbreak felt like? An ache so terrible and soul-splitting that you couldn’t quench no matter how hard you tried.

At the side counter, they were still going at it. He grabbed at her to kiss her cheek, but she turned away, pushing herself out of his grasp. He made a few more futile attempts, to no avail, and the two of them burst out laughing, her high, lovely one mixing in with his lower, boyish baritone.

You looked down, and wished you could just disappear into a hole. When you returned to the table after you made sure the commotion in the front had died down, Jungwoo was already waiting with the ice cream. One for him and the other, your favorite favor. He handed yours to you, but you found that you didn’t have the appetite for it anymore. You managed to muster up a feeble “thanks” and a strained smile, staring at the cone in your hands.

“What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t see Jungwoo’s expression, but you could hear the concern lacing his voice. As if he wasn’t laughing so merrily just a second ago.

“Nothing,” you replied, staring at the table. “I should probably go now. My parents said we were going out for lunch today.”

“But you said you didn’t have any plans,” Jungwoo said, confused.

“Well,” you shrugged, “It’s really my mom’s. Anyways, see you later.”

The bell jangled behind you as you exited the shop, the sound not as cheerful as it had been just a while before. A rush of hot air greeted you, but the stinging at your feet could no longer compare to that of the pain in you.

“Oh, okay. See you.” You could still hear his disappointed voice, although you couldn’t fathom just why he wouldn’t be glad to have some time with his girlfriend without you there as an awkward third-wheeler.

You didn’t see Jungwoo again that summer.

TO BE CONTINUED.

thanks for reading! send an ask or comment to be in taglist for upcoming chapters!

[memxntomxri]

ｌｏｎｅｌｙ ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ʜᴏᴍᴇ

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 - kuroo tetsurou x kozume kenma

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 - fluff, comfort

𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤 - kenma has a breakdown over haters on the internet. kuroo comforts him.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 - 1.4k

𝘵𝘸 - online people being assholes, panic attacks, referenced stalker-ish behaviors

𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 - fluff to make up for day 1's fic. thank you for discord server friends (LouEve_094, Lena) who listened to me screech while writing this.

｡o°✥✤✣ 　　 ✣✤✥°o｡

Kuroo’s assistant, Takahashi, tentatively stuck his head into the conference room, where Kuroo was currently listening to a pitch about doing a joint press venture with the baseball league. It was interesting, but not enough that he didn’t notice his assistant’s frantic finger-pointing and beckoning.

Kuroo murmured a quiet “Sorry” and excused himself from the table, stepping out to converse with Takahashi. Takahashi wouldn’t bother Kuroo unless it wasn’t urgent.

“Sorry, sir, but I’m so glad Suzuki-san informed me about the situation, I—” he began. Kuroo held up a hand. Takahashi was trustworthy and brilliant with a spreadsheet program, but he could also run on for hours if one didn’t force him to cut to the chase.

“Takahashi, what exactly happened?” Kuroo said. Takahashi shot him a confused look, then his eyes widened almost comically.

“Kuroo-san, did you not see your ring?” he asked. In their world, because of some god’s whim or something, everyone was born with a ring tattoo on their right ring finger. It acted like some sort of mood ring… for your soulmate. Blue meant sadness, red meant anger, green meant disgust or jealousy, yellow happiness, gold pride, so on, so forth. When you met them, the ring would flare a bright, distinctive color. Kuroo had been fortunate enough to witness his flare as a measly 8-year-old, and Kenma had been stuck with him ever since.

Kuroo automatically glanced down at his right hand. Shit, he cursed. It was black all the way through—that was not good. That meant that something had set off Kenma’s panic attacks—a bad one, because Kuroo couldn’t see the swirls of grey that meant that his fiancée wasn’t completely lost yet—and Kuroo felt horrible for not noticing.

Takahashi gulped. Kuroo had momentarily forgotten that his assistant existed. “There’s more, Kuroo-san.” he said warily, as if approaching a wild animal.

“What?” Kuroo snapped, then shook his head quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” Takahashi smiled gently, a reassuring one meant to placate Kuroo’s wild emotions. “It’s okay, Kuroo-san. Um… are you sure you want to know what’s going on with Kozume-san?” he grimaced. It must be bad for Takahashi, of all people, to be making negative facial expressions. “Just tell me.” Kuroo barked. He winced. “Sorry, didn’t mean that either.”

Takahashi replied, “It’s alright. Anyways, it seems that when Kozume-san beat out that beauty youtuber, Alice007, for the first Japanese Youtuber to get 10 million subscribers today, she went on a tangent on Twitter and caused a lot of her fans to start attacking Kozume-san. They… also mentioned you.”

Kuroo’s head whipped up. “What?”

“Apparently, Alice-san’s sister went to Nekoma High too and believed that she was your soulmate. If the tweets are any indication, both of them are a little, forgive me for saying this in a professional setting, delusional.” he said apologetically. Kuroo wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. On one hand, the love of his life was being torn down online. On the other hand, Takahashi was finally saying something negative about a human being.

Kuroo tipped his head back.

“Well, I’m heading home. Sorry for flaking out on the meeting, but can you please tell them a brief summary of what’s going on? Don’t go into too much detail though, Kenma values his privacy.” he requested. Takahashi nodded. God, Kuroo was lucky to have his assistant. “Thanks, Takahashi, you’re a lifesaver. Why don’t you take Friday night out and take Mizuki-san,” Takahashi’s 158cm tall spitfire soulmate who always seemed to have an infinite supply of dirty jokes, “out on a date?”

Takahashi allowed a small smile to break his professional face. “That would be very nice, Kuroo-san. Thank you. Now go, Kozume-san needs you.” he said, shooing Kuroo down the hall towards the elevators.

For someone who acted so demure while working, Takahashi sure could be forceful when he wanted to.

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

Kuroo nudged the door to his and Kenma’s two-bedroom (one was Kenma’s streaming room) open. His arms were laden with bags from the nearby grocery store, filled with Kenma’s favorite comfort foods, a few new video games, and a box of prescription meds for his anxiety that Kenma had slowly moved on from.

“Kenma?” he called down the hallway. No response, except for sounds of muffled sobbing coming from their bedroom. Kuroo kicked off his shoes and set the bags down, heading down the hall to investigate.

He cracked open the door a few centimeters, and there Kenma was, curled up in a ball on the king-sized mattress, phone an arm’s length away, screen cracked. Kuroo tracked his eyes to the correspondingly-sized dent in the wall. He walked in, sitting down next to Kenma’s prone form, but not touching him.

“Hey, kitten.” he greeted quietly. Kenma reached for his sleeve, rubbing his hand twice, up, down, on Kuroo’s wrist. Ah. That was the signal for when he had gone nonverbal but wanted Kuroo to give him physical and verbal affection.

Kuroo scooped Kenma up into his arms, tucking him into his lap as he rested his chin on top of Kenma’s head. “I’m sorry people are being assholes, Kenma. I hope you don’t believe them, because they sure as hell aren’t true.” Small hiccups as more tears ran down Kenma’s face.

That was alright. Sometimes, Kenma just needed someone to hold him and tell him that he was alright.

“I bought that game you wanted. Overcooked? Yeah, that was its name. We can try it out when you feel up to it. Maybe invite Akaashi and Bokuto over. Chibi-chan and Kageyama too, if they’re in Tokyo.” Kuroo continued.

“You know, all these people love you, Kenma. It doesn’t matter what people online think, especially when they’re just following a deranged leader.” Kuroo reassured him.

Kenma looked up at him questioningly. Kuroo sighed. “Yeah, I heard. I have no idea who Alice-san’s sister is,” he said in response to Kenma’s silent question, “besides, I trust our parents and our own memories more than some beauty guru who can’t take being beaten.” he scoffed.

Kenma took a few deep breaths, a sign that he was slowly calming down. Kuroo rubbed comforting circles down his back. “T-Tetsu.” he murmured. “Am I a bad soulmate because I’m not that affectionate?”

Kuroo jolted, then cupped his hands gently around Kenma’s face, leaning down to press a light kiss to his lips. “No, Kenma, never. I know you love me, and you know I wouldn’t have you any other way. You’re my kitten, remember?” he reminded. Kenma nodded slowly. Good. Kuroo breathed a slight sigh of relief in his mind. It had been months since he had needed to do this.

Kenma continued, speaking even quieter. “Will everyone leave me? Am I going to be lonely in the end?” he asked. Kuroo’s heart ached. He knew that that had always been one of Kenma’s insecurities—that his aloofness would drive people away from him. “Kenma, if you’re alone, then I’ll be alone with you.” Kuroo said resolutely.

Kenma broke down into a few sobs, hopefully getting it out of his system. “T-Tetsu, they found our address.” Kuroo froze. “What?” Kenma nodded. “Yeah. S-someone sent me a red paint-stained picture of me with a knife stabbed through my f-forehead.” he struggled to get out.

“Shh, shh, Kenma, I’m here now. Don’t force yourself if you don’t want to talk.” Kuroo reassured.

Shit. They had both known that this could become a probability when Kenma had started getting famous, and they had been lucky for a few years, but someone finding out at this moment was just bad luck.

Kuroo wrapped his arms tighter around Kenma’s smaller frame. “Don’t worry, kitten, I’ll protect you. Always and forever, remember?” he said with a cheeky smile, pointing at the band (the metal one) around Kenma’s left ring finger.

Kenma’s quiet, melodic chuckle filled the air.

Kuroo chanced a glance down at his right ring finger. It was still dark and murky, but there were traces of pink and a pale color that he hoped was yellow. It wasn’t back to usual, but they were getting there.

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

A few hours later…

Curled up on the couch, Kenma fiddled away at his PSP. Kuroo plopped down next to him, holding two steaming cups of chamomile tea. “Tetsu, I placed an order for a new phone.” Kenma said, not looking up from the phone.

“Oh also, you’re still going to have to pay half the rent for our new apartment. I’m not going to be your sugar daddy, no matter how much you beg.” Kenma deadpanned.

Kuroo snorted. Nothing ever really changed with his Kenma.

｡o°✥✤✣ 　　 ✣✤✥°o｡

© ʙᴇᴛʜᴇʏᴅᴏᴄʀɪᴍᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴇꜱ 2021 - ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛ

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #5

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Iolite of Cloudy Skies

Iolite. Its Japanese name was “blue flower stone”. The gem was blue with a purple tint stronger than that of a sapphire and had a unique viscosity that made it seem as if it was coated with a bit of dew. The level of hardness was seven. It was called iolite when treated as a gemstone, but when treated as a type of mineral, it was also called cordierite. It was an eccentric stone, which also appeared to have a grayish brown color instead of blue depending on the angle that one looked at it. Etc., etc.

“What happened, Seigi? Your eyes are dead.”

“How can I put it...? Surfeit, I guess.”

“Haah?”

I couldn’t memorize the stones’ names. They were too many.

The client who left just now had come because they wanted to see many sorts of blue stones, so Richard’s treasure box was packed with a great variety of blues. There were sapphires, of course, and also tanzanites, lapis lazuli, blue chalcedonies and this iolite.

Half a year before I had started working part-time in Etranger, the image I had of gemstones was limited to things such as diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds, I believed. Now I knew about the existence of a stone named zircon, which shone in the same way as a diamond, and also knew about the spinel, which was red like a ruby, as well as that the color of sapphires was not just blue, having a wide range from purple to yellow, and I had seen transparent jades that were impossible to tell apart from emeralds.

If I had as much knowledge of minerals as Tanimoto-san, I would’ve managed to sort stones inside my head by the differences the in chemical composition of each, but unfortunately, I was unfamiliar with such things, and I currently didn’t have enough enthusiasm or willpower to study them. If I were to explain figuratively, it felt like going out to hunt for clams at a beach, and when you innocently dove into the lake, you’d see the Mariana Trench spreading out below. It was a beautiful world, thus also too wide and too deep. And endless. To a terrifying extent.

When I told him roughly this, Richard laughed, the depths of his throat trembling with giggles. “It is not as if you are aiming to obtain a GIA or FGA qualification or anything, right? Isn’t it all right for you to observe as much as you like?”

“That might be the case, but...”

I found myself thinking that it was a waste.

After all, I’d be on my knees listening as Richard went, in earnest, through the trouble of introducing all kinds of stones to me one by one. I often heard from my senpais that “job hunting is a connection for people”, so I felt sorry that my connection with stones remained scoreless. Regardless, it wasn’t like I was suddenly going to get any smarter.

As I said this, Richard laughed again and beckoned me with a hand gesture. He then took something out of his suit’s pocket. One of those subdivision vinyl bags that I’d often see when he was handling jewels in the back room. It seemed there was an iolite inside. There was a label stuck to the bag packed with absorbent cotton, and something was written on it in horizontal letters. “Viking sunstone,” it read. Vikings? Like the ones that you’d imagine wearing horned helmets, carrying axes and coming from the sea on a ship? As I asked for confirmation, the jeweler nodded with a “precisely”.

“The words written on this label are associated with the former ‘purpose’ of the iolite. In the past, people used iolites as sun stones.”

“‘Used’ them as ‘sun stones’...?”

I didn’t understand anything from A to Z. What did that mean? For starters, why was gem of such a cold-looking color made into a stone of the sun?

Before I even had a breach to ask, the beautiful shopkeeper began talking, a smile ghosting his lips, “You might already know this, but a portion of the people residing in the current Britain are descendants of those who went through the Norman Conquest that began around the ninth century - in other words, of the Vikings. They were famous for having the skills to travel long distances, which was unusual at the time, so Seigi. If you were someone who travels the sea for long periods, how would you know your way?” Richard asked me.

A means to know the cardinal directions in the open sea. So it was a situation where there’d be no piece of land to act as a mark. The only thing I could use in such a case was a magnet. No, wait. Richard had said earlier that it was the ninth century. The compass would be invented only much later. I recalled memorizing that this was the invention that triggered the Age of Discovery back in high school for history class. If so, I recalled the words on the label. “Sunstone”. Yeah, it connected.

“They knew the directions by using the stone of the sun?”

“Good for you. Exactly. Isn’t it clear?”

“K-Kinda!”

“Then, what about under cloudy skies, when the sun is not visible, Mr. Enlightened Part-Timer?”

Speaking of which, the weather changed easily at sea. I had also heard that England was a country where the skies tended to be overcast. Bad weather must be frequent in those coastal waters. If the sky stayed cloudy for three or four days, what should I do? Was there nothing more that could be done at sea?

When I made a puzzled face, Richard smiled as though he had hit the nail on the head, his white hands displaying the iolite under a fluorescent light. “For instance, let’s try to put a mark on any of this iolite’s faceted sides with ink. Another one on a different side. On sunny days, we would record in which direction we can see the sun from one of these two points at given times, and on cloudy days, we would look for parts where the two points overlap. When doing so, since this stone can detect even the faintest light, we would be able to tell the sun’s position,” he said.

“So we can know the position of light with that stone...? Then couldn’t it be any other stone?”

“Light refracts. If it were passing through thick clouds, the human eye would find its shine in a different direction from the sun’s actual position. Iolites acted as polarized lenses, so to speak. By using this stone, the sailors could tell the correct position of the sun. Yet the most famous sunstone is not iolite, but a type of refraction stone called ‘Iceland spar’.”

A polarized lens. Now he was talking about physics? But I did remember the stuff about light refraction. Got it; so that was why it was a “stone of the sun”.

“I don’t get it very well, but I feel the gemstone romance from it. I like that kinda thing,” I said enthusiastically, Richard giving me a calm smile.

“You do get it. Just as you said, you ‘don’t understand stones very well but like them either way’. That is exactly why your eyes were open, so you thought only about how far your destination was and felt your teeth set on edge at it. You mustn’t expect to be able to understand everything overnight. Go steady, without rushing. Do not waver at the impatience stuck back-to-back to your ambitions. That is different from having no one to depend on due to not knowing where you are headed. The hardest times are probably the ones when you have no idea where you should go, but you know the exact position of the sun.”

So, in short, I knew exactly where I wanted to be?

While I remained quiet, Richard shrugged and added, “Of course, this is a metaphor. Even if little by little, the stones should definitely be leaving a trace inside you. Aren’t you supposed to be treasuring this instead of chasing after what goes away?”

Lastly, Richard threw in the trivia that, in the world of power stones, the iolite was said to be a stone that showed people the “right direction”. Taking the backbone of it into consideration, that was indeed a convincing talk. But more than that...

“It’d be great if you were by my side forever.”

“Hah?”

“You’re an expert at noticing what’s troubling other people, aren’t you? I really think you’re a handy guy, like a compass. Aah, ‘the world’s most beautiful compass’, huh?”

“Those are quite irrational words, on top of being illogical. You were born in Japan, raised in Japan and aspire to become a public servant of Japan, so why are you calling an English jeweler a ‘compass’?”

“Well, I don’t plan to ask you about how to prepare for the public servant exams, but I can rely on you when I run into bigger problems, right?”

Richard sighed with a face of thorough dismay. I could understand how he felt. This was like a child in nursery school saying, “It’d be great if my teacher could always be there to help me out.” Long story short, I was acting spoiled. Even though he was my superior at work.

“That’s right; about the custard pie that today’s costumer brought, it looks like it’s quick to expire. Wanna eat it? I’ll make some tea.”

“If you would. Aah, the sugar...”

“Holding back on it this month, right? I know.”

“Help me with half of it. The amount of sugar in it concerns me.”

“Leave it to me.”

This guy was truly good at leading the mood around, and the same applied for the not-too-straightforward way that he phrased himself when recommending gemstones to the customers. Apparently, he thought I was feeling down.

I cut the crunchy pie in half while the tea leaves boiled, then shared it with Richard in the reception room and we both ate it. Covered with powdered sugar, the pie was a dangerous white little thing, as the colorless powder could scatter around from the pie’s surface just by us breathing on it a tiny bit, so the snack time turned into a moment of silence. I felt like laughing at the much too surreal sight several times, but if I happened to cause a big damage to the beautiful shopkeeper’s high-grade suit by doing that, my pay would be reduced. In the end, I ate the pie entirely while looking at the wall.

On the way back home that day, as I looked up at the night sky, I thought about the Vikings of over a thousand years ago. It was said that they were after new lands. What about me? Where was I headed? Would there ever be a day when I would fall into a philosophical concern, like, “I have no idea where I’m trying to go”? Perhaps Richard too? I insolently prayed that the stones may help us out at least in times like those.

Stars were beginning to twinkle in the purplish-blue night sky. There was no doubt that the stars appearing in the sky had not changed ever since the Vikings’ era. Thinking about that as I walked, I mistook one of the streets I should have turned. I had the feeling that I heard Richard’s voice, telling me to mind at least my own steps. I get it, geez.

I decided to wait patiently for the benefits of the stone. It was best for something like that not to happen, but there was no guarantee that both of us wouldn’t lose our ways at the same time one day.

[ladyryukyo]

yu und kenta moving in together when they're older for like. college or something. oh my god they were roommates.

it's absolute chaos. yu is an extremely messy person, leaving his clothes everywhere, not even just his room (though it looks like a warzone and kenta never even pokes his head through the doorway) but in the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom and, worst of all, in kenta's room, too. kenta is not overly clean or anything but yu's levels of messiness make him want to go on a cleaning spree and never stop. kenta realizes they need to lay down some ground rules.

first things first. no entering each other's rooms without permission. cleaning up behind themselves in the shared areas of the apartment which means everywhere except their own room. split chores evenly.

kenta and yu both agree that that seems doable. but it soon becomes apparent that learning to live with each other is a lot more difficult than establishing a few rules.

kenta wants to paint a wall in his room yellow but he buys way too much paint. he asks yu if he wants to use the remaining paint and yu is enthusiastic about it until he realizes he'd rather paint his room blue. guess what, he also buys way too much paint so now they have a bucket of yellow paint and a bucket of blue paint and neither of them knows what to do with it. yu calls tsubasa who suggests painting a wall in their living room green so that's what they do.

yu buys a bunch of color changing fairy lights, one of which he and kenta hang up in the living room above the couch. only now they can't agree on what color the fairy lights should be and are fighting for the remote almost constantly. kenta likes it best purple, yu wants it to be red, so most of the time they want to watch tv together, they will first grapple for the remote that changes the color of the fairy lights.

yu lent kenta his bluetooth speakers once and now every time kenta starts spotify, his phone automatically connects to yu's bluetooth speakers and yu will get an earful of kenta's weird music taste. kenta grew up with his grandparents which is why he primarily listens to older songs of artists that were popular fifty years ago and that no one in his generation has ever heard of. to add to that, kenta likes to listen to music when he is studying and because his time management is shit, he often studies late at night, so yu gets woken up at two in the morning by some japanese rock song from the 1960s.

yu goes with tsubasa to a flee market and comes back with an absolutely atrocious painting. kenta doesn't really care what yu hangs up in his room but it's really so ugly and then yu proclaims that they should hang it on the wall above the dining table and, no. just no.

they go grocery shopping and take turns pushing each other in the cart through the store until yu buries kenta under a mountain of groceries and kenta can't get out anymore. he is too scared to accidentally crush something if he forces his way out so he stays inside the cart until they're at the checkout, cheeks burning with embarrassment when the clerk stares at them but doesn't say anything. yu is laughing his ass off at kenta's mortification despite kenta doing his best to try and telepathically communicate to him to shut up.

kenta feels bad for waking yu up in the middle of the night so often and since he knows that yu does not know at all how to take care of himself, he makes an extra effort to wake up early so that he can make yu breakfast. kenta is not a morning person but decides it's worth it when he sees yu's face light up with excitement at what kenta prepared for him.

yu sometimes still has nightmares from his time in the dark nebular and from before, when he lived all alone in the desert where every day was a struggle for survival. kenta doesn't really understand, having been raised safe and sheltered by his grandparents, but he tries his best to comfort yu and distract him with happier thoughts. some nights, when yu can't ignore the dark thoughts creeping in, he knocks at kenta's door. kenta is almost always still awake and studying when yu comes to him but he will leave it on his desk and guide yu to lie down on his bed before joining him and embracing him tightly and yu will know that kenta will always be there for him.

on the day of their final exam for the semester, yu and kenta decide to celebrate with a dance party. they push all their furniture against the walls, kenta connects his phone with yu's bluetooth speakers, and they dance exuberantly around the living room, both of them sleep-deprived and high on caffeine and relief. yu is holding the remote for the fairy lights in his hand and is clicking wildly through the different colors to simulate disco lights. they both climb up on the small coffee table and yu tries to dip kenta like a disney princess but then one of the legs of the table gives and they both crash to the floor, laughing hysterically.

they buy a new coffee table. figuring out the instructions is an impossible task and yu and kenta spend a whole day bickering about how to assemble the table correctly. kenta gets so annoyed that he throws a handful of loose screws at yu and then yu retaliates and then they waste the whole afternoon looking for all the screws they lost. in the evening, when they're finally almost done assembling all the pieces, they realize the screw for the last step is missing.

inspired by @love-me-a-good-prompt roommates ideas posts!

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Epilogue: Ja Mata, Friends

I finally finished the Main Story Quest Rewritten Series! Yaaaaay! *Kermit Flail!*

Erii settled down on her knees and opened her little red suitcase. She wrote down on the paper notepad that she was supposed to be going to Korea to start a new life, but you notice that she didn’t pack very much. 

Your body still aches terribly to the point where you wanted to puke. Your eyes rolled with fatigue. But Erii was showing you her things and writing down her words in her way to chat with you even though you could only stare blankly.

You were in the middle of a graveyard of bones. The cooling effect of the broken canister of liquid nitrogen mixed with the spring air and created a dense fog in the Red Well. But you could still see the outlines of ribs, femurs and skulls among the pile of debris. Charred skeletons embraced each other in battle and deadpool remains mixed with human remains. It reminded you of a scene in an ancient fossilized tar pit. Over hundreds or thousands of years, countless animals and people fell into the pit and died together. Archeologists discovered them but their bones were all mixed up.

Erii showed you her Roman shoes, her white strapped shoes, her hairpins, stockings and ribbons all neatly packed. Then she showed you her little toys. Then she showed you her postcards.

“On April 24th, I went to Tokyo Sky Tree with Sakura. The warmest place in the world is on the Sky Tree.”

“On April 26th, I went to Meiji Shrine with Sakura. Someone held a wedding there.”

“On April 25th, I went to the amusement park with Sakura. The haunted house was scary, but with Sakura there it wasn’t so scary.”

You blink sleepily and suppress a yawn to avoid the pain of stretching your bones. “Hmm… at Christmas, I will take you to see Siberia.”

She nods seriously as this is a solemn vow to her.

Erii quietly took out some of her clothes and pressed them against your skin. The battle had ruined the last remnants of your wedding dress. She opened a blouse and slid it on your arms, pausing when you flinched and hissed in pain, only to continue when you relaxed. Then she buttoned up the front for you. She handed you her skirt and slipped it over your body. 

A soft noise, like a stone rolling down a hill made you sit up in alarm. Erii pressed one hand to your shoulder to keep you from standing. She wrote in her notebook. “Sakura is here.”

You blink at an approaching, staggering human shaped shadow in the fog. For a second, you think it’s Z and your heart lifts. In a few more seconds, Lu Mingfei came into view. Erii with her amazing hearing had already sensed his approach. That explained why she had dressed you and covered you up.

The man looked exhausted and soaked to the bone. At the sight of Erii’s wave, he relaxed to near collapse. “You’re here!” He exclaimed.

Lu Mingfei stumbled the rest of the way into her arms. He hugged her tightly and after a long time, he quietly began to cry. You watched them embrace, feeling happy for them at first, and your eyes grow dull.

Chance was gone. Ruri Kazama was gone too. He fell asleep in the mind of Chime and you would never be so greedy as to use the clapper on him to bring him back. Chime was off somewhere with his brother. It was uncertain if you’d ever see him again. Somehow, you’d seen the world, been wooed by the most beautiful men of Tokyo and still had ended up alone with no one to hold you and cry. 

Lu Mingfei had arrived in a black Mercedes and that’s what you took to get out of this place. You fell asleep on your way there.

You woke up days later to an IV in your arm in the comfort of the luxury suite. You stare up at the princess canopy. You’re surprised. How could it be that this place remained untouched throughout the whole disaster? Ruri Kazama knew your room. Perhaps by his fierce order, all the Devil Clan members knew not to destroy the bedroom of his precious love.

“MC…” A familiar voice speaks out of the dimly lit corner. You sit up. 

Renata was sitting next to your bedside. Her long blond hair was down over her bare shoulders. She wore a frilly blue lace top and a light yellow skirt with a white obi belt at her waist. A black knee brace interrupted her silhouette. For a moment you stare silently into each other’s eyes, expressionless. 

“Is there still a bug in this room?” You ask.

“I had Fingel remove it.” She said, standing and sitting next to you on your bed.

You finally wrap your arms around her, rest your head in her chest, and the tears roll down your face. Renata doesn’t cry but the strength in her arms as they hold you, so firm and so tightly, conveys her thoughts. You slept for twenty years and traveled all the way across the world. You’d fought with monsters and devils, gangsters and gods. But you still managed to find each other in the end. In this secret hide away in the dark, you could hold each other again. You press your ear to her chest and listen to that strong heavy heartbeat and hear her breathe in and out. “Renata… I loved you back then.”

“I thought so too. I was too embarrassed to say anything about it. I was afraid of getting in trouble with the nurses. But please. Continue to call me Zero. It’s more than my new identity. It’s who I am now.” She pulled away from you slightly. “Do you know about… him?”

You know she’s talking about Z and you nod. “A little.”

“Please keep it to yourself.” Her eyes were gentle, but her voice held a command. “There are things that are still far beyond that we cannot understand. But if you stay useful to the end, he will not leave you.”

It takes three months for everything to settle and, in the meantime, you stay with the men in Takamagahara Night Club. Your bloodline test returns completely clean and you are installed as a full member of Cassell College.  You don’t tell them how it happened, that you were bitten by the Light King parasite and filled head to toe with its fetal blood. When Erii embraced you, the effect was the same. She bathed in the blood of a young dragon and her bloodline issues resolved. In Caesar’s report, he simply states that your bloodline problems were clerical errors and you were never a dangerous hybrid.

In those months, the club Takamagahara was fully restored. Though Tokyo still lies in ruins, a great final performance has been arranged. You settle in your seat next to Zero and she looks at you and smiles.

The curtain was slowly opened. Caesar’s fingers ran across the keys of a piano, Chu Zihang blew out the first note on the saxophone and the applause rolled over like a tide. The spotlights swayed over them and the banners that read “Love Sakura!” “BasaraKing forever!” and “Sacred Ukyo!”

Zero huffed to your right. “Someone should stand behind Lu Mingfei before he faints.”

Erii sat next to you on your left and held up a sign. “Go Sakura!”

Tonight is his debut show and the farewell show for the three of them. The theme is ``Goodbye, Ikemen Team.” The TV regrettably announced that BasaraKing, Ukyou, and Little Sakura would be returning to the United States due to their expiring contract. Tonight is their last performance. They would also be ending their careers as performers, so this was truly Sayounara.

All the tickets were sold out in advance. Not even VIPs could get a hold of them. Whole bar fixtures were removed to accommodate more guests. The dance floor was full of women, young and old. Everyone was dressed in costumes from shiny sexy short skirts to dignified long black sleeves. In order to ensure safety, the Metropolitan Police Department temporarily activated traffic control measures and everyone had to walk to the Takamagahara.

Apparently, Cassell had pulled some sort of mass brainwashing. All the people who witnessed the raging deadpool in the club suddenly didn’t remember it that way at all. They only remembered you and the boys protecting and helping people during the storm and that was it. Cassell was scarily efficient at hiding the truth of the world from the world.

Lu Mingfei stepped to the microphone and looked at Erii and sang a shaky little “Sayounara.” He picked up the champagne on the piano cover and drank.

You only understand the word Sayounara in the song. It’s all in Japanese. Lu Mingfei might not have the best voice, but he does have the best Japanese of the three. You quickly pick up a handkerchief. “Erii… don’t cry! Come on, you have to give your support! You can still chat over Line tonight.”

There was no more fear that Erii would rage out of control and kill everyone. So she was free to express sad emotions like this. Now her red eyes ran with tears. “I want to go to the US with Sakura.” She wrote.

“And you will! You will! Eventually… Don’t despair okay?”

The best theater speakers in Tokyo were tuned to the use of the Takamagahara. The sound from the subwoofers burst like ten thousand cannons. Caesar’s piano skills were handed down to him from the world’s top masters and flowed into the sound system. Chu Zihang’s saxophone was also very good. The musical emotional refrain climbed higher and higher. And then when the hall seemed to no longer be able to accommodate such surging music, the top of the hall suddenly opened letting in the moon and starlight.

The spring had turned to summer and the warm air of the seaside city flooded in. You look up at the star strewn sky and grin. Your hand tightens on Zero’s hand. “Make a wish.” You whisper.

Caesar got up from the piano and Chu Zihang put down the saxophone. They all walked to Lu Mingfei’s side and the three took each other’s hands and bowed deeply. 

Cries and applause swept the stage like a storm. And the enthusiasm can't be contained. Women rushed the stage to embrace the young men who were leaving but the stage was too high to climb. So they throw roses, thousands of roses until the stage is covered with bright red, pink and white.

“Ukyou! Ukyou! BasaraKing! Basaraking! I love you! Don’t leave!”

It was time for the final rankings of the performers. At this moment, the spotlight suddenly came on to Lu Mingfei. Whale who had lost an arm in the disaster strode onto the stage. “According to Takamagahara practice, whether Little Sakura stays in our warm family depends on one thing - love! That is, your love!” Whale shouted. “Only the flower tickets of your love can get him to stay. So vote for him. Waiter! Please reveal how much love did LIttle Sakura get during his internship?”

A waiter came with an envelope on the platter. Whale tore it open with his teeth and shouted “320 flower tickets!”

“Oh…” You wince. Poor Lu Mingfei. Chu Zihang and Caesar and easily gathered over 900 ticket buyers in a few days. And after months here Lu Mingfei couldn’t gather half that.

But Whale continued. “In addition to the flower tickets purchased before the show, the total is 100,320 flower tickets! Congratulations Little Sakura, you passed the internship period and you are now a member of our Takamagahara club family!”

Whale took a check from his pocket. A projector enlarged the check until it was the whole background of the stage. It was a check for 100 million yen. Lu Mingfei stood in stunned silence. The check was signed by Erii Uesugi.

Erii had stood up at the end of the show but now she held up a new sign with a sad silent face. The sign read clearly. “Sakura, please stay.”

“Oh… Oh Erii…” Your heart was moved by this. You reach out to her.

Zero takes your arm and whispers urgently. “You have to go now. Or else you’ll miss them.”

You hesitate. Erii doesn’t look at you or shift from that spot. Lu Mingfei stares at her over the crowd but the curtain goes down in front of him. Zero is pushing you now and you have to go.

Erii still stands there even though the curtain is down.

Zero drags you out a side entrance to a waiting Alfa Romero Sports car.

“You can comfort her later.” Zero says as she shuts the door of the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“Yeah…” You buckle up and then do a double take. “Since when did you learn how to drive?”

“Since forever ago.” She turned her head and backed out of the alley and sped down the street so fast you were pressed into the leather. 

The helicopter was parked in a large parking lot two blocks away and the eight executive members of the Hydra lined up to send the Cassell team off. After this incident, the Japanese branch was established again, but a new agreement was signed. Anjou gave up his personal control over the branch, though he still holds the highest decision making power.

The last surviving member of the original family was Nanami Sakurai and she was promoted as Minister of Japan and the new acting director of the Executive Bureau. Chisei and his brother were missing in action and assumed dead. But before his disappearance, Chisei had left the leadership to Mrs. Sakurai. Caesar and Anjou spoke to Mrs. Nanami and she was impressed by their words enough to let you have a special internship and training as a White King bloodline operative and you would be handling all matters when it came to the Devil Clan and unstable hybrids.

“These small gifts left by the clan chief are not quite high end,” Crow gave sunscreen in glass bottles to Casear, Anjou, Lu Mingfei, Zero, and Fingel. “They’re his whole collection. He was really serious about going and selling sunscreen.”

“I’ll smear it on the prettiest girl’s back for him.” Caesar said.

“That would make him happy. That’s what he looked forward to the most.” Crow said.

Your heart aches slightly, thinking of Sakura Yabuki. You wondered where Chisei was now. You hoped he managed to find peace somewhere with his brother.

Caesar approached you. “Are you going to be alright by yourself?”

Your lips curl upward. Then you dip your head and delicately remove your contact lenses. Your eyes are glowing golden, permanently. One didn’t just brush up against the experience of being a dragon king and not be left with some sequelae. “Caesar… Are you going to be alright by yourself?” You ask in a sly voice.

Caesar averts his eyes. “Okay, okay, point taken.”

You replace the contacts in your eyes. “I’m no Caesar Gattuso, but I think I can hold my own here.”

Caesar’s eyes soften. “We’re going to look for him.”

Your smile fades. “Don’t look too hard.” Your chest aches again. “Chime needs time. And so do I.”

Caesar pulls you into a tight hug. You inhale deeply and focus on the bright sweet scent of tobacco. “Don’t forget to text me when you get in. And tell Nono I said hello.”

“I will.”

You approach Lu Mingfei. His eyes are dim and he doesn’t look up. You shake your head. You’re living because of this guy, so you can’t punch him or threaten him too badly. You tap his nose and he looks up at you, looking irritated. 

“Better step up, pretty boy. She went through a lot for you.”

“I know… I... “ Lu Mingfei rubbed the back of his head.

“Don’t say anything! I’m having the hardest time not dragging you back to the Takamagahara right now. It’s 100 mil yen man… come on.” You suddenly hug him tight.

“Ow! Ow! Have you been working out or something? Geez you’re gonna leave a bruise!” He whined.

“Text her.” That’s the last you say to Lu Mingfei.

You approach Chu Zihang. He looked down at you with golden eyes hidden behind black eyed contact lenses. Even now, you didn’t feel particularly close to him, especially not close enough to hug. Chu Zihang was holding a long white wood box that contained Chisei’s swords anyway. He nodded once to you.

“I will be following your progress closely.” He said.

Principal Anjou was blowing out a puff on his cigar as you approached him. He handed you a small white card. “This is your official Cassell Credentials. You’ll be on remote study, but given your performance, you can study at your leisure.”

“Thank you, Principal. I would like to learn Japanese, and how to drive faster than Zero.”

Zero looked up from where she was about to board the helicopter and rolled her eyes at you, but there was a trace of a smile on her lips.

The helicopter took them up into the sky and you watched as its white light disappeared like a shooting star flying into the distance, taking your friends away across the ocean to the United States. 

You turned back to Crow who bowed deeply until he was horizontal. “Mrs. Chief. Forgive my bad English, but your car is ready to go to your new accommodations at the Hydra headquarters in Genji Heavy Industries.”

You grin flashing your white teeth at him. “Arigatou.”

[fabulaee]

COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE

// A 🐺 fic based on my Stay journey’s aesthetics which was a coffee shop au bc they remind me of those times when I used to go to the café to draw and would see fellow regulars but unlike y/n and Chan, I never interact with them. We all just share a table 😂😂😂

*

*

*

Monday. Wednesday. Friday

That was the set schedule for your coffee run. MWF from 9 am to 10, then coming back with your study supplies from 1 to 4 in the afternoon. It was routine; the small college café a safe haven from the slight messy floor of your dorm and the formal vibe of the library. Here you were focused and at peace of mind. The aroma of the coffee beans and soft sounds of the coffeeshop’s playlist serving as background noise.

There wasn’t much students at this time of the day compared to the much later prime of the evenings. The café then filled with college youths grabbing a drink after a long day’s worth of lectures and test reminders or staying to cram a night’s worth of information. There was something about cafés that seemed inviting and less suffocating yet at the same time a place where you can find the nursing students with their big thick books opened with streaks of neon yellow running across them.

“Vanilla Bean Cold Brew for y/n!”

Standing up, you went to grab your drink leaving behind the pastel rainbow set of highlighters and gel pens on top of your notes. You quickly thanked the barista as he handed you a straw before plopping back down on your seat continuing where you last went off. Something about the history of impressionistic art. You sighed as you lifted your eyes across the room, it was currently 2:30 pm on a Wednesday afternoon. A good time to take a break before your mind starts to commit brain fart.

*

Chris Bang. Affectionally called Bang Chan by his friends. Music major with golden hands, a good candidate for the honor roll, member of the varsity swim team, and resident social butterfly. An all rounder any college is proud to have.

You heard about him once or twice from your common friend, Yang Hongseok. They met at the gym apparently and became quick friends through the Japanese exchange student, Adachi Yuto, and their shared love for fitness.

You see him sit at the same spot everyday since the middle of sophomore year. His laptop with the cute decal of Deadpool open and his AirPods snugly tucked in his ears. He's always has his blonde head bopping to a song he's playing on either his phone or his laptop. Always seemed so engrossed in this little world he made for himself across the room, ignorant to the bustling crowd of students that come and go.

He looks up catching you off guard. His lips curled slightly upwards, chuckling to himself as he watches your cheeks turn pink in embarrassment. Great, he must think I'm a weirdo!

With a quick exchange of nods you both went back to doing your own thing. Just a regular day at the coffee shop.

*

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

It's the Friday following Monday's slightly embarrassing incident. You looked up to find the same Chris Bang, laptop in hand, smiling at you like a friendly yet lost puppy. Warm brown orbs looking back at yours.

“My laptop's about to die and this is the only table with an outlet.” He explains himself, a tiny awkward giggle making up as the period.

“O-oh, of course!” You stuttered, hastily making room for him despite the large space as you swiped for the stray pastel highlighters and napkins closer. “No one's sitting here so go ahead.”

He whispered a small thanks before setting down his laptop to grab his bag from his usual spot while you went back to your notes. It was silent for awhile, only the sounds of pen against paper and the soft tick tack of the keys. At some point you hit a mind block, eyes glazing in boredom as you stared at the blank space of your notebook. You felt your table mate leave his stationary position too. he stretched in his seat before turning his attention to you.

Sensing his sudden gaze on you, you flashed him a small smile. You were never one to start a conversation, often keeping to yourself and minding your own business. A bit of a complete opposite towards the friendly Australian who somehow knows at least three students from each program.

He smiles back at you showing off his cute dimples and an outstretched hand. “Hey, I'm Chan. I never caught your name.”

Again with the cute giggle. It seems to be like a signature to him but it's cute still the same. You grasped his hand giving it a soft shake. “Y/n,” you answered curtly.

*

The following days you find yourself hanging around Chan more. Afternoon study sessions were no longer a date between you and the textbook or the small watercolor set you laid out on the table. Chan was there to fill the space making the long table that was a party of one to a party of two and maybe some on certain busy hours but mostly it was the both of you in your own tiny world.

You got to know him, his likes and dislikes. His major and passion for music, sometimes slipping in a few complaints about certain homework here and there; What else he likes to do. Apparently mr. Chris Bang was gifted in so many areas you often wondered what good he must've done in his previous life to be this gifted. Not only was he a jack of all trades, he's also the master of all.

You even had a small debate between Deadpool and Spider-Man. God, he's such a nerd it's adorable!

In return he knew these things about you. How you're taking up art as your major hoping to make it out as an illustrator one day—

“it would be so cool if you drew a variant cover for Deadpool!”

“Ha! We'll see about that, Chris Reynolds.”

He knows how you like to collect stickers and are quite passionate about making sure your notes are beautiful. He knows how you loved your drinks iced despite it being the middle of winter.

“Isn’t the weather too cold for that?” He’d ask with a quirk of his brow, amused brown eyes glancing at the iced hazelnut latte you have in your hands.

“Nope!” you replied, taking a sip as you did so. “It’s always the perfect weather for an iced coffee, Bang.”

He only chuckled at that.

*

It hit you like a freight train. You didn’t mean to fall for him. It wasn’t supposed to happen. You and Chan? No way, it was just supposed to be just friends. The kind where you hang out and have fun, no feelings attached. He was just supposed to be that regular from the café, right?

That was the plan, right?

But you can’t deny the small flutters from your heart much like those newly emerged butterflies. How you can feel that giddy feeling of excitement when you spot his mop of chocolate curly locks outside the café’s window. How you mirror his smile when you get together to talk about anything and everything under the sun. Bang Chan in all his cute dimpled glory, soft curls and hearty giggles was just too much to adore.

Yet it wasn’t that what pulled you in to the Music major. You felt love blossom when you both stayed up late, when the café was quiet after a busy day. The only people around being a couple medical students, some late night goers, and the employees. You felt the tiny flower buds start to bloom when he stayed with you then; keeping you company under the dimly warm fluorescent lights, laptop tucked away and a hand playing with yours.

You felt it bloom when you cuddled on the booth’s sofa one rainy November day. He scoots over next to you when he saw you shiver from the corner of his eyes. He’s naturally warm —you’d often tease him how he made the room hot. Why? well it’s because he’s from Australia! which earned the loud chorus of laughter from his friends and Chan’s ears turning into the color of the fire hydrant.

“Babygirl, you’re shivering.” He mutters as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you gently towards him. You accepted the subtle invitation, sides sticking together as you both went through forgotten notes and half finished coffees.

You felt it when you caught yourself staring at him a little longer than intended. Eyes drifting from Jisung’s expressive face to glance at the older one. You watched him look at the former with such adoration in his eyes; how he looked like a proud dad. You watched him nod along and laugh to Jisung’s animated story about how he and Hyunjin would fight back in the day, a fact that still seemed to shock you seeing how they are the best of friends.

Your eyes would linger on him while he worked on his music; focused and determined, hiding the exhaustion and sleepless nights prominent on the dark circles under his eyes. He was handsome even if he looked like shit. Hell, he was handsome even when he sported the infamous broccoli colored hair. You’d find yourself in a trance, like it was a dream. The world didn’t matter as much anymore when it was only you and Chan in the small dimly table, surrounded by the aroma of coffee beans at the small quaint cafe at the corner of the street.

*

You loved him. You loved him in the most beautiful of ways; you loved him in the most perfect highs and in all those crevices full of flaws.

You loved him in those bright moments, when the lights were shining on him during a 3RACHA gig. How they made him more beautiful, how they made him stand out from the 2 younger members. You loved watching him do what he loves; how he immersed himself in a world that was different from yours. How his version of colors and dried paint were beats and melodies, rhythm and tempos.

You loved him in the lowest moments; when the tide was high enough to cover you. You loved how you fit perfectly in his arms, how he became a shoulder to lean on when you felt the world was against you and you to him. When he would open up to you about his worst fears and his grandiose ambitions; when he spilled his heart out at the underlaying insecurity that’s been biting him due to his perfectionist attitude. You became his confidante; the one he can trust his heart to.

You loved him in the times he was vulnerable. You loved him when he would bask in glory and shining lights. You loved him like those cheesy lines in love songs. You loved him like how the tides would look at the moon in awe and yearning; gravitating with every push and pull.

You loved him in ways words can never describe. How the seeds he planted in your heart bloomed to the most beautiful bouquet of flowers.

You love him simply because he’s Chan.

You promised yourself you’d be just friends. It was safer that way but then again, what is love when she’s not one without twists and turns?

What is love when she comes to you, sneaky and sly like a weed disguised as a flower, whispering into your ear that it’s him.

It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

It was always him, it just took you some time to figure that out.

*

When you first met Chan, he was simply a friend of a friend. Someone you knew because your brothers are his friends. He was the guy you’d hear about in passing, the popular cool guy with a heart bigger than a massive sized teddy bear and a smile that could cure the most depressing of days. Someone who, in probability, would just be an acquaintance to you.

He was that guy you regularly saw at the coffee shop you visited every week. He was just some guy from the music department who would flash you a friendly smile because you were a familiar face.

Funny how fate made him more than what you originally expected him to be.

[goodbysunball]

Ten weeks away, six beats off

Been a whirlwind year so far but I'm back in the saddle. I'm busting at the seams with drivel on records and the best way to unleash it is in these grouped posts. Small plates, quick bites - bon apétit.

Bobby Would, World Wide World (Low Company)

Can Low Company just come back as a label and a record store already? These releases trickling out after its demise are cruel reminders of how essential those self-effacing tastemakers were. The Anti-Clock LP is a doozy, and this second Bobby Would record sounds like a classic right off the bat. Mr. Would sticks to the same stuff that made Baby so damn good: dusty loops, barely discernible vocals with a catchy melody, bright spindly guitar lines for days. Songs like "Natural Killer" and "Walk Away" are the immediate favorites, upbeat on the exterior but bleary-eyed upon close inspection. Repeated listens have revealed that the hungover haze of "Maybe You Should" and the last call sway of "Raft," which might be my favorite, are where he really shines, tempos slowed to a crawl to make room for the rich warmth of his reverb'd mumble and his sparkling guitar. Yeah, I'm crushin' on Bobby Would, but so's everyone I've forced this record upon. Sharp but unassuming, and endlessly listenable, World Wide World is the balm until better days arrive. Top notch, highest recommendation, all the fixin's.

The Begotten, Temidden Laaghangende Wolken (Aguirre)

I'm a new dad and that means I'm searching for music that I can listen to with my daughter without disturbing her, and music that isn't Raffi. Typically that means a lot of drone, and a lot more quiet, introspective music, like the reissue of Lol Coxhill & Morgan Fisher's Slow Music that Aguirre did. Because the reissue job on that record is so good, I decided to roll the dice on a contemporary offering from Aguirre that also sounded like it fit my needs. My initial reaction to hearing the Begotten's music online was that this trio was approaching zones tread upon by Fabulous Diamonds circa Commercial Music, but subsequent listens have decidedly not taken me that far out. While it's clear the band is made up of exceptionally talented musicians, the music tends to be pretty safe and stays close to the shore. The B-side's a bit better: "Eiland Zonder Oceaan" and "60 Manen" are as close as this record gets to the "dub with tears" descriptor from the label, and the gossamer drone of closer "Klauwzeer" is cool, but nothing really sticks once it's over. Seems like these guys could probably freak out the crowd at a traditional jazz club, but Temidden Laaghangende Wolken keeps the listener at arms' length, simmering but ultimately tepid once you're beneath the surface.

Cube, Drug of Choice (Alter)

Fave record of the year so far! I caught Cube (aka Adam Keith) burning down the Pilot Light what seems like an eternity ago, touring on his last LP, Decoy Street. Nothing on that LP approached the fiery performance I saw, but he's definitely harnessed that energy on Drug of Choice. The record flows seamlessly, corroded breakcore flooding into all corners, causing machines to gasp and whirr and burst, and Keith's intermittent vocalizations are as sinister and biting as they are introspective and philosophical. "Natural Selector" has all of the above, but for my money it's the closing duo - the frenzy of "Moderator" and the terrifying strobelight beatdown of "Cusp" - that really show the piledriving exterior/groaning interior dichotomy that makes the record so magnetic. The label said it best: Drug of Choice "deliver[s] something that feels as much focused on artful constructions of private experiences as it does the cathartic qualities of noise." Alter's quietly releasing some of the best contemporary records, but Cube's Drug of Choice has all the right stuff to justifiably blow up their profile. Wildly intense and devious record; grip a copy and lose your mind with me. While you're at it, check out Adam Keith's amazing Baited Area zine - some of the most engaging arts 'n culture writing/interviews this side of Demystification.

The Gagmen, s/t (iDEAL)

Aaron Dilloway, Nate Young, Joachim Nordwall and apparently Andrew W.K. teamed up as the Gagmen for a performance a few years ago, captured here and put to wax by Nordwall himself for his iDEAL label. I was expecting a pretty blistering assault given the clientele, but what you get is the opposite: slow loops, spare instrumentation, Young's sleepy vocals, all stark and creepy and forcing you to lean into it. The end of the second track gets a little intense, with some wailing loop and white noise combining to tickle your ear hairs, but aside from those couple of minutes, the bulk of The Gagmen is like a black breezy night forcing things to move that usually don't. Puts a knot in your stomach, it does. Hey, it's not for everyone, but if you loved the Komare LP from last year like me, you're gonna find a lot to enjoy here.

Monokultur, Ormens Väg (ever/never)

Glad to see Monokultur continuing their relationship with ever/never, not least of all because those overseas shipping costs hurt. Ormens Väg is the Swedish duo's second LP, and right from the jump they're seemingly headed in a more accessible pop direction. It's a good look for them: opener "Decennium" features big warm keyboards and probably the most exposed vocals from the band yet, kinda coming across like the Knife covering Berlin. It's followed by my favorite track, "För sent," which has a bass line that melts and soothes your ears, topped by JJ Ulius' forlorn (I'm assuming) spoke-sung vocals. The band nods at an earlier incantation of themselves on the buzzed descent of "Kanske blir det sämre", but for the most part the rest of Ormens Väg continues in this gorgeous, warm and spare mode. Take the beautiful instrumental "Vårdagjämning," which almost sounds like it was lifted from the xx's cutting floor until the tape loops emerge like swirling smoke to cloud the proceedings. By the track's end the band somehow ends up on Robert Turman's turf but everything feels cohesive, all of it delicately presented. Shit, even the snippet of "Silent Night" emerging at the end of the title track doesn't take the record off course. Pretty much perfect little record, and yet another early favorite from this year.

Nina Harker, s/t (Animal Biscuit/La République des Granges/Le Syndicat des Scorpions)

This record came out in the middle of 2020, but I missed it then and it's a current obsession now. Shoutout to @dustedandsocial, Yellow Green Red, Fuckin' Record Reviews and everyone else who pointed me in its direction, late as I may be. I don't have a whole lot of info on Nina Harker but it appears that it's the work of one Valentin Noiret, some mad multilingual genius working between the lines connecting Dome, La Grande Triple Alliance and Enhet För Fri Musik. "L'affreuse" is pretty illustrative of how Nina Harker condenses genres into bite-size packets: the woozy, seasick synth topped by Xasthur-like vocals, which are then joined by what sounds like despairing Japanese, the shuffling song slowly building up to this terribly simple guitar part that just levels you when it hits. Not everything is so busy: "Müssen Wir Noch Aufblühen⁇" is a fantastic slice of minimal synth, and the two late night strummers "το κορίτσι γαβγίζει" and "Muto" are disarming in their stripped-down simplicity. The hum that overwhelms "Muto" razes the field to make way for the robotic waltz and maniacal ravings on "Du Schaffst es Nicht," one of many catchy, totally bizarre moments on the record. Nina Harker is riddled with anxiety, moving from frenzied to haunting without batting an eye, but it's also an absolutely singular approach to the dread and restlessness lurking in the corners. Perhaps more prescient than they would've guessed when they made this record. Stunning, hits the spot every time, track down a copy posthaste.

[silverhandy]

I saw the devil (in me) - chapter 3

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I ao3

    The door to his hotel room closed with a hum and a soft click of an automatic lock. This time, he did take the cab, walking back would give him way too much time to really think about what Misty had said. It made Takemura feel like a coward, running away from her like that, but he couldn't help it. If he stayed there any longer, he’d fall apart. Right in front of her, all the pieces he’s been so desperate to hold together for the last few months would disassemble and there’d be nobody to pick him back up.

    Takemura threw the heavy wool coat onto the still pristine bed, the impact creating a small sea of wrinkles on the otherwise perfectly straightened linen. The hotel he chose was no Konpeki Plaza, but it was still far from the sleazy, off the road (and off the radar) motels he had a chance to familiarize himself with during his last stay in Night City. The room, with its generic, yet tasteful decor remained perfectly impersonal, walls devoid of any stains, no blood or other fluids on the dark carpet, fresh towels handcrafted into fantastical shapes neatly tucked on the bed. The only thing that made it feel lived in was a fainting fragrance of cologne, left behind by the previous guest.

    Takemura paced around the room for a few minutes before finally setting himself on the chair in the corner of the room. Whatever he was hoping he’d achieve by going to V’s funeral, he didn’t feel it. The guilt was still there. Just a few months ago he was so convinced that he’d be able to offer her an alternative, one that so few of this world could even dream of having access to, and she declined. He didn’t understand it then, but he did now. Strangely, this realization gave way to a different thought, one that he’d been trying to push as far back into his minds as possible, with little success. It wasn’t only V that Arasaka has failed. For the first time in his life, Takemura almost felt like Arasaka had also failed him.

    He couldn't really blame the company for not having the tech that is yet to be created, or for doctors and scientists who’d only sight and shake their heads. Those six months ago it finally hit him that even Arasaka has its limits, despite their far-fetched attempts to prove otherwise. What he didn’t understand was the way he was so decisively removed from the inner circle of the Arasaka family, transferred to a city almost 700km away from Tokyo, and given a job that he wasn’t suitable to do, his knowledge steaming from experience and practice. After all, he was a soldier, not a clerk. All he wanted was to continue serving, a modest gratification for the lengths he went to in order to uncover Yorinobu’s plot. V would certainly say that he deserved more. Takemura wouldn’t dare, even within the confines of his own mind.

    After a moment of hesitation, he pulled up his comms. It was stupid. Pointless. Above all, it probably wouldn’t even work, but despite all of that, he still found himself selecting V’s number. Before he knew it, a steady melody of an awaiting call rang in his ears. At least the number hasn’t been disconnected. Yet.

    Takemura didn’t know what he was expecting, exactly. There was nobody to pick up the phone anymore, and yet he was hoping that calling V’s number this one time would make up for all the times he didn't. Takemura let out a deep sigh, gestured to end the call and soon was left with an empty screen with basic contact information. And yet, when he now looked at it, it wasn’t empty at all.

    How on Earth didn’t he notice it before? He checked the date again, unable to believe that for all the time he spent staring at this one specific entry of his long contact list, he didn’t notice this aggressively yellow icon, gleaming next to V’s icon on his interface. Was it even possible that he missed it? What was he doing a little over three months ago, anyway?

    He barely remembered, that period of his life little more than a blur. Should he even open it now? Wouldn't it merely be opening old wounds, ones that even time didn’t seem to heal? After all, Takemura doubted there was anything V could say to him that’d push him from the path he found himself walking. There was no turning back, not when he was nearing the end of it, but he still opened the voice message.

    “Hey Takemura, it’s V. Been a while, huh? You must be back home already, bathing in all that Arasaka glory. Is the local cuisine as good as you remembered? I’m still waiting for you to show me that famed real food of yours. Onigiri with...what was it again? Umeboshi? Hope I’m not butchering the nomenclature too much. Anyway, I came back to Night City, moved in with Judy shortly after. I didn’t want to rush things with her, but considering the circumstances, it just felt right. Did I even tell you about her? Met her on the job and we clicked right away. You’d like her, I’m sure.

    I’ve been doing some small jobs, mostly for friends, in between dodging Viktor like the plague, but, uh...there came a time I couldn’t do either anymore. It was Judy who practically dragged me to his clinic and then the whole carousel I’ve been so desperately running away from started rollin’. Scans, meds, all of that, at first it felt like I was back at the Arasaka clinic, except Viktor actually listened to me and gave me some fuckin’ room. He has me on a cocktail of meds that get me through the day, but honestly...I hate seeing that expression on his face every time I come see him. I know he’s tryin’ to hide it, but between you and me, he’s doing a pretty shit job.

    Anyway, enough of me talkin’...I feel that maybe we didn’t end things on the right foot that time at the clinic. I know you wanted what you think was best for me, but you know what? Despite everything, I feel free. You should try that sometime.”

    The message ended with a beep and Takemura just sat there, eyes fixed on the ground. And then he played it again. And again.

    Halfway through the third, he heard a knock on the door. One quick scan of the people behind it told him it wasn’t housekeeping, so did the urgency apparent in the way his visitors made the door shake slightly with the impact. He stood up and walked to the door, letting the thick carpet muffle his footsteps. Before opening, he grabbed a gun from his coat and tucked it behind his belt, just to be safe.

    Two men stood at the door, a familiar signature written seemingly all over them. Takemura wouldn’t say he was relieved upon seeing them, though. Not at all.

    “Can I help you with something, gentleman?” he asked, switching to Japanese, just for politeness' sake.

    “You are to come with us.” the shorter one said, eyes obscured by the blue-tinted glasses he wore.

    “That is not possible. My flight leaves soon and I am afraid I will miss it if I take any detours.”

    “Takemura-san,” the man said, a hint of a smile appearing on his otherwise expressionless face. “this is not a request. Arasaka-dono wishes to speak with you and I assure you, you wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

    He was right. Takemura wouldn’t.

    “Alright then, allow me to just grab my…”

    “That isn’t necessary. We will take care of your luggage.”

    Takemura felt his stomach drop, the same uncomfortable feeling one has when walking down the stairs and missing a step. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, but instincts were often hard to fool and the man in front of him didn’t inspire any warm feelings in his heart. Not many people working at Arasaka did, but as long as he stayed in line, he felt safe. Only now, when he had crossed it, he felt how thin it truly was. And how much he’s lost his edge.

    Takemura turned back to grab his coat and put it on, but instead of bringing him comfort, the heavy material felt as if it was bringing him down. Something weird seemed to be happening with his optics too, the image glitching every few steps. He wouldn’t show it, though, walking out of the hotel with his head held high and mind racing to come up with various scenarios of how he should proceed.

    The car was parked right next to the main entrance. One of the men opened its door to let him in, but Takemura stopped abruptly, hit with an all too familiar feeling. His mouth felt dry and he could feel a layer of cold sweat covered his brow. Takemura reached out to steady himself on the doorframe and felt one of Arasaka henchmen lean in behind him, the barrel of a gun digging into his ribs and a hand reaching for Takemura’s own weapon, still tucked behind his belt.

    “Quite a kick, right? Now, let’s not make a scene here.”

    “I thought I was to talk with Arasaka-dono.”

    “You will, but first, let us drive to a more suitable place.”

                                                                ***

    Takemura doubted that an abandoned parking lot in North Oaks is a place suitable for anything, especially a conversation, but at this point, he didn’t have much to say on the matter. Before they drove into Westbrook, his interface was completely gone and all he could rely on were his senses, devoid of the advantages implants previously gave him. Takemura could feel cyberwithrawal symptoms setting in, slowly building up into the most unpleasant crescendo. Then again, with the way his night was going, maybe he won’t live long enough to have to suffer through it.

    “What are we doing here?” Takemura asked after they all got out of the car. The driver, too, slightly older than his companions, with a steel hand obscured by a long sleeve of his coat. The place was scarcely lit, only one of the big, industrial lamps still working, providing a shaky, unreliable source of light right where they were standing, the three men next to each other, Takemura facing them from a short distance of maybe three meters.

    The driver stepped forward and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. Takemura would surely feel his body tense at the sight if he wasn’t trembling so much at that point. To his surprise, the man didn’t pull out a gun to shoot him with, but a shard. Without any additional explanation, he plugged it in and his hard stare vanished, replaced by a stream of data reflecting on his eyes.

    “Takemura.” the proxy said, unintentionally mimicking Saburo’s voice.

    “Arasaka-dono.” Takemura grit his teeth and bowed to greet the men, fists clenching at his sides to stop his hands from shaking.

    “I am sure you know why you find yourself here. If it is any consolation, it is not only you that can be blamed for your current position. Hanako made a grave mistake asking you to speak to that woman. She planted a seed of doubt into your heart, one that soon grew into a weed and started eating away at your soul. There is a way to remedy that, however. You can still reclaim your honor by finishing what you started in Takamatsu. Right here, right now. There is no need for you to come back to Japan.”

    “Arasaka-dono, I…” Takemura started, but the man raised his hand, silencing him in one gesture.

    “Ishihara here will be your second, should your hand falter. I do not wish for you to suffer.” the proxy turned to the man to his left, the one with the glasses, and gave him a small nod. He stepped forward, revealing a small package he’d been holding, and placed it on the ground in front of Takemura, who immediately knew what it was. He recognized the maroon silk. As he looked back up at the three men, they didn’t move. They simply waited.

    And so Takemura kneeled, eyes fixed on the silk-wrapped sword in front of him. He leaned forward, carefully unwrapping the material until the blade laid bare, waiting for Takemura to grab its handle. Ishihara moved behind him, footsteps barely audible on the concrete floor.

    “You served the Arasaka family well through the years, but even a strong man like you is not immune to change or destructive influence. You surely understand that this is the only way.”

    Takemura did not see it like that. To go on his own terms, reconciled with his mistakes, that was the death he hoped he’d face. This felt like theatrics, a lot of effort put into making him feel like he had a choice where there was none. Takemura allowed his gaze to leave the proxy’s face and look beyond the guards, resting his eyes on the wall so densely covered with graffiti that none of it was legible. A vine crept up the stone, forcing its way into the cracked surface, destroying it even further in its primal pursuit of expansion. Below that, a pair of yellowish, feline eyes gleamed, just outside the circle of light.

    Despite everything, I feel free. You should try that sometime.

    “I do.” Takemura turned his head to the side slightly, just enough to see Ishihara standing behind him, his own sword in hand. Will he wait for Takemura to plunge the blade into his abdomen and only then make the cut? Or will he swing the weapon as soon as Takemura reaches for the wakizashi, intent clear enough in that simple gesture? He didn’t know, but Takemura wasn’t in any position to make bets.

    He leaned down and allowed his hand to reach for the wakizashi, still looking to his left. As expected, just as his fingers brushed the wooden handle of the sword, Ishihara swung his own, aiming for Takemura’s neck. The man reacted on instinct, throwing his arm to block the blade while his other hand grabbed the sword in front of him, fingers tightly closing around the handle. Takemura felt Ishihara’s powerful cut slice through skin and muscle, only stopping at the chrome reinforced bone. The blood soaked his sleeve almost instantly, splatters staining both of their faces, but Takemura grit his teeth and turned, blocking and forcefully guiding Ishihara’s blade away from himself, drastically widening the cut as he lunged forward to drive the wakizashi through the Arasaka agent’s chest. It went in with a grisly, wet sound of tearing flesh and bone. Takemura didn’t stop and turned once more, ignoring his opponent's desperate gasps, dragging Ishihara’s already limping body along, shielding himself from incoming bullets.

    The echo of shots rang wide through the empty parking lot as Takemura practically ran forward, pushing the already dead man in front of him with his full body weight. When his opponent realized he’ll have to reload soon, he took a few steps back, a glimpse of fear going through his face as he wrestled with the magazine. What it was he saw in his eyes that scared him so much, Takemura did not know, but seizing the occasion, he retracted the blade from Ishihara’s body, letting it drop onto the ground like a sack of flour, and lunged forward. Just as their bodies met, the other henchmen managed to fire, but only once before his dominant hand was sliced off in one strike, strong enough to sever the tissue and the wires that held it together. The man screamed as he saw his arm fall to the ground, but before the sound had the chance to echo off the ruined walls, it was cut short.

     Takemura could already feel his left arm lose sensation, growing weak and limp with every ounce of blood he kept losing, but it didn’t matter now, nor did the chills or the way his entire body rebelled against being cut off from augmentations so abruptly.

    The proxy didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, still standing those few meters in front of Takemura. He was armed, holster clearly visible at his hip, but he didn’t draw the gun. Takemura turned to face him, adrenaline still rushing through his veins and keeping him upright. Knowing it won’t be for much longer, Takemura made a few steps forward and stopped, weapon still in hand, his other arm hanging uselessly at his side.

    The proxy hummed.

    “An honorable death or a lifetime of shame. It greatly saddens me that you, of all people, chose wrong.”

    And just like that, the conversation was over.

    Takemura didn’t wait until the proxy fully regained awareness of his surroundings. Hardly honorable, but he doubted he could sink any lower and with the state he was in, letting the man come to his senses would almost certainly mean death.

    Cursing under his breath, Takemura went over to the agent’s bodies and patted them down, but didn’t find what he was looking for. He stood back up and turned to the car, feeling his legs grow weaker with every step. He somehow managed to drag himself onto the driver’s seat and lean to the side to open the glove compartment, throwing the bloodied wakizashi onto the passenger's seat. Dark spots obscuring his vision, Takemura was going in blind, frantically searching for the injector with his good hand. The wave of relief he felt when his blood-soaked fingers finally landed on the familiar shape was almost enough to knock him out on its own, but he forced himself to power through. Tearing off the safety lid with his teeth, he stabbed himself in the chest with it and pushed the plug.

    The effect was immediate. Another rush of adrenaline made it feel like his heart was about to jump out of his chest, it’s breathless beating throbbing in his temples, but the darkness creeping up on him disappeared. Takemura knew the effect wouldn’t last long, but he hoped it’d be enough to at least pull up a first aid kit from under the passenger's seat. When Takemura finally managed to rid himself of the coat and the jacket beneath it, he realized the extent of the damage. His arm looked bad. Really bad. If not for all the blood, he’d surely be able to see  bone and wiring, just barely keeping the limb together. His personal link was shredded, that’s for sure. The coagulants he tried using a second before clearly not working the way they were supposed to, Takemura tried bandaging his arm with one hand and somewhat succeeded, if not for the bright, red blood that soaked through the second he finished tying the knot.

    With a trembling hand, Takemura started typing in the address but found himself missing every other letter, too unsteady to hit them right, smearing blood all over the little screen. The autopilot seemed to take the hint, though, and for the first time in his life, Takemura was grateful for the existence of autocorrect. He confirmed the address and clenched his fingers around the wheel. He’ll try driving it for as long as he can, he told himself, but if he passes out on the way at least there’s a chance to roll up at the door of someone who knows what to do with the body.

    Takemura didn’t remember much of the ride, his hand half-heartedly sliding in the steering wheel, smearing the blood on the fine, fair leather. He could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, head swimming with every sharp turn the car took. Eyes on the road, he kept telling himself, fingers clenching on the wheel to the point where it was almost painful.

    After what felt like ages, the car pulled up into the familiar alley and stopped, a cheery voice announcing that he had arrived at his destination. Takemura unfastened the seatbelt and almost fell onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding tripping over the edge of the car by grabbing the open door at the last moment to steady himself. He could see people around him, their terrified glances, but no one moved to help him. Those last few meters felt like a lucid, colorful dream. Takemura could hardly walk straight at that point, the world around him akin to a badly cut film. Maneki nekos waving their little, mechanical paws. Scent of incense so sharp it was almost unpleasant. Porcelain set falling to the ground, breaking into hundreds little pieces, impossible to put back together. And a beautiful carpet, no doubt woven by hand, surely only a human could put colors and patterns and threads together so beautifully. Such a waste, he thought before he finally gave in.

    Misty will never get the blood out.

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 11 paragraph x

In the car, out on the main road again, all was jubilation: laughter, high fives, while my heart was slamming so hard I could barely breathe. “What’s going on?” I rasped, several times—gulping for breath and looking back and forth between them and then, when they kept ignoring me, babbling in a percussive mix of Russian and Ukrainian, all four of them including Shirley Temple: “Angliyski!” Boris turned to me, wiping his eyes, and slung his arm around my neck. “Change of plans,” he said. “That was all on the fly—improvised. We could have asked for nothing better. Their third man didn’t show.” “Catching them short-handed.” “Flatfooted.” “Pants down! On the crapper!” “You”—I had to gasp to get the words out—“you said no guns.” “Well, no one got hurt, did they? What difference does it make?” “Why didn’t we just pay?” “Because we lucked out!” Throwing up his arms. “Once in a lifetime chance! We had the opportunity! What were they going to do? They were two —we were four. If they had any sense, they should never have let us inside. And—yes, I know, only forty thousand, but why should I pay them one cent if I don’t have to? For stealing my own property?” Boris chortled. “Did you see the look on his face? Grateful Dead? When Cherry whipped him back of the dome?” “You know what he was complaining about, the old goat?” said Victor, turning to me jubilantly. “Wanted it in Euros! ‘What, dollars?’ ” imitating his peevish expression. “ ‘You brought me dollars?’ ” “Bet he wishes he had those dollars now.” “I bet he wishes he kept his mouth shut.” “I’d like to hear that phone call to Sascha.” “I wish I knew the name of the guy. That stood them up. Because I would like to buy him a drink.” “Wonder where he is?” “He is probably at home in the shower.” “Studying his Bible lesson.” “Watching ‘Christmas Carol’ on television.” “Waiting at the wrong place, most like.”

“I—” My throat was so constricted I had to swallow to speak. “What about that kid?” “Eh?” It was raining, light rain pattering on the windshield. Streets black and glistening. “What kid?” “Boy. Girl. Kitchen boy. Whatever.” “What?” Cherry turned—still winded, breathing hard. “I didn’t see anyone.” “I didn’t either.” “Well, I did.” “What’d she look like?” “Young.” I could still see the freeze-frame of the young ghostly face, mouth slightly open. “White coat. Japanese-looking.” “Really?” said Boris curiously. “You can tell apart by looking? Like where they are from? Japan, China, Vietnam?” “I didn’t get a good look. Asian.” “He, or she?” “I think is all girls that work in the kitchen there,” said Gyuri. “Macrobyotik. Brown rice and like that.” “I—” Now I really wasn’t sure. “Well—” Cherry ran his hand over the top of his close-cropped hair —“glad she ran, whoever, because you know what else I found back there? Sawed-off Mossberg 500.” Laughter and whistles at this. “Shit.” “Where was it? Grozdan didn’t—?” “No. In a—” he gestured, to indicate a sling—“what do you call it. Hanging under the table, in some cloth like. Just happened to see it when I was down on the floor. Like—looked up. There it was, right over my head.” “You didn’t leave it there, did you?” “No! I wouldn’t have minded to take it except was too big and had my hands full. Unscrewed it and knocked the pin out and threw it in the alley. Also—” he pulled a silver snub-nosed pistol out of his pocket, which he passed over to Boris—“this!” Boris held it up to the light and looked at it. “Nice little conceal-carry J-frame. Ankle holster in those bell bottom jeans! But to his misfortune he was not quick enough.” “Flexcuffs,” said Gyuri to me, with slightly inclined head. “Vitya thinks ahead.” “Well—” Cherry wiped the sweat from his broad forehead—“they are light and slim to carry, and they have saved me many times shooting people. I do not like to hurt anyone if I don’t have to.” Medieval city: crooked streets, lights draped on bridges and shining off rain-peppered canals, melting in the drizzle. Infinity of anonymous shops, twinkling window displays, lingerie and garter belts, kitchen utensils arrayed like surgical instruments, foreign words everywhere, Snel bestellen, Retro-stijl, Showgirl-Sexboetiek. “Back door was open to the alley,” said Cherry, elbowing off his sports coat and swigging from a bottle of vodka which Shirley T. had produced from under the front seat—hands a bit shaky and his face, the nose particularly, glowing a flagrant, stressed-out, Rudolph red. “They must have left it open for him—their third man—to come in at the back. I closed it and locked it— made Grozdan close and lock it, gun to his head, he was snivel and crying like baby—” “That Mossberg,” Boris said to me, accepting the bottle passed over the front seat. “Evil dirty thing. Sawed off—? sprays pellets here to Hamburg. Aim it way the fuck away from everyone and still you will hit half the people in the room.” “Good trick, no?” said Victor Cherry philosophically. “To say your third man is not there? ‘Wait five minutes, please’? ‘Sorry, mix up’—? ‘He will be here any moment’? While he is all the time in back with the shotgun. Good double cross, if they had thought of it—” “Maybe they did think of it. Why else have the gun back there?” “I think we had a narrow miss, is what I think—” “There was one car pulled up front, scared Shirley and me,” said Gyuri, “while you were all in there, two guys, we thought we were in the shit but was only two gays, French guys, looking for restaurant—” “—but no one in the back, thank God, I got Grozdan on the floor and cuffed him to radiator,” Cherry was saying. “Ah, but—!” he held up the felt-wrapped package—“first. This. For you.”

He handed it over the seat to Gyuri, who—gingerly, with his fingertips, as if it were a tray he might spill—passed it to me. Boris—downing his slug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—chucked me gaily in the arm with the bottle while humming we wish you a merry Christmas we wish you a merry Christmas. Package on my knees. Running my hands all around the edge. The felt was so thin that I sensed the rightness of it immediately with my fingertips, the texture and weight were perfect. “Go on,” said Boris, nodding, “better open it, make sure it’s not the Civics book this time! Where was it?” he asked Cherry as I began to fumble with the string. “Dirty little broom closet. Piece-of-shit plastic briefcase. Grozdan took me right to it. I thought he might fuck around a bit but burner at the head was all it took. No sense getting popped when all that good space cake still around for the taking.” “Potter,” said Boris, trying to get my attention; and then again: “Potter.” “Yes?” Lifting the briefcase. “This 40 rocks is going to Gyuri and Shirley T. Keeping them green. For services rendered. Because it is thanks to these two that we did not pay Sascha one cent for the favor of stealing your property. And Vitya—” reaching across to clasp his hand—“we are more than equal now. The debt is mine.” “No, I can never repay what I owe you, Borya.” “Forget it. Is nothing.” “Nothing? Nothing? Not true, Borya, because this very night I carry my life because of you, and every night until the last night…” It was an interesting story he was telling, if I’d had ears to listen to it— someone had fingered Cherry for some unspecified but apparently very serious crime which he had not committed, nothing to do with, perfectly innocent, the guy had rolled for reduced prison time and unless Cherry, in turn, wanted to roll on his higher-ups (“unwise to do, if I wish to keep breathing”), he was looking at ten sticks and Boris, Boris had saved the day because Boris had tracked down the slimebag, in Antwerp and out on bail, and the story of how he had done this was very involved and enthusiastic and Cherry was getting choked up and sniffing a bit and there was more and it seemed to involve arson and bloodshed and something to do with a power saw but by that point I wasn’t hearing a word because I’d gotten the string untied and streetlights and watery rain reflections were rolling over the surface of my painting, my goldfinch, which—I knew incontrovertibly, without a doubt, before even turning to look at the verso—was real. “See?” said Boris, interrupting Vitya right in the heat of his story. “Looks good, no, your zolotaia ptitsa? I told you we took care of it, didn’t I?” Running my fingertip incredulously around the edges of the board, like Doubting Thomas across the palm of Christ. As any furniture dealer knew, or for that matter St. Thomas: it was harder to deceive the sense of touch than sight, and even after so many years my hands remembered the painting so well that my fingers went to the nail marks immediately, at the bottom of the panel, the tiny holes where (once upon a time, or so it was said) the painting was nailed up as a tavern sign, part of a painted cabinet, no one knew. “He still alive back there?” Victor Cherry. “Think so.” Boris dug an elbow in my ribs. “Say something.”

But I couldn’t. It was real; I knew it, even in the dark. Raised yellow streak of paint on the wing and feathers scratched in with the butt of the brush. One chip on the upper left edge that hadn’t been there before, tiny mar less than two millimeters, but otherwise: perfect. I was different, but it wasn’t. And as the light flickered over it in bands, I had the queasy sense of my own life, in comparison, as a patternless and transient burst of energy, a fizz of biological static just as random as the street lamps flashing past. “Ah, beautiful,” said Gyuri amiably, leaning in to look at my right side. “So pure! Like a daisy. You know what I am trying to express?” he said, nudging me, when I did not answer. “Plain flower, alone in a field? It’s just —” he gestured, here it is! amazing! “Do you know what I am saying?” he asked, nudging me again, only I was still too dazed to reply. Boris in the meantime was murmuring half in English and half Russian to Vitya about the ptitsa as well as something else I couldn’t quite catch, something about mother and baby, lovely love. “Still wishing you had phoned the art cops, eh?” he said, slinging his arm around my shoulder with his head close to mine, exactly as when we were boys. “We can still phone them,” said Gyuri, with a shout of laughter, punching me on the other arm. “That’s right, Potter! Shall we? No? Maybe not such a good idea any more, eh?” he said across me, to Gyuri, with a raised eyebrow.

[getreadytosmash]

✨ – to watch the Northern Lights with my muse ][For Samuel, who will - no doubt - share scientific facts about the Northern Lights with Rhys even if Rhys can't actually watch them... also, they probably flew somewhere since I can't imagine Vista Verde actually getting the Northern Lights][

@blind-mutant

Winter symbols

Alright, Samuel had to admit that it wasn't as nearly as bad as he originally thought to have been. At first he bad been worried about harming the pale man, risking Rhys's life on the occasional journeys Samuel made to other dimensions and planets. He tried to bring stuff back for Rhys and now he had quite the plethora of gifts within his room that Samuel enjoyed admiring whenever Rhys tempted him inside.....or firmly bullied him into his bed for sleep.

Honestly, Samuel still couldn't quite believe that he was a mass murderer and yet he went belly up for Rhys whenever the blind man so much as whimed for it.

And this...this was the first planet he had taken to Rhys. Which was more than a perfect time since it allowed Samuel more chances of escaping Rhys figuring out the fact that Samuel very much so hated Christmas. The constant memories of his mother's disappearance, his father's verbal abuse and indifference to his brother's....intensity and all of this cheerfulness around the holiday just made this escape all the much more appreciated.

And what a sight this planet made.

H₂éwsōs seemed to follow the aesthetic of a northern atmosphere, but all relations ended there. The ground seemed to be made of a shifting sand, with brief breaks that came in the form of large oval rocks that at a closer examination, revealed to be high grade diamonds. Fascinating. Not to mention that the trees were long and arching, twisting and spiralling which then revealed to actually be a type of fungus that had started Samuel on a five minute rant excitedly. Even the air seemed odd as Samuel could feel shifting bursts of icy cold air that almost seemed to burn! God, he was glad that he made Rhys take a space helmet just in case.

He was even more glad that he made Rhys take his most important device; A wrist watch that actually pushed and collected dark matter. Which meant that Rhys would always have a source of protection and defence with him if Samuel had anything to say or do about it.

The only thing that was left...was the colours. God, it was stunninng and now Samuel was more than eager to work on another device that would allow Rhys to register colour because then? Then he was going to let this be the first thing Rhys would absorb. It was a kaleidoscope of colours, reds that shifted to amber then brown then orange then gold then yellow then lime then green then turquoise them blue then indigo then violet then lavender then pink and then....well, Samuel's eyes almost hurt from seeing colours he had never even comprehended before, shattering though the sky and under the grounds in great pools of light and heat. Marvellous.

"Aurora is actually derived from the Roman goddess of dawn, who often travelled East to West to bring forward the sun, you know. One of the earliest divorceries of the Aurora was a 1770 Japanese diary that described the lights Kyoto alongside a storm that apparently affected telegraph networks!" Samuel had been talking for thirty minutes now and didn't seem to show any sign of stopping. Definitely with not the strength of his purrs that caused little snorts from how hard his chest was revving due to how enchanting Rhys was in the spectrum of lights.

"It's actually theorised to be a solar wind interfering with Earth's magnetosphere, which has begun to make me question the origins of other solar energies and the beings they interact with. If-" Samuel purred louder and flushed, glancing back at the lights at if suddenly remembering himself. "If you would like me to share my theories that is, A mhuirnín."

[smarmaladey]

The Bad Touch - (1/3)

Chapter 1 - “you and me”

Rating: 🇪

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Relationship(s):  🐞♡🚺

Words: 4032

Ao3 Link

(For content warnings and additional notes, click read more.)

The recessive vampire genes in Giorno's blood haven't been sitting too well with him lately. AKA, your boss is in heat. Oh god. Oh fuck. 

content warnings: rape/non-con elements, ooc (probably), AU (probably)

Enjoy!

♡🐞♡

Sunday.

4:00 PM.

The first incident.

♡🐞♡

Christ.

Seriously? In your three years working in espionage, this was the most tedious assignment you’d ever gone with? Retrieving a couple godforsaken papers from some insignificant rival group?

Whatever. It was done.

The fruits of your labor were safely tucked in the inside of your coat, ready to be delivered to the big man himself.

You could never fully understand why your boss always made you deliver crap straight to him. Maybe it was a trust thing?

During the span of your near two-year “career” under Passione, you’d managed to be slung up the ranks by the combination of your competence, ability, and tendency to work alone. This meant getting strangely close with the head of the whole shebang, normally taking your assignments straight from the man.

You never really made a big deal out of this. Giovanna was far from a super-secretive man, nor was he cold like one might expect from a goddamn mob boss. Hell , If the lowest, newest, meekest member of a scummy group did one thing that pleased him, he’d probably invite them to dinner at the most prestigious establishment in Rome. Or at least that’s what he came across as to you.

It was kind of sketchy.

But you didn’t really care, nor did you have any right to criticize the guy.

Dwelling on those thoughts wasn’t your style. All you had to do today was: Deliver the file, leave the office, get home, and finally, watch your shows. Simple.

After somehow making your way through his large estate to his office all by yourself, something was a little off.

The door was closed all the way.

You cracked it open a little bit, the too-loud creaking making you uneasy.

“Sir…?”

“Ah,” his voice was much too quiet, and almost...frantic. “Who’s this?”

How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? “Uhm, me?” You took the liberty of letting yourself in, slightly put off by how dim the room was. Facing you was the back of a leather chair.

Giovanna was looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of his office, curtains pulled half-open, casting soft afternoon light into the room. “...I’m guessing you have the documents?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t…” Muttering under your breath, you took the black folder from your coat.

He turned around when he heard your footsteps (because of course he could), being illuminated by the yellow-er light from the ceiling lamp.

The files were gently set down on his desk, and you caught him looking up at your face.

Something you’d been noticing for the past few months, (actually, you were pretty sure it began around his eighteenth birthday) he’d been... adorning himself more than usual…? As if he wasn’t already grandiose enough, he’d been wearing makeup quite a lot more than you were used to.

Giovanna smiled up at you, and successfully got you to avert your gaze. His lips were glossed with a very lovely fuchsia, but what really caught your eye were his cloud-white, glittering teeth. And you had no clue why. Something was off about his teeth, besides the fact that, like the rest of him, they were grossly perfect.

He was clad in a classic; magenta suit with numerous full-golden brooches. (Those ones were new, given to him by a “friend of the organization” apparently, and you had no idea why you knew this) Glancing at his hands on the folder, his nails, manicured into rounded points and painted white, contrasted with the signature black leather of your favorite binder.

Strange. His door was completely shut, as if nobody had seen him for the entire day. Why was he still dressed up…?

Swallowing nothing, you took a step back.

“Let’s see…” Your boss’s voice was still quiet, as he carefully tugged the manila files out and placed them on his desk. “Ah, bravo! These are exactly what we’ve been looking for!”

Before you knew it, he had snatched your hand and was shaking it with both of his. The nails digging into your wrist made you cringe.

”Thank you, Sir...thank you…” You tried with all your being not to sound confused or ungrateful, especially with those...intense turquoise eyes glaring up into your soul.

“I expected nothing less of this, perfect job!” His hands lingered for too long before he dropped to start reading the documents again.

You mumbled something, turned around, and began to leave. Yet, just as your hand was on the tacky flower-themed doorknob, he stopped you.

“Wait,” the jump from his chair was audible. “I, ahem, I never dismissed you.” There was a small giggle in his voice, and you weren’t buying it.

Ugh.

“Awh, but Don Giovanna~~! ♡ I’ve had such a long, looong day, and my poor body’s so, sooo tired! Please let me go home, haven’t I done such a good job already~? ♡ There’s a new X-Files episode premiering tonight, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world~!”

That’s what you could’ve said in an ideal world.  

“Right.” In that world, he’d let you leave right away, “am I needed for anything else, Giovanna?” And then you’d go to your quiet, expensive beach house and get an amazing night’s sleep.

He shuffled in his seat a bit. “Yes, why don’t you hang up your coat?” He spoke without looking at you, scanning the files in front of him. “You must be hot in this room, I know I’ve been all day…”

You nodded once. “I think the air conditioning here might be broken…” your boss’s words mostly flew over your head. “I’ve just been feeling so overheated lately. I even keep the door shut now just so the cool air doesn’t leave this room…” You nodded again. “Do you think I should get a fan?” Again.

When you fully took off your heavy coat, you flinched.

Holy shit, it’s freezing.

With your bare arms exposed, you finally processed how cold it was in the room. No sooner did the temperature register with the rest of your body.

The coat rack, like a lot in the room, was floral themed. The decoration of the entire office was pretty on point, but when you walked back across the room again, something new grabbed your attention.

On the ceiling, the round lamp that hung down had a new look. The paper lampshade had a sort of “Classical Asian Art” look to it, like Japanese “Ukiyo-e” or whatever it was called. Neat.

“Nice lamp.” You said, breaking the silence. Giovanna glanced at you, and you pointed up at the ceiling. “It looks nice.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Sitting across from him, you felt somewhat trapped. Just a little, though. It was just...quiet, with him reading papers and you...not.

This guy…

Your heart jumped when he shut the folder in front of your face. “Could you do me a favor, please?” Giovanna pointed somewhere behind you, at one of the many bookshelves lining the walls. “There should be a…” He cleared his throat, something he had been doing a lot during this meeting. “...a sort of history book on the Holy Roman Empire over there...”

Not bothering to say anything else, you got up. He gave you clarification and you were happy to get a little farther from him.

The books were all similar-looking with hard-to-read spines. It honestly felt like they were all sorted by color rather than title, and perfectly lined up with one another. How can one man manage to be so perfectly organized?

“Sir, which shelf is it?” You weren’t answered, as Giovanna had to clear his throat again. “...are you alright? Have you been ill these past few days?”

He waved at you not to worry. “I should be fine, I’ve just been so thirsty lately…”

“Ah.”

“It’s so strange, my throat is constantly dry…”

“That so? Would you like me to get some water?” You offered, still facing the bookshelf.

Once more, he cleared his throat. “No, that’s not necessary. Don’t worry about me too much…”

Everything seemed to stop awkwardly.

“It’s probably on the fourth shelf down, the title should be obvious…”

And like that, you found it.

“Grazie, grazie!” Giovanna almost cooed to you when you handed him the leatherback book. When he took it from you, his nails hit your fingertips, but you were distracted by seeing his teeth again. Still, you couldn’t tell what was up.

“Yeah, right…” You sat back down across from him, as he almost immediately started looking through the pages. “So why do you need the history book again…?”

He slid a document to you and pointed at some random word. “Well, it seems like in these records, they refer to--” Out. Everything else he said went through one ear, out the other.

“...right.”

“--and in this, this is a--”

“...yeah.”

“--which leads me to this one, which I have…”

When he trailed off, it went quiet again.

“This. I’ve seen this quote before!” He was pointing at the bottom of one of the first documents you snatched.

You were about to respond with another “oh really?” before he pointed out at another bookshelf, this time much closer to the desk.

“It’s smaller, but it’s right over there, I’m pretty sure.” Again, the books were all sorted by size and color, so you couldn’t tell anything from each other. He must’ve taken off the sleeves, too, because some didn’t even have a title on the spine.

You really wanted to snarl something at him. “Where am I looking again?”

Giovanna tried to clarify the location again, but it wasn’t working with you. Just get up yourself, asshole.

And he did! For the first time you’d seen that day, he rose from his chair and stared at the same row of books you were. Maybe the same exact book you were looking at. He must’ve, why else would he be standing so close?

“I could’ve sworn I put it around here…” You could hear his breathing. Stepping away, you watched him stand stiff and stare at all the books.

Your eyes were beginning to hurt. It’d been so long since you’d slept, all you needed was to go. “Enough, what’s the title of the book?” You were careful not to groan or scoff before or after you spoke.

Giovanna touched his chin with his index, looking, frankly, gorgeous from a profile shot. “It was called...ah, Invitation to a Beheading? Something like that?”

Something clicked in your head so fast you could’ve sworn you heard a ring.

“Ohhh! I’m pretty sure I remember my mom reading that book!” A quick memory of the book’s appearance flashed in your head, that matched something you had seen on another shelf earlier perfectly. “It’d be over here-”

Now, what happened next needs to be analyzed, because you were 99.9% sure this single moment was the straw on the camel’s back. The action that began the downfall. The great whore to your Babylon.

All you did was turn around, turn around right next to him, so you could head to another bookshelf.

The thing was, you weren’t paying attention to how you were moving your arms, only focused on the stupid goddamn book. Innocently, your arm swung and, as a result, your hand just brushed against his --Giovanna’s, your boss’s-- upper thigh...area. The back of it. You know, that area, the one between the tailbone and the leg, that one.

To put it bluntly, you touched his ass.

Both you two froze in that moment, you could tell. Maybe time stopped.

"...civetta."

You looked back around, to make sure you had heard that right.

"I'm sorry…?"

"Ah...you're such a little tease, aren't you…?"

Huh?

Blood in your veins went cold when you saw the pure, unadulterated salacity in his eyes.

Your fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and you tried to look to the side, or even turn around, but it was much too late. Giovanna had promptly moved to you, caged your face with his hands and turned you up to look at him.

The eye contact was brief, his gaze drilling into yours, before he forced you into a kiss.  

A shock went down your spine and made you stiffen. Almost instantly, you tasted the strange (and revoltingly pleasant) flavor of his lip gloss, and grew hyper-aware of not only the shape of his mouth, but the contrast of his body heat against yours.

Eyes widened, you uttered out a shocked, muffled noise that only seemed to make his ever-growing body temperature even warmer.

You tried to push against him, but he just grunted and tugged your body against his. Squishing your eyes shut, you tried pushing and palming at his chest, which only made him hold on tighter.

Eventually he detached for air, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you appearing only briefly. Giovanna's green eyes were absolutely hazed over, a vibrant pink dyeing his usually white face.

A million words were dashing through your head --why? what? who? how? me? you?-- but your brain was incapable of stringing together anything coherent.

It wouldn't have mattered if it had been, though, because almost as soon as the golden boy had pulled away, he pulled in once more.

This time, he took advantage of your pried open mouth to invade you near completely. In the midst, your tongue ended up brushing against one of his teeth--one of his canines.

Sharp. Too sharp.

With that, it was cut short by you successfully jerking away. While he didn't let you go, Giovanna withdrew again, wiping off his smeared lip gloss with the back of his hand.

"Sir! I--" Idiotically, you had assumed it was over, but surely enough, your wrists had gotten snatched.

Next thing you knew, the side of your face had been pushed up against the nearest vertical surface, with Giovanna mewing your body with his own.

"Gh…no..." Your voice had gotten higher, weaker too, "Sir...ah, Don Giovanna, please...I don't understand...why, what is this…?"

"You 'don't understand'? Really now?"  

You trembled at how close his voice had become, now so close to your ear that you could hear his tongue detaching from the roof of his mouth. “Sir, I--”

“Ah,” he breathed out a small laugh, “don’t try and play coy with me, cara, you knew exactly what you were doing…”

Giovanna had noticed how you reacted to his voice, so he decided to drag his tongue along the shell of your ear, before kissing it directly. Again, you let out a weak noise as warmth shocked your body.

Trying to get away from his voice, you turned forward and pressed your forehead against the shelf, perhaps in an attempt to squeeze yourself between the books and escape.

"Oh, when you tried to leave me earlier," he was beginning to sound almost whiney with how breathy his voice was becoming, clutching your shoulder and hand with an iron grip. "I swear, if you left, I would've…"

He never finished that statement, too distracted by trailing his hand from your shoulder, down your torso, all the way to the bottom of your high-waisted shorts.

"These...ah, did you really expect to come in here, wearing these, and be able to get away~?"

Even with your panic-blinded brain, you knew you had worn these (admittedly, skimpy) pants around him plenty of times before. He never had any problems until now…

"Giovanna, this is- ah!"

Your words were choked back when he had slipped his hand beneath the waistband of your pants. Underwear too, as he wasted little time trying to force his hand between your closed thighs.

His hand had no trouble finding that little rift in your flesh, middle finger delving between and pressing against the sensitive little nub inside.

In a near instant, your legs went from straight to bent, beginning to tremble. You cursed yourself for near literally becoming putty in his hands, but your brain was still fried and unable to think straight.

With a charming, pleased hum, he swirled his finger around, generating more embarrassing sounds from you. He kept his chest firm on your back, making sure you couldn't wriggle away from his grasp.

Giovanna slid his finger lower and curled it, his digit entering your body with a very slight pinch. You yelped again, hyper-aware of the quiet, very muffled squelching sound made.

"Oh, it's so wet here…" he tittered, sending even more polarizing feelings coursing through your veins.

"N-no...not there, you can't…" The softness of his hand, the smoothness of his nail, invading your warm insides made you feel extremely weak, like your body could cave in at any second. Your feet began to slide back on the hardwood floor, so Giovanna took extra care securing his lower body against yours as well.

Tragically, you tried rocking against his hand, begging for relief. That stopped when you realized you could feel his hard-on through the material of his satin clothing.

He decided he'd had enough of whatever this was, extracting his hand from your clothing and backing up a tad. After lapping his finger clean, he took a second to "compose" himself.

"I apologize, I know this isn't the most comfortable place for us, at the moment…" you were gently hugged from behind, him nuzzling into the top of your head a bit.

You wanted to take the opportunity to break away from him, but before you could even realize he had hastily lifted you up. The bright light made you reflexively shut your eyes, but it didn't stop you from trying to wiggle out of his hold.

Giovanna brought you to his large, cushioned chair, sitting himself down and maneuvering your limbs just so you were straddling him. He tried to hug you again, but you pushed yourself away, hands at his chest.

"Sir…please, we have to stop." A tiny, nagging part of your brain knew this wouldn't reason with him, so you added on, "...not now. Not here, at least…"

His engaged expression turned into a soft, content smile.

Holy fuck, did I actually get him to listen? Will I actually get away with my dignity after all?

You nearly smiled at the seemingly good sign.

But instead of letting you go, he spun the chair around, grabbing your wrists.

Actually, it wasn't him grabbing you. Not exactly.

Ghostly white-gold hands faded in, pulling your arms away from each other, as he pushed your torso away, tugged your shins so they dropped from the chair and onto the floor, and secured your pelvis against his.

In the end, the position you had been forced into was both uncomfortable and humiliating, with G • E restraining your arms, the edge of the desk pressing into the small or your back, and to top it all off, your boss firmly holding your groins together.

It made you want to cry, so you did. Just a little bit, though.

"Ah, please don't worry! I don't plan on having briefings with anybody else, so let's not worry about…"

He completely trailed off, losing his train of thought as he looked over your body in silence. It stayed like this for a couple seconds, with him not exactly sure what to do next, and you refusing to look at anything.

Eventually, he leaned forward a bit, reached to the bottom of your top. You glared at his hand as it grabbed onto the hem, and in a single motion, yanked it over your chest. The cold air enveloped your now exposed breasts made your muscles jerk inward, giving the desk a little shake.

In the tense moment, he kind of just stared for a few seconds, eyes round and doe-ish, face very flushed.

He doesn't know what he's doing. And he doesn't even care.

Wetness dotting his yellow lashes, he suddenly wrapped his arms around your torso, nudging up into the crook of your neck and drawing in your scent. You would've wondered why he looked like he was crying, but your mind was occupied with the embarrassment that came with knowing how sweaty you were. Not like he cared.

Giovanna pressed a couple pecks to the bottom of your jaw, before lowering and quickly licking up the side of your neck. He pulled back about a centimeter, and you watched in suspense as  his eyes trailed down to your chest.

He traced a very faint vein with the tip of his nail, one embedded in your breast, until he reached your nipple, erected by the cold air. He took it between the tips of his fingers, rolling it gently.

The muscles in your chest tensed as he cupped your tit with one hand, and slid the other down your body again.

While groping you, he had his lips ghosting the area around your collarbone, wanting to feel every small detail of your skin. His breath felt like it was getting hotter every second, and you were sure that the stuttering little snivels coming out of your mouth were only making things worse.

With a little roll of his chair, Giovanna pushed his groin up against yours, the slight friction made on your vital spot just enough to make you squirm.

His hands really had no right to feel as wonderful as they did, smooth and supple, incredibly warm, and glazed with a sheer bit of sweat. It felt like they were made for your body, as it accepted his touch completely, whether he was groping you or continuing to explore your insides with his digits.

You continued to try and fight back, be it very weakly, by wiggling your lower body best you could. What made you completely give up the quarrel was Giovanna leaning down and taking one of your stiff teats in his mouth. The sudden feeling made you reflexively cave in your chest, as your elbows finally touched the cool wood of his desk. In the back of your hazed mind, you took note of how G • E loosened his hold.

He put more pressure on your body, eyebrows knit, like he was savoring the taste of your skin. As he grew rougher, you felt his sharp canines poke at your supple flesh, and you jerked again.

Giovanna responded by slipping another digit inside, pushing you back a tad more while staying latched on your chest.

Too much. It's all too much.

With seemingly nothing else to do, you let your head drop back. Then, you saw an opportunity.

The lamp.

See, while you had been tangled up in getting restrained by your Boss's Stand, you somehow forgot one critical fact; that you had one too.

The key to escaping this Freudian Nightmare was, quite literally, glaring you in the face.

And all you needed was just another little push…

As if on cue, your arms slid back about a half-centimeter more, and you grabbed the opportunity with an iron grip.

Now.

In an actual blink, Giovanna's ceiling lamp imploded, causing the room to go dark. The minor vacuum caused was enough to make the desk shake, and you slide across and onto the floor ahead.

Despite landing awkwardly on your shoulders, you hastily got on your ass, tugged down your shirt, and rose to your feet.

The relief you felt when you finally reached the door was indescribable, yet you still found yourself glancing back.

Pulverized glass was still falling through the air, what once remained of the most interesting part of the room now glittering with sunset light. Giovanna, on the other hand, had rolled his chair back a bit, adorably rubbing his eyes.

Hit one!

The beat of your heart was racing, yet…

"Giorno, I'm sorry!"

Hit two!

You had no time to dwell on your apology, though, as you rushed out the door.

Hit three! Triple fuckup combo!

You leapt off the mezzanine to the ground floor, and made a dash to the exit.

The cool air of the night came to rightfully claim you. That night, while running across the Italian countryside, you felt rather different.

Needless to say, you missed that night's episode of X-Files.

♡🐞♡

n: thanks to aaron for making the title cards for me, he’s a great skunk man!  I said i was gonna do it, and here i am.  Hopefully this means i’ll be able to start using tumblr a bit more frequently... Or maybe it won’t, who knows? I’ll post the second chapter here tomorrow, and as for the last one...it’s coming, don’t fret :D

[kyukun]

Operation D.I.C.E. HQ! (OumaSai)

i love writing dice sm tbh. theyre all so much fun to write and aaaaaaa

hope you enjoy!

title: Operation D.I.C.E. HQ!

summary: Shuichi finally caves in, and Kokichi takes him on a little adventure. What's the point of this adventure you might ask? Well, to make Shuichi his second in command of course!

word count: 1425

~~ prompt starts after cut! ~~

"Saihara-chan! Just the detective I've been looking for!" 

 Saihara raised an eyebrow from his book, staring into the purple eyes that beamed so bright and hopeful at him. "Yes?" He asked. He wasn't quite sure what Kokichi wanted. His facial expressions weren't any help either, but then again, they never really are. He could be saying one thing but mean the total opposite. Whatever it was, it wasn't any good he bet. 

 "I need you, my beloved Shumai, to go and investigate a place with me." 

 Huh? That was certainly an… unusual request. Regardless, he pressed forward in order to get to the real deal. "A place?" The question came out more like a statement but the latter continued and answered. "Yes! It's a super super duper secret place that I really want you to come look at with me! Please?" He pleaded further, clasping both his hands together while his eyes were in puppy dog mode. 

 Well, he had no reason to object, and his curiosity seemed to get the best of him yet again. Besides, he trusted Kokichi. 

 For the most part.

 Kokichi was pretty playful in nature. Despite saying malicious things, Shuichi knew he would never act on them. Kokichi wasn't that type of person. He sighed, setting down his book on the table in front of him. "Fine. Uhm, right now?"

 "Absolutely. Come on, I'll lead the way." He giggled, taking the detective by his wrist and leading him out of the room which they were in before. Shuichi swore he saw Kokichi smirk but maybe he was just seeing things. He followed the smaller leader for what seemed like hours. Though, it was only an hour but it still took forever. The place was hidden, well, sort of. It was some sort of alleyway in between two stores. The area was definitely sketchy, but lively.

 Shuichi felt uncomfortable. "Uh, Kokichi? Where are we?" He spoke up, timidity arising in his voice as he nervously glanced around as Kokichi paid no mind to his apparent hesitancy. He knocked on the door in what he could only assume was a pattern. He remained silent as Kokichi held his hand in his, beads of sweat forming in his palm as his nervousness had begun to dwell on him. 

 There was a slit on the metal door that had opened only a bit to peer at the two. "Red scroll, yellow scroll, blue scroll." He spoke, earning a raise from Saihara. Was that some sort of pass code? A Japanese tongue twister? The person behind the door nodded and opened the door after sliding the open slit closed. Kokichi turned towards Shuichi and flashed a toothy grin. He had a bad feeling about this. "Well, come on in."

 Shuichi felt Kokichi release his hand as he waltzed into the suspicious room nonchalantly. The room had posters as well as graffiti on the inside with pink fluorescent lights. Where exactly was this place?

 He walked in and noticed the room was somewhat empty other than a few desks and a bookshelf pushed up against the wall. The person that held the door open was in a clown mask and had a scarf and an outfit very similar to Kokichi. They had a red afro that was almost cartoonish to a degree. He waved gently at the figure who in turn, waved back. The latter shut the door and locked it with the hatchet that was attached.

 Kokichi walked over to the bookshelf and pulled on a book. Shuichi was startled with the shelf had begun retracting to the side, leading to a secret passageway. "After you." Kokichi teased, motioning for Shuichi to walk inside of the darkened area. Shuichi complied and walked inside, Kokichi and the other person following him inside. He walked through the hall and noticed it was… like a hideout.

 Like a stereotypical movie villain hideout but it wasn't. Sure, it may have looked the part from afar but you could see most of the "villain" aspects of the lair were props. The room had a mix of blue and white lights. Kokichi skipped in front of the group and held his hands open wide. "Welcome to the D.I.C.E. headquarters!"

 Shuichi took a look around and saw eight other (he assumed) members who were in similar outfits as the person behind him. They joined him and took off their mask, as did the others except one. "Kokichi, why am I here?"

 "See, I knew you'd ask that. So… I lied!"

 Of course.

 "I knew that if I told you where we were going, you'd say: "Aw man, sorry. Maybe next time." or some shit like that!" He rolled his eyes and collapsed down onto the dark greenish couch in the corner beside the door. "Right…" He trailed off and glanced around the members. 

 So they are real then. Interesting.

 "Oh! How rude of me. I should introduce everyone to you!" Kokichi sprung up from the couch, bits of the couch cushion springing from underneath him in all its yellow, fluffy glory. Kokichi took the detective by the hand once more and walked him over to the group who were greeting him with friendly smiles. Kokichi pointed first to a young girl with long brown hair and a braid to the side of her head, though she still wore her mask. He wondered why.

 "This is Two! She's not much of a talker but she's great at prank planning." Two waved, and Shuichi did the same. Next to her was another girl, she had an outfit similar to the rest but the only difference was she had cleavage showing. She was a bit taller than Two, maybe around two or three inches taller. "This is Three. She's basically our mom!"

 "Pleasure to meet you, hun." Three extended her hand with a grin. Shuichi shook her hand and moved along to the next, "He's Four. Prepare yourself." 

 "What?" Before he could process Ouma's warning, he felt a pair of large yet fluffy arms grip him and held him tight. Next thing he knew, he was in the air as Four hugged the life out of him. "So you're the famous one we've heard so much about huh?! Man, Boss does not shut up about ya!" His voice was loud yet joyful. He could see Kokichi in the corner of his eye begin to fluster, "Ahaha! Four! What are you talking about, you big goof?" His words were drawn out but still menacing. 

 Four blinked absentmindedly before making an "oh" sound and set down Shuichi. "Nothin' at all, Boss." 

 Shuichi held his suspicions but decided to ultimately drop it. "Anyway, that's Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine." 

 "The one behind you is One."

 Shuichi stared as the group of misfits gathered in a circle, whispering amongst themselves. He couldn't help but somewhat admire what Kokichi had been doing. They all seemed like such a big and happy family. He was happy Kokichi had them. 

 The day continued. Shuichi and the rest of D.I.C.E. had played a bunch of games together and Shuichi (reluctantly,) ended up helping on planning for their next prank. Kokichi could see how brightly the detective shined. And in this train of thought, he pulled him aside. "Saihara-chan, you seem to be enjoying yourself."

 "Yeah, I really am." He giggled, glancing back at the others who were sat in a circle playing a round of Connect Four. His eyes then drew back to Kokichi, "They're all great. You know, you're a great leader. They seem to respect you a lot."

 Damnit, Shuichi. Why are you so unexpectedly smooth? The leader felt his cheeks turn red, "W-well yeah! But… you know, sometimes even leaders need breaks from their subordinates sometimes so…"

 "So?"

 "Would you mind… joining me and being my second in command?" Shuichi couldn't see much of his face, but he could tell he was red. Kokichi had one hand on his scarf, which had been brought up to his face and the other had been placed on his hip. His eyes were averted but Shuichi didn't mind. He smiled at Kokichi warmly as if he were the cutest thing he'd ever laid eyes on. 

 Shuichi said nothing and instead took this opportunity to untie Kokichi's scarf. The smaller male stared at him in confusion, watching as he wrapped the scarf around his own neck. Shuichi bent down a bit, tilting his chin upward with his thumb and index finger and kissed his lips gently.

 "Gladly."

[chride]

Please say more about thedosian pottery

Oh wow, anon, thank you for asking! I did not just spend my whole Sunday typing this together Long story short, I got inspired by the Great Pottery Throw Down to write a DA:I MGIT fic that features a potter as the POV character. But, the foolish fan of vernacular materials that I am, I didn’t want to simply invent where this person would source their materials, or what type of kiln they’d build, so I went on a deep dive of traditional homestead pottery youtube videos, wrote an essay on raku ware, sifted through my pottery notes from uni, ran around Thedas, read way too much on the wiki, and kind of ended up with this:

A “short” treatise on Thedosian Pottery, or, thoughts on ceramics in the world of Dragon Age

A caveat before we dive in: I am not a geologist, archeologist, environment artist for games nor a potter, but I dabble and am an enthusiastic educated guesser with art teacher and training. If, uh, I’ve made any substantial factual errors let me know. These are pretty much all speculations and observations since the canon lore doesn’t speak much about pottery in any form. I didn’t look at dwarven items however, or visit every area on the map, and I haven’t played all of DA2 or any of DA:O, so there is probably a wealth of pottery I’m not going to go into.

What struck me as perhaps most curious was the lack of specifically ceramic containers in the games. Ceramic wares are so common in cultures around our world that I imagined they’d be plentiful in Thedas as well. But, I came up with a theory around why this is as well:

Metals are common in Thedas, and found as rich ores or minerals close to the surface. As seen in the smeltery of DA2, the world is, while seemingly pre-industrial, manufacturing metals quite efficiently. We see plate and molded metal items such as tankards, pitchers, plates and tin cups almost everywhere from Val Royeaux to Redcliffe, to . These would be generally more durable than crockery, and are apparently quite affordable, which would mean pottery isn’t needed as much. Heck, even the spittoons at the Hanged Man are brass or copper. For less important and sturdy items, wood or glass is used - so there are some wooden cups and wooden cooking equipment, and glass bottles all around (with one exception which I’ll get to).

So, this would mean pottery would be in use mostly by peripheral cultures that perhaps do not have the means for metalworking - and indeed, it’s among the Dalish we find most pottery in the game. Visiting the Dalish encampment in the Exalted Plains, you’ll see there are jugs kept half-way in the ground, perhaps to keep them cooler. The jugs are fairly similar to those that Varric’s room at the Hanged Man contain in DA2, however, so they could just as well be stone as a light-colored stoneware clay. 

Then there are covered pots at shrines. The darkness of the finished urns suggests the material is carbonized red clay; by taking the pots out of the fire when they are red hot and dipping them in water and burning them with combustible materials such as plants. This is a reduction firing; the burning of the organic material uses up the oxygen of the oxides in the clay’s surface. The red ferric iron turns into black ferrous iron, and the pots become black, shiny, more heat-resistant and, most importantly more waterproof, which is important since low-fired clay is generally less waterproof. This type of process can be found all over the world, from Japanese or American-style raku firing, to Etruscan and Greek pottery, to contemporary African pottery. In a nomadic culture in the plains, they would probably be fired buried in a firing pit, which is a fairly slow low-firing process, or a firing pyre, which would allow easier access to the items for the carbonizing process.

The burial urns, as seen for example at Var Bellanaris, are fascinating to me - they got me thinking that perhaps pottery is not so much seen as a practical craft among the Dalish, under June, but more under Falon’Din’s jurisdiction. The urns are also more like an amphora in design in that it is not free-standing, which might be why so many of them are cracked from falling over.

In all honesty though, to test my theory further I went running around Stone Bear Hold and well, for a fairly isolated culture that uses pelts and animal hides in their armor, they sure do have the exact same metal and wood items in their kitchens as Ferelden or Kirkwall homes. So in essence, inconclusive. 

There is one type of drinking vessel that I believe is salt-glazed red stoneware. I did most of my digging for shards in Inquisition, and then thought, hey, I could take a look at what goes on in DA2, and well, it turned out that there’s a lot of recycled assets between the smaller props of the game. The same red container you’ll spot both in Gamlen’s house, in the Black Emporium, and in Var Bellanaris in DA:I. Lore-wise this would mean there’s either a whole bunch of raided Elvhen pottery in Kirkwall, or then the Dalish are okay with some Free Marcher wares in their tombs.

But, I found this one shelf that judging by how the items reflect light, there’s at least one type of thrown, glazed drinking cups in the games (DA2 & DA:I), and I believe they are salt-glazed. The second salt-glazed pottery I could find, would be the Grey Warden ritewine bottles, which there are plenty of at Skyhold:

Salt firing is a kiln-firing technique. In it, sodium is added at the end of the heating process. It vaporizes and condenses on the crockery (any surface really). It can create an orange-peel texture, or the streaky, shiny surface that we see in the game.

All of these items are red clay. Red clay is clay that is iron-rich. It’s easy to build large items from, and quite common in soil. The downside to red clay is that it does not withstand high heats, since it will melt and ultimately boil at high temperatures (past 1050 degrees C) due to the iron. This process of the clay melting is called vitrification, and it starts at around 600 degrees C, and is essential to make the ceramic wares transform from porous earthenware like flower pots to non-porous stoneware or porcelain, like plates or cups.

In Thedas, all of the Ferelden regions have Iron, and therefore I believe these are iron-rich soils and most clay would be iron-rich. However, even areas like the Forbidden Oasis and the Hissing Wastes seem iron-rich judging from how red the soil is (I assume it’s red shale, which is a sedimentary, iron-oxide containing type of rock). You’ll find red clay items in Kirkwall, and Bram Kenric has a flower pot in his window in the Frostback Basin that looks like red clay with a slip decoration. The Avvar have a pretty neat-looking statue next to Svarah Sun-Hair up in Stone-Bear Hold. 

In general, the crafting materials are a completely indecipherable mess pretty wild, and I’m definitely not through with figuring out everything, but areas with Obsidian - a felsic volcanic rock - might be iron-free. We can see some yellow pots in Val Royeaux; they are sturdy, and unglazed, so I assume there’s a sallow earthenware clay somewhere in Orlais as well. There are also some rather fascinating items at the Val Royeaux market place, so who knows - I didn’t have a good save game to run around Halamshiral in. They could be enamel metal items as well, but look like ash glazes to me:

But, what about other clays, like porcelain? Well, my most educated guess is that the continent of Thedas does not quite have it, and doesn’t quite have the craftspeople to create it. On earth, porcelain clay consists mostly of the mineral kaolinite, in its purest, ground form, kaolin, named for the Chinese village of Gaoling where it was first achieved some 1200 to 2000 years ago. It’s mixed with mica or feldspar to form porcelain clay, and fired at temperatures from 1200 to 1400 °C, and can be decorated in wonderful colorful ways. Kaolinite is very common on earth, but pure white kaolinite is not, and figuring out a recipe for a clay that gives the durability, translucency, whiteness and thinness of Chinese porcelain took Europeans very long. 

Still, from running around Thedas I noticed that in the Emerald Graves, many of the pebbles lining the paths are quite bright white. So, with that in mind, it isn’t a terrible stretch that there could be a deposit of kaolinite, and thus a possibility of porcelain. Perhaps those Dalish jugs are porcelain after all?

Anyways, thank you anon for asking! I am of course only speculating with all of these, so don’t take them for fact :’)

[imfires333]

Impressions

Summary: I did a summer semester in Seoul, Korea, at Yonsei Univ. Here are literally my first impressions of Seoul.

The turbulence of the plane startled me awake. I squinted my eyes and furrowed my brows, immediately cranky from being awoken. At least on this flight, I had managed to get a wink of sleep. I’d been half conscious and half asleep for the entire day, falling in and out of my light slumbers throughout my trip. The small amount of space that economy tickets provided was something I should have prepared for. I had brought my blanket to use on the plane, which I ended up regretting because it was just one more thing to carry through airports.

My final flight landed at 8:45 PM, Korea Standard Time. I had taken three flights in the past twenty-five hours—Fort Myers to Houston, Houston to Tokyo, and Tokyo to Seoul. My tired legs carried me through Incheon International Airport as I read the signs above me and the directions to my host school on my phone at the same time. My eyes drooped with fatigue, and my arms felt like limp noodles. I had no idea how to get to the subway that would take me to Sinchon Station—I had never even taken public transportation in the United States, so this experience was very intimidating. I started looking around for people that appeared helpful to give me additional directions and guidance. I had seen two American girls at Narita Airport in Tokyo, and they were once again in front of me. I subtly followed them, steadily feeling creepier by the second, until they stopped at a line of vending machines, where others were also lined up. The girls looked my age, so maybe they were also students going to Yonsei University, my home for the next six weeks. Overcoming my fear of initiating conversation with strangers, I pulled my suitcases up to the machines near them.

“Excuse me…Do you guys happen to be going to Yonsei? I keep seeing you around,” I interrupted them.

They stopped talking to each other and looked at me curiously. Their clothes and style made it look like they were already very familiar with Korea. Even though they were most likely coming from America, they had been dressed in fashionable, colorful outfits while flying across the Pacific Ocean—which is a long and dreadful trip, mind you. One of the girls had black and blonde hair, one color for each side of her long, ruffled bob. The other girl had short, curly blonde hair. They both had the same bright, blue eyes. The second girl surprisingly answered, “No, but we’re actually getting off the subway at that station. Do you need help getting there?” Honestly, what were the chances that these strangers I asked for help would be going to the same stop that I was?

After buying our transportation cards, we made our way to the subway. We entered the train, and upon seeing all the seats taken, stood in the corner of the car. Everybody stared at their phones in moderate silence out of consideration for each other. People whispered to each other so as not to disturb the strangers around them. Hannah, Bekah, and I were probably the loudest group in the car, and once we were aware of that, we kept our voices down. We exchanged Kakao IDs—apparently, nobody in Korea uses the regular old text messaging system that phones provide, and they instead use an app called Kakao Talk…and it’s probably because of the cute aesthetic compared to the dull appearance of the built-in messaging apps.

Once we were situated and comfortable as we could be in our little corner, we began getting to know each other. I told them that I went to the University of South Florida in Tampa, Florida, and was here to study…but mostly to immerse myself in the Korean culture and explore the country. It turned out that I had also sat in front of them on the last plane and they only realized when we were on the subway. Hannah and Bekah were sisters from a small town in Wisconsin. Hannah had already been in Korea before, returning frequently for a total of nine months of her life in Korea. She was twenty, almost a year older than I was. Bekah was eighteen and this was her first trip to Korea. She worked at a K-pop store back home. “I’m so excited to buy some CDs and posters! They’re going to be way cheaper here than at my store.” My whole time in Korea, and I had only bought one CD. I’m going to have to go back to Korea for more.

When we finished lugging our bags up the stairs and out of the subway station about an hour later, Seoul was already alive with its night life. The signs on stores glowed brightly onto our faces while street performers sang or played the sax, guitar, or drum set. The first building I saw out of the station and to the right was McDonald’s, and its delivery mopeds were parked outside. We passed more stores and restaurants that were both domestic and international. The amount of makeup stores and coffee shops enraptured me. At any part of the street, there would be a coffee shop within one hundred feet.

All the buildings towered over us. In Sinchon (and a lot of the rest of Seoul, at least), stores are stacked on top of each other in one large building, rather than one-story establishments like we have in the United States. One Starbucks I saw, for example, was five stories high. There were all sorts of stores, ranging from convenience stores, arcades, restaurants, cat cafes, and clothing stores, just to name a few. I’d only seen one small garage that carried cars up for you, so most of the area is journeyed on foot. This much was obvious because the streets were bustling with people going in and out of stores. Still, there were many delivery mopeds zooming past, not obeying the same laws that cars were supposed to. They would go through red lights, use sidewalks and crosswalks, and drive up the lines in between cars. It seemed like a free-for-all with these bikes and motorcycles.

I read the names of stores, which were in a variety of languages. Places like Mom’s Kitchen and Yellow Spoon stood out to me, the first which sold a wide variety of chicken and the second which was a Japanese restaurant that I would end up visiting twice because of its delicious egg-covered hamburger steaks. I was excited to shop at Korea’s abundance of cosmetics stores, and the Nature Republic employees would eventually get tired of seeing me in their establishment. Many clothing stores sold inexpensive shirts with bad English on them, which I loved.

Upon seeing all these new sights on my way from the station to Yonsei, a realization came to me. My application, recommendation letter, tuition, everything was taken care of. I finally made it. This had been my dream for two years and I was finally here. The planes didn’t crash, I didn’t lose my luggage (but my body wash did spill in one of the bags), and I was actually walking through the busy streets of Sinchon. People I didn’t recognize walked past me, making it even more surreal. Nobody knew me here. Half of my work was already done, and now all I had to do was achieve high grades in my two classes, Beginning Korean Language and Asian American Literature, while enjoying everything that is Seoul.

I focused again on my physical surroundings. I couldn’t tell if it was hunger or exhaustion taking over me…probably both. The bags that were being dragged behind me weighed me down, and my palms sweated against the handles. The rough brick road always shifted my bags so I lost my grip often. I was constantly stopping to readjust the carry-on that sat on top of the smaller suitcase. Hannah and Bekah kept on trucking while I stopped, making me worry that they would leave me behind, even though they were the ones taking me to Yonsei. I felt bad for slowing them down because they also had to backtrack and find their own place. Hannah had a friend who went to this university, so she was familiar with the back route to the dorms. Once we started climbing the hill to my dorm, however, I was ready to give up. “It’s not too far from here, just around the corner!” Hannah encouraged me. Bekah looked back at me with a silly grin plastered on her face. There’s no way I can keep going uphill with these bags, I thought. Just then, we saw some people walking ahead of us. They were walking slowly and heard us behind them, and a girl with huge, curly, purple hair asked, “Are you looking for the dorms?” I felt another short boost of energy and separated from Hannah and Bekah, telling them we’d meet up soon. I was tired from the long journey and ready to call it a night after arriving at my room and taking a shower to erase some of the evidence of fatigue.

When I managed to find the lobby after listening to the purple-haired girl’s directions outside one of the dorms, I tried to talk to the security guard who was working at the front desk. My Korean was almost nonexistent for situations like these, and his English wasn’t much better. After what seemed like hours, I got a bed set, minus the pillow because they didn’t have enough. I met my roommate, Lexus, briefly, took a shower, and passed out. I would go back a few days later and receive a pillow filled with macaroni shells, which crackled every time I turned my head. I was counting down the days until I got to sleep on my memory-foam pillow in the States.